Gray Eyes

Alex stretched and adjusted his glasses. There was a mystery slowly spreading itself out across his desk, mixed into the research he’d been pouring over for the past two years. What had started out as the necessary research for a book detailing the greatest disasters in history had turned into a manhunt. It had started with photos of survivors from the Hindenburg, with a young woman off to the side helping. He’d seen her before. And there she was, in shots of the Titanic putting out to sea. And again, as the survivors of the Lusitania were rescued. This same woman was in every picture spread out across his desk, at least one from each disaster since the advent of photography. It was impossible to mistake her after seeing her image so many times, especially in the more recent shots in full color. Bundling it all up, Alex reached for his tumbler and swirled the contents around before he took a long swig. Was it too much to assume coincidence at this point? Maybe a familial connection and nothing more? But no, there she was again in the video from two bombings and a shooting in the past year. And they weren’t even on the same continents on top of having been within a week of each other. Nothing made sense. On reflection, that was why he’d planned tomorrow’s trip back to his alma mater for a long chat with one of his favorite history professors. Maybe together they could make something of this whole mess and this brunette with her tired, almost haunted gray eyes could finally stop plaguing him.

Leaning back in his seat, Alex looked out the window at the ground below as it pulled away. Just a few hours and he’d be back on the ground. By the end of the day, he might even have his answers.
“Excuse me, Sir? Would you like a drink?”
“I’d love a ginger ale.”
He smiled up and found himself looking into those gray eyes he knew so well. The young woman, her brown hair in a tight bun, handed him a plastic cup full of soda and smiled.
“Enjoy your flight, Sir.”

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