Trooping toward him, I smiled and handed over my ticket, clearance card, and passport. “The machine won’t accept me.”

He scowled. “It’s because only US and Canadian citizens are allowed to use the e-gates.”

I pointed at the sign above the hated machines. “It says anyone with an e-reader passport.”

He huffed as if I’d read it wrong. “It’s not for Australians.”

His attitude pissed me off, but I fought my rising annoyance. “Great. Well, I’m glad I’m in your care.”

He didn’t reply.

Frowning, he passed my passport through his computer and did whatever he needed to do. “I require your fingerprints for identification.”

I placed my first four fingers on the sticky scanner and held them until he told me to flip to my thumb. Rubbing the tacky residue, I resisted the urge to pull out my hand sanitizer and disinfect whatever germs had just contaminated me.

The officer looked up, his forehead furrowing. “Um, that’s odd.”

The unease grew again, a bubble glistening with fear, puffing fresh breath with every issue. “What’s odd?”

“Your fingerprints correspond to a different name in the system.” He glowered as if I were a super spy or wanted villain.

My heart raced. “Look, I am who I say I am—Estelle Evermore.”

“Place your fingers on the scanner again.”

Cringing at the thought of touching the unsanitary device, I did as he asked.

A few seconds later and more keyboard tapping, the computer chimed happily.

My shoulders slouched in relief.

The officer handed back my documents. Suspicion didn’t leave his gaze as he looked me up and down. “Have a pleasant day.”

Hasn’t been very pleasant so far.

I didn’t reply.

Wait...

The nerves dancing on my spine switched from waltz to hip-hop, picking up in strength and number.

There was something wrong with this...surely?

Don’t people say things happen in threes?

Well, three things had just tried to prevent me from getting on the plane.

The thought of home battled against the fear of idiotic superstitions. I couldn’t stand another night in a foreign bed. I wanted my apartment. I wanted to shoo away the house sitter and cuddle my cat, Shovel-Face (named for his flat little nose and saucerish eyes), while catching up on the latest TV shows.

No. There’s nothing wrong.

I was just tired and overly sensitive.

Ignoring my paranoia and ridiculous excuses, I made my way through duty-free and found my gate.

I’m here.

Sitting in an uncomfortable chair, I turned on my e-book and prepared to relax.

I’m going home.

This entire mess would be forgotten.

How stupid of me to ignore yet another message.

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

The fourth and final message trying to prevent my imminent demise happened an hour later.

“Flight FJ811 to Nadi is now boarding all remaining passengers.”

I’d patiently waited for most people to board. I didn’t do well standing in the air-bridge, squashed like hamsters in a toilet roll, waiting to enter an overcrowded airplane. I preferred to get on last, regardless if I didn’t get convenient overhead storage.

Ever since I’d said goodbye to Madeline, I’d been tired. But it was nothing compared to the sudden lethargy as I handed over my boarding pass.

The air-bridge beckoned, and beyond that, the airplane that would take me home.

Home.

Yes, please.

“Afternoon.” The lady took my pass, inserting it into the reader.

Instantly a siren sounded; red codes popped up on the screen.

Oh, my God. Now what?

“Is everything okay?” My tiredness evaporated, drowned out by escalating unease.

I’m not meant to get on this plane.

The lady frowned. “It says you’re not permitted to board. There’s an issue with your visa.”

My heart stopped beating.

Why is this happening?

Anxiousness lodged in my throat. I wanted to grab my carry-on and back away from the boarding gate. I wanted to listen. To finally give into premonition and paranoia and stay in America until fate stopped playing roulette with my life.

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on but I’ve changed my mind—”

“Wait.” The woman silenced the blinking lights and alarm. “You don’t need a visa. You’re flying to Australia and have an Australian passport. Stupid machine. You’re returning to your own country.”

I swallowed hard. “It’s okay. If you could just offload my luggage—”

She waved away my concerns. “Don’t be absurd, dear. Just a glitch. We’ll get it sorted in a sec.”

“What seems to be the problem?” A supervisor came over, wiping his hands importantly on black slacks.

The blonde haired woman shrugged. “I’m not sure. The machine has gone crazy.”

I’m not meant to get on the plane.

Do. Not. Get. On. That. Plane.

Goosebumps darted down my arms, my eyes dancing between the two agents. “I’m okay to wait. If it says I don’t have a visa, I’ll stay here until it’s sorted out.” My feet itched to bolt. My eyes landed on the plane, the air-bridge linking to its fuselage like an artery to a heart. “If someone could help with my belongings, I’ll happily wait for the next service.”

“No, don’t be silly.” The supervisor pulled wire-rimmed glasses from his pocket and took over from the blonde agent. “It’s just a malfunction. That’s all.” His fingers flew over the keyboard, inputting code and hitting commands.