Remember Me (47 page)

At three a.m. the morning of the eleventh, I could hear

Stacy weeping through the door of the bathroom. I had no tears of my own to cry. The ache and anxiety I felt inside wasn’t for me, and it wasn’t for what was about to come, it was for all that I had put my sister through. She gave up more than she would ever know to follow me on my quest. Don

Quixote never had a better companion. He also never took S 358 S

RemembeR me

on a windmill as large as what we faced together. I couldn’t repay her…ever. No amount of money could ever be compensation enough; only a marginal success today would help alleviate some of the torture that would follow her for the rest of her life.

I took a moment and knelt by the bed. I rested my arms on the bed and clasped my hands together. As I lay my head on my arms, I prayed for all of the lives about to be lost and for the salvation of as many of those lives as possible. In the last twenty years of living in this repeated time, and even in my other life, I had my faith severely tested on many occasions. Sometimes it had almost vanished, but never totally. You are either with

“Him” or you aren’t. You might turn away…believe you are doing it all on your own, but you always take comfort knowing God is there waiting for when you need him, just like a loving parent stays in the background and allows their children to face their own way in the world. Today, I was at peace with the Lord. The only thing I asked from him was time…

At four in the morning, the bathroom door opened and

Stacy emerged. She had a clean look and a focused defiance written deeply on her face. I drew new strength from her and after my own quick shower, shared her tenacity to scale the mountain in front of us. The moment of truth had arrived.

Today at eight forty-six a.m. Flight 11 would impact the North Tower, followed by Flight 175 into the South Tower at nine o-three. Our goal was simple; save as many people as we could. We each had our designated assignments, carefully orchestrated to provide maximum response, and hopefully the where-with-all to save countless lives.

We drove to Manhattan Island. Stacy let me out midtown by the Rockefeller Center. She headed south to the West Village.

Shortly before seven a.m. we began calling the police stations and even the Governor’s office. Both Stacy and I had learned S 359 S

Brian L. MacLearn

enough Arabic during the past five years to be passable. We also practiced broken English with as much of an accent as we could. We moved from one phone and location to another. In Arabic we said, “The Infidels will die, the towers will fall!” We said it over and over then hung up. The next time it was in broken English. The last phone call to the police department was at seven-fifteen. This time we were concerned citizens who had noted suspicious white vans parked in the parking ramps, under the towers. We said there were Islamic individuals lurking by the vehicles, and they seemed to be highly agitated. I even went as far as to shout in a panic that I thought I saw big drums inside the van and lots of wire connecting them. I purposely disconnected my call in mid sentence.

At seven-fifty the warning sirens went off and the city was in motion. Emergency vehicles, police cars, fire trucks and even the bomb squad had arrived and were securely in place.

At eight o’clock sharp, Stacy and I were already inside the two towers. I was in the North, and she was in the South Tower.

We began pulling the fire alarms on multiple floors, moving downward as we went. I raced from floor to floor shouting,

“Fire, get out now!” I didn’t need to act out my part; I was truly scared to death. The panic in my voice got many people moving, heading down and out of the building. It was a state of chaos and confusion, but at least they were in motion. I had no doubt there would be many doubters who would not leave…

there always were. I could only pray they were few and that the authorities had time to persuade some to leave before it was too late for anyone who remained inside the towers.

At eight thirty-six by my watch, I headed towards the exit of the North Tower within a stream of people. I was running later than I planned. There was not much time left before the plane would hit. I cornered a Captain from the NYPD, who was directing traffic in the lobby. I wore a business suit and S 360 S

RemembeR me

he had no reason to believe I wasn’t part of the rising tide of employees racing to the exits. In a controlled voice, sounding like someone in a position of authority, I told him that I had just received word that Al-Qaeda had hijacked two planes, and their course was towards the towers. They would hit soon, and nothing was going to be able to stop them. He read the sincerity and truth of my statement on my face. For once the weight of my knowing proved to be enough to spur him to immediate action. He called it in on his mike and sprinted to the elevator.

