Wherever You Will Go

Chapter Three

I knelt on the floor, curled into myself. I cradled my bump in my arms as warm, silent tears streamed down my face. This was a dream, a horrible dream. No, it was worse than a dream, it was a nightmare. In fact it was even worse than a nightmare; it was real.
I could barely breathe. He was gone. My lovely, kind, funny husband who I had spoken to about house keys only that morning like it was any normal day. I didn’t want to believe it. I couldn’t believe it. His life extinguished in a second.
“Mommy?” a small voice came from the stairs. I couldn’t move. In fact, I didn’t even try. There was a silence for a few seconds and I closed my eyes to relish in it. It almost seemed like I was becoming a pro in the business of grieving.
Bobby called my name again and I woke up. I had a son. My husband may be gone but I have a beautiful, beautiful son, so innocent and naive. I struggled to get to my feet and I turned to face him. He ran to me and clutched me tight round the waist. I didn’t want to cry in front of him but I couldn’t be that scared little girl I was when my dad died. I couldn’t confine myself to my room to grieve. I was the adult now and Bobby was the child. As he watched me cry, he rubbed my belly and then held me tighter. How could I tell him he would never see his beloved daddy again?
The phone rang and made us both jump. I rushed to grab it, half hoping to hear Lee’s voice in some sort of miracle turn-around. It was my mother.
“Sweetheart, tell me what’s going on? Is everything ok? Is everyone ok? Speak to me because I’m tearing my hair out over here. It’s been a nightmare trying to get through, the lines must be so busy.”
“I’m ok, mom. Bobby and I, we’re in the house. But...” I choked on the words before I could get them out. My throat was seizing up as tears stung my eyes.
“Lee, what about Lee? Was he at the office? Please God; tell me he’s alright and that he got out of there?” her voice shook as if she already knew the answer but was hoping she was wrong.
“No.” Was all I could say.
There was a terrible silence. My mother had been where I was right then. Knowing her husband was never coming home. She knew the pain I was feeling. But there was nothing she could do to help. There was nothing anybody could do.
She started to cry. Then I started to cry. I had thought that dad’s death had hardened us both, in a sense, to the agony of losing someone you love. Apparently, I was wrong.
“It hurts. I hurt.” I sobbed, tears wetting the phone against my cheek. I heard my mom cough as if she was composing herself. She was always trying to be the strong one and often looked almost embarrassed if she showed her grief in front of the children she was supposed to protect.
“Oh honey, I know. I don’t even know what to say. I’m so, so sorry that you have to go through this again. It’s just cruel. I’m going to come to you as soon as I can. I’m at a payphone at the minute because I had to run to the garage but I’ll call you back when I get home, hopefully it won’t take me too long to get through. Be brave. I love you.”
And I was alone again.
For two hours, I sat on the couch by the window. In the distance I could see the dust clouds swirling around the city’s skyline. There were no towers anymore, even after the dust started to settle. The sky was empty.
Bobby played at my feet with his fire trucks my mom had bought him for his birthday. He made siren noises and crashed them into the legs of the couch, overturning them as he did so and saying “Oh no, the trucks are broken!” He didn’t know how right he was.
It was two o’ clock when my mom finally called back. She spoke with Bobby and he told her about his trucks. I overheard him telling her that I had been crying. It tore me up, knowing that he knew I was so sad. I took a deep breath. I was ready to try and tell him now.
Sitting at the dining room table, drinking a glass of milk, I leant over and put my hand on his.
“Sweetie, you know mommy has been crying today?” He nodded.
“Well, it’s because I’m sad. I’m sad because daddy isn’t going to be coming home.” My voice started to choke up but I carried on, forcing the words out, forcing myself to believe them even though I was meant to be talking to my five year old son.
“Some bad men hurt him and so the angels came and took him away so that the bad men couldn’t hurt him anymore. So I’m also crying because I’m happy. Daddy is in a beautiful place and he’s being looked after. And he’s watching to make sure you’re being good. He told me to tell you that he loves you very much and that you have to be a brave boy. It’s ok to be sad...” I paused, wiping tears from my face with the sleeve of my sweater.
Bobby looked at me with those big eyes. I could tell he understood a little bit but that it was going to be something I had to explain to him every day for a long time until he really understood properly.
“Are you ok?” I asked him. He looked down at his glass of milk.
“Daddy isn’t coming home? Who will read ‘Where The Wild Things Are’ when I go to bed? Daddy promised he would.”
“I know he promised, Bobby. But sometimes people can’t keep their promises.”
“Will he like it where he’s going? Can I go and visit?” He looked at me, hopeful for a few seconds.
“No honey, you can’t go and visit. It’s a special place that you’re only allowed to go to if the angels take you there themselves.”
He lowered his head further.
“I wish the angels would come and get me and you so we could see him.”
I stood up and took him in my arms and I held him tighter than I had ever held anything in my life.
“I know, sweetie. So do I.”

