An airplane crash is usually an inferno, I had always thought so anyway. The plane went down with a jolt and the screaming of metal tearing, but no fi...e. The impact was enough to tear me from the seat. The momentum hurled me through the air to land against the cockpit wall. For some reason, known only to the God I could not beg for mercy, the impact did not kill me. There was not even a smell of jet fuel fumes when I awoke a few minutes after the impact. I looked around in a daze. Mr. Miles. I drove across town and found Oak Street and parking available close to the house numbered 222. It was still a few minutes early so recalling the message and knowing not to be early or late, I sat quietly just watching the clock on my cell. When it clicked to 7:59, I shut it down and put it in the glove box, stepped from the car and carrying only the car key walked to the door of 222 Oak Street and knocked. There was a slight breeze in the night air and I could feel it on my legs and working. More

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