DeAnna Zankich
Complete | Tenant of My Heart
Summary: Three locations. One tragic event.
Warnings: Other
Author Notes: Follow up to 'Tenant of My Heart'. Sorry guys, but I believe you will need to be familiar with 'Tenant'. Too many errant details to pick it up here fresh-it just won't make sense. WARNING: This story includes details and descriptions of the World Trade Center bombings on September 11, 2001. Please be advised of this content.
Spoilers: Some from Season One and possibly the first few episodes of Season Two.
Brian:
The bags were strewn across the center of the loft's expansive floor and the front door was barely closed. He and Justin had been pawing each other since they took off from NYC--so much so that the flight attendant asked them to curtail their display. Apparently, they were upsetting the other passengers. This request did not bode well with Brian Kinney and he barked at the neatly coiffed woman loud enough for all the allegedly offended passengers to hear him.
"God forbid, we're necking on an airplane! Are we upsetting these fine, upstanding people because we're both men or because my lover looks like he's twelve?!" he'd bellowed. Granted, he'd had too many complimentary glasses of champagne by then and his `ornery meter' was cranked up pretty high.
The flight attendant could do nothing but blink at him in astonishment and Justin had offered her a sheepish, apologetic smile. He had also found it necessary to assure her he was not in fact twelve. The woman had skulked away from Brian's challenge, muttering something about putting him on notice for the rest of the flight.
"Yeah?" he'd wailed after her. "Notice THIS, lady!" He'd grabbed his crotch roughly and Justin had pronged him in the ribs with his elbow.
"Just give it a rest, Brian," the younger man had hissed under his breath. "We can fuck like rabbits when we get home. Relax. Take a handful of Valium or something. You're embarrassing me."
Brian had frowned hard. His teeth knocked together and he'd held his breath for a moment, trying to decide if he should bother to retort. Justin had batted those baby-blues at him and Brian had relented, heaving a grand sigh before slouching in his plush first class seat.
Justin had leaned over and whispered against his earlobe. "Just think about last night. That should keep your mind busy." A soft kiss against the tender flesh made Brian's blood rush and he allowed himself to calm down.
Thinking of their last night in NYC was indeed a good way to occupy his mind. What a night it had been.
~~
Tuesday, September 11, 2001. Pittsburgh, 7:08 a.m.
Kate:
Richard's in Boston with clients this morning and he calls me on his cell phone from a towncar. They're rushing to the airport to make their flight to LA, but he just had to call me once more.
"We're never gonna make it," he mutters.
"Good," I say. "Then come home and make love to me."
Richard laughs softly. I love his laugh. "Ah, baby-girl. I'll only be in LA for two days, then I'm home to you. Can you stand it?"
I just groan and roll over on our fluffy pillows. This bed is way too big without him in it.
"Maybe you should have asked your friends to stay a few more days," my husband says. "You could have got up to no good while your crotchety old man was away."
"Shut up," I tease. "My friends love you."
"Well, I'm sure they would rather play with you on their own. What on earth did those boys get up to last night, by the way? I could have sworn I heard WAY too many voices in Brian's room."
I sigh and shake my head. "I knew it was gonna happen," I say. "Can't leave those boys alone together without serious supervision. I'm not really sure what all they got up to, since I haven't talked to any of them about it, but I can guess."
"Do you suppose Vince and Justin did it?" Richard says quietly and I wonder if his clients can hear him. The idea that they can makes me smile.
"I think they wanted to," I say. "But I really don't know."
"Well, do fill me in once you get the dish. I should go, honey."
"Okay. Call me when you get to LA."
"I will. I love you, Katey."
"I love you. Bye." I hang up and put the phone back in its cradle, sighing like a lost puppy in that huge bed. I know it's only two days, but I miss Richard like mad already. I can smell him in the sheets and I take a deep breath.
Glancing at the clock, I wonder if Brian and Justin are home yet. I'm dying to know what happened last night and I know he'll tell me with the proper coercion. I reach for the phone and dial the number at the loft, waiting while it rings in Pittsburgh.
~~
Tuesday, September 11, 2001. Pittsburgh, 7:12 a.m.
Brian:
Pinning Justin to the mattress, he yanked off the boy's trousers and chucked them over his shoulder. Lunging forward, he opened his mouth over the tender spot below Justin's navel and just . . . chewed. His lover tasted so sweet . . . like sweat and sex and sleep. Brian licked him then nibbled, then sucked. Justin groaned and brought his legs up around Brian's ribs, holding tight. His cock throbbed against Brian's belly, hot and swelling.
Moving up, Brian attacked the boy's nipples, sucking hard, using his teeth. He grinned when Justin gasped, loving the way the boy arched up into the touch. He liked it rough, this kid. Brian adored that about him.
