by Tom Rogers
He turned to face the house at 417 Van Orton.
There was no house at 417 Van Orton.
Whatever had been there had burned to the ground. All that remained was a charred foundation, a few blackened timbers, and the remains of a teetering brick chimney propped up by a single two-by-four. A chain-link fence circled the lot, hung with “No Trespassing” signs every five feet.
Alex pressed against the fence; the sharp steel stung his fingers, but he held on tight as his world turned upside down again.
No! I did what I promised! he thought. I held up my end of the bargain! Bring the dog home, and Dad will be safe: that was the deal!
But how could he bring Radar home, if Radar had no home?
Radar raced along the fence until he found a narrow opening and squeezed through. Alex saw him too late.
“Radar, no. Get back here!”
“I’ll get him,” said Nunu, slipping easily through the hole in the fence.
“Nunu, get out! It’s dangerous!”
She was inside before the words left his mouth. Alex dove after her and tried to squeeze under the fence, but he was too big. He clawed at the ground, pulling himself along in the dirt. The fence caught on his shirt. He was stuck, pinned on his belly.
“Freeze. Don’t you move a muscle.”
It was a man’s voice. Alex didn’t recognize it. And it didn’t sound friendly. Alex twisted, trying to see behind him.
A surly old man stood above him, scowling down. His left hand hovered in his coat pocket.
“Come on out of there nice and slow.”
Alex tried again but couldn’t budge. “I can’t move. I’m stuck.”
“Good. That’ll make it easier for the cops.”
“No, wait. It’s not my fault—”
“I’m sick and tired of you people always coming around to trash this place. And on a day like this. Can’t you show any respect?”
“I’m just trying to—”
“How many more of you are there?”
Alex started to answer, then realized if the man had to ask, he hadn’t seen Nunu. “Just me. I’m the only one.” Alex hoped it sounded convincing.
And then Radar barked.
The old man looked up as the dog came bounding over, with Nunu at his heels. The man’s expression changed completely.
“Is that Radar?”
CHAPTER 31
Van Orton Street
3:14 p.m.
“A bunch of druggies used to live there. They got evicted, so they trashed the place and bolted in the middle of the night. They dumped Radar out on the street like somebody’s garbage.”
The old man reached down and scratched Radar behind the ears, careful to avoid his bandage. Radar wagged his tail happily. Radar obviously knew the old man and liked him, so Alex breathed a little easier and figured the old man must be okay.
The old man opened the gate to his yard next door and ushered them through.
“Then a bunch more druggies got in there and burned the whole place down. Almost took my house with it, but the fire trucks got here in time.” He paused at the porch steps and glanced over at the empty lot. “This used to be a good neighborhood.”
He turned sharply to Alex.
“You do drugs?”
Alex shook his head. The old man nodded approvingly and opened the front door. “Then come on in. I bet you kids could use a snack.”
Radar darted right in like he owned the place.
Alex hung back. The old man looked at him curiously, then saw that Alex was staring at the man’s coat pocket.
“Is that…?”
The old man laughed and slid the shiny black object out of his pocket.
“Remote control. I had the news on.”
The house reminded Alex of his grandmother’s. Everything inside was dark green and plaid. Little circles of lace draped the arms and backs of the sofa and chairs. The big oval rug in the entryway looked a little threadbare. It all felt familiar and oddly comforting.
“Call me Mac,” said the old man, his voice suddenly quiet and gentle. “It’s short for MacKnight. That’s Mrs. Mac on the sofa.”
“I’m Alex. That’s my sister, Nunu. Guess you already know Radar.”
Alex followed as Mac led them into the living room, where a tiny, stooped old lady sat on the sofa. She didn’t look up as they entered. Her eyes were glued to the TV. It took Alex a minute to realize she was watching a pre-school cartoon, all bright colors and bubbly wubbly songs.
Mac bent down close to her and squeezed her shoulders softly. “We got company, Dottie. This is Nunu and Alex.”
Dottie turned and noticed them. She broke into a wide smile, then reached out to pat Nunu on the head.
“Bunny!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands.
Then she looked right at Alex.
“Bunny,” she said, seriously.
Her eyes were clear and green, but even Alex could tell she no longer knew what she was seeing. Dottie turned back to the TV and bobbed her head ever so slightly as the bouncy characters launched into another song.
“Have a seat,” Mac said. “I’ll go get us that snack.”
Alex didn’t know what else to do, so he took a seat and waited. Radar curled up at his feet. Nunu settled in between Alex and Mrs. Mac, then leaned over and whispered, “Is Gramma here?”
“Huh?”
“It smells like Gramma.”
“It smells like perfume and old socks.”
“Yep.”
It didn’t take long for Nunu to get sucked into the cartoon. Radar put his head on his paws and drifted off to sleep. Alex just sat there, at a loss. Where would he go next? What could he possibly do now?
He needed a new deal, but he was all out of ideas.
Alex heard a low voice murmuring in the next room. He slid off the end of the couch and followed the sound into the den. The voice was coming from a TV. The news was on. Alex paused in the doorway. From the side, he couldn’t see the television clearly, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to.
But he had to.
