All my pleading came to nothing. I stood at the airport, watching him walk away, not knowing when or if I’d see him again.
P.K. Zorkar, once upon a time India’s greatest illusionist. The man I’d worked for for the last fifteen years. The man I was secretly, hopelessly in love with.
“I have to do this, Kavi. My last and greatest trick. If it works, I’ll go to a better place.”
“But sir! Why can’t I come with you?”
“It’s too dangerous, my dear. I can’t take the risk…”
Zorkar looked back once and raised his hand in farewell, a reassuring smile on his handsome, bearded face. Then he boarded the plane along with the rest of the passengers, bound for Dubai.
By now everyone knows what happened: the plane was found, intact but empty, on a beach on a remote island, hundreds of miles off its designated course. None of the passengers or crew were ever found. There were no tracks on the beach, no indication at all as to where they could have gone.
For a while the world went mad. Search teams scoured the little island and the sea surrounding it for weeks. Podcasters pontificated. Internet detectives pored over the flight path and examined the backgrounds of every passenger and crew member with a fine tooth comb. Of course Zorkar came under scrutiny as well. A magician on board, even a has-been like Zorkar? Could he possibly have had something to do with the disappearance of 230 people on board?
But nothing came of it, and soon the mystery was replaced in the public mind by the non-stop, demented waxing and waning of the news cycle.
Quietly, I mourned for the loss of my mentor, my best friend, the man I had come to love and respect.
It didn’t help that the reality that had so concerned him was become worse by the day. Corrupt and repressive governments. Crumbling economies. Wars in several corners of the world. The threat of nuclear armageddon. AI misuse. Climate change and worsening extreme weather events. As the Doomsday Clock ticked ever closer to midnight, the prospects for humanity seemed hopeless.
In troubled sleep, I dreamt of Zorkar. He, and the other passengers, had made it to a different reality. A happier one, simpler, kinder. One where the world had a bright future.
And I would wake bereft with loss and loneliness.
And then, three years after the incident, I woke to find an envelope on my dresser with no idea how it got there. Inside was a flight ticket to Dubai booked in my name. The seat number was the same one Zorkar had travelled on.
As I write this account on the plane, I am at peace, knowing I am headed for a better place.
But I will return one day. So that Zorkar can finish the greatest trick of all.
You’ll be ready, won’t you?
