F Wilson - Fatal Error

He thought back to their last exchange before he'd left the house Thursday morning. Barbara had bought a new outfit the day before and had modeled it for him. She had her own style-a tailored look she wore year in and year out, despite the vagaries of fashion. If he really truly disliked something, he supposed she would take it back, but that had yet to happen. He doubted it ever would-she'd look beautiful in a burqa.

The modelings had become a ritual with its own litany. She knew she had a good figure, but the litany demanded she ask…

Does it make me look fat?

Hmmm… what did it cost?

Nine hundred dollars.

Honestly, honey, I think it adds about ten pounds, especially to your butt.

Oh, wait-it was on sale for ninety.

Skinny Minny!

And they'd laughed as they always did…

And he hadn't seen her since. Except in photos from that monster.

To see her tied down, spread-eagle, naked… a proud, proud woman humiliated like that… it made him The sound of the intercom startled him. Someone buzzing from downstairs. Could it be-?

He leaped to the speaker and pressed the button.

"Yes?"

A gruff voice said, "Package for ya."

"Who is this?"

"Leavin' it here."

"Who-?" But the speaker was dead.

A package? His heartbeat stumbled, missed a beat, then began racing.

The "proof" the monster had promised?

Munir plunged into the hallway and dashed for the stairwell. The elevator was too slow. He could be down in the vestibule by the time it reached his floor. He almost tripped on the stairs in his haste, and forced himself to slow his pace. If he wound up in the hospital, who knew what the monster would do to Barbara and Robby?

He reached the vestibule and found a yellow padded envelope leaning against the wall under the bank of buzzer buttons. Grabbing it, he checked the address box. Three words were hand-printed with thick black pen: the raghead bastard. In the return address box, two more words: Trade Towers.

The envelope nearly slipped from his fingers. The monster! Had he been here? Had he delivered it himself? Munir stepped outside and looked around. No one in sight. In nicer weather, mothers would be walking their young children or pushing strollers. But now, in the dead of winter, no one.

As he stepped back inside he saw the elevator standing open and waiting. He hopped in, pressed his floor number, and was fumbling with the tab of the opening strip before the doors closed. Finally he got a grip on it and ripped it across the top. He looked inside. Empty except for shadows. No. It couldn't be. He felt a bulge, a thickness within. He upended it.

A photograph slipped out and fluttered to the floor.

Munir dropped to a squat and snatched it up. He groaned as he saw Barbara-naked, gagged, bound spread-eagle on the bed as before, but alone this time. Something white was draped across her midsection. Munir looked closer.

A newspaper. A tabloid. The Post. The headline was the same he'd seen on the newsstand this morning. And Barbara was staring at the camera. No tears this time. Alert. Angry. Alive.

Munir wanted to cry. He pressed the photo against his chest and sobbed once, then looked at it again to make sure there was no trickery. No, if this had been Photoshopped, it was expert work.

At the bottom was another one of the monster's hateful inscriptions: She watched.

Barbara watched? Watched what? What did that mean?

The elevator stopped on his floor then. As the doors slid open, he heard a phone ringing. His phone. He'd left his door open. He tore down the hall, leaped inside, and grabbed the receiver before the answering machine picked up. He pressed the RECORD button as soon as he recognized the distorted voice.

"Finished barfing yet, Mooo-neeer?"

"I-I don't know what you mean. But I thank you for this photo. I'm terribly relieved to know my wife is still alive. Thank you."

He wanted to scream that he ached for the day when he could meet him face-to-face and flay him alive, but said nothing. Barbara and Robby could only be hurt by his angering this madman.

" 'Thank you'?" The voice on the phone sounded baffled. "Whatta you mean, 'thank you'? Didn't you see the rest?"

Munir went cold all over. He tried to speak but words would not come. It felt as if something were stuck in his throat. Finally, he found his voice.

"Rest? What rest?"

"I think you'd better take another look in that envelope, Mooo-neeer. Take a real good look before you think about thankin' me. I'll call you back later."

"No-!"

The line went dead.

Panic exploded within as he hung up and looked around for the envelope. Where was it? Had he dropped it in the elevator?

He ran back into the hall and spotted it on the floor.

Didn't you see the rest?

What rest? Please, Allah, what did he mean? What was he saying?

He snatched up the stiff envelope and felt it as he hurried back to the apartment. Yes, something still in it. A bulge at the bottom, wedged into the corner. He closed the apartment door behind him and smacked the open end of the envelope against the top of the slim hallway table.

Once. Twice.

Something tumbled out. Something in a small Ziploc bag.

Short. Cylindrical. A pale, dusky pink. Bloody red at the ragged end.

Munir jammed the back of his wrist against his mouth. To hold back the screams. To hold back the vomit.

And the inscription on Barbara's photograph came back to him.

She watched.

The phone began to ring.

"I wish you weren't going," Jack said, meaning it more than ever now that they were at the airport.

They'd just checked her bag at the American Airlines counter and were ambling toward the security check area. Gia was swathed in a down coat and had her short blond hair hidden under a Life Is Good knit cap. Vicky scouted ahead, looking for a Cinnabon stand.

Gia gave him a wan smile. "I wish I weren't either."

"Then don't."

"I've got to. Vicky needs to see her grandparents every so often, otherwise they're just voices on the telephone."

"Then have them come here. I'll pay for the tickets."

"That's kind, but my dad's back makes travel a real problem." She tilted her head and pierced him with her blue gaze. "We go for visits regularly. This is the first time you've made such a fuss. What's up?"

Jack hesitated, not sure of what to say, or if he should say anything. No, he had to say something. He'd had vague forebodings for a while, but this morning's news had crystallized things.

"Something's in the air. I don't know what it is, but something's going to happen and I want you nearby when it does."

Unease twisted her features. "What's going to happen?"

"I don't know." He felt his gut knotting. "Those Kicker kooks using EMPs last night… it scares me. If they do damage the Internet, it'll disrupt travel and communications. You could be trapped in the Midwest."

"At least I'd have a safe place to stay."

Yeah, Jack thought, but will it stay safe? Never know what some people will do if they think no one is watching.

"So… can't you put the trip off?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Why not?"

Tears rimmed along her lids. "For the same reason. Something bad's going to happen."

Jack threw up his hands. "That's a reason not to go!"

"But don't you see? I have this feeling that if I don't go now I'll never see them again."

Jack felt his shoulders slump. "The coma vision?"

She nodded.

When Gia was in a coma a year ago she'd seen the future and it didn't go beyond this spring. Nothing but featureless blackness after that. Jack wouldn't have given it much credence, but Gia wasn't the only one. A dead guy Jack knew, and spoke to now and again, had told him the same thing. According to these visions the world ended in a few months.