Behind him someone shouted. “I've got it on TV!”
Eric and Allen and a couple dozen other people crowded around the man's desk. A nineteen-inch color television screen was full of an image of the flaming World Trade Center, and a reporter in the studio was talking loud and fast, his voice-over somewhat broken up as the horrifying pictures from the scene continued to come in.
“I repeat, a passenger jet has slammed into the north tower of the World Trade Center. It is assumed at this time that the disaster was some kind of an accident, though ground control received no reports of trouble before the collision occurred.”
Eric took a step back from the desk and turned toward the window once more. A passenger jet? How in the world had something like that happened? And what if it wasn't a mistake? Stunned, Eric walked the remaining ten feet back to the window edge and stared at the flames still pouring from the neighboring building. Hundreds of people had to be dead. And what about the people above the fire? How would they ever get past the inferno?
For a moment, Eric hung his head and closed his eyes. God … it has to be a nightmare in there. Help those people … please. As Eric blinked and took in the awful sight again, he had a distant realization. He had talked to God as though it were the most natural thing in the world. The notion produced a dozen questions at once. Why had it taken this long for Eric to break his silence with God? Why had he stopped praying in the first place? Babies died, didn't they? Had it made his loss any easier by cutting off God? And would God really hear him now, after all these years?
They were questions he'd have to answer later. Right now the entire city was in crisis, and he had to figure out what to do, where to go. Allen was talking to a man a few feet away, and Eric turned back toward the interior of the building. Nearly half the people from the sixty-fourth floor were headed for the bank of elevators. Nervous conversations took place all around him, and Eric caught bits and pieces of the closest of them.
“… down now before something happens to this building.”
“… no point in staying. They'll have the whole street cordoned off if we don't get out of here soon.”
“I couldn't work … not with the tower next to us on fire.”
Distant sirens at the ground level continued to fill the air outside the building. The sixty-fourth floor had a feel of chaos, but not panic. Not yet. Certainly the other floors were experiencing the same thing.
Eric glanced around the expansive office. Most of the employees on that floor worked at the insurance company. There were easily a couple hundred workstations within view of where Eric was standing, and clearly, not all the people at them were leaving.
Allen joined him again, and they watched the pictures on TV for a few minutes. Around them, those who didn't grab their things and leave formed groups of threes and fours, and with a slow, hushed presence, they walked back to their desks.
“We're better off up here out of the way,” an older man said to a group of wide-eyed women. “There's nothing to worry about.”
“What if the fire spreads?”
The man shook his head. “These buildings are too safe for that. Believe me, you're better off back at your desks. You can watch the news from there. The streets will be a nightmare with all those fire trucks.”
Televisions throughout the floor were on now, all tuned to the disaster. Eric glanced at his watch and figured it was just before six o'clock on the West Coast. Laura would still be sleeping, but the news would make her frantic. The only way to ease the shock was to call her himself.
He turned to Allen. “I need to call Laura.”
“Good idea.” Allen's face was pale, but his voice stayed calm. “I'll come with you. Someone at the LA office needs to know we're okay.”
They moved quickly through the insurance company's work space back down the hallway to the office of Koppel and Grant. The secretary had left the front desk, and the place was deserted. Allen strode down the hallway toward his office, and Eric flopped into the secretary's chair, picked up the phone, and dialed his home number.
He listened to the first ring, and suddenly he had an image of the unbelievable nightmare taking place in the building next door. People would be burning alive, suffering torturous deaths. A second ring sounded, and Eric closed his eyes, trying to shut out the horrible pictures in his head. Then for the second time in a handful of minutes, Eric did something he hadn't done in years.
He prayed.
****
Laura had been awake since five-thirty that morning, unable to sleep after the vivid details in her dreams. When the phone rang she glanced at the clock, and in the early morning fog, she wondered if maybe she'd overslept. She reached for the receiver, saw it wasn't on the hook, and remembered that she'd left it in the upstairs office the night before.
It was cool for a Los Angeles morning. She hopped out of bed, slipped into her robe, and darted down the hallway. Josh was sleeping two doors away, so she kept her steps light. She found the phone on the office desk and clicked it just as it rang a third time.
“Hello?” She was out of breath as she fell back on a leather love seat against the office window.
“Hi … it's me.”
For a moment she thought it was Clay. The two brothers' voices were almost identical, but then Clay would never have called her at this hour.
But neither would Eric.
“Eric?” He was breathless, his voice filled with an urgent tone she couldn't remember hearing before.
“Something's happened, Laura … I want you to listen to me. A plane flew into the World Trade Center building, the one next to the one I'm in. A passenger plane. The entire upper section of the tower is on fire.” He paused. “My tower is fine.” He took a shaky breath. “I wanted you to know I was safe.”
“Where … where are you? Are you on the ground?”
“No. I'm still on the sixty-fourth floor. No one's telling us to leave.” He hesitated. “I thought it was a bomb. In this building, not the other one. It was that loud.”