I was sure Stacy would be just as effective in getting the South Tower to evacuate.

I am not a martyr, but a large part of me wanted to die

here. To end the torment within my mind would be a welcome salvation, and it would be just payback for all of my “atrocities”

in this time. Yet inside I still heard the voice of reason telling me that I still had things to do, things I needed to resolve. I couldn’t lie down and rest, not yet, it wouldn’t be the easy way out for me. I started walking out the door and through the crowds, moving away from the Towers as fast as I could.

People stopped and stared at the ghostly looking man with tears running down his face. They parted to let me by. At eight forty-six and twenty-two seconds, I was forever forgotten by all of them. I heard the plane and the crash and then the unison of screams behind me. I never turned around to watch…I couldn’t, if I did, I would run back to help and surely perish in trying to save every last soul.

I had to stop and rest against the side of a building. I was either having another heart attack or suffering the severe symptoms of a looming one. I dry-mouthed a couple more

aspirin and did my best to regain my normal breathing. Soon there was an onslaught of people racing towards the towers.

Many read the anguish in my face and asked me what had happened. Some, who already knew about the plane, implored me S 361 S

Brian L. MacLearn

to come and help. Some even cursed me as I continued staggering on and away from the towers. I deserved every unkind word they said. I met up with Stacy at Chambers Street, and together we walked to her car. She looked contented. I hoped it would stay that way for her. I prayed she’d be able to move on with her life after the worst was over. She had just unlocked her car door when the second plane hit. The air was already filling with black smoke from the ongoing fire after the first plane struck. We never shared a word, and neither of us looked towards the Towers. We just stuck to the plan we laid out and continued to follow.

Driving through the Lincoln Tunnel, she said, “It was all you could do.”

“Was it?” I answered with slightly more than a croak. “I don’t feel like I’ve done anything. How many still lost their lives...”

“Not as many as would have,” she interrupted me and then said, “We still have much to do, and we can’t dwell on what might-have-been.”

“I’m not sure it matters anymore,” I answered back, “not even sure I’ll be here to see tomorrow.”

“Don’t talk like that. What you accomplished today was

heroic in its way. Lives were lost, yes, but we can still shape the future to be a better place this time around.”

I finally understood what was driving Stacy. Her quest

would be to make sure that this time, America and Americans wouldn’t forget and just go on with their lives. I gave her a weak smile. As the blood pumped thunderously in my head, I could not keep my eyes open. Stacy drove us away from the Towers. I collapsed into the welcomed blackness awaiting my exhausted body.

S 362 S

Not for the faint of heart.

May 22nd, 2010

“Andrew?” Stacy called
out to me, rousing me from my memories. “Two hours and counting, can you think of anything we’re missing?”

“Nope,” I answered, vaguely aware that my voice sounded

distant and tinny. I was tired and my head hurt from everything it contained, all of it crammed within a too small a section inside my brain. “There’s nothing left to do but pray,” I added.

Stacy came over and put her arms around my neck. I could feel her warmth and smell the familiar scent of her shampoo and body lotion. We’d been through so much together, and the next couple of hours would hopefully be the climax of all we had struggled to ascertain. I couldn’t help myself, and as she held on to me, I let the weight of the past twenty-five years fall from my shoulders. I felt it in my bones; today would change everything for the better. I finally had my chance to bring back the ones I loved, and to reset the world to the way it had once been. “I’m sorry sis…for every single thing I’ve done and not done, for all the hurt and suffering you had to endure, for…”

“Shhh,” she said into my ear and hugged me even tighter.

“Life has been infinitely more interesting with you around.”

She laughed and then kissed me on my cheek.

“Glad you’re so happy,” I shot back at her, smiling in spite of myself. It was no longer a worry: what would soon be would be. Time had finally come around full circle. I don’t think any S 363 S

Brian L. MacLearn

of us had any doubts that the wormhole would appear. What happened after that would be the million dollar question. For those in this time who knew about me, would their world

change the moment I entered the wormhole? Would they even know the difference? There were thousands of questions, and only a few hours left until we learned the final defining answer.

