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Blink

By S.A. Jewell

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Chapter One
The Family

“I can’t pretend to know what you’re talking about.” Jason slurred his words. “I don’t really drink wine. And when I do, I can’t tell the difference between them except for the color.” He swirled his glass, staring at the sloshing liquid.
One of his coworkers laughed. “We’ll educate you. You need to be a little more sophisticated if you’re going to socialize with CEOs, but at least you can tell the difference between the white from the red. It’s a start.”
More laughter.
“But then again, he can’t tell the difference from box, screw-top, or cork!” someone else said. “So, sip slowly, and let me explain the nuances of fine wine.”
“You explain? I think you’re as dim as he is.” Another drunken friend jerked his head toward Jason, who looked at him in mock offense, then chuckled and smiled sheepishly. “Ah, no offense, boss.”
“None taken,” Jason answered. He wondered about the dizziness setting in. I’ll have to take a cab home. Dutifully he took a small sip, which led to another and then another as he listened to his associates babble about how special this particular wine was, its age, and where it came from. When they went through the litany of all the right adjectives to describe it, he thought he heard someone say it was “almost chocolaty.” Someone else scoffed. Another said it had just a hint of bark, and everyone at the table roared in laughter. All he knew was the bottle was well over three hundred and fifty dollars, but with the bonus they had all just received, why not? Drunk, he was expansive. Gallantly he ordered not one bottle, but another two.
The waiter brought two bottles and held them up for Jason to inspect.
“Now we’re talkin’, my man!” His friend said loudly, then poured out a tiny bit in Jason’s empty glass for him to sample before pouring out for the rest of the men at the table.
“You’re wasting your time,” his friend Anthony said. “All he knows is that it’s red! Give it to me. I’ll sample it.”
Dutifully the waiter poured a fresh glass for the man, who was drunk himself. He made an elaborate show of swirling the liquid, sniffing it, then ever so daintily taking a sip. “Superb! Please pour for my friends! This is a fine ending to our celebration!”
The four men at the table lifted their glasses, congratulating each other for a job well done.
The team did an excellent ad campaign for high-end women’s jeans, and the design house extended the contract for another three years after getting rave reviews (from men) during the Super Bowl spots. The public couldn’t get enough of the near-soft-porn ads. The women they chose to model barely looked sixteen and were exotically alluring posing in skimpy short T-shirts and in the designer’s very tight hip-hugging jeans. Even at two hundred dollars a pop, sales for the jeans had rocketed. So who cared how much the wine cost? In the end, the client paid for it anyway.

Sitting at his desk, Jason thought his head was going to explode. He willed the nausea to settle itself quietly in his stomach and ignored the dull pain in his lower belly signaling a soon-to-happen bathroom visit. Why did he have to finish off the last bottle of red wine last night? How stupid. He rarely drank wine, let alone a heady red, but his colleagues teased him into the last glass of that very expensive Cabernet. While enjoying their celebratory dinner at a posh downtown French restaurant, they had already gone through countless bottles of less expensive wines. Then their talk turned to some California vineyard that had won a notable award for their Cabernet. For Jason, it was all downhill from there.
Just thinking of the last gulp sent bile up his throat. Gagging, he closed his eyes to contain the reflex. Oh man, he couldn’t remember the last time he was this hung over. College? And how idiotic was it to waste expensive bottles of wine when everyone was too drunk to tell the difference? It was still true. It could have been wine in a box for all he knew, and his colleagues, who bragged they were connoisseurs of fine vintages, slugged it down like water.
Opening his eyes with a deeply controlled breath to settle his stomach, he looked at the three computer screens in front of him begging for attention. There was no way he could concentrate on reading urgent emails, checking the clients’ charts from his staff, and keeping up with general business, social media, and competition statistics. Even while sober, managing three screens at once was a challenge. But hungover it was near impossible. To top it off, the incessant buzzing of his phone, which his admin couldn’t quite seem to filter, sliced into his brain like a bandsaw. Between the wicked headache and violently sour stomach, he wasn’t sure he could function.
The phone beeped again. Angry, he tapped the On button. “Jason here,” he snapped.