“You can't stay up there.” Laura's heart skipped a beat and then raced at twice its normal speed. She grabbed a nearby remote control, flicked on the television, and immediately saw it. The building was billowing black smoke and enormous flames. Her free hand flew over her mouth. “Oh, Eric … it's awful. I've … I've never seen anything like it. A passenger plane did that?”
“Yes.” Eric was breathing fast. He must've been more worried than he let on. “The reporter said it looks like an accident, like the pilot lost control of the plane.”
Laura's eyes were locked on the image of the burning tower. “An accident? Surely a pilot could figure out a way to miss the World Trade Center. Even if the plane was out of control. You aren't staying, are you?”
“For now. Most people seem to think we're better off up here, out of the way of the firefighters.”
Suddenly, Laura saw something fall from high up near the burning floors of the building. Not three seconds later, two more things plummeted from one of the flaming windows.
“No! This is too awful.” The reporter's voice sounded suddenly frantic. “I believe those were people you just saw falling from the building.” He paused. “Falling or jumping.” Another hesitation. “Yes, I've just been told those were people jumping from the tower.” His voice grew quieter. “We can only imagine the horror taking place in that building right now.”
Laura closed her eyes for a moment. What had she just witnessed? Frantic people hurling themselves to certain death? It was the worst thing she could imagine. “God Almighty help them.” She muttered the words and struggled to exhale.
“What's happening, Laura? I don't have a TV in the office here.”
“People are jumping.” Her tone was soft, filled with shock. She looked away from the television. “I can't watch.”
“Don't then. Leave it on, but look away.” For the first time in years his tone held a hint of concern for her. “Maybe I'll leave after all. Go back to the hotel and
stay there until my flight leaves. That way I'll …”
She was no longer listening to him. From the corner of the screen, an enormous passenger jet came into view, angled slightly, and headed straight for Eric's building. Laura jumped up, her heart in her throat.
“Eric!” She shouted his name and gripped the phone. “Look out!”
The plane slammed straight into the tower, and flames sliced across the building and ripped through at least four floors. “Eric! Can you hear me?” Laura screamed into the receiver, her words shrill and desperate. Her entire body shook, and she felt her head begin to spin. Why wouldn't he answer her? “Talk to me!”
She smashed the phone to her ear, frantic for any kind of sound from him. But there was only silence. Two seconds passed, and she heard a click on the other line, followed by a dial tone. She held the phone in front of her and pressed the Caller I.D. button. Her fingers were shaking so much she could barely press the talk button, but as she did, the phone automatically dialed the number Eric had called from.
Laura waited, unable to breathe. But instead of ringing, there was only a fast busy signal. “No, God … no!” She whispered the prayer as she dropped the TV remote, grabbed a quick breath, and dialed the number again. “Not Eric. Get him out of there … please.” Again the busy signal sounded on the other end. She moved closer to the television and dropped to the floor, her eyes glued to the second flaming tower.
“No, God …!” Her words were muted, breathy and weak. She wanted to scream, but she couldn't find the strength. Black spots danced before her eyes, and she slipped her head between her knees for a moment. She couldn't faint, not now. She needed to find out what floors were involved in this second collision. It was possible Eric was okay. Yes, it had to be possible.
She sucked in three quick breaths and ordered herself to remain alert.
A few feet away, the reporter was shouting out the news. “A second plane, I repeat, a second plane has hit the World Trade Center south tower. We're getting word now that the United States is possibly under some type of terrorist attack.”
Laura lifted her head and pursed her lips. Short breaths. She needed to take short breaths and push the air out so she didn't hyperventilate. “What floor?” She raised her voice at the television and slid closer. “Tell me what floor!”
“… terrorists may have hijacked the planes and flown them into the World Trade Center as some kind of attack. We have confirmation now that one of the planes was American Airlines Flight 11 out of Boston and the other …”
The images made Laura dizzy. Sections of both towers were fully engulfed in flames, but where was Eric? She lifted the telephone receiver close to her face and thought of something. His cell phone! Why hadn't he called from his cell in the first place? Eric always had his cell phone. She dialed the number from memory.
“Answer … come on, Eric, answer the phone!” She hissed the words, certain that this time she'd hear ringing on the other end. But instead, a mechanical voice sounded across the line. “The caller you're trying to reach is not available or out of the service area. Please try your call at a later—”
She dropped the receiver and slapped the television. “Tell me what floor!” Her tone was loud again, almost shouting. “Where's the fire? Come on, tell me!” The sound was too low, that was it. The television needed to be louder in case they might mention which floors were on fire. She searched the carpet beside her for the TV remote and grabbed it. Her hands shook worse than before, but she managed to turn up the volume.
“… made hotter by an unknown amount of jet fuel aboard the planes.” The reporter hesitated. “Reports say that the plane that crashed into the south tower was United Flight 175 from Boston. There may have been a hundred or more people on each of those passenger jets.”
The news camera angle widened some, and Laura could see most of both of the towers. An idea gripped her. She could count down from the top of the south tower; figure out where the fire was burning that way. The black dots were back, but she ignored them. Walking on her knees, she came up to the television set, placed her finger on the top floor of the flaming south tower and began silently counting.