The phone ringing in the background was irritating at first and then became white noise until the machine picked up. Brian only half listened as Kate's sleepy voice rang through the loft.
"Hi, bunny. You home yet? I need you to call me--my gossip radar is going apeshit. I just know you have something fabulous to share with me, so don't make me wait too long. I hope you guys had fun and had a good flight home. Richard's on his way to LA right now so I'm totally bored. Call me, okay? Love you. Kiss the boy for me." She hung up and the dial tone sounded for a few seconds before cutting out.
Brian looked up into Justin's eyes and they grinned like idiots at each other, both remembering the night before with those two delectable Brits.
"Do you think I should tell her?" Brian teased.
"I think she'll pull your arms off if you don't," Justin said and they both snickered.
Brian rolled the boy over on the bed and removed the rest of his clothing. Holding him down at the wrists, Brian hovered over his young captive and just stared into his eyes. "You like Vince, don't you?"
Justin stared back. "Not as much as you like Stuart."
"I didn't even touch Stuart," Brian reminded. "You did all the touching, you dirty boy."
Justin frowned slightly. "I thought that's what you wanted me to do."
"Do you hear me complaining?" Brian said, grinning.
"I don't know," the blonde said uncertainly. "Do I?"
Glancing down at the glinting St. Luke pendant lying against Justin's chest, Brian offered an almost sweet smile. "No," he said. "You don't. Now, do you want me to fuck you, or not?"
Shaking his head, Justin lifted up on the mattress, capturing Brian's full bottom lip with his teeth. "Always . . . always fuck me," he whispered.
Brian rolled them over on the bed once again.
~~
Tuesday, September 11, 2001. Manchester, 12:33 p.m.
Vince:
"I'm starved!" Stuart whined, standing in front of the open frig staring at the contents with disdain.
"We'll go out for a curry."
"No . . . I want pasta."
Vince smiled, walking up behind his partner and snuggling against his back. "I'll go out and get whatever you fancy."
"I don't fancy you goin' out." Turning in his lover's arms Stuart giggled, knowing he was being a pest. "Let's just get a pizza. We'll have time to shower before it gets here and then we can eat in bed."
"We need to unpack and do some laundry."
"The laundry can fuck off." Stuart linked his fingers with Vince's and walked out to the lounge. They flopped on the couch and Stuart grabbed the remote, turning on the television. "Where's the phone. Let's get a pizza."
Vince located the cordless on the side table and pressed the speed-dial code for their favorite local pizzeria. He glanced at Stuart as he made the order, confirming each topping choice with a nod. The woman on the other end said it would be about forty minutes and Vince thanked her.
"Right, I'm gonna shower, then." He stood up and started for the bedroom but Stuart stopped him.
"Vince?"
Turning around, he sighed, knowing what was coming. They hadn't talked about it once since it happened--not even on that long plane ride home--and he knew a conversation was needed. He offered a rueful, almost shy smile and waited for Stuart to begin.
"Did you enjoy him?" the brunette said.
"'Course I did, yeah. He's lovely. Why didn't you . . ?"
"I just wanted to watch."
Vince turned to face his lover fully, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "You and Brian were like two bugs in a rug sitting there. You didn't want to shag him?"
"Apparently not," Stuart said, smiling softly. "I reckon I just wanted to be near him. It was nice. Gave him a right good snoggin', though, and he got spunk all over me."
Vince laughed. "I'll say." He waited for the next round of questions--the really inevitable ones. He'd already planned his answers and knew they were solid.
"I liked watching you . . ." Stuart said softly. "Always have. Makes me realize how fortunate I am to have such a lover."
Vince felt his face heat up with blush. "I do wish you would have joined me. Or at least had Brian while I was doing the boy. Made me feel like a bit of a twat, what with you not participating."
Stuart shrugged. "The lad's nice, but he's not my type. Really, I just wanted to watch you with him. You got on so well."
Steadying himself, Vince kept that shy smile on his face. He knew what was coming.
"Vince?"
"Yes, luv."
"You're not bored, are you?"
Shaking his head, he went back to the couch and leaned over his handsome Irish husband. "You're bloody mad, you are," he said. "I've told you over and over, Stuart Jones, I'm never gonna be bored with you. I'm surely not now. I only had Justin because you seemed to want it."
"That's shit," Stuart said gently. "You had Justin because YOU wanted it. It was no bother, I like watching you shag."
Nodding slowly, Vince put a kiss on Stuart's warm lips. "Are you angry?"
"Don't be daft."
"That's not an answer."
Stuart sighed. "I'm not angry. I just wanted to ask you . . . if . . . you know. If you're getting tired of me."
Vince got on his knees in front of Stuart and held his lover's hands. "Do you need medication? You've gone completely `round the bend, you know."
