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locate the security cameras. She whispered under her breath, gathered herself and screamed.
    People rushed around the corner of the building and Cara burst into tears. It took only a matter of minutes for airport police to arrive. They examined her bruised throat, knot on the back of her head and ripped clothes.  
    "He attacked me and I fought back," Cara wept. "I don't even know him!"
    Medics arrived and treated the wound on her head and checked to make sure her throat wasn't damaged. She didn't tell them that this was the second time within an hour that someone had gone for her throat. Cara gratefully accepted some painkillers and made sure she cried a lot when questioned about what happened during her encounter with the would-be terrorist. She made sure her story matched what they would see on the cameras when they replayed the video.  
    "He said he was going to k-kill everyone," Cara stammered. "Good thing I went to defense classes."
    The police treated her with great care and assured her they would take care of her unconscious attacker who was rushed away in an ambulance with a police escort. By the time she gave her statement and limped to the ticket counter, the sun began to rise.  
    People stared at her mussed and bruised appearance, but no one asked questions. Rage's spirit beat against her insides and she staggered. Someone asked if she needed a wheelchair and she declined. When she slipped off her shoes for TSA, someone shoved her from behind. Her leash slipped on the demon and she turned with murderous intent on the asshole before she caught herself. She stood in place, so rigid that she trembled. She closed her eyes and tried to control Rage who was furious at being thwarted.  
    "Ma'am?"  
    Cara opened her eyes and saw a female TSA agent regarding her with a combination of suspicion and wariness. Cara swallowed and winced. It felt as if she had glass shards in her throat.  
    "You okay?" the agent persisted.  
    Cara nodded and walked through the metal detector. She wasn't surprised when TSA pulled her aside for a more thorough search. Cara knew the agent that asked her if she was okay was responsible for this 'routine procedure.' Although Cara didn't appreciate it, the agent had good instincts. Cara was dangerous. Once the inspection was over, she limped to the nearest bathroom. She scrubbed the dirt and blood off of her face and brushed her hair. She didn't have the energy for more than that. Rage howled inside of her and flashed gruesome images in front of her that temporarily blinded her before she bitch slapped him. She zipped her jacket up as high as it could go to cover the mottled bruises on her throat. She bought a bottle of water, painkillers and sleeping pills with the last of her money. She collapsed in her seat on the plane, turned towards the window and downed four pills. She made sure Rage wouldn't slip away from her while she was unconscious. Who knew what havoc he could wreak in a plane cabin? She didn't want to know.
     

    She switched planes in London and felt like a stiff zombie. It was the last leg of her trip and she was beyond exhausted. She bared her teeth in a painful grimace as she sat and tried to find a position that didn't make her feel like shooting someone. Her voice wasn't louder than a whisper and no matter how many pills she took, she was in agony.  
    Rage didn't help matters. During the layover, she snapped at anyone that jarred her and when someone rolled a suitcase over her foot during the layover, she got up and kicked the offender's suitcase. Fortunately, the woman was in such a hurry that she didn't have time to do more than toss Cara a harried, disbelieving look before she rushed onward. Rage ravaged her insides brutally as everyday drama unfolded around her during the layover. Bratty kids screamed for candy while a wife screeched at her husband when she found a text on his phone that indicated he was cheating. Two seats down, a grandmother tried to convince her