He took a deep breath and stepped through the door.
“To recap today’s horrifying events: in what appears to be a coordinated series of attacks on major American institutions, three or possibly four commercial jets were hijacked by suspected terrorists this morning and deliberately crashed into buildings in New York and Washington.
“At approximately 8:45 a.m., American Airlines Flight 11, a Boeing 767 out of Boston, was hijacked and intentionally flown into the North Tower of the World Trade Center in New York City. It struck around the 94th floor, and smoke and flames were immediately seen pouring from the building.
“Then at 9:03 Eastern time, a second 767, United Airlines Flight 175, also out of Boston, banked hard over New York Harbor and flew directly into the South Tower of the World Trade Center. It struck the south face of the building around the 80th floor, sending a fireball out the opposite side of the building.
“At approximately 9:40 a.m., a third plane crashed into the Pentagon in Washington, D.C. That plane, American Airlines Flight 77, left Washington Dulles this morning en route to Los Angeles but was apparently hijacked and turned back to complete its deadly mission.
“A fourth flight, United 93 out of Newark and bound for San Francisco, has crashed in a rural area in western Pennsylvania. Details are unclear now, but sources tell us the plane may well have had the White House as its target. We have also received reports that the passengers onboard United Flight 93 fought back and caused the plane to crash in an uninhabited area, preventing what could have been a much bigger tragedy.
“Then at about 10:00 this morning, the truly unthinkable came to pass, as all one hundred ten stories of the South Tower of the World Trade Center completely collapsed, plummeting into the streets below. The North Tower continued to burn for another half hour; then it, too, completely collapsed. There were believed to be hundreds or possibly even thousands of workers and an unknown number of fire, polic
e, and rescue personnel still trapped in the two buildings when they went down.
“Both collapses sent massive clouds of dust and debris roaring through the streets of lower Manhattan. All that remains of the Twin Towers is a smoldering pile of rubble that continues to burn fiercely at this hour, hampering rescue efforts.
“Other buildings around the World Trade Center have also been heavily damaged by the fires and the destruction of the Twin Towers. Fire officials tell us they believe the collapse of World Trade Center 7 is imminent.
“The death toll from today’s events is unknown at this time but is expected to reach into the thousands.”
Alex heard a cough behind him.
Mac stood in the doorway, holding a plate of cookies. The old man dug the remote out of his pocket and muted the volume.
“You didn’t know?”
“I knew,” said Alex.
But there’s knowing, and then there’s seeing. Seeing was a thousand times worse. Seeing made it real.
“They went down so fast,” he said, his voice a whisper. “Is it true?”
“Of course it’s true,” Mac answered gruffly.
“No, I mean, there were people? Still inside?”
Mac nodded and looked away.
Alex felt weak. He sat down heavily on the couch. Tears rolled down his cheeks.
“He’s not coming home,” Alex whispered.
“What?”
“My dad.”
Mac scowled. “You don’t know that.”
“Yes I do.”
“No you don’t. My own son was in the North Tower. And I expect him to come walking down this street any minute.”
Alex shook his head. “Not my dad.”
“Stop it,” Mac barked.
“But he’s not.”
“Don’t talk like that!”
“But it’s true! You don’t understand! I was supposed to give up Radar and take him home! But now I can’t because he doesn’t even have a home and if I can’t take Radar home then my dad’s not coming home! And it’s all my fault!”
Mac stared at him. “You’re making less sense than Dottie, son.”
“I told him….”
“Who?”
“My dad.” Alex took an unsteady breath. “I told him, ‘I hate you.’”
Alex’s shoulders shook as he wrapped his arms around his legs and buried his face in his knees. Mac laid a hand gently on his shoulder and let him cry. Finally, he spoke up quietly.
“Son? Help an old man. What’s all that got to do with Radar?”
Alex pulled his head up. “I already told you! I made a deal! If I take Radar home, then Dad will come home.”
Mac nodded slowly. “You made a deal.”
“I thought if I did a good thing, I could undo a bad thing.”
Mac chuckled.
Alex scowled. “Don’t laugh at me.”
“Son, I’m only laughing because I’ve been doing the exact same thing all day.”
Mac led the way back to the kitchen and found some tissues so Alex could blow his nose.
“My latest deal was to stop watching the phone. I convinced myself it wouldn’t ring as long as I was staring at it. I thought if I could hold out for five minutes, then it would ring and it’d be my son. The longest I made it was thirtyone seconds.”
“What’s his name?”
“Bobby. He’s an investment banker. You know what an investment banker does?”
Alex shook his head.
“Me neither. All I know is he moves money around.”
“My dad moves people around,” Alex said with a hint of pride. “He drives the PATH train to Manhattan.”
“My son rides that train to work.”
“My dad doesn’t ride. He stands.”
“He goes off every morning in a crisp white shirt. And every night he comes home wrinkled and pit-stained with his sleeves rolled up.”
“That’s just like my dad.”
“I’d like to meet your dad.”
“I’d like to meet your son.”
“Bobby’s our only one. A real sweet kid. Listen to me. ‘Kid.’ He’s in his thirties. Probably about your dad’s age, I guess.” Mac’s face clouded up. “He doesn’t deserve….” His voice made a little choked sound. Alex understood.
