Genre and Sub-Genre: Mystery Thriller
Book Content Rating: Adult (18+) Based on language, violence, sexual content.
I stole some more glances around me. Who was thinking the same thing I was? I wondered. Was someone else going to suggest it? Should we leave now? I glanced at Peter who simply gave me a confused look. No one moved and there was little conversation.
That was until the smoke started drifting in. That was the best way I could describe it, like being a block or so away from a fire and having some of the smoke drift into your house. As things began to go slightly hazy, I lost my sense of security. Other people had seen it too and were looking around, starting to shuffle like cows in a pen, whispering to each other.
It is possible that I might die. There was the thought that I’d been avoiding and it came into my mind without any preamble. It was just there. Yes, people die in situations like this. Like on the news. I had the stark realization that I could be a statistic, just like one of those people in earthquakes in South America or in auto accidents. That those people who never had been real to me before actually were real, was a horrifying thought. I imagined someone reading about me in a newspaper or hearing about me from someone who knew me after I was gone.
I looked at my fellow passengers once more and wondered if a group so ordinary could be a group that could die. And it occurred to me that groups that die in tragedies always seem ordinary to themselves. Oh shit.
That night I watched the news; a bad idea considering I was doing my best to put everything out of my mind. I’d managed to gain a certain sense of stability with the help of some single malt scotch.
As I watched I began to get annoyed. I had already gotten tired of seeing still another shot of the towers falling, the interviews with the families hoping to hear from their loved ones. As time went by it had come to seem like someone had to cover the story until it played itself out. The coverage was repetitive, the analysis vague and speculative.
There was one story that was conspicuous for its lack of connection to the towers. A car had been found on a side road in Rockland County, empty of passengers. It had been registered to a Sally Brodman who recently had been involved in a custody battle with her husband. Skid marks seemed to indicate that the car had been forced to a stop. There was no evidence of what happened to Sally and her daughter Taylor, except that the numbers 4, 5, and 1, separated by dashes, had been written in what looked like blood on the left rear door of the car. Her husband was being questioned though no suspects had been officially named.
It had just the right eerie ring to bring my hard won sense of calm crashing down on me. It seemed like the perfect post 9/11 creepiness. More than I wanted to think about just then. I went and made myself another drink.”
Author Website: Neil Douglas Newton
Blog: Where the Buck Stops
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