One (3 page)

I didn’t have any more time to waste, I was late enough. I made my way back toward the elevator and exited into the garage under the building. Just like the lobby it was quiet out there as well, no sound of cars entering and exiting, no sign of any one. Perhaps something was going on over at North Avenue Beach across Lake Shore Drive.

My Yamaha R6 motorcycle was my most cherished possession. When I first laid my eyes on its candy-apple blue frame, I fell in love. You would think that a nineteen year-old asking for a motorcycle would lead to a long saga of begging and bartering. However, my father negotiated with me better than any F.B.I agent.

The metal garage gate was left open. Normally, when you slide your plastic key card against the scanner the door would automatically open and then close on its own. The only way it would remain open would be if the doorman used his override control. What didn’t make sense was why it was still open. The last time the garage door was left open Mrs. Small’s champion poodle escaped. Come to think of it, that was when Nicolas and I became friends. After seeing her chew him out I just felt sorry for the guy. The stupid dog was fine and found only minutes later. One of the many reasons I hate people.

A strange echo flowed through the garage. It was quiet out there as well, no cars coming and going. Usually I cannot wait to strap on my helmet to block out the sounds of the screeching tires and barking dogs, but I went from silence to silence. The roar from my engine put an end to that. I spend out onto North Shore Drive screeching my tires against the pavement. I had been warned for doing that by the security guards, but they were not around and I did not care. My thoughts returned to Christine and why she had not called me back yet.

At the very first intersection I came to a stop. I had to pause at the sight before me. A black Cadillac Escalade sat parked in the middle of the intersection blocking my right of way. Its dark tinted windows prevented me from seeing inside. Paused, I waited impatiently for a few moments excepting it to spring into motion. Women and their oversized SUV’s. They were always losing control of them; at least that is what I believed happened.

Yet another delay, I could have easily gone around the vehicle, but I was pissed off at that point. The first thing I noticed as I pulled my helmet off was how cold it felt, that and the quiet. I was about to break the silence once again.

“
Hey, move that over-sized, over-priced piece of shit!”

My voice echoed as if I were still in the garage. I was taken back for a moment by the lack of people or cars on the road. Where were the dog walkers, the joggers, for that matter, where were the birds? I pushed my curiosity aside, leaned my bike on its kickstand, and stormed over to the driver’s side of the SUV.

“
Come on, what’s the hold up?”

There was no reaction nor sounds from within the SUV. I cupped my hands together and could see inside, it was then I realized the car was still running. No signs of life. The door was locked, but the keys were in the ignition. Who would leave their car in the middle of the road like this? A better question came to mind when I noticed the lit cigarette burning a hole into the grey leather seats. How long ago did this person leave and where did they go? The cigarette was burned down to the filter, but that didn’t tell me much.

I didn’t have time to care. I retrieved my bike and continued toward Clark Street. About a half a block from the intersection a sea of cars brought me to a screeching halt. In haste I pulled my helmet from my head, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Several dozen cars were strewn throughout the intersection. Many vehicles had crashed into each other, many more onto the sidewalk and into nearby buildings. The massive scene was not the strangest site. There were no sounds, no people, not one police or rescue official, no one.

“
How in the hell…?”

It was as if I was staring at a video placed on pause and then edited to remove all the people. I turned my head, my eyes searched for something to explain the sight. Thoughts couldn’t form within my mind. It was so quiet and yet, I was looking at the worst accident I could remember.

I had to rationalize the reality before me. What did I see? What was I missing? The cars, their positioning and the way they crashed, it was telling me something. I had passed this intersection almost every day since we moved in. I knew this area well. On my bike I had to pay attention to the traffic patterns and how different streets and intersections worked. I had to be careful. The thought of having an accident terrified me.

The intersection of Clark Street and North Avenue was always busy. There had been many accidents that I had been witness to. The scene set before me however, was not like any I had seen before. The first most obvious difference was the lack of people. My helmet became heavy, I could no longer hold onto it, the sound it made when it fell to the pavement startled me. I cracked against the pavement like a head slamming into a steering wheel. I slowly made my way into the intersection. Each vehicle I passed I checked inside. They were all empty. Many of them were locked, all still had keys in the ignition. Some were still running.

The pattern of the crashes didn’t match what I was used to seeing. Know that I am no expert, but I’ve seen what happens when someone runs a stoplight or is driving drunk. After my father was killed, I spent months reading and searching through the archives of accidents. This was not one or two cars meeting in the intersection, but the flow of traffic from all four sides meeting in the center, at once.

Some of the damage particularly in the intersection was extensive, this would make sense. There were, however, many of the other cars. With some the damage was so slight; it was like they gently rolled into one another. One car near North Shore Bank looked as if it was in mid turn going south bound on Clark Street to west bound on North Ave. The damage and the positioning of the cars made it clear the car simply rolled across the street in a diagonal direction and gently crashed into two cars that were sitting stationary, waiting for the light to change.

The second issue to contend with was the lack of reason for the accidents. The street lights were in working order. I was forced to pause on that thought. An injection of fear coursed through me. My eyes again began to search, but this time the sky. Overcast skies, now thinking back, I didn’t remember seeing them when I pulled from the garage. How were they there when I arrived in the intersection? Perhaps it didn’t matter. There was nothing above that explained what was going on in front of me. There was no rain or other weather conditions, but that wasn’t the reason for my growing fear.

I may have told myself I was checking the weather, but I was looking for something much more sinister. The only reasonable reason people would just abandon their vehicles would be if there was an attack or a pending attack. No sign of smoke or evidence of damage anywhere in sight. Instinct pulled against rational thought, I needed to get inside.

