“No.” I squashed down the panic. So close. I’m so close to home. This couldn’t happen. I wouldn’t let it happen. “That can’t be true.” Fossicking in my handbag for my cell-phone, I trembled as I tried to find the email of my itinerary. “I have proof. I’ll find what my travel agent sent through.”

Damn Madeline. If she’d somehow done this, she was in huge trouble.

I was idiotic to blame a friend I would never see again.

I should’ve listened.

This was the first message.

Mark returned to checking the screen while I scrolled through my emails. Stupid Gmail had archived the file and I couldn’t find it.

“Did you have a delay coming here? Did you miss your flight?”

“Ah, yes!” Relief flooded. “My connecting flight was late. I missed the leg to New York and had to wait twenty-four hours before the next service.” I moved closer to the desk, trying to refrain from seeming desperate. “But that was the airline’s fault, not mine. They assured me the rest of my ticket was unaffected.”

“That’s fine.” Mark pursed his lips. “And that’s true, normally. I just can’t find a ticket number.” Chewing the inside of his cheek, he mumbled, “Don’t worry. Give me five minutes and I’ll build you a new booking then reissue your ticket.”

I sighed, wanting to puddle to the floor and magically teleport myself home. I didn’t have the strength to go through the highs and lows of travel. I was done. Empty.

My shoulders rolled. “Okay.”

There was nothing I could do.

I stood there and waited as Mark fixed Message Number One.

I should’ve paid attention.

I should’ve walked right out the doors and hailed the nearest cab back to downtown Hollywood.

But I didn’t.

.............................

“I’m sorry, ma’am.”

A male’s hand shot out, preventing me from moving forward.

I blanched, slamming to a halt. “Excuse me?”

Now, what have I done?

His eyes narrowed in reproof. “The body scanner picked up metal objects on your person. You’ll be required to undergo a pat-down in a private room with a female officer. Do you consent?”

All around me, other passengers shoved and bumped, grabbing items from the X-ray belt and rushing to their chosen destinations.

I envied them.

“But...I don’t have anything to declare.”

The dark-haired officer cocked his head at the screen showing a few large splodges on a stick figure that I assumed was me. “The scanner has highlighted a few areas of concern.”

A furl of unease nudged its way into being.

First, the missing booking and now, security.

Can’t I just get on the plane without talking to anyone else?

I’d hoped once Mark handed over my reissued boarding pass and wished me a pleasant flight that my problems were over.

Desperate to just be left alone, I lifted up my pink jumper, revealing a black tank with glittering diamantes on the chest. “I should’ve thought before dressing in this to travel. I think those set it off.”

The officer cleared his throat, doing his best not to look at my boobs. “That may be the case, but there are multiple points to check.”

I glanced at the image. More black spots on my ankles and wrists.

“Ah, it’s my jewellery and the zips in my jeans.” Shoving back my sleeves, I revealed three bracelets on each wrist. All gold on my left and all silver on my right. Then pointed at the zippers in my skinny jeans at my ankles. “See?”

“I’m sorry. We’ll still need to do a pat down.”

“Are you sure—”

“Are you refusing to undergo the requirement to travel?” The agent crossed his arms, his biceps straining against the dark material of his uniform.

There was nothing I could do.

“No.” My voice turned weary. “I consent.”

A female officer came forward, waving me to follow her. “Come with me. We’ll get you sorted.”

Message Number Two went unheeded.

.............................

NOT PERMITTED TO TRAVEL.

“Oh, my God. Now, what?”

The unease grew to unrest, prickling my spine.

“Come on.” I stabbed the screen, removing and inserting my passport a few times into the do-it-yourself e-reader. Where were the good old days of customer service and officers who personally asked if you had explosives in your carry-on? Why had machines replaced a friendly face?

I didn’t want to have to deal with robots, all lined up in military precision, unable to empathize or wish me a pleasant journey—extending my misery that much more.

NOT PERMITTED TO TRAVEL. PLEASE REMOVE PASSPORT AND SEE OFFICER.

I growled under my breath. “Fine.”

Stealing my passport and deleting the half-finished clearance, I looked around for a saviour to help.

No one.

Brilliant.

Not one single person to help guide me through this frustrating dilemma.

Slinging my handbag further up my arm, I hugged my jacket and wheeled my heavy carry-on to the glass booths guarding the gate lounge.

Other disgruntled people rolled their eyes, obviously victims of the same masquerade of machines.

The line took a few moments.

I wasted each minute by willing it away when I should’ve been holding each tightly, refusing to let time move forward.

Finally, a dark-skinned youngish man waved me over.