“Hey, Jason, it’s Remy in IT. When can I come by to work on your computers? We’re having problems with our servers and I need access to your devices and Becky’s. It’ll take about a half an hour or so because I have to—”
“Remy, I don’t know,” Jason said through clenched teeth. “You’ll need to check with Becky to see when I won’t be in my office. Bye.” With effort, he got up, stomped across his office, and threw open the door to the outer office. “Becky. What is wrong with you? You need to start screening my calls. I can’t be interrupted for your administrative work! Call Remy in IT and have him make an appointment.” Before she could defend herself, he turned back to his office, slamming his door.
Dizziness overcame him and he staggered. He steadied himself against the door and taking deep breaths, he managed to quell his vertigo and nausea caused by his outburst, but his lower belly pain grew worse. He sprinted into his private bathroom. He wasn’t sure whether to throw up or sit down. The pain reminded him to sit down.
Feeling a little relieved, he washed his hands, splashed cool water on his face, and went to his desk, where he picked up his coffee cup and calmed himself by looking out the floor-to-ceiling window that gave an imposing view of the city. His interior decorator had done a magnificent job on his office. The furnishings and floor coverings were designed to calm, to enable thinking without bold colors and designs to distract. The view had an uncanny peaceful effect. Although this was a high-paced advertising agency that demanded unique and clever solutions, Jason wanted his office to be a haven for deep thought.
But he couldn’t think much this morning. Remembering breathing techniques from a long ago yoga class he took with his wife when they were into spirituality, he inhaled deeply for three counts and exhaled for three counts. He did this three times and found himself a bit steadier. He needed coffee. No point in asking Becky to get it. She could screw up even a black cup of coffee. Exiting his retreat, he barged past his administrative assistant and headed to the elevator going down to the lounge on the second floor.
The hallway to the lounge was thickly carpeted and beautiful Turkish wall hangings lined both walls in between private offices and conference rooms. The company did not believe in bullpen configurations or cubicles, so each employee and administrator on all three floors of the building had an office of his or her own, although there was distinction between the worker bees and the senior managers, who were all located on the third floor.
Jason rarely came downstairs because, quite frankly, it was way below his status of vice president of sales and marketing. Today, however, the executive lounge was closed due to remodeling, and he was making the exception because he badly needed a jolt of caffeine; here he could find a variety of steamy hot Starbucks coffees and teas, cold juices, soft drinks, and ice water. The shot of black coffee might level his nerves. He had to start feeling better soon. Tonight he had to meet a potential client for dinner and drinks (yet again!) and he had to be alert, charming, and sharp, but at the thought of more alcohol made his stomach flip. The client company, Luna International, had three large resorts in the Caribbean, and the CEO wanted to interview Jason’s firm to manage their advertising and marketing efforts. Although Jason’s company, Word Expanse, was a small boutique advertising agency, it was extremely successful due in large part to Jason and the creative team he assembled. Word Expanse was also choosey in the clients they represented. Only successful companies with solid sales who were open to unusual marketing approaches were accepted, like the erotic jean campaign during the Super Bowl. That campaign was edgy, a little on the inappropriate side, but it had immediate impact. It beat out the Clydesdales.
As he entered the break room, he glanced at five people, casually dressed and slumped on couches and cushioned chairs, their eyes glued to their cell phones while their thumbs tapped away. He smirked knowingly. People, except maybe old people, rarely watched TV, read newspapers, or bought books. Critical thinking was limited to a sentence or two on Twitter or any of the other popular social platforms. If you didn’t capture the attention of a person in eight seconds, you lost them.
Lilly (he couldn’t remember her last name) was the only person not holding a cell phone. Surprisingly, she was quaintly reading a very thick book, while sipping a can of Coke. As he entered, she looked up and teased, “Hi, Jason. How goes life at the top?”
“Okay, I guess.” He smiled feebly and went to the coffee counter. As he reached for an insulated cup, he knocked the short stack to the floor. They popped apart and scattered under Lilly’s chair.
The five workers on break briefly looked up from their phones and in unison mumbled, “Hey, Jason,” before diverting their eyes back to video or messaging.
Jason responded with a wave of his hand and looked at the cups rolling on the floor.
Lilly popped up from her chair to help. “I’ll get them. I don’t think anyone will mind if I just restack them.” She gathered the dozen or so up. “It’s the five-second rule. Besides, the floor looks very clean and no one looks beyond eye level anyway.”