I managed to make us a pizza for dinner but I ate nothing. I had a thousand things racing through my head, things I couldn’t control. Did he suffer or was it quick? Was he scared? Were we the last things he thought of? Did he cry? All questions to answers I would never know. It hadn’t even hit me yet that there would be none of him left to recover. A horror I couldn’t bear myself to even justify thinking about.
“Come on you, time for bed.” I half-heartedly ushered Bobby upstairs and tucked him in.
“Will you read my story?” he asked me, pulling his rocket ship duvet up by his chin.
“Of course I will.” I read the story without a glitch. I knew all the words without even needing the book. I’d never read it myself, it was always Lee’s duty to do that, on Bobby’s orders. I overheard it so many times. I used to laugh at the way they would both get so immersed in it. How Lee would do the voices of the monsters until Bobby squealed. How the first few times he read it to him, Bobby ended up in our bed in the middle of the night because he was convinced the monsters were in his closet and that only his daddy could keep him safe.
He was never a mummy’s boy but I had never once resented his closeness with his dad. Boys will be boys; I used to think to myself. Those nights he came into our bed, I would watch the two of them cuddled up together and think I was the luckiest girl in the world to have two such beautiful boys in my life. In hindsight, I wish I had taken a Kodak of those moments. But hindsight is a wonderful thing and I never dreamed that I would need to because I always thought we had so much time left to take pictures of every single one of our memories together.
“Ok, sleep time now.” I whispered and stroked his hair.
“Wait.” He said, climbing out of bed.
He raced down the hallway and into my bedroom opposite. He disappeared for a minute then emerged holding something in his hand. As he climbed back into bed I saw it was a small framed picture from Lee’s bedside table of him and Bobby in our garden.
It was taken in the summer and Lee had been trying to teach Bobby a bit of baseball.
“He’s only five, Lee. I don’t think he’s going to be all that good at it.” I had called from the kitchen window.
“There’s no harm in him having a swing-about.” Lee had replied and, as if right on cue, Bobby swung the bat and hit Lee straight in the crotch and he fell to the ground. I ran out to see if he was ok but I couldn’t help but laugh. Just one of the many other moments I wish I had caught on tape.
“Can I have this in my bed?” Bobby asked and held up the picture. I nodded. He kissed Lee’s face from behind the glass and then cradled the frame in his arms.
“Night, mommy. I love you. Night, daddy. I love you too.” And he closed his eyes and buried his head in his pillow. I watched him for a few minutes then went downstairs. And I cried for three whole hours.
My eyes were so raw I could barely keep them open. I knew I wouldn’t get any sleep that night. I even contemplated sitting on the bottom step of the stairs, like I used to do as a child when I waited for my dad, just to make sure Lee definitely wasn’t coming home. Instead, I took myself off to bed.
I sat staring at all of the photographs in our room one by one. It had never really occurred to me that each one had its own story behind it. There was one of me and Lee on the beach, smiling, lying on separate towels. It was taken when we went to visit friends in Florida. I noticed that on the photograph I wasn’t wearing any rings and I remembered that that picture had been taken the same day that Lee proposed to me.
Another was of me and Bobby sitting on the bench on the porch. He was on my knee with his left arm in a cast. He was only two. He had fallen while climbing on the couch and fractured his arm. He screamed blue murder in that X-Ray room and I resorted to singing to try and calm him down. Lee had raced to the hospital after work to check on him and Bobby had brightened up straight away. They sat and watched cartoons on the small monitor in the corner of the ward while I sat next to him holding the un-cast hand. But of course, as soon as we were allowed home, all Bobby wanted to do was play outside so we compromised and let him sit out on the porch.
I found myself almost smiling, thinking back. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t override the sadness. In every memory of every photograph, Lee was always there. Now it was just me, Bobby and our baby-to-be. All of our future memories wouldn’t include Lee and our unborn daughter would never even meet the father that loved her so very much. Those were the things that hurt the most.
I crept into Bobby’s room around midnight and got into his bed. He was fast asleep yet he turned over and snuggled up to me. His little button nose touching mine. If I couldn’t sleep I wanted to be able to look at the one thing I could openly touch that still connected me to Lee.
I put one hand on my bump and sure enough, she kicked. She may have seemed to have slept through everything else that day but that night, when I felt most alone, she was there to reassure me that I wasn’t alone after all.