Stuart rolled his eyes. "All right. Fine. Let's shower, then. I need my hair washed."
Vince pulled him up and they both walked to the bedroom holding hands. He knew there would be more of this discussion, but Vince felt the first wave had gone reasonably well.
BBC News prattled away on the television in the background as they undressed and got in the shower. Local events, weather, worldwide highlights. The afternoon anchor said there was a segment coming up on the progression of Mad Cow into the United States and Vince's attention began to drift away from the broadcast.
As they stood in the warm rushing shower, he closed his eyes and held Stuart's body against his own. As exciting as their trip to New York had been, Vince was very happy to be home.
~~
Tuesday, September 11, 2001. Manhattan Island, 8:46 a.m.
Kate:
I'm in the shower and all of a sudden the walls are rattling. I grab the slippery tile with my hands and try to hold on as what feels like a strong earthquake shakes our townhouse. There's a deep rumbling sound like the ground is moaning. After a few minutes, it stops and I finish rinsing off.
In the bedroom I turn on the t.v. and flip until I find the news. Nothing there, maybe it's too soon. Katie Kouric and Matt Lauer yammering to some author while the goofball tourists jump up and down outside the window with their signs reading everything from "hi, mom" to "kiss me, I'm Irish". I put the remote down and go to the window, peering out onto the street below.
Outside our townhouse I see my neighbors pouring out of their homes and onto the sidewalk. My heart starts pounding as I see them all looking up . . . up and toward downtown. Some of them are still in their robes, like I am, and a few people are pointing.
Then from the television comes a long, continuous bleep--an emergency broadcast signal. I turn back to the screen like I'm moving in slow motion and there is one of the most terrifying things I've ever seen.
The North Tower of the World Trade Center is on fire.
~~
Tuesday, September 11, 2001. Pittsburgh, 8:47 a.m.
Brian:
Justin's eyes squeezed closed as he came, shouting Brian's name through a deep, hard orgasm. Brian's cock erupted as the boy's contractions pulled his sensitive cock and he moaned out loud from the pleasure. The phone started ringing sometime during the second wave of tingling sensations but Brian paid it no mind. He knew the machine would get it.
After four rings, the device picked up and Michael's frantic voice filled the echoey living space of the loft.
"Brian? Brian, oh God! Tell me you're home--if you're home, please pick up. Please!! Please tell me you weren't on that plane. Brian! Shit." The line went dead as Brian flopped down breathlessly on Justin's chest.
"What plane?" the boy said, panting. "What's he talking about?"
"Who knows." Brian groaned. He sighed deeply as Justin stroked the hairs at the back of his neck with hot, affectionate fingers. He wanted to sleep for hours but something told him that just wasn't going to happen.
"Maybe you should call him back," Justin said. "He sounded totally freaked."
Brian knew he was right, he should call Michael back. But he felt so good where he was . . . so relaxed and warm. He'd call Michael soon. . . just a little nap first. Yeah . . . that's all he needed.
The phone rang again and he flinched irritably.
"Fuck," he said, rolling off the boy's warm body and trudging down to the phone. He grabbed the receiver and brought it to his ear, turning to see Justin shuffling into the living room with the comforter wrapped around him. He turned on the television and sat on the couch looking for the news.
"Hello?" Brian barked.
"Oh!! THANK GOD!!" Emmett crowed. "I was so worried about you! Are you all right?"
"What are you talking about?" he said and then the image flashed on the television. Brian's heart stopped in his chest as he saw the smoke billowing out of the North Tower. "Holy shit . . ." he murmured. He blinked in disbelief. "Is that a movie?"
Justin looked back at him with his blue eyes wide. "Brian, do you see this? That's the World Trade Center. We were just UP there!"
Jaw hanging open, all Brian could do was walk toward the television. Emmett's voice was vague and distant on the phone, asking over and over if he and Justin were really okay.
"Yeah," he said finally, absently. "We're fine. Emmett, I'll . . . talk to you later." He hung up and stood gaping at the television, only then hearing the comments from the news reporter.
"At 8:46 a.m., American Airlines Flight 11 crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center. At present, the nature of this terrible accident is not known, nor is the number of passengers and crew aboard the aircraft. Flight 11 took off from Boston at 7:59 a.m. en route to Los Angeles. It is not yet known why the aircraft was in the New York area less than an hour after take off."
"This is so fucking horrible," Justin said in quiet amazement. "If that plane was going from Boston to LA, what the hell was it doing in New York? Isn't that the wrong way?"
Brian nodded, staring at the images on the screen. "It certainly is." His heart was beating again but hard and slow, like it was covered in thick mud. "It's not over," he heard himself say.
"What do you mean?" Justin's eyes were wide. "The building will probably be okay--I mean, remember the other day when we were up there and the guide told us those towers were designed to withstand an airplane crashing into them?" His voice was wobbly and weak.