Jason leaned against the counter, fearing if he bent down, he would either be overcome with faintness trying to straightened up or never able to get up—period. He’d just lie back on the very clean floor and sleep. It was inviting. No one would see him. No one looks beyond eye level particularly if they have a phone in their hand.
“Thanks, Lilly. I appreciate it.” He blinked twice to focus his eyes.
“You okay? You look pale.” Lilly was an average-looking woman with beautiful eyes. He didn’t know her personally, but she was always pleasant, had a good professional reputation in the company, and worked well with others.
“I’m not feeling great this morning. I just need some coffee,” he explained and with a shaking hand. He took a cup from her, poured a large serving of strong black coffee, said a weak good-bye, and walked out. He hoped he’d rally by five o’clock so he would be quick-witted when he met his new client. He would have to ask Becky to go out and get him some Alka-Seltzer—if she could handle it—and then he would take a nap on his office couch.

The next morning, as he parked his new BMW 5 Series in the parking garage, Jason went over the previous night’s success. He did feel measurably better by five o’clock last evening and when he met with Mr. Nathan Kurtz of Luna International. He managed to cautiously sip a vodka on ice and later enjoy a glass of white wine with dinner. (He was off red forever.) He also managed to convince his potential client to come on board with Word Expanse. After extensive discussion, Kurtz agreed to work with Jason and said, “Set up a meeting next week to talk contract, marketing, and sales strategies.”
Jason smiled as he replayed his reply. “Mr. Kurtz, I can assure you Word Expanse will dramatically break open the international tourism market for your properties with impressive and equally quick results.” With a nod of his head, he added, “I already have my most seasoned team in place to take your success to the next level.”
“My own team has done due diligence researching your company, and although your firm is small, you’ve had striking success. I like your creative approaches. A little avant-garde, but that’s what’s needed to stand out in this oversaturated market,” Kurtz conceded. “I wanted to meet you personally and of course hear your pitch. I’ve met with a number of other agencies too, but at this point, I can give a verbal agreement on us doing business together. Have your legal pull together a contract and I want to meet your team next week.”
Jason went home that night hugely satisfied with himself, but his happiness was sidetracked by his teenage daughter, who was arguing with her mom for—of all things—the designer jeans of Super Bowl success.
“Mom, I need those jeans. Cripe, Dad was the one that made them popular. Why can’t I have a pair? All the girls at school already have them. I’m the only one not wearing them.”
“Because they cost two hundred dollars! Don’t you think that’s a bit pricey for a pair of jeans? And don’t you think they’re just a little too sexy for a girl your age?”
“My age? Mom,” she whined, “I’m almost sixteen and all the girls my age are wearing them. They’re the most popular designer jeans! And heck, if you said I could get a new BMW SUV for my sixteenth birthday next month, then why would you argue over jeans that cost a measly two hundred dollars?”
From the family room, they stopped arguing and looked up from the oversized leather couch where they were sitting to see Jason, tall, thin, and sauntering through the hallway, obviously pleased with himself. He tossed his car keys on the counter and smiled at them. His wife, Allie, a stunning woman of cover girl quality, was dressed in designer clothing herself: a lightweight cashmere T-shirt, tailored linen pants, and delicate leather handmade sandals on her tanned feet. She popped off the sofa and greeted him with a hug. While she was asking how his meeting went, Sabrina ran up and grabbed his arm. “Dad, I want those jeans! Mom is being mean!”
Allie stepped back and rolled her eyes. “Hardly.”
“Ah, Allie, why not? If she wants them, let her have them. We don’t want our baby girl unhappy. “Got to keep up her maintenance,” he teased. “And I did make every woman and girl on the planet want a pair.” He cocked his head and grinned hugely.
“Hooray, Dad!” Sabrina screeched and ran to her bedroom to order them online.
Allied sighed. “Yes, and all those women and girls think they are going to look like those sultry buxom teenagers modeling them.” She picked at a piece of lint caught in her diamond-and-ruby bracelet and turned to sit on the couch.