Wherever You Will Go

Chapter Two

When I was six, all I wanted to be was a princess. I spent hours playing on my own in my room with my wooden castle and pretend princesses I’d made out of wooden spoons, glitter and fabric. They would spend all day dancing in dresses with princes and they would ride white horses into the night. I believed so whole-heartedly that I could be one too. I was already a princess to someone after all; my dad.
My dad was my best friend. We stayed up until late playing with my castle or I would dress up and sit on his back and he would parade around the house on his hands and knees, pretending to be a horse. I swayed my long blonde hair from side to side as he did so. I would giggle uncontrollably as he made horse noises as we went through the kitchen and my mom would look at us while washing the dishes, eyebrows raised but her eyes smiling. Then she would call to my dad that it was time for me to go to bed and he would look at me and roll his eyes, as if she were his mother and I would giggle even more. Then he would buck me off his back, scoop me up and tuck me up to sleep. And every night he kissed my forehead six times, one for every year of my life, and told me how much he loved me.
He was a fire-fighter where we lived in California with the LAFD and I would listen in awe to the stories he told my mom, my brother Adam and me over the dinner table. Blazing fires, rescues, scaling buildings. He was like a real life superhero to me. Sometimes he would take Adam and me down to the firehouse to see all of his work colleagues who all made a fuss of us and made extra food for dinner, dressing us in helmets and coats that were way too big for us. We were allowed to sit in the fire-trucks when they were in the station and pretend we were fire-fighters too. We had a ball. It was like our second home; a second family. I remember finding it amazing that these guys all went into burning buildings to save people. I didn’t know what being proud was when I was six or what it meant, but I know I was proud of all the things my dad did.
One November evening when I was eight, I sat at the bottom of the stairs waiting for him to come home from his shift. I could smell dinner cooking in the kitchen. I watched the door intently until finally, I saw a shadow behind it and it opened.
“Dad!” I cried and ran to hug him.
He put an arm around me loosely then dropped his bag to the floor with a thud. He walked past me into the lounge and sat in his armchair. I knew something was wrong. He was never usually so quiet. Normally he would grab me as I ran to him and would lift me up into his arms.
“What’s wrong, dad?” I asked him sheepishly as I walked towards his armchair. He still smelt faintly of smoke and his hair was slightly crusted with grey flecks of ash.
“Nothing sweetie. I just had a tough day.”
At that moment my mom walked in. She took one look at him and gestured towards the kitchen. He got up and followed her. They closed the door but I stood behind it, ear pressed to the frosted glass.
“It’s Georgie.” My dad said, his voice quivering.
“Oh...?” My mom started.
“We went to a fire in one of the warehouses on the estate, pretty big one. Full of fireworks and gas canisters left over from the bonfire festival. We had gas exploding all over the place. Georgie went in first, insisted, to make sure it was safe. Then there was this huge bang, the windows shot out so I ran in to get him. There wasn’t much left, the other guys had to drag me out before there were any more explosions. We got the fire out eventually once all the gas had gone up. I went back in to get him but...”
I had never heard my dad cry. I never expected to hear him cry. He was my hero, my prince. They never cry. But he did right then. Through the distorted glass I could make him out as he sat on a dining chair with his head in his hands as my mother held him. And he cried.
I knew what death was about from then on. I didn’t fully understand what it meant. I just knew that when someone died, they never came back. For an eight year old, I suppose that was kind of heavy stuff. But it was just part of what my dad did. Sometimes he wasn’t able to save people and they died. It was nobody’s fault, it just happened. Georgie, who was my dad’s best friend for ten years, had died trying to be brave. I sometimes thought to myself that I’m glad that he did it because it could have been my dad that went in there and never came out. Then I felt terrible for thinking it because Georgie had a daughter the same age as me who had lost her father when I still got to kiss mine goodnight and hold his hand on the way to the playground.
Adam is a year older than me. We were very close but neither of us ever mentioned our fears that maybe one day our dad might not make it home.
“He’s invincible. That means he can do anything and nothing will hurt him.” Adam had told me once and that is all we had ever spoken about on the subject. Until one Christmas when we were out in the back garden making snow angels.
“Dad, what would happen to us if you died?” I asked him.
He looked at me in a very serious way, like I had just said something terrible. He crouched down and put his hands on my shoulders.
“Zoe, I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with your old dad for a long time yet.” He smiled, stood up and hugged me into his padded jacket.
My dad never lied. I believed every word he said. Maybe Adam was right after all. Maybe he was invincible. After all those fires he had been in, all those people he had saved and he was still here, playing with us in the garden. I watched him over the table while we ate our Christmas dinner. I watched him laughing at the cracker jokes with my mom, his party hat on, cutting his turkey. His moustache was turning a little grey now, as was his hair. His blue eyes always had a sparkle in them. The only time I had seen it go out was the night he came home and cried about losing Georgie. He touched my mom’s arm tenderly and kissed her on the nose. Adam caught my eye and made a vomiting gesture and I giggled and tucked into my mashed potato. Yes, he was invincible.