Starbucks, I began spending more and more of my money there. They built it next to the Village Theater on Clark Street. Near the entrance, there was a black Dodge Neon that had crashed head on into the lap post. The front windshield was cracked, but I could clearly see the reflection from the driver’s die-cast “Life is a beach” keychain attached to the keys in the ignition. The front of the store seemed normal. No signs of damage on the door or windows. If there was a mass panic and a rush to shelter there should be some signs of it in the street and sidewalk.

A gust of wind, much colder than it should be caused a shiver within me. Perhaps it wasn’t just the chilled air, but the creeping dread that was telling me that this was only the beginning of a long nightmare.

I stared at the storefront and my eye caught a shimmer from something in front of the door. I stepped closer and knelt down to pick up a small cellular phone. It was black with a slick high-tech design; I remembered that the model was just released this month. I placed the phone in my pocked, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.

The Starbucks was dead quiet and as empty as the street. Normally a large group ranging from junior high school students to downtown money makers would be either lined up dying to purchase caffeine salvation, or parked on one of the many lounge chairs chatting away. Just as the wind wasn’t the true cause of my shiver, the desolate café was not my main quandary.

Purses, wallets, change; both bills and coins littered the floor. It was as if everyone dropped what they were doing in a panic and fled. What did not make sense was if there was an attack or disaster why was there no word of it, why would the streets be evacuated, why would people just drop their possessions as if they just disappeared in an instant?

There had to be an explanation, but any reasonable one escaped me. Two cups of coffee, Venti sized sat on the counter next to the cash registered. My uneasiness furthered with each echoing step I made toward it. I learned over the counter and found more money spilled onto the floor on the other side.

Four dollar bills and some change. The cash register was open, it was as if the event happened just as the customer was paying. Vanilla latté, I could smell it. Another contrast, my fingertips felt the heat from the coffee cup. The chill within me grew further still.

“
It’s still warm.”

I was talking to no one. This wasn’t a curiosity any longer. The Starbucks cups are made to keep the contents hot, but at the temperature I had felt, whatever happened, happened less than an a few hours ago.

I felt a fear inside me I had not known was possible. Without conscious thought I had jumped over the counter, picking up the phone. Before my hands began to shake I had already dialed nine-one-one. My heart thumped in my chest as the phone continued to ring. I was stupid, wasting so much time trying to solve this puzzle without even knowing what the picture was.

Several rings had my breathing heavy. A click then a moment of silence brought me both hope and despair.

“
Thank you for calling the Chicago Police Department. All circuits are busy, please try again later.”

I had never heard an automated response like that for the police. It didn’t ask me to hold or even that there was something wrong. Was anyone even there to answer? My mind thought back to before I left. If something happened, why didn’t anyone tell me? Mom would have heard about it on the television or radio or even the internet. Ashley would have barged into my room with a news bulletin. Unless…

My hands steadied just enough to speed dial my house.

“
Come on, pick up! Please!”

Again, I was talking to no one. Perhaps I was hoping if someone, anyone heard my plea… another click and then silence.

“
You’ve reached the voicemail of Martha, Timothy and Ashley Hayden. Sorry we missed your call, but if you leave your name, number and time of your call, we will call you back. Have a wonderful day.”

Hearing my mother’s voice, for the first time ever, caused me anguish.

“
Mom, are you home? Please pick up! Something happened. I don’t know what it is, but everyone evacuated. I’m coming home. Wait for me!”

My body froze. I never saw my mother face to face that morning. Was she even there? My eyes locked onto a large digital clock above the door, one forty-five. What if they never had a chance to tell me, to warn me? I begged my body to move. I couldn’t accept what I feared had happened. Finally able to break free I rushed toward the door. A thought burrowed through my mind. Was this my dream fulfilled by a nightmare? Was I now alone

An Awakening Nightmare

It didn’t matter anymore; the mystery of what was unfolding before me. All that I cared about was reaching home as fast as I could. I didn’t show it, but I often worried about my mother as much as she worried about me. I remember the look on her face at dad’s wake. People we hadn’t seen in years showing up, not out of love or even respect, but obligation. Mom spent more time trying to be strong for us than grieving. Maybe that is why she was not able to “heal” as Ashley would say.

My bike could not move fast enough. I remember how I felt. It was just like before, the cold air, the silence, the helplessness. Driving to the hospital the night of the accident there was nothing I could do, but sit there looking at mom’s face. I don’t even remember my thoughts, but I knew deep inside that something horrible had happened. My mind tried to deny it, but again, deep down I knew it was true. That feeling, that day, rushing home, it told me that everything was starting again. It told me something horrible had happened.

I pulled back into the garage, nothing had changed. The lobby was still empty, quiet. The elevator was there as if waiting for me. I reached my door. My hands shook as I tried to open it. The rush of air from the apartment brought something else, a smell from earlier, of coffee. When I left the house I remembered smelling mom’s coffee. I went on that thinking she was in the kitchen having breakfast.

“
Mom, are you home? Ashley?” I called out with more hope than question.

Receiving no response made it harder for me to open the door to the kitchen. Mom always sat at the island in the center of the kitchen. It was dad who designed it. He was the chef of the house and was always proud to show off his culinary skills to anyone who came by. Ashley told me mom sat at that spot every morning just staring ahead at the stove. Before, dad would be there cooking something for everyone. Since his death she just sits there alone drinking coffee and eating toast.