“Sabrina fits the image,” Jason mumbled as he looked through the mail. He had to admit, they were all caught up in a spending frenzy as he scanned one bill after another. He recently purchased a new BMW for himself, and he was planning on getting the 3 Series Beemer for his daughter for her birthday. His wife drove a new mid-sized Mercedes. Both women had untold numbers of handbags stowed away in their closets that were well into the hundreds of dollars—for each—not to mention salon treatments, pedicures, manicures, accessories, and designer clothes.
Allie sighed again breaking into his thoughts. “I just don’t want her getting ahead of herself. She gets just about everything she wants.”
“True, yet you just gave her diamond earrings.”
Allie groused. “Yes, I did, my darling. But lest you forget, I am the primo jewelry designer for Henry Sotheby. My daughter must have diamond earrings, especially if I designed them. I know we’re getting her the car, but I wanted her to have them too. Sweet sixteen and all.” As an afterthought she said, “By the way, Henry wants you to represent his business.”
This announcement surprised Jason and he put down the stack of letters. “I thought he did well enough through word of mouth with wealthy heiresses, dowagers, and trust fund babies and didn’t need big budget advertising.”
“He’s changed his mind. He now says you can never have enough success or money. Why not reach out to the masses?”
“Well, that is good news!” Jason was elated. Henry Sotheby’s was a catch and he didn’t have to pitch anyone. His reputation for clever success was even influencing the elite. Smiling broadly, he crowed, “I have more good news. My meeting with Nathan Kurtz of Luna International went really well. I got the contract.”
“Wonderful!” Allie said with wide-eyed enthusiasm. “Now we can redo the kitchen!”

Thinking back over last night, Jason smiled again, gathered his laptop bag, and walked to the elevator in the parking garage. For feeling as lousy as he did yesterday, he had a very successful day and evening. He clinched the deal with Luna International and now Henry Sotheby, world renowned jeweler for the rich and famous, wanted his company to represent him.
In his office he sent update emails to senior management and his team regarding a number of issues to include his new conquests. He next called the marketing director.
“Keith, I want your best mind in helping me conceptualize strategy for Luna International. I know you’re taking off for a few days and I need help now, so your second in command will do. Also, Henry Sotheby—yes, the jewelry guy—said he wants us to work with him. I know, huh? What a great couple of days. Anyway, we’ll deal with Henry later. I’ll call him today for next steps, but in the meanwhile Nathan Kurtz wants a meeting with us next week. I need a compelling presentation laying the strategic groundwork before bringing the entire team together to brainstorm some campaigns to present to Kurtz. So I want your best strategist to work with me for a few days. Can do?”
Half an hour later, there was a knock on the door. In stepped Lilly, the book reader.
“Lilly, thanks for joining me,” Jason said. “You familiar with Luna International and Nathan Kurtz?”
“Yes, a bit,” she answered as she sat down in front of his desk. “But I need to research more. I understand the hotel properties are successful and Kurtz himself is quite an interesting guy from what little I found out between the time Keith called and now. Did you know that he has a stable of Arabian horses that he shows? He’s well-known in the equestrian world and has a very important equestrian center in the Carolinas. It’s a hobby.”
“No, I didn’t know that. When I met him, we spent time focusing on business rather than personal conversation.” It took Jason a moment to recognize that most of the meetings he had with clients he rarely entered into conversation about their personal lives. In retrospect, no one ever asked him about his personal life either. “My meetings are usually about business. Sure, there are always comments about sports or golf, but conversation never much morphs into much more than casual banter.” He paused. “Okay, do more research and give me details of the company, their financials, the chief executive officers, their trends, their likes, and their style…”
“I know the drill. How soon do you want it?”
“Let’s circle back here about 4:45 with what you’ve got. We’ll work for about an hour.”

Lilly arrived at Jason’s office right on time. She carried her tablet, a handful of manila folders, her purse, and the big book she was reading the day before in the break room.
“Let’s go into the conference room and layout any material you might have.” Jason gathered his tablet and phone.
As they entered the conference room, he tilted his head at the book she was carrying. “What’re you reading? I can’t remember the last time I saw anyone with a book. Well, except my daughter, but those were schoolbooks and few at that.” He grimaced. Sabrina hardly ever cracked open a book. “I guess they do most of their work on tablets.”
“It’s my Bible.” When she put her things on the large polished table, her purse dropped to the floor. Taking a seat, she drew a book from her pile of work and slid it over to him.