"I just think . . ." Brian started to say something that he couldn't quite organize in his head and then the reporter was looking up at the sky and shrieking.
He and Justin watched as yet another jet flying way too low careened toward the center of the South Tower. Almost in slow motion, the second plane disappeared into the guts of the building and seemed to be swallowed by it. In the next instant, a billowing explosion of fire, debris and smoke surged out of the gaping wound in the South Tower.
"Oh my god . . ." Justin said. "Oh . . . my fucking god. It's World War III."
Brian didn't even realize his knees had gone out from under him. He wouldn't have noticed at all if the floor hadn't been so cold under his naked backside. He sat there staring at the television, the phone still in his hand. All at once, it started to ring again.
~~
Tuesday, September 11, 2001. Manhattan Island, 9:04 a.m.
Kate:
Out on the sidewalk, we're all staring at the Twin Towers like we're watching the filming of a Bruce Willis disaster movie. Everyone is in shock. This can't be real. This just isn't happening. Two planes crashing into the Towers one right after the other . . . it's just not real. Someone's talking about another plane crashing into the Pentagon. The words `terrorism' and `World War III' are everywhere in the air. It's all too much to comprehend. No one knows what to say or do. We all just stand there and look up as those two icons of our city burn.
The World Trade Center, The Pentagon. I, for one, can't help wondering what's next.
~~
Tuesday, September 11, 2001. Manchester, 2:05 p.m.
Stuart:
Rubbing his wet hair with a towel, he went back to the living room in his fluffy white robe, waiting for Vince to finish brushing his teeth. The news was still on and the reporters looked strangely wild-eyed. The sound had been down pretty low, so he grabbed the remote to raise the volume.
". . . crashed into the Pentagon in Washington, D.C. And now it appears a second plane has struck the South Tower of the World Trade Center."
Stuart lurched forward and stared at the television. "Vince! Vince, come here!"
Wiping his face with a towel, Vince hurried down to the lounge. "What is it?"
"Look."
Together, they watched as the BBC showed the planes crashing into the Twin Towers from several different angles. The reports kept saying the planes had crashed less than half an hour ago. Stuart was chilled by how much information the news already had. As the details were filled in, they learned about the flight numbers and their destinations.
"Boston to LA," Vince said. "Wasn't Richard flying from Boston to LA this morning?"
He and Stuart looked at each other for a frozen moment, then Stuart reached for the phone.
~~
Tuesday, September 11, 2001. Manhattan Island, 9:14 a.m.
Kate:
The sound of my phone ringing inside the house sort of slaps me back to reality. And reality on this morning is Hell on Earth.
I run back into the townhouse and grab the phone. "Richard??!!"
"Luv, it's Stuart." The line is crackly and I can hardly hear him, but the sound of his voice sends me into an instant fit of panicked tears.
"Oh, God, bunny! Have you seen it? Christ . . . I can't believe it . . . you wouldn't believe what it looks like here . . . there's ash and debris just floating everywhere." I know I'm babbling and not making any sense but I'm so unbelievably glad to be talking to him.
"It's unimaginable," he says. "Are you all right? Do you know where Richard is?"
"No . . ." I sob. "I don't. And no, I'm not all right. I--" The line bursts in my ear and then it's dead. I press the speed dial code for his number in Manchester but I get a recording saying that all circuits are busy. I try several more times, but there's no way to get a line out now. It was probably a miracle that Stuart got one into New York in the first place.
Sighing, I hang up and sit on the white tiled entry hall floor with the phone in my hand. I can't get a line out to call Stuart or to call the airline. Not like they would know anything yet. No one knows anything yet. All we know is that those two enormous buildings are on fire and the airplanes inside them have exploded.
I want to go back out to the sidewalk and be with my neighbors, but I can't get off the floor. I can hear the sirens in the distance as all the city's emergency personnel begin to make their way downtown. They'll need everyone for this. Everyone in New York and then some.
Needing something to do, I keep trying the phone and keep getting that damned recording. I even try to call out on my cell phone just in case, but that's no use either. Finally, I end up just sitting on floor in the entryway with the useless phone in my lap, waiting and listening to the gathering chaos outside.
~~
Tuesday, September 11, 2001. Pittsburgh, 9:43 a.m.
Brian:
"Any luck?" Justin asked, sitting on the arm of the couch beside Brian. He'd been trying to get through to Kate for twenty minutes, but all the circuits were busy all over the country. On the news, they were asking people not to call into New York or Washington, D.C. in order to keep the lines free for emergency transmissions. Brian set the worthless thing aside and scrubbed his hands through his hair.
"Want me to try the cell phones?" the boy asked softly.
