“Sir?” She knocked again at the plastic door. “Sir? The seatbelt light is on, sir.”
“How long has he been in there?” one of the junior attendants whispered.
She whispered back, “An hour. Maybe more.” Then, louder, “Sir? Sir… I know you’re not feeling well, but you really can’t be in the lavatory when we land.”
There was no answer. “Should I get the Air Marshall?”
“Don’t bother. I saw him when he went in: he could barely stand up.”
“You don’t…” the junior started, then paused before completing the thought. “You don’t think he died in there, do you?”
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