He sat down and read the cover with a frown on his face. “A Bible? Are you kidding? Who reads a Bible?” He put a hand on it. “I honestly don’t know of one single person who reads a Bible—in fact I’ve never even seen a real one.” He casually flipped a few pages and then slid it back to her. “Well, that’s not entirely true. I’ve seen them in hotel rooms in the side tables by the bed or in the desk drawer, but I’ve never opened one.”
“I have Bible study tonight, and I’m leaving from here,” she said casually. She looked directly at him as if to make a point. “I try to study during my break and, to be frank, I read it in the break room on purpose, so I can pique the interest of any of our employees.”
Jason looked annoyed.
She smiled as she held up her hand. “Don’t worry, Jason. I don’t proselyte unless someone asks. And you know, in fairness, we have a number of Muslims here who have the freedom to pray two to three times a day, without interruption. I would like that same freedom to practice my own beliefs,” she said simply. “And reading during my break doesn’t interfere with my work.”
“You could read in the privacy of your office during break,” he said indignantly while thinking, Oh no, not another religious fanatic.
“Yes, I could, but I guess I really don’t want work to interfere with my study. You know, phones ringing, people popping in…”
“Then close the door!” Jason countered. “Don’t answer the phone!”
“What’s wrong using the break room? I’m not preaching, for goodness sake. I’m just reading and besides, no one yet has shown any interest in what I’m reading anyway.”
“I’m not complaining, Lilly,” Jason said testily. “I just think this whole religion thing has gotten way out of hand. It has no place at work. Besides, with the exception of the Muslims, who even believes in God anymore?” he said defensively. “Look around. I can’t say I know of anyone who goes to church. It’s all myth and fantasy, and unfortunately, a lot a people have died because of it. Just look at any news story. Daily—and I mean daily—Islam extremists are slaughtering people who don’t believe in their version of Islam and Allah. Who wants a God like that? You don’t even hear ‘moderate’ Muslims denouncing the slaughter.”
“My God is not Allah,” Lilly said quietly but firmly.
“What’s the difference? God, Allah? Those names are someone’s ‘God.’” Jason said, finger-quoting. “It’s all myth,” he concluded with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“Jason, I’m sorry to say, but you’re wrong. It’s not myth. How can you speak with authority if you have never read the Bible? It’s like trying to write a book report if you’ve never read the book.”
Jason sputtered a moment. “Well, it’s common knowledge among people who are thinkers, scientists, scholars.”
“Why would you take the word of other people that God is a myth, without finding out for yourself? Do you think because someone is considered a ‘thinker’”—she, too, finger-quoted—“that they’re smarter and have more wisdom than anyone else?”
“Well, of course! They’re educated professionals!” Jason argued. Lilly didn’t reason further, just shrugged, and turned to her tablet to begin their meeting, but he wasn’t letting it go. He leaned across the table, pointing a finger at her. “Look, you’re bright, and I respect you. That’s why you were recommended to me by Keith. He considers you his best, and I’m looking forward to working with you. Don’t misunderstand me; I like people who argue with me. Can’t stand pushovers. But for all your talents, it surprises me you’d be caught up in…” He jerked back as if zapped by a cattle prod. Involuntarily his eyes flew open wide in utter disbelief. In a nanosecond, panic enveloped him so completely he nearly blacked out. Fighting for consciousness, his heart lurched against his ribs and his lungs burned for air. Automatically he sucked in a stabbing shallow breath. Sweat tickled down his armpits and back. He could smell his own rancid fear. With white fingers, he gripped the table for a sense of reality. He was disoriented, confused, and terrified.
Lilly had disappeared.
He couldn’t move. Seconds ticked by. He looked up at the wall clock. It was a few minutes after five. Then panic gave way to uncontrollable trembling. “I must calm myself, I must calm myself,” he muttered.
Pulling in great deep breaths of air, he was able to regain a sense of self but still shaking, he got up from the table and went to the door and into the hallway. He was in a fog of confusion. He needed a drink of water. He had to get away from that room. What had just happened there? Did he hallucinate? Was she still there, or worse yet, was she ever there? Was he imaging all this? He stopped for a moment thinking about going back into the room.