"If you want." Brian's limbs ached and he felt dizzy as he watched the screen in front of him. The Twin Towers were almost invisible behind a huge cloud of smoke. On every channel, the news helicopters were circling the site as close as they could get and some of them were upwind of the smoke. Those images were the most disturbing--seeing the fires burning and seeing things falling from the windows of the blazing floors. But they weren't THINGS at all and Brian knew that. They were people. People choosing to jump to their death rather than be incinerated inside the buildings. Some fucking choice.
He wasn't even hearing the reporters anymore, they were all saying the same things. Some spoke in hysterical shrilling voices, some in shocked solemn tones, but all were repeating the same stricken mantra. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.
Justin tried to call out on both of their cell phones and got nothing. Then suddenly the phone rang beside Brian and he grabbed it.
"Katherine?!"
"No, honey. It's Deb."
"Oh," he said dismally.
"I take it you haven't found your friends yet."
"Not yet." He watched the screen and changed the channels again, looking at yet another series of images of the burning Towers.
"Is Sunshine with you?" she asked.
"Yeah." Brian held the phone out to Justin who took it wordlessly. He listened to the boy speak to his best friend's mother, telling her the details of how they heard and what they'd been doing since.
The reporters on CBS were talking about the damage to the structures. They were interviewing experts and asking questions about the very real possibility of one or both the Towers collapsing. Brian flipped channels again and shivered from another set of gruesome images. It was all too much to watch. He knew each of those images was permanently imprinting on his memory and that he would see them as a horrific slideshow in the last seconds before he died. This unspeakable thing was happening not only in his lifetime, but also in REAL time right before his eyes.
The reporters had confirmed that the plane crashes were acts of terrorism--as if this was a surprise to anyone. The World Trade Center, the Pentagon--what else could it be? And what was next? LAX? Disneyland? Some other glaring monument to America's nave bravado? Brian sighed, thinking a million dreadful thoughts. If he were a terrorist, what would he hit next? The Statue of Liberty maybe. Or The Sears Tower.
Brian realized he was afraid. And he also realized he'd never felt more like an American than he did at that very moment.
And then The South Tower began to crumble.
~~
Tuesday, September 11, 2001. Manchester, 3:05 p.m.
Vince:
He thought it couldn't get any worse--the whole thing was inconceivable as it was. And then, the unthinkable happened. While they watched, the blazing South Tower began to implode and collapse. The reporters were struck silent as everyone watched and Vince reached for Stuart's trembling hand.
"Oh my God," Vince said. "Oh. My. God."
~~
Tuesday, September 11, 2001. Pittsburgh, 10:07 a.m.
Justin:
He was still on the phone with Debbie when the floors of Tower Two began to stack up on each other. For a moment it looked like a model made of cardboard and gray paint and then the helicopters in the shot gave the image perspective. Justin held his breath along with everyone else watching all over the world and he felt his heart sink for the people in the building.
A burst of ash, debris, concrete, glass and dust cascaded into the sunny morning like a fountain and then the building was gone.
"That is not real," Justin said, more to himself to anyone else.
"I'm afraid it is, Sunshine," Debbie said, her voice cracking on the phone. "Look, I'll call you back. Take care of Brian. And call your mother."
"I will." He hung up and walked over to the couch where Brian was staring numbly at the television.
"We were just in there," Brian said.
After a long moment, Justin said "I know." Sitting on the couch beside his lover, he held Brian's hand.
~~
Tuesday, September 11, 2001. Manhattan Island, 10:08 a.m.
Kate:
After the initial tremble in the ground, everything goes eerily quiet. I'm on the porch of the townhouse looking downtown at the place where Tower Two used to blot out the sky. And then I see the cloud.
Rolling through the streets like a tornado, an epic cloud of debris and dust heaves across lower Manhattan. I run inside as the street goes dark and slam the door.
Through the kitchen windows I see the wave of debris fill the morning air. Things plink against the glass like rocks thrown by impish children. I stay in the hall, wondering if the windows will hold against the force of the cloud. The whole room is dark, as though there was a solar eclipse and my heart is beating so fast I'm a little afraid I might faint.
More rumbling in the ground and then more of that unearthly silence. The clattering against the window has stopped, so I peek into the dining room. Outside everything is whitish gray, covered in ash and debris.
I can't help but think there are human remains in that ash. People who had no time to get out of that collapsing building. Woman with children, siblings, husbands. Men with wives.
Like Richard.
I don't know what happens next. Everything goes black for a while.
~~
Tuesday, September 11, 2001. Manchester, 3:20 p.m.
Vince:
Sitting on the couch staring at the telly, he felt Stuart's hand in his own. He felt those long, elegant bones and the silky skin. He felt that hand tremble as they both looked on at the images of New York.
Stuart kept trying the phone, kept picking it up and pressing the speed dial code for Kate's number. He was getting nothing but recordings. Finally, he pulled his hand away and dialed a different set of stateside numbers.