One, two, three, four, five, six …
The image changed, and now Laura was looking at dozens of fire trucks arriving at the scene. “No! Don't do this to me.” Her scream echoed against the walls. “Let me see the building!” Nausea swept over her, and she shook her head, desperate to keep herself from fainting. Three quick breaths and she brought her lips together once more. Blow out … God, help me blow out. I need to focus.
The picture shifted again, and this time Laura could see a partial view of the south tower. Bringing her nose almost to the screen, she began to cry. “Eric! Where are you?… Call me and tell me you're okay!”
Something moved outside the office. She looked up, and through her tears she saw Josh, standing in the hallway staring at her, his mouth open. He was still in his pajamas, and his eyes looked squinty.
“Mom? What's wrong?” He entered the office and studied her.
She'd woken him up. Laura wiped at her eyes and sat back on her heels. Something about the boy's presence instantly restored within her a semblance of normalcy. “Josh, honey, come here.” She held out her arms and waited while he crossed the room.
He hugged her, his arms tight around her neck for several seconds. Then he pulled away and looked at the TV screen. “Wow.” Once more the image was of the Twin Towers, balls of fire and black smoke still pouring from the buildings. Josh studied the picture for a moment while Laura held her breath. Josh had seen pictures of Manhattan often enough to recognize it. He shifted his gaze to Laura. “Mom, is that New York City?”
Laura gulped and locked eyes with her son; then she dropped to the floor again. She had to tell him; there was no way around it. Besides, the news station had begun to replay the image of the passenger jet slamming into the south tower. “Yes.” She reached out and took his small hand in hers. “Airplanes crashed into the buildings, Josh.”
He looked at the television again. “Is Dad in there?”
“Well …” She couldn't seem to get enough air to talk, but she forced herself to say the words, anyway. “Yes, honey. He's in there somewhere.”
“In the …” The color drained from Josh's face, and he blinked twice. Again he glanced at Laura. “In the fire? Is that where Dad is?”
“No.” Laura shook her head as quickly as she could, short jerky movements as though the more certain she appeared about Eric's fate, the better off he'd somehow be. “No, Daddy's not in the fire. His office is lower than that.” Her words sounded unnatural, like someone else was saying them. It was impossible to know if she was telling her son the truth or not. Where is he, God … how come they won't say what floor the fire's on?
Josh sat down cross-legged on the floor beside Laura. “That's the biggest fire I've ever seen.”
“Me too.” Laura wanted to scream. She wanted to run around the room and hit the walls, or call someone in New York and ask if Eric was okay. But she had Josh to think about. She pursed her lips once more and blew out two quick times. Another idea hit her. She could call Murphy from the Woodland Hills office and ask if he'd heard from Eric. Her husband was meticulously organized. Murphy's number was bound to be in the desk drawer in Eric's phonebook.
She was on her feet, grabbing the phone from the floor and tearing through the drawer. It had to be here. Her hands trembled less than before as she flipped through the letters to the M section. Where is it? Come on … Murphy … Murphy … Murphy.
There it was. Three numbers—one for work, one for the man's cell, and one for home.
“What're you doing?” Josh was watching her, his face nervous.
“Calling Daddy's friend.” She managed to keep her voice calm. “He might know where Daddy is.”
As quickly as her fingers could move, she tapped out the number and held the phone to her ear. Murphy answered on the second ring. “Hello?”
&nb
sp; “Hi … this is Laura Michaels.”
There was the briefest pause. “Are you watching the news?”
“Yes.” Laura fought back the dizziness. “I was talking to Eric when it … when the plane hit.”
“I'm sorry, Laura.” Murphy's voice was stilted, unnatural. The entire conversation, the scenes from the television, all of it felt like it was happening to someone else.
“Have you heard from him? Since it happened, I mean?” As the words left her mouth, she realized how crazy they sounded. Of course Murphy hadn't heard from Eric. The phones had gone out the minute the plane hit the building. Still, she waited for Murphy's response, hoping that somehow he knew something she didn't.
“He hasn't called.” Murphy waited a moment. “But he's okay, Laura. I have to believe that.”
A flicker of hope ignited in Laura's soul. “How … how come?”
“The news said the plane entered at about the seventy-eighth floor. Koppel and Grant's on the sixty-fourth. I'd guess the fire's spread below the crash site, but our guys were down far enough. They should be able to get out.”
Laura imagined Eric and Allen and the others from the company rushing for the elevator. Or maybe the elevator wasn't working. If not, then they'd be pushing frantically for the stairwell trying to walk to ground level. The notion was absurd. Sixty-four floors! Eric might be able to handle the climb down, but what about the older men and women who worked that high up. “Eric knows I'm worried. How long would it take him to get out of there?”
“One of the reporters said the evacuation was averaging about one floor every minute. So, I don't know. An hour at least.”
“How long's it been?” Laura steadied herself against the desk to keep from falling. The floor beneath her feet felt like it had turned to jelly, the same way it felt the last time a minor earthquake rolled through their area. Laura closed her eyes again to stave off the nausea.
“The plane hit a little after nine.” Murphy paused. “It's a quarter past right now.”
One Tuesday Morning Page 11