“Jason, what’s up, ma man?” It was Ron Perelman, the company’s attorney leaving for the day with briefcase in hand, coat over his arm, and cell phone in his other hand. He stopped when he was abreast of Jason. “Whoa there, friend. You don’t look so good. Everything alright? Do you need to sit down?”
Jason looked at him in confusion. For the first time in his life, he didn’t have a word in his mouth. He couldn’t possibly tell Ron he had just had a hallucination. No, no. no!
Ron grabbed his arm and steered him to a small alcove with two chairs and sat him down. “Stay here. Let me get you some water.”
When Ron came back, he handed Jason a cold bottle of water. After Jason gulped down nearly half the bottle, he was able to pull himself together enough to be coherent and apologetic. “Ron, I’m sorry, man. Didn’t mean to frighten you. I took some allergy medication earlier and just had an awful reaction to it. I…I think I’m okay,” he lied and took another long swig and felt the water flow down his throat, pooling cold in his belly. He was beginning to get a grip. He was feeling better. Water was reality. He was going to be okay. Whatever happened he would deal with it.
Ron looked at him closely. “You sure? Want me to call your wife to come and get you? Or I can drive you home.”
“No, no. I’m good. Really. Thanks. It’s just that crazy prescription medicine,” he lied again. “Seriously, if I don’t feel better I’ll call Allie to come and get me. I still have more work to do.”
“Okay, Jason. Call me if you need me.”
After Ron left, Jason realized he had to go back to the conference room. Face his fear. Face the fact that he had a hallucination. Maybe he was drinking too much. Maybe he even had a ministroke. Who knew? He went back in.
Jason sat down heavily on the cushioned mahogany chair. “She’s gone, disappeared, evaporated into thin air. I’m not imagining this,” he said out loud. “Her purse and Bible are still here.” In shock, he reached out his hand and slid the book toward him, idly holding it. “What’s happened? Is this some kind of alien attack?” he asked of no one and looked out the window into the sky. Not expecting to see anything, he whispered, “I’ve got to get out of here,” and ran back to his office and grabbed his jacket and keys. Becky wasn’t at her desk, but it was after five. She often left before the hour.
In the hallway and on the elevator down to the first floor, he didn’t encounter anyone in the company until he came to the lobby, where he saw the security guard staring at the monitors, crying in disbelief. Steeped in fear, the man looked from the screen to Jason as he stepped through the elevator doors and walked toward him.
“What’s wrong, Ralph?” What’s wrong?” But Jason knew what was wrong.
“Jason, I don’t believe what I just saw. I was watching all the monitors and saw Linda and Leo on the second floor. I know I’m not crazy, but they were walking down the hallway talking and Linda just disappeared beside him. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I thought there was a video glitch, but Leo went crazy. He saw what I saw!” Ralph flipped on the audio.
Jason peered at the monitor. Leo indeed was going crazy, he was running up and down the hall, screaming Linda’s name, twirling around as if he was in an acid-fueled dance. A few people came out of their offices, demanding to know what was going on. Leo fell to his knees crying, babbling, trying to explain. They crowded around him when a woman came screaming out of her office toward them, saying her assistant had disappeared before her eyes.
“Susan’s gone! She…she…just disappeared!” She, too, fell against the wall crying, unable to be consoled by a man who put his arm around her shoulder.
“What do we do?” Ralph turned to Jason in horror.
“Go home,” advised Jason. “Check on your family!”
Jason was on the move. He made it to the garage and clicked his fob. Lights momentarily flashed, a beep sounded, then he yanked open the door to his BMW and threw in his coat. To his surprise he realized he still had Lilly’s Bible in his hands. He tossed it on the front seat, then pushed the start button and with a shaking finger. The engine roared and the radio blasted on.
The broadcaster was trying to make sense of what was going on in the city. “Disappearances are being reported throughout the community. The police and emergency personnel are advising all to stay indoors.” He couldn’t say more, because he didn’t know more, but some people had reportedly evaporated into thin air. His voice was cracking.
Jason threw the car into reverse and sped from the garage to the usually busy side street. It had been busy, but two fresh car crashes blocked the one-way street. Not stopping to check on the occupants, he made a U-turn, drove onto the sidewalk to get around a stalled car, and raced to the main artery. His ride home was normally a thirty-minute drive; tonight it took close to an hour. Sirens blared as ambulances, cop cars, and fire trucks weaved in and out of traffic, trying to reach those crashed on the roadways and against guardrails. Smoke was seen in the distance. Jason surfed station after station on the radio. All were in the same mode, high alert, and no one knew what was happening except to advise that everyone stay home.