It was nearing June and it was almost my twelfth birthday. I had asked every year for a horse since I was six. At the time it was because of my infatuation with becoming a princess. Now, it was simply because I had developed a love for horses. With two weeks to go, I was starting to doubt that I was getting one that year until my dad took me for a drive.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“It’s a surprise.” He said. “You’ll see.”
We arrived at a paddock where three horses stood. One was a huge brown one with a black mane; another was a smaller horse which was white with large brown spots. And another white horse with a beautiful silvery tail.
“I know it’s not your birthday yet but I wanted to give you her early.” He led me towards the white horse.
“She’s mine?”
“Absolutely. White, just like you always wanted. Now you really are my princess.” He smiled.
I was almost speechless.
“Wow... she’s really mine? I love her! Thank you! Can I ride her?”
He nodded and lifted me up into the saddle. He took hold of her reins and led us around the paddock. All the way around, I closed my eyes and felt the wind hitting my face.
In the car on the way home I told my dad that I wanted to call her Skye. He nodded in agreement.
“We could both learn to ride her.” I suggested. He laughed and told me he was a little past his horse riding days.
A week until my birthday, I sat eating my Fruit Loops before school. My dad walked through the kitchen with his bag and kissed my mom on the cheek. He ruffled Adam’s hair and then kissed the top of my head.
“Be good.” He told us. “Love you all. See you later.”
He trudged in his heavy boots out of the front door and down the street to the firehouse. We were going to see Skye again that evening and I was so excited, so excited that I was ready to go hours before he was even due to get home. I had gone past the stage of sitting on the stairs waiting for him to come back so I sat upstairs doing my homework. It came to six-thirty and he still wasn’t back.
“Mom!” I called downstairs.
“What, Zoe?”
“When is dad going to be back?”
“I don’t know, soon. Make sure you’re ready to go out.”
Seven came, then half past. I walked down to the kitchen where my mother was cleaning down the counter tops. She looked a little anxious but sometimes dad was late home, it was part of his job, although it didn’t stop her worrying.
Adam was sitting watching TV in the lounge. I sat with him. We were both silent until the doorbell rang. My mom answered it. I heard a man’s muffled voice then two sets of footsteps going towards the kitchen. Then I heard it, a sound I will never forget as long as I live; my mother’s scream.
Adam and I jumped from our seats and ran to the kitchen. My mom was on her hands and knees on the floor, head bowed, hysterical. The man we had heard was one of dad’s colleagues, Doug. He had his fire hat in his hands and I could see a tear snaking its way down his red face. I looked down to see Adam had taken hold of my hand without me even realizing. Doug leant beside my mom and rubbed her back. Then he looked at us as we stood there wide-eyed, watching our mother breaking down in front of us.
Adam turned to me and without saying a word, led me out of the kitchen and upstairs. We sat on my bed, knowing exactly what was going on and not having a clue at the same time. Then suddenly, I cried out and threw myself into Adam’s chest. He stroked my hair and I could feel his shoulders jerk and knew he was crying too.
I knew what death was about. But I didn’t fully understand what it really meant. Not until then. It was then that I knew I would never see my father again.
On my birthday, it was then that I fully realized he wasn’t ever coming home. I had clung onto the faint hope for a week. I knew he wouldn’t miss my birthday if he was alive. But the day came and went and he didn’t come. I cried all night.
His funeral was three days later. Dad’s family came, my grandma, grandpa and Auntie Caroline. My mom, Adam and me; dad’s friends from the fire department. His coffin was draped in a United States flag. His workmates saluted him as a few of them carried him down the gravel towards the church. I clasped my mother’s hand as my feet crunched against the floor. I didn’t think it was possible to cry any more.
People stood up one after the other to say how great my dad was, how happy he was. How much he loved his family. Then I stood up, clutching onto the crumpled piece of paper I had scribbled some words onto and walked to the front of the church which was now silent. I stood in front of the coffin for a few seconds. It broke my heart to know my dad was in there but that I couldn’t see him; touch him; kiss him. Then I stood at the altar and faced the crowded room.
“My dad was the best dad in the whole world. He taught me how to ride a bike, he taught me how to read and he taught me that no matter what, I would always be his princess. I’m sad he’s gone. And I was angry. But I know that he died doing something he loved and that he saved an entire family without worrying about his own life. To me, he will always be my hero. I love you, dad.” And then I walked slowly to the coffin, placed both hands on the flag and sobbed. As I lifted my head I saw my mom standing beside me. She gently lifted my hands off the coffin, held them in hers and led me back to the pews. Adam hugged me as the room kind of fell in around me. Yes, I was only twelve but I felt like I had been through so much already. I had bottled everything up since the day he died, only crying when I was alone in my room. But I couldn’t do it anymore.
As I watched him being lowered into the ground I felt numb; my beautiful father. The most wonderful man I had ever known, the bravest man I had ever known, was now confined to a box in a deep, dark hole. He was meant to be around forever, like he’d said he would be. I threw a white rose on top of his coffin and stared blankly into the distance as if I expected him to walk by and take everyone by surprise.
It was then that I realized, as a naive child, that nobody is invincible no matter who they are.