Vince looked at him. "Are you ringin' Brian?"
"Maybe he's heard from her," Stuart said softly, the phone pressed to his ear.
~~
Tuesday, September 11, 2001. Pittsburgh, 10:22 a.m.
Brian:
He stared at the ringing phone for a few seconds almost as though he didn't know what it was. He felt so strange all of a sudden, like he was cold and hot at the same time. Justin picked up the phone and answered it, eyeing the motionless Brian with concern.
"Hello? Oh, yeah. Hi. Fine. Yes, we're fine. But we . . . no. We haven't. Brian's been trying. Yes, he is. Hang on." Justin held the phone out. "It's Stuart."
Brian took the phone in slow motion and brought it to his ear. "Hey."
"Have you heard from her?" Stuart said.
"No. I can't get through."
"I reached her for two seconds right after the first plane hit, but we were disconnected."
"Had she heard from Richard?"
"Not as of then."
Brian nodded slowly, as though Stuart could see him. "Well, keep me posted."
"You do the same," Stuart said. "Brian?"
He didn't reply, just waited on the phone.
"Are you all right?"
"No," Brian said and then he hung up.
He could feel Justin looking at him, those blue eyes piercing the side of his head. Brian's skin crawled from the scrutiny.
"Do you need anything, Brian?" the boy asked. "You're really pale." He reached over and softly touched Brian's hand. "Oh . . . and clammy. Are you okay?"
He drew his hand away quickly, really not wanting to be touched. Brian shivered and his stomach lurched and he knew he was going to be sick. Stumbling slightly, he got off the couch and just made it to the toilet before he threw up. On the backs of his eyes he could see the images of Towers burning . . . of Tower Two collapsing. He wretched until his eyes watered and then he slumped on the cold bathroom floor.
After a moment, Justin came in and flushed the toilet. He went to the sink and wet a washcloth, then knelt beside Brian to wipe his sweaty face. The cloth felt cool and good and Brian wished he could say so, but he was presently unable to talk. His throat burned from bile and his eyes felt hot.
"I wish I knew what to say," Justin whispered. "It's all so fucking horrible. But I just know we'll find Kate and Richard. I know they're both okay."
Brian finally looked at his young companion and sighed from the innocent determination he saw in those blue eyes. Reaching up with a heavy hand, he cupped Justin's cheek. He didn't say anything, they just looked at each other, but Brian felt certain the boy knew what he was thinking.
~~
Tuesday, September 11, 2001. Manhattan Island, 10: 28 a.m.
Kate:
The pounding won't stop. Bang, bang, bang! It just won't stop . . . but it's bringing me around . . . I think . . . I must have fainted. I can feel the cold tile on the floor under me and my limbs are so heavy. Someone calling my name, but their voice is so muffled. The scent of brimstone in the air . . . something burning . . . burning dust . . . bone . . .
"KATE!!" Pound, pound, pound.
I open my eyes and squint into the dimness. Why is it so dark? What time is it? My hair is wet and I'm in my robe . . . what the hell happened?
"KAAAAAAATE!!"
This person is pounding on my door. Pounding. I push up until I'm sitting and then my head starts to clear a little. A few more breaths and everything comes back. The planes, the Trade Center. The South Tower fell down. The Pentagon. World War III. Terrorists attacking the United States.
Bang, bang, bang! "Kate, open the door!!!"
I recognize the voice, it's my neighbor, Gina, from across the street. She and her husband play golf with Richard once in a while.
"Kate, it's Gina!! Open up!!" The doorknob rattles and then there's more pounding and then I manage to get up to my feet.
I open the door with fumbling fingers and instantly start coughing. The air outside isn't even air anymore, it's just thick, beige dust. Hearts, bones, paperwork. Coffee makers. Staplers. Fichus trees near elevators bays. Big leather chairs. Car alarms. Restaurant napkins. Bank deposit slips. Lipstick cases. Shoes. Eyeglasses. Photos of kids and pets. Computer mice. Telephones. Everything in that huge building reduced to this thick, gritty ash.
Gina grabs my shoulders and holds me, looking in my face. "Katey, are you okay? Jesus. I saw you come in here and then that cloud came through and your door was closed." She's frantic, still in her robe, too. She has no make up on and I'm a little surprised by how old she looks. I'm still dazed, I must be. Why on earth would I think such a thing otherwise?
"I . . . I'm fine," I say. "Has Richard called you? I don't . . . know where he is. He was flying to LA from Boston this morning and . . . seem to have lost him . . ."
She blinks at me, then draws me to her in a tight hug. "God, sweetie. No, he hasn't called us. No one can get through on the phone. Come on, let's sit down." Gina walks with me to the living room where she sits me on the couch. Still holding my hands, she sits beside me. "I was so worried you'd been hurt when I didn't see you. There's debris flying everywhere."