Mac cleared his throat. “He volunteers at the soup kitchen downtown. Gives blood twice a year. After his mom started to slip, he moved back in to help me take care of her. He even gets us tickets to the ballgame a couple times a year.”
“Yankee fan?” Alex motioned at Mac’s cap.
“He dreams in pinstripes. You?”
“Yep. Me and my dad.”
They were both quiet for a while. Mac broke the silence. “He was a good boy.”
Alex looked sharply at Mac. “Is,” he corrected him.
It took a second for Mac to realize what he’d said. Then he broke into a smile.
“You got your dad’s number?”
Alex held up his cell phone.
“Let’s give ’em another try.”
Mac picked up the kitchen phone and dialed. Alex sat at the table with his cell phone and punched the speed-dial for his dad.
Mac put the phone to his ear, then brightened. “It’s ringing.”
Alex sat up straight. “Mine too.”
CHAPTER 32
The Man in the White Shirt
3:34 p.m.
In a gutter in downtown Manhattan, half-buried under a piece of sheet metal, a lost cell phone buzzed to life.
But the Man in the White Shirt was no longer there to answer the call.
CHAPTER 33
Everything’s Changed
3:35 p.m.
“No answer.” Mac slowly hung up the handset.
“Me either.” Alex closed his phone.
Neither one said anything for a minute.
“Why?”
It was Alex’s turn to play the Why game.
“Why what?” Mac replied.
“Why did they do it?” asked Alex.
Mac chewed it over a long time.
“I don’t know.”
“How come the World Trade Center?”
Mac shrugged. “Big target.”
“Do they hate us?”
“Looks like.”
“Why?”
“Don’t know.”
“It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Nope. Things happen,” Mac said. “They don’t always make sense.”
Mac glanced into the living room, where Dottie was snuggled up with Nunu, the two of them chatting like old friends about a cartoon on TV.
“We’ve had our share of tough times, Dottie and me. But she always had a phrase for times like this. Soon as I’d start bellyaching, she’d say, ‘Better to light a candle than curse the darkness.’”
Alex thought about that. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Damned if I know,” Mac chuckled. “There’s always bad stuff and good stuff in the world. I guess it means keep searching for the good.”
“What’s so good about today?”
Mac thought a moment. “You found Radar.”
Alex pursed his lips. Okay, he thought. Maybe.
Radar came running in as he heard his name. Mac reached down and scratched the dog’s ears. Radar’s tail thumped against the chair legs. “Human beings have done evil things to each other for as long as there’ve been human beings. We also do kind things, too. Rescue a stray dog. Keep an old man company.”
Alex thought about it some more, then shook his head.
“You don’t want to keep me company?” asked Mac.
“No. I mean, yes. But….”
“But what?”
“But everything’s changed,” said Alex. He pointed at the TV in the other room. “That’s what they said. After today, everything’s changed.”
Mac considered this for a while. Then he stood up and motioned for Alex to follow. They stepped out the front door and emerged into the shockingly b
right sunshine. The air was warm, the sky cloudless and clear. Mac turned to Alex.
“What do you hear?”
Alex listened. “Birds.”
“What else?”
“Cars. A dog.”
“Sun still shining?”
“Yeah.”
“Sky still blue?”
“Uh-huh.”
“So tell me how everything’s changed.”
Alex chewed on his lip.
“It all depends on how you look at things,” Mac continued. “When Dottie started to slip away, all I could see was what I was losing. Now I treasure every day with her.”
Mac lowered himself onto the porch step. “Sometimes when a terrible thing happens, it can make a beautiful thing seem even more precious.”
“But doesn’t it make you mad, what happened to her?”
“I suppose I could be mad.” He paused. “But what good would that do?”
Alex wanted to believe what Mac was saying.
“But what if…what if he’s gone?”
Mac frowned. “Don’t talk like that.”
“But what if?”
“Didn’t you hear a word I said?”
“But I might never see him again—”
Mac exploded. “That’s enough, dammit!” He looked away, red-faced.
Alex jerked back, startled by Mac’s outburst.
“I’m just scared he won’t come home,” Alex said quietly. “Aren’t you?”
Mac nodded, blinking hard. “I can’t lose Bobby, too,” he whispered.
Alex watched in surprise as tears began to roll down the old man’s face. He’d never seen an adult cry. He didn’t know what to do, so he just reached his hand out and patted Mac gently on the shoulder. It must’ve been okay, because Mac put a hand over Alex’s. They sat there in silence a very long time.
Alex looked up and down the street. It was just like Mac said: everything looked so normal.
Then he noticed something new. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t spotted it yet.
“I know what’s different,” said Alex. “No planes.”
Mac looked up at the empty sky. “You like planes?” he asked.
Mac led him around back to the garage and swung open the door, flooding the room with light. Alex couldn’t believe his eyes. The entire place was filled with model planes. Biplanes and triplanes. Jets and turbo-props. Swept-wing fighters and bubble-nosed 747s. They lined the shelves and filled the corners and dangled from wires.