Wherever You Will Go

This is the first chapter of my finished novel, just thought I would put it in here although technically it's not a short story (in fact, it's quite a long story!)

Chapter One

“There is a saying in Tibetan. ‘Tragedy should be utilized as a source of strength.’ No matter what sort of difficulties, no matter how painful experience is, if we lose hope, that’s our real disaster.” – Dalai Lama XIV

It’s beginning to sound like a cliché but it started like any other day. I woke up around seven with my son, Bobby, who was five, curled up in my bed. He always got in with me once his dad had gone to work. I sat up, rubbing my expanding stomach and getting small kicks in return. At eight months pregnant, it was getting more and more difficult to move about. Bobby lay beside me, his head resting on my stomach.
“I can hear her moving, mommy!” he cried, his cheeky little smile spreading across his face. He looked so much like his dad I often wondered if he was even mine at all. I was hoping my daughter would come out looking a bit more like me.
“He’s definitely mine!” Lee, my husband, had said when Bobby was born. There was no denying it; he was a Bolton boy for sure.
We finally got out of bed and made our way into the kitchen, turning on some cartoons to keep Bobby entertained while I made some breakfast. He’d had a virus for a couple of days and had been off school. It was torture having to listen to cartoons all day. As I was pouring cereal, the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Hey Zoe, it’s me. I just got to work and realised that I left my keys on the dining table. If you get time, could you come over and drop them off to me?” It was Lee.
“I’ll try. I can barely walk down the stairs today but if I get a chance I’ll come over with them.”
“Ok, well I’ll maybe see you later then. If not, rest up. I’ll cook tonight. Love you. Bye.”
Lee prided himself on his cooking skills. As a broker, he didn’t really come across as the culinary type. But he made a mean lasagne and had even baked the cupcakes for Bobby’s fourth birthday.
Pulling open the curtains, I looked up at the blue sky. It was such a beautiful day, I clearly remember seeing birds zooming across the sky in all directions, not a cloud in sight. In the distance, I could just make out the New York skyline. Maybe I would try and get over there; it would be a shame to waste such a lovely day sitting inside.
“Eat up your cereal, Bobby. We’re going to go and see daddy soon.” I called into the lounge, almost drowned out by Tom and Jerry.
I looked at the clock. It was almost 8.30 AM and I had barely done anything. I piled clothes into the dryer and pulled out others to iron. Bobby trudged into the kitchen.
“Mommy, my cartoons have gone off.” He said, rubbing his eyes. I stood up, assuming he had knocked the remote. I walked past the grandfather clock in the hallway that had belonged to Lee’s parents. It was 8:50 AM. For some reason, I stared at the clock for a good few seconds before I carried on into the living room. I saw that the cartoons had been interrupted by a news broadcast showing the two World Trade Center towers. And one of them was billowing black smoke. I muttered ‘oh my God’ under my breath and held my hand to my mouth. Then I realised Bobby was staring at the TV.
“Bobby, go to your room and play.” I ordered him. He looked at me with those big brown, puppy dog eyes.
“Why? I want to watch Tom and Je...”
“Just go, Bobby. Mommy needs to see this. Go and play with your trains. I’ll be up in a minute.”
I felt bad for speaking to him so sharply; he didn’t understand what was happening on the television. Neither did I. Nevertheless, he went to his room.
After watching the images for a few minutes, my instinct was to call Lee. He was on the 95th floor of the South Tower that day, in a meeting. I wondered if he knew what had happened. It rang off. I called back; no answer.
I told myself he would probably be busy evacuating. Then he called back.
“Lee, are you ok?”
“Yeah, I’m ok. What’s going on out there?” He seemed fairly calm which comforted me a little.
“The news is saying an airplane hit the North Tower. Are you coming out or what?”
“We’ve been told to stay here and wait for further instructions. I’ll be ok. God, Brian and Steve were in Tower one. I hope they’re alright. What’s it looking like on TV? Is it bad?”
Part of me wanted to tell him it didn’t look as bad as it seemed. But I couldn’t lie to him.
“It looks pretty bad, Lee. You should get out of there.”
“I know but... oh wait... Ok Zoe, I have to go. I think we’re going to leave. I’ll give you a call when...” Silence.
As the line went dead, I was watching the television. A second plane, a huge plane, sliced into the South Tower which exploded into a furnace of flickering flames, smoke rising from it, mirroring its twin. I felt physically sick. I tried frantically to call Lee back but all I got was the dialling tone. I refused to believe the worst. I turned to see Bobby standing on the stairs.
“Was that daddy? Can I speak to him?” His innocence brought tears to my eyes.
“No sweetie, daddy is busy right now. Go back to your room; I’ll call you down in a while.” He must have sensed something was wrong. He was normally a bundle of energy and wouldn’t sit still for two seconds but here he was, playing in his room, good as gold.
I sat by the phone, waiting and waiting. I felt sick and my heart was racing. It got to 9.30 AM and I couldn’t think straight. Did I keep trying to call? Did I wait some more? Did I try and get over to the City? I jumped as the phone rang.
“Lee?!” I called out.
“No Zoe, it’s me, Adam. Are you ok? We’re watching on TV...” My brother’s voice trailed off. I couldn’t hold it in any more. I broke down.
“He’s on the 95th floor of the South Tower. I just saw the plane hit it. I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do.” I was barely understandable as I fought back tears as hard as I could.
“Has Lee called?”
“He did before the plane hit. Then the line went dead. I’m waiting for him to call back but he hasn’t.”
“Ok, well I’ll leave the line free in case he’s trying to get through. Call me back straight away if you need me.”
No sooner had I put the phone back down, it rang again.
“Zoe, it’s Lee.” My heart melted and I collapsed into the chair.
“Are you ok? What’s going on? Are you getting out?”
“Look, don’t panic. We’re trying to see what we can do. I’m the only one with a cell phone reception so everyone in the office is using it to call home so I can’t stay too long.”
“But you’re going to get out, right?” I asked again.
“There’s so much smoke. We can’t see, we can barely breathe. One of the guys managed to crack a window but it’s no use. We saw the plane...” He paused for a second, his breathing was labored. I could hear sobbing in the background, shouting. I heard a huge crash and a woman scream. It sounded like utter pandemonium filled with an air of terror.
“I don’t know if there’s a lot we can do. We’re trying to find a way out but there are fires springing up everywhere. We might try and make a run for the elevator if we can get out of the door. But... Oh my God!” I stood up out of my seat.
“What? What is it, what’s happening?” I was beginning to really panic. He was painting a pretty hopeless picture.
“Someone, someone above us jumped. We just saw him fall past the window. Oh my God. Is it that bad that the better option is to jump? Shit. This is bad, this is really bad.” He began coughing, obviously having a more and more difficult time breathing. I was scared for him. And I was scared for myself. I put my arm over my stomach. She wasn’t kicking. She had no idea I had needed her to reassure me.
“Lee, you’re going to be ok. There are firemen everywhere, they’ll come up and get you.”
“I love you, Zoe. Tell Bobby that his daddy loves him very much and that he has to be a brave boy for his mommy. And tell our little girl about me and let her know that I loved her even before she was born.” He choked the words out.
“Don’t say things like that, you’re going to get out. You’re going to come home and cook for me tonight and...”
“I’m not Zoe. Nothing we’re trying is working. We’re trapped. Guys are already dead in here. Mike and Allan, they’re gone. I’m sitting with Claire in a far corner. She’s in a bad way, I’m trying to comfort her but there’s no point. I have to let the others use the phone now. I love you. I always have and I always will.”
“I love you too. Please, don’t leave.”
“I have to; Claire wants to speak to her dad. She can barely breathe so we have to hurry. Goodbye Zoe.” And for the last time, the phone cut off.
I sat in shock. I couldn’t move. I could just imagine the love of my life, trapped, about to die. And I was helpless. I stared blankly at the TV screen. Ten minutes later, I saw Lee’s Tower fall to the ground, reduced to dust. In a similar way, my legs buckled beneath me and I fell to the floor, reduced to a heap of nothing.