"Is there . . ." I start to say something about the newspaper being delivered and then I realize I probably hit my head when I fainted. I'm not thinking very clearly at all.
Gina touches the side of my head gently with her fingers and when they come away, they are red. "Sweetie, you're bleeding," she tells me. "Stay here." Standing, she goes into the kitchen and I hear the water run. Momentarily she returns with a dishtowel that's damp on one end. She presses this to my head and that's the first time it hurts. I must have cracked my skull when I fell forward. Great.
She looks through my hair carefully then presses the towel there again. "It's just a little cut," she tells me. "Do you feel okay?"
"I feel kinda weird," I say. "I fainted, you see. And I must have hit my head."
"Can you hold this?" she says, talking about the towel.
I nod and reach up to take the towel from her and then the rumbling starts again.
"Oh, God," Gina says, lunging for the wide screen tv and turning it on. She kneels before it like a kid watching Saturday cartoons and the news cameras are all trained on Tower One.
We both watch as the remaining structure buckles, piles up floor on top of floor, then is consumed in black dust as it makes its way down to the ground. In a matter of seconds, the Twin Towers are no more.
Gina turns to me and we just look at each other.
"It's the end of the world," she says.
I start to cry.
~~
Tuesday, September 11, 2001. Manchester, 3:29 p.m.
Stuart:
When the second tower collapsed, he was on his feet, dialing the phone again. He dialed and dialed and dialed, getting more and more frustrated every time he got that blessed recording. Finally, he just hurled the phone across the room and screamed as it skittered into the brick wall by the door.
Vince was at his side instantly, trying to comfort him, trying to calm him. Neither was likely. Stuart could feel her agony, he could feel her fear. His Katey-girl was suffering and he couldn't help her.
"I want to go back there," he groaned against Vince's chest.
"Luv, no one will be flying for some time now. At least a few days. This could get much worse than it already is before it gets better. We don't even know what's going on, yet--if it's a war, or just a terrorist attack. No one knows."
He pressed against Vince's body and they both sat on the floor in front of the bedroom. Vince rocked him very gently and pet his hair.
"We just have to wait."
Stuart squeezed his eyes shut and his fingers clutched Vince's shirt tightly.
~~
Tuesday, September 11, 2001. Manhattan Island, 10:43 a.m.
Kate:
I made Gina go home to her husband and swore to her I was all right. She made me promise to leave the front door unlocked.
After she left, I got the phone and laid on the couch. I'm staring at the tv, at these unfathomable images that keep pouring forth from it. There are so many sirens outside that their blaring has become one long continuous tone. Dust is everywhere--even on my skin. It coats the phone in my hand. I cough a few times and feel the sandy texture of it in my throat. The smell of things burning permeates every breath.
People are screaming in the street outside my house. If my head didn't hurt so badly, I'd be screaming, too.
I try the number at American Airlines again and once again, I get a recording saying all circuits are busy.
Inside, my house is strangely quiet. And dark enough that I have to squint at the television. The air is hazy with dust.
I'm staring at the news when I hear a faint chirping. At first, I don't realize what it is, but then my mind clears enough to allow me to remember that Brian brought us a cricket when he and Justin arrived last week. The little brown beast had been lose in my house ever since. It was meant to bring good fortune, or so he'd said. What a laugh that is.
While I watch the enormous plume of smoke where the World Trade Center Towers used to be, that cricket keeps on chirping. He's damned loud for such a small critter. Little bastard's got heart, chirping at a time like this. Who does he think is going to hear him?
I sigh and the cricket chirps. On tv, Lower Manhattan burns.
I try the airline again.
~~
Tuesday, September 11, 2001. Pittsburgh, 11:03 a.m.
Brian:
Justin had brought him to the bed where he was lying down, but his breathing was still shallow. Brian tried to rest even though he knew it was useless. He could hear the television in the background, all the clamoring and yelling, the somber, shock-laden voices of the reporters. They were running the tape of the building collapses over and over again and Brian wished they would stop. It was traumatizing everyone watching. The ad-man in him knew that people would be unable to look away from such a horror and that those images would be burned into their minds forever. He thought of all the children watching and he felt sick again. The media had no conscience.
The front door of the loft slid open and he heard Justin greet Michael. They exchanged some words about Brian and about whether he had reached Kate yet and then Michael was walking up the few steps to the bedroom. Brian felt him sit on the bed gently, the mattress inclining toward his weight. Then Michael touched his sweating face.
"Hey," he whispered.
Brian looked at him and blinked to clear his eyes. "Hey, Mikey."
"Haven't heard from Kate yet, huh?"