“We’re trying to get home!” Jason screamed at an announcer. “Just tell us what’s going on!” When he finally made it to his house, he jammed the car in park, then ran in through the kitchen to the family room. To his great relief he found Allie collapsed on the couch, a pillow on her chest, watching TV.
No Sabrina. Where is Sabrina?
Before he could ask out loud, Allie jumped up and said, “You’re here! Oh, thank goodness you’re here and alright! I tried calling you, but you didn’t answer! I was frantic!” She ran to him, but he stopped her and grabbed her arms.
“Where’s Sabrina, Allie?” Jason whispered urgently.
“Don’t worry, Jason. Sabrina’s okay. She called. She’s on her way home now. I came home early because I didn’t feel well,” she babbled. “Your mom called and said your brother’s missing and she wanted to know where you were. I tried calling you,” she repeated, “but I couldn’t get through! My mom and dad are okay, but they can’t find my grandma!” She was wailing now. Her grandmother was a wonderful woman who lived alone in an old home on her farm that had once been a working small farm, but all that her grandmother had now was five chickens, her pride and joy. She spent many hours tending to her small flock and her garden, but she always had her cell phone with her in case of emergency. Always. She wasn’t answering. “Jason, what is going on? I don’t understand it!”
“Baby, I don’t know. We’ll call the rest of the family. Maybe someone can check on her.” He turned his attention to the newscaster just as Sabrina came in with tears streaming down her cheeks.
She threw her coat and books on the counter and barreled into the family room. “Mom, Dad? What’s happened? Laurie and Jenny were sitting beside me at the library. They literally disappeared! It happened so quickly! One minute we were all laughing, the next they were gone! I could hear other people in the library screaming and crying because other people disappeared too!” She leaned into her mother, sobbing. “I’m so scared. I thought Dad was gone too! What’s happened?”
“No one knows yet.” Jason held his two girls, then steered them to the couch all the while silently hoping it wasn’t an alien attack. But what else could it be? The newscaster announced that the president of the United States would be speaking to the country at ten o’clock. Until then, he advised his listeners to stay tuned to the channel for ongoing updates and warnings. An explanation would be forthcoming, but the announcer emphasized that an unidentified spokesperson confirmed it was not an alien or terrorist attack and believed it to be a onetime event.
Letting go of his wife and daughter, Jason walked over to the liquor cabinet and with trembling hands opened it and took down two Waterford crystal goblets. He poured a stiff scotch for Allie and himself and sunk down deep in the couch. It was all too much to assimilate. The terror was real, but he had to hold it together for his family. His girls snuggled him and sobbed and talked about what could have happened as they waited for President Foster’s speech. Sabrina leaned into her mom, shivering and crying. All three, in their own stricken world, waited through commentators, talking heads, and newscasters until the president made her appearance.
With little introduction, the president’s upper body filled the screen. “The United States and the world has experienced what our scientists believe is a onetime event. As devastating as this is, we believe that there has been an electro-cosmic interaction with some people’s commonality of DNA segments, and this commonality has caused what is seemingly a large group to be vaporized. At this time, we are confident that this is not a terrorist attack in any form. As soon as we gain more information, we will inform you. In the meanwhile, please stay calm.”
The family listened to her explanation with rapt attention.
The president continued, “Before I introduce our spokesperson to explain the basic theory of this heartrending but concluded event, I would like to add that this situation, though catastrophic, will not set the country back, and America will rise from this heartbreak stronger than ever! My condolences to all who have missing loved ones. In three days hence we plan an official day of mourning for all those who were lost, not only in the United States, but in the world.”
Although it all sounded plausible, it still seemed incomprehensible that a physio-cosmic interaction caused some people to be instantly vaporized, However, Jason, his family, and millions of Americans, as well as the world were buying into it. Jason hugged his daughter tighter that night, and he and Allie slept closely but fitfully. The president’s speech was being aired hourly, giving commentators little time to work their spin of the events into a frenzy, which was promised to come.

 

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