A Night To Remember

A flash of red; the screech of tyres on tarmac and the roar of an engine; a scream and a crunch as I grip the wheel and try to take back some control until I realise that I am not even on solid ground anymore. Then I hit the ground. And then there's darkness and a terrifying silence.

I woke up in a cold sweat, my flannel pyjamas stuck to my skin. I looked around the room for a familiar face ready to console me. But I was alone. It was a cold evening and I realised I hadn’t turned the heating on. Helen used to do that, she hated being cold. I was forever telling her to turn it off and put on a jacket instead of hiking up the price of the gas bill. I wandered into the kitchen to get a tea-towel to dry my face off with. There was a picture of us on the fridge; we were on a boat on holiday. I stared at it for a moment until the sound of a light flicking on behind me made me turn around.
“Are you ok?” A pretty woman with ebony hair and flushed cheeks stood in the kitchen doorway in a silk nightdress.
“I’m fine.” I said, throwing down the towel next to the sink, lowering my head trying to remember who this woman was.
“If you need anything, I’ll be upstairs. I can’t sleep either.”
I looked at the clock. It was barely three in the morning. I went back to my bed, made up on the couch. It was the only place I’d wanted to sleep these days. I didn’t want to stay in my bed. It didn’t feel right sleeping there now, not on my own. Next to me on the side table was another photograph, this time of a little girl. Petite with long blonde hair, right down her back, wearing a green Alice band and a matching green dress; she had huge blue eyes and a cheeky smile that showed a gap in her teeth. I wracked my brains. Think Daniel, think I muttered to myself. I closed my eyes. I could see a little blonde haired girl sitting on the floor, crying and clutching her knee. She looked up at me with those beautiful but teary eyes. Lily.
I traced the outline of her face on the photograph and smiled. I took it with me upstairs and opened the door into a bedroom. Painted in pale pinks and purples with butterfly stickers stuck around the window I saw her; tucked up in her bed, breathing softly. I sat beside her and watched her chest heave up and down, her eyelashes flickering ever so slightly. It was her; she was still here. I kissed the top of her forehead before heading back downstairs.

I didn’t want to fall asleep again. I was tired of having the same dream over and over again. It was like an explosion of noise in my head that I couldn’t stop. I sat and tried to remember the name of the woman that came into the kitchen. I knew her, I knew that I knew her, I just couldn’t remember how or why. No memories were coming to me; perhaps she would remind me in the morning. As I tried to remember, the sleep overwhelmed me and I lay back under the blanket and closed my eyes, hoping that the screams would give me some peace.

***

It was a Friday night and Helen and I were having a rare night out together. Nothing special, we were just booked in for a meal at a restaurant in town but it was something different. We kissed Lily goodbye and made our way to the car. Our friend Denise had offered to look after her for the evening. Lily loved Denise, they were as thick as thieves and I knew that I would probably come home to a house covered in cake mix and paint.
“I think I’m going to get the herb chicken.” Helen said as we sped along the motorway.
“I know what I’m getting.” I replied.
“Steak again perhaps? You should get something different, live a little.”
“But I like steak.”
She tutted and proceeded to look out of her window. Up ahead I could see a line of stationary lights.
“Oh great, traffic. We’re going to miss our reservation at this rate.” I mumbled, looking at the glaring orange numbers of the car’s clock.
“Take the shortcut.”
“I’d rather wait in the traffic.”
“Oh come on, I’m starving.”
I turned off at the next junction and found the turn for the shortcut. I hated this shortcut, I rarely ever used it. I loved the countryside, the fields and all. But not at night, at night they terrified me. When I was a teenager, some friends and I had been driving down a lane very similar to this one, one night and an old man had appeared apparently from nowhere with his dog, right in front of the car. We hit him and although he turned out to be ok, it put us right off ever going down there again. Now every time I took this shortcut in the dark, I just envisaged that man crossing the road in front of me, hearing that thud as his body hit the bonnet.

