Falling(33)

Ben chuckled and turned back to his tablet.

Bill looked at his computer, then his phone. He’d lost count of how many times he’d done that. Still no word from his family. Just then, his phone lit up with a text.

Gary Robinson iMessage.



Bill’s shoulders released with his exhale. He couldn’t care less what his neighbor wanted. He ignored it.

Checking his watch, Bill played the game.

It was a game Carrie came up with when they’d first started dating, back when she was still living in Chicago. She told him the world was sublime when they were together. But whenever he’d leave to fly a trip, she was miserable. She’d find herself thinking of how many time zones separated them, and that made it feel like Bill was even farther away. So she made up this game where she would think of where he was or what he was doing as opposed to just what time it was there. The clock would say it was eight p.m., but instead she would think, Dinnertime. He’s probably somewhere over the Rockies. It’s a full moon tonight, and I bet the snow on the mountains is absolutely glowing. And somehow, Bill wouldn’t feel as far away.

Bill thought it was silly. He was as firmly left-brained as she was right, so the soft reimagining of the way things were just didn’t compute. Loneliness can bend a man in unexpected ways, though, and late one night, alone in Honolulu, Bill couldn’t sleep. Carrie was four hours away. It was seven in the morning her time. He envisioned her stretching in bed, wearing that old, oversized IWU baseball T-shirt she slept in. He knew she would get up and make coffee right away, NPR playing in the background. She would choose the pink mug with the words “Ooh la la!” written in cursive under the Eiffel Tower. It was her favorite. Just cream, no sugar.

Rolling over, he’d tucked a pillow under his arm and drifted off to sleep.

He’d played the game ever since.

He looked at his watch. Five thirty-seven in LA. At this time, Carrie would be…

It was like staring at a blank piece of paper. He couldn’t fathom what Carrie was doing and every attempt to imagine it led him back to the image of her screaming in agony as a man tortured her in their own home. He closed his eyes, searching in the dark for a world where this didn’t happen. A world where he turned down the trip, where he chose to be a father and a husband over a pilot. A world where his family was simply going on with their day.

A lump formed in his throat as he remembered.

Five thirty-seven in Los Angeles. They should have been at Scott’s baseball game.

His phone glowed. Pat Burkett iMessage. Bill frowned. Another neighbor? Why were—

He rushed to open the messages.

Hey buddy are u flying? Were u home? Let me know if I can help

Hi Bill, Pat here. I saw you drive off this morning, I think you’re flying? Do you know where Carrie and the kids are? Are they ok? Oh my god this is just insane. Please check in. Steve and I are here for anything you guys need. Please let us know how we can help.



Help with what? What were they talking about? Hot panic seared through his veins. His thumbs hovered over the tiny keyboard, the cursor blinking in wait. He had to be careful.

Hey Gary. I’m flying. What’s up?



Gary would give him facts. Pat would give him gossip. Three dots on the other side of Gary’s text popped up. That was fast.

Wow. Ok. This is hard man. Have u heard about ur house?



Bill couldn’t feel his fingers as he asked the neighbor what he meant by that.

It exploded. They’re saying gas leak. Where are Carrie and the kids?



Bill stared at the message so long without moving that his phone went dark. It slipped out of his fingers, falling into his lap. He didn’t move.

Carrie. Scott. Elise. His whole world. Gone. He envisioned their house from the inside. The kitchen table, where they read the paper while Scott crunched Rice Krispies. The nursery, where he rocked Elise back to sleep. The living room, where they decorated the Christmas tree. Their bedroom, where Carrie’s body tucked into his at night. He tried to place that world on fire, blown to bits. He tried to fade his family out, to make them disappear. His mind wouldn’t let him. There was just no way. It couldn’t be.

Carrie, wearing the suicide vest. Gagged. Holding Elise. Next to Scott.

A wave of nausea washed over Bill as he realized that was the final image he would ever see of his family. A lifetime of love and joy, and he knew he would fixate on that final shot for the rest of his life. This was his fault. Bill had failed as a husband, as a father, as a protector.

He was going to be sick. Bill was grasping for the trash bag when a picture of his wife popped up on his computer with the words “Accept FaceTime call from Carrie Cell.” Bill stared in disbelief before clicking on the green button.

His eyes darted back and forth across the screen, willing the call to connect. Please let them be alive. Please, God. Show me my family. His face slid out of the way as the call went through. In the center of the screen appeared his family. All three. Alive. He pinched his leg as hard as he could to keep from weeping.

Carrie and Scott were still bound, but no longer gagged. Sam was by their side, holding the detonator. Both he and Carrie were still covered in explosives. Carrie was holding Elise, so he couldn’t make out the condition of her arm from the boiling water, but she appeared to be all right.

They were alive. Bill felt dazed with relief. He forced himself to focus.