. . . Into Thin Air
an excerpt

Prologue

A taxi pulled to the curb, splashing into the rain soaked gutter. The full moon shone bright through the dissipating clouds, and cast shadows of the bare trees which trace the ground like the web of some giant phantom spider.
Brian Simmons climbed out of the rear passenger seat of the taxi and vomited into the gutter. The water churned and gurgled as if in protest to Brian’s actions before vanishing beneath the street. He stood. The world spun before his eyes. He grabbed the door of the cab to steady it, but it did not stop.
Is this supposed to be fun? He thought. Is this what drunk was supposed to feel like?
A wave of nausea passed over him and he bent over and again vomited. He stayed bent over for a moment. He saw something --or thought he saw something-- moving in the gutter. Drunk eyes, and a drunk brain can play tricks, he thought and a few dry heaves came, then he stood back up.
John Hind, Brian’s roommate, climbed out of the opposite side of the cab, paid the driver, and walked over to Brian. “Happy twenty-first birthday buddy.” He clapped Brian on the back.
“The world will not stop spinning.”
“That’ll pass,” John said. “Let’s get you inside.”
Brian let go of the cab, and nearly fell as the earth took one hell of a tilt.
John grabbed him. “Do not fall, or you’ll get your ass wet.”
“Why would people do this to themselves day in, day out?”
“Do not know.” John put his arm around Brian’s back. “Now you’re going to have to help. I can not carry you to the house.”
Brian and John shared a two bedroom house not far from Adrian College were they both attended classes. They rented the house not only for its location, but because it was cheap.
“Why did you do this to me?” Brian asked while fighting back another wave of nausea.
“Hey, it wasn’t just me. Bob and Eric bought you drinks too.” He helped Brian mount the front steps then fished his keys out of his coat pocket.
“This is the last time I’ll let you get me drunk.”
“You got that right.” John unlocked the door. “Next time you want to get drunk, you’ll have to pay for it.”
“There will not be a next time.” Brian bent over and vomited on an unfortunate rose bush. “Christ, I did not think there was anything left. That’s it, no more dinking for me.”
“Yeah, right. I believe that as much as I believe the alien autopsy show was real.” John reached in and turned on the front hall light.
The porch light came on with it.
“Christ man.”
“Sorry.” John reached in and turned off the porch light. “Did not mean to turn it on.”
Brian entered the house. The single light of the front hall glared down at him. Ladies and gentlemen, now entering the stage for your entertainment, the village idiot drunk off his ass. He raised one arm to shield his eyes.
“It feels like my eyes are on fire.”
“That’ll pass too,” John said. “Let’s get you to bed.”
John got him to his bed. Brian plopped on the mattress. “The world is still spinning even with my eyes closed.”
“You’ll just have to sleep it off. This is as far as I am taking you. You can undress yourself.” John turned to leave.
“It is hot in here.”
“You want the window open?”
“Yeah.”
John went to the window. “You gonna want to skip class in the morning?”
“Nah. I’ll be fine.” Brian doubted he would be fine. Christ, the way he felt now he might not be fine until next week. John left.
Brian kicked off his shoes, and stared at the ceiling. Just as he thought the spinning world would come to a stop, the room began to spin faster and faster like a sadistic carrousel.
John had gone to the kitchen. Brian could hear him rustling around what sounded like a plastic bag. A few minutes later, he returned toting the small green trash can from the bathroom which he lined with a plastic shopping bag.
“Here,” John said, and placed the trash can next to the bed. “In case you need to puke again and can not make it to the bathroom.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll get you up in the morning for class.” He left.
Brian climbed out of bed, and went into the bathroom. He used the wall for support as he stumbled his way across the hall.
The face in the mirror looked defeted. The eyes were blood shot and puffy; the hair was tangled and matted. Drying vomit clung to the chin.
Brian was startled to see this version of himself.
Had I looked like this all evening? he thought.
No. Not possible. If I had, would I have gotten that cute blonde’s phone number? What was her name? Andi? Angie?
Brian touched the breast pocket of his shirt and felt the matchbook there. He pulled it out. On the inside of the cover there was a name and a phone number. He squinted at the revolving name on the matchbook, and it came into focus.
“Amber,” he whispered. Now that he had gotten the name straight in his mind, he placed the matchbook back into his pocket.
“Hope to God I did not look like this in front of her.”
He picked up a washcloth off the counter; it was still wet from its use earlier in the day.
He turned on the hot tap, then turned it off. Cold water would be better tonight. He turned on the cold tap.
Brian ran the washcloth under the cool, gushing water, rang it out, opened it fully in his upturned palms, and then pushed onto his face. Just as the cool cloth sucked the heat from his burning eyes, he passed out.
#
Brian came to lying on the bathroom floor; he felt a soft, blunt object prod him. He opened his eyes, and saw John standing over him.
“Get up,” John said, nudging Brian with his sockless foot. “I need to take a piss.”
“How long have I been on the floor?”
“I do not know and really do not care.”
Brian sat up, leaned against the wall, and rubbed his eyes. “The dizziness is going away.”
“Good. That means you can get up.” John nudged Brian again.
Brian stood up using the wall for support.
“Thank you,” Brian said, and placed his right hand on John’s left shoulder.
“You will not be thanking me in the morning,” John replied, and then smiled. “Especially when you discover the nasty hangover you have got.”
“Thank you anyway.” Brian stumbled off to his bed.
#
When Brian first opened his eyes, he could not quite remember where he was. The room was dark save for a few stabs of moonlight slicing through the darkness from behind the window shade, and the faint glow of an alarm clock.
The sour taste of vomit hung in the back of his throat, and he got up to get a glass of water. Upon his return, he noticed the air of the room was quite cold.
The window shade bulged and retreated, bulged and retreated as a slight breeze blew through the open window.
Brian pulled up the window shade and looked out the open window. Nothing but the darkened backyard lay beyond.
As he reached to close the window, a bright flash lit the night sky for a brief moment. When it was over, Brian Simmons had vanished.

Chapter 1

Death was not part of Chief Bradshaw’s job description. On the morning of November 13, he did nothing more than sit in his accustomed booth at Elwood’s Diner and order breakfast. Shortly thereafter, Death came knocking.
He sat, reading the days paper and sipping his coffee and every so often, looking out onto the dreary snow filled morning. As he was catching up on the sports, he noticed a menu slid under the paper. Putting down the paper, he looked up. A blonde girl about sixteen, looking back at him smiling and snapping her gum.