Trees lined the road, casting eerie shadows over the car as it dodged in and out of the moonlight.
“How much longer are we going to be?” asked Helen as she re-applied her lip gloss.
“Another five minutes. I’m sure they won’t mind if we’re a little bit late.”
Suddenly I heard something on the windscreen; three quick but loud taps.
“What the hell was that?” I said looking behind me through my window. Probably just loose gravel I thought to myself.
“Daniel!” Helen shrieked. I turned my head back quickly but not in time. Before I had a chance to blink, I saw a car, its lights beaming straight at us. I tried to turn off the road, thinking crashing into a bush was better than crashing into an oncoming vehicle. But I was too late. There was a screech as I slammed on the brakes and attempted to turn the car more to my side instead of Helen’s. The other car had had the same idea however, and it came crashing into the passenger side. There was a sickening crunching of metal, a flash of red light as our car hurtled upwards. It was like slow-motion, the car spinning uncontrollably through the air. It seemed like a lifetime, I remember looking over at Helen who was screaming although by now I had somehow blocked it out, blocked out all noise. She took one last look at me before we hit the ground with a deafening bang. Then everything was silent and he car was upright again. I sat for a few seconds trying to catch my breath, feeling the warm trickling of blood down my forehead. I looked back at Helen. She wasn’t screaming anymore. In fact, she wasn’t doing anything anymore. She was slumped forwards in her seat, perfectly still.
“Helen.” I whispered. I tried to reach out to touch her but I couldn’t move. I whispered her name again. When she didn’t answer, I started to get a horrible feeling in my gut. She was really hurt. I needed to call an ambulance. Before I could even attempt to manoeuvre my arms to get my phone from my pocket, I heard sirens and a blue flashing light reflected of the windscreen which was now almost shattered completely.
They took me out first, much to my blatant annoyance.
“No, get her out first, she’s hurt. I’m fine, get her, please.” I begged the paramedics. They said I was the easiest to get out, that they would need to wait for the fire brigade to cut Helen out of her side. They turned up a few minutes after the ambulance did.
I stood back watching the machine cutting the metal, sparking as it did so. A paramedic kept trying to inspect my cuts, saying I could have a head injury and that I needed to sit down. My head was pounding and my vision was blurry but I wasn’t going to sit down, I wanted to watch them take Helen out of the car so I could check she was ok.
It took them about fifteen minutes. The paramedics ran over to her with a stretcher. I watched in dismay as they lifted her out and lay her down. I ran over to her, barely able to see through the ever increasing pain in my head.
“Helen!” I yelled. And then I collapsed onto the grass.

I woke up to the smell of disinfectant and a faint bleeping sound. I opened my eyes slowly, looking around in confusion. I had no idea where I was, what I was doing; even who I was. At that moment, a nurse walked in carrying a jug of water.
“Hello Mr Wright, I wasn’t expecting you to be awake.” She smiled. I examined her face, which was long and square but friendly. She had her hair tied up into a ponytail. She set the jug down on the table next to the bed.
“How’re you feeling?” She continued, looking at me concerned.
“Ok, I guess. Where am I? What happened?”
“You were in a car accident. You hit your head quite badly; you’ve been in hospital for a couple of days now.” She started to jot something down on a clipboard she’d retrieved from the bottom of my bed.
“A car accident? But I-“ I paused.
“The doctor says you’ll be fine, don’t worry. He said you may have some memory loss, trouble remembering things but it shouldn’t be permanent.”
“Was I on my own?” I couldn’t think back to what had happened or who was with me.
The nurse set the clipboard back and came to sit beside me on the bed. She took my hand and then a deep breath.
“No, you were with your wife, Helen.”
Helen. I had a wife called Helen.
“Helen? Is she ok?”
“I’m afraid not.” The nurse lowered her head.
“Oh...”
She picked something up off the table and handed it to me.
“We thought this might help you remember.” It was a wallet sized photograph of a woman. She was pretty, short blonde hair cut into a bob, smiling with a row of white teeth, her big blue eyes sparkling. I knew this woman, I knew her name. In a flooding of memory, I suddenly remembered our wedding day, waking up next to her in the mornings, her sitting in the passenger seat of the car as it tumbled through the air like an angrily-thrown child’s toy.
“Is she... dead?”
“I’m so sorry.” The nurse squeezed my hand.
It took a minute to register. She was gone. My wife was dead. I took another look at the photograph and set it onto the bed sheets. Then, when it had sunk it, I ripped out my catheter and attempted to jump out of bed.
“Mr Wright, please. You have to stay in bed.” The nurse tried tackling me but she would never win, I had to see Helen, she must be here in the hospital somewhere, laid up just like me, covered in wires and surrounded by machines; still alive.
“I have to see her, I want to see Helen. Get off me.” I shoved her out of the way but found I couldn’t walk any further. Instead, I dropped to my knees on the cold floor, yelling Helen’s name and crying so hard that I thought I might never be able to stop.

Missing

I run through the woods, my heart pounding in my ears, the ground beneath me crunching with every step. I look behind me, wanting to see what I’m running from at the same time as not wanting to see anything at all. Then, I lose my footing and I’m plummeting down a riverbank. And then everything goes dark.
I’ve had this dream for as long as I can remember. I wake up screaming and my dad has to rush in and hold me until I stop. “It’s just a dream” he always tells me and then he would sit beside me until I fell asleep.

It was my first day at a new secondary school. I was so nervous I wouldn’t eat my breakfast. I picked crumbs of toast up in my fingers and then crumbled them back onto the plate.
“Don’t play with your food please, Bella.” My mum called from over by the sink. I threw the rest of it on the floor while she wasn’t looking for the dog to eat.
I arrived to a sea of navy and grey, girls huddled by the gates and boys kicking footballs at the wall. Not only was this a new school but it was a new area. We’d moved here at the beginning of the summer holidays and I hadn’t had time to go out and try to make friends before the new term started. Mind you, I think it was more a case of I didn’t want to go out and find friends. We were always moving so I didn't see much point. Plus I was quite happy sitting in my room watching TV and writing. I wrote poetry; in fact I loved to write about anything. My parents weren’t very creative, my mum was a doctor and my dad was a physics lecturer at the University. They preferred science and maths and I preferred losing myself in a novel.
In my form room, I sat at the back in the hopes that I would direct any attention away from myself. Then a girl came and sat beside me; mousey and petite with a thick fringe and a skirt that was far too big for her.
“Hi, I’m Esther.” She smiled setting down her pencil case on the desk.
“I’m Bella.” I replied, watching her rearrange her books into a line with her case.