Blinking again, Brian felt his eyes start to burn like they did when he accidentally got cigarette smoke in them. He squeezed them closed for a moment and felt the hot tracks of tears run down his cheeks. He didn't feel like he was crying, but then . . . he had no real idea what he felt at that point. He shook his head in response to Michael's question.
Justin crept up to the bed and sat behind Brian, leaning across the mattress to put a soft kiss on Brian's naked back. "We'll find her, baby," he whispered. "Don't worry. I'm sure she's okay. I can feel it. They're both okay."
Sighing, Brian closed his eyes and concentrated on the consoling touches of his friends. In his mind, he thought of Kate and Richard and how they looked waving goodbye in New York as he and Justin got in the cab that would take them to JKF. He remembered Kate mentioning the Twin Towers the morning they went to the convention at the Javitz. He remembered Stuart picking out the St. Luke's pendant for Justin on that sunny Manhattan street and how Kate had kissed his cheek and said Justin would love the gift.
Brian reached out with his eyes closed and drew Mikey down on the bed in front of him. Justin curled against his back and the three of them lay there not talking for a long time.
The news prattled on in the background.
~~
Tuesday, September 11, 2001. Manchester, 4:15 p.m.
Vince:
Stuart was lying on the bed in a ball under the comforter. He'd insisted Vince turn down the television because he just couldn't hear about it anymore. The phone was still useless. There had been no word from Kate or Brian.
Sitting down at the desk, he turned on the computer and started the IM and the email program.
"What are you doing?" Stuart said from the bed.
"I'm just going to see if maybe we can get through on the computer. It's not a phone line, so maybe I'll have some luck." He smiled at his lover gently. "Do you need anything, luv?"
"I need to find Katey."
"Yeah." Vince nodded and turned back to the computer.
~~
Tuesday, September 11, 2001. Manhattan Island, 11:20 a.m.
Kate:
After trying for twenty minutes straight, I'm finally on hold with American Airlines. My heart is pounding so fast I have to lie down and then a very frazzled woman picks up the line.
"American Airlines, this is Susan speaking. Please give me the name of the passenger in question, last name first."
I'm so shocked that a live human picked up, I don't say anything right away. In fact, for a moment I forget Richard's name.
"Hello?" Susan at American Airlines insists.
"Uh, hello. I'm sorry," I stammer. "My name is Kate Stephani and my husband--"
"Please spell the name for me," Susan says.
"Oh, no his name isn't . . . Stephani is MY name. His last name is Sylvan. Richard Sylvan. S.Y.L.V.A.N." I wait while she types the name into her computer and I can hear people shrieking and crying in the background where she is. They must be learning about the demise of their loved ones. Jesus.
I wait an unbearable moment while she looks at the passenger roster, hoping with all my strength that I do not become the next one to start shrieking.
"A Mr. Richard Sylvan was booked on Flight 11 but he never checked in."
Again, I'm speechless as this news sinks in. "I . . . are you sure?"
"Absolutely sure, Ma'am," Susan at American Airlines says. "Your husband was not on the plane. He must have missed his flight."
I can't breathe but Susan has other people to speak to. God, does she ever.
"Is there anything else I can do for you, Ma'am?" she says impatiently and in her background a child starts crying.
"No . . .thank you," I say, feeling so incredible sorry for the job she has to do that day.
"It was my pleasure," Susan at American Airlines says in a wavering voice. "You have no idea." And then she hangs up.
I stare at the phone for a really long time before I start trying Richard's cell phone again. I keep trying for hours, never daunted by the recordings telling me not to use the phone lines except for emergency calls. This is an emergency. I need to hear his voice.
Somewhere in between all my attempts to reach my husband, the phone rings in my hand. I bring it to my ear and find Justin on the other end.
~~
Tuesday, September 11, 2001. Pittsburgh, 11:50 a.m.
Justin:
"Oh my God," he squealed. "I got you!"
Brian sat up on the bed then nearly flipped Michael onto the floor as he leapt over his body and came to the living room.
"Are you okay?" Justin said.
"Yeah," Kate replied wearily. "I just . . . found out Richard missed his flight. He was supposed to be on the first plane and . . ."
"We know," Justin said. "At least I thought that was deal. We--" Brian snatched the phone away and brought it to his own ear.
"Katherine? Christ, woman. Are you . . ?" He waited while his friend explained about her husband and the missed flight. Justin sighed deeply and smiled up at Michael.
"They're okay?" Michael asked as he came down to the living room.
"They're okay," Justin said. "But Kate's husband was supposed to be on Flight 11. Apparently, he missed it."
They turned to the television as Brian continued his conversation with Kate. The images of the collisions and the eventual collapses continued as though they were on an endless loop.
"Holy shit," Michael said under his breath.
"Yeah," Justin agreed.
Brian reached for the remote and shut the television off.
Home Page