Stacy sat down across from me. Her left hand was stiff and knotted with acute arthritis. It was another guilt I carried. In my time, she had been the picture of health and energy. It was my legacy on this world; those who came in contact with me would ultimately suffer. Stacy turned her attention to a newspaper on the table. Unfolding it, she read the business page.

She chuckled when she read the closing price for E.M.J stock.

It was now trading at $252 per share. “I’m going to miss that company,” she said and then looked deep within my eyes for a response.

“I’m not,” I said with complete honesty. “It has brought nothing but trouble for me.”

“You can’t mean that,” Stacy countered, her eyes narrowing and her lips pursing in a pout. “Look at what it’s accomplished in the world, let alone the United States. You found a way to make everyone’s life easier. The world is better off because of you and your vision.”

“Is it really…tell that to Emily, Stebben…Amy,” I couldn’t finish my voice was fading so I mouthed, “you.”

“Andrew! We’ve been over this time and time again; I’m

fine and extremely happy with my life. I don’t know anything different, and I love the brother and companion you have been to me all these years. I wouldn’t want to trade those times for anything. I know…don’t say it… if today works, I might not remember any of it anyway.”

“Let’s only hope that is the actual case.”

“Not everything was all bad; many things and people were S 364 S

RemembeR me

benefited by you personally. I know that no one will ever give you a medal for what you did on 9/11, but you saved over two-thousand people from what was once an assured death.

Tell me that wasn’t a positive. And before you say a word about the ones you didn’t save, it wasn’t because you didn’t try, no matter how bad you want to blame yourself. You did what you could reasonably do. You’ve even said that the “War on Terror”

went better the second time around.”

I fidgeted in my chair. My mouth was dry, and it had a

horrible taste that even the gum I was chewing couldn’t elimi-nate. I glanced up at the clock; one-fifteen, time was counting down. I looked across at Stacy, “I’ll give you a half a point, but two hundred and thirty-six people still died in the Towers. I could have planned better and saved even more,” I declared for the umpteenth time in our age-old debate. I had accepted the fate of the plane that crashed in Pennsylvania—United Flight 93. It fed the American spirit with the heroics born and conceived by the words, “Let’s Roll.” I tolerated the American Flight 77 crashing into the Pentagon because I could not be in two places at once. I did what I could to save thousands of lives in the ongoing “War on Terror” by using my company to help the military.

My company, like the Phoenix of lore, had risen from the ashes to take flight once more. I never could erase the guilty feeling of what it, and I had done to those we came in contact with. As Stacy buried her head in the newspaper, I thought back on the recent ascent of E.M.J. I had to ruefully smile as I remembered the events that lead up to the resurgence of my once forgotten company.

I had waited nearly twelve years after E.M.J. was destroyed to reestablish her presence in the technology sector.

It had been a plan so perfectly instrumented that even I was amazed by how well it worked. I closed the books on E.M.J.

S 365 S

Brian L. MacLearn

after the last FBI investigation cleared me from any wrong doing. American Commercial Insurance paid the claim in full, and I used the insurance money to pay off all E.M.J.’s liabilities. Like so many companies would do in the internet race of the later nineties, my company had stormed onto the scene, grabbed fifteen minutes of fame, and then faded away—completely forgotten. With E.M.J. put down I only had Gametech to deal with. After I handled it, I was seriously going to take a long fishing trip…alone.

I nearly gave Gametech away, just as my first instinct had been to do, but in the end it was Jason Arnute who convinced me to hold on. During what I thought would be our one and only meeting, he surprised me with all that he knew about me and my predicament. I was hurt at first that Stebben had confided so much in him, and then extremely thankful that he had. To do what I planned to do was going to take a lot of cash, and Jason laid out for me how he could help me achieve it.