“How was your first day at school?” My mum asked when she got in.
“It was… school.”
“So, no good?” She dropped her bag with a heavy clunk and sat beside me on the couch.
“It was ok. There’s a girl who sits next to me in the form room called Esther. She’s nice.”
“It’ll be good for you to make friends Bella.” She kissed my cheek and walked off into the kitchen

The next few weeks were progressively better. Maybe my parents were right after all. Being on my own all the time was ok but I did prefer the company of someone else. Esther was sweet if not a little odd. She would often talk seemingly to herself and then suddenly stop if she noticed anyone watching her. Then one day, she invited me to her house. It was a small humble place, with a typical suburban feel. Perfectly manicured lawn, estate car parked in the driveway, that sort of thing.
Her mother met us in the hallway. She was also petite and mousey, dressed like a stereotypical housewife. She said hello to me sheepishly before scurrying off into the living room.
“Don’t mind her.” Esther said leading me upstairs. “She is a bit funny about me having friends over.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’m not really supposed to say.” She started as we stopped outside a door off the landing. She pulled out a key and unlocked it. Strange that somebody would lock their bedroom door, I thought, but I walked in behind her not saying anything.
Her room was what I had imagined it to be; neutral colours and nothing particularly exciting or interesting about it. There were a couple of posters of pop bands on the walls and a corkboard sat above her mahogany posted bed with various clippings and pictures pinned to it. I walked over to it, curious, as she set the key down on her dresser. There were a number of newspaper clippings and some photographs of a young girl, barely in her teens. I scanned the black and white print. The same few words continued to jump out at me from each article; missing; worried; appeal. I looked behind me at Esther who was now standing in the middle of her room twirling her hair around her thumb.
“I’m not really supposed to talk about her.” She said, trying to avert her gaze elsewhere.
“Who is she?” I looked back at the photographs. The girl looked a lot like Esther.
“My sister, she was called May. Is called May… Is-” She trailed off.
“She’s missing?”
“She’s been missing for three years. She disappeared one night, disappeared from the house. My mum thinks somebody broke in and took her. I think she ran away. Mum thinks she’s still out there somewhere, too scared to come home in case she gets into trouble. So we have to act like she’s still alive and we keep searching for her. My dad couldn’t take it, my mum is quiet full on about it all, and that’s why he left.” She paused for a breath, looking as if she had been dying to tell me all of this from the first morning I’d met her in the form room.
“Wow…” I didn’t really know what else to say.
She walked over to me and stood looking at the corkboard for a while.
“That’s why I have to lock my door. In case whoever took May comes back for me. That’s what mum says anyway.”
“Oh. I should probably go, my parents will be wondering where I am.” I hurried downstairs with Esther hot on my heels. She called goodbye to me as I rushed down the drive and turned to home. I felt terrible for walking out like that but I didn’t know what else to do, I’d felt too uncomfortable although I couldn’t put my finger on why.

That night I couldn’t sleep. I climbed out of bed and switched on my computer. I typed the name ‘May Harrow’ into the search engine. Immediately it threw up lists of articles and interviews, appeal videos and campaign groups set up to help find her. There were dozens of photographs, I clicked on a few and wondered how on earth someone can just disappear. I watched some of the videos of Esther’s mum, pleading for May to come home, begging people to keep a lookout for her and come forward with any information. At the side of the video was a link to a list of missing children in the last ten years. Surely there couldn’t be that many, kids don’t just vanish. But as I clicked it, hundreds of names began appearing in a never-ending list, each with a small photograph beside it. I found May about quarter of the way down. As the computer light began to make my head hurt, I reached to turn off the monitor. Then I froze. Not too far under May’s name was another name; Julie-Anne Howard, who had been missing for four years. And next to that was a picture that I recognised. As I stared at it, my bedroom door opened.
“I saw your light was on, are you ok? Was it the dream again?” My dad walked in dressed in his plaid pyjamas, rubbing his eyes.
“No, I was just checking something.” I muttered.
“Ok, well, get back to sleep.” He turned and closed the door behind him.
I brought the page back up and tentatively clicked on the name. It took me to a video. Before I could stop myself I pressed play.
A man and woman I thought I vaguely knew sat at a table surrounded by camera flashes. The woman looked drawn and tired; the man had a full moustache and was wearing a teal coloured shirt. I listened as the woman tearfully began to ask people to contact police if they knew where their daughter was while the man kept his hand firmly gripped onto her shoulder. The photograph flashed up a number of times, each time my stomach flipped over. The video played off and I sat in silence staring at the monitor. The missing pieces finally started to come back to me. Suddenly I knew that my dream had never been just a dream at all as I glared straight at the photograph that now took the centre of the screen, it’s eyes staring right back at me.

The missing girl in the picture was me.