This chapter – and the following four – deal with the September 11th attacks on America, the World Trade Center specifically. If this is not a topic you feel comfortable reading, it's best to come back for Chapter 56 when we'll move on from these events.


Chapter Fifty-One

The thing that struck Sam the most was how normal it was. The sky was an almost cloudless blue and the air was warm. It was a beautiful September Tuesday in New York.

He felt hot in his suit. He wasn't used to wearing a one anymore; it was a rare occurrence that he wore a suit for a hunt these days. This one was new. He'd gone to a tailor in the city to have it made so he could give the right impression for his cover.

He had a meeting arranged for nine-thirty with Morgan Stanley to discuss his investment plan. It was the first time he'd ever used the influence of his money for something. Most of the time he behaved as he always had. Missouri didn't show it either. She'd made sure James had enough money for the essentials when he was in college, and he'd never wanted for anything, but she'd made sure he wasn't spoiled. He had a paper route when he was old enough and he'd worked at the multiplex when he was in high school. Few people that knew them had any idea just how much money they'd earned over the years playing the stock market.

Sam wasn't hiding it today though. He wore the custom-made suit and shoes, and he carried a Dunhill briefcase. His beard and hair had been treated to a barbershop trim. He had checked into the Four Seasons and he'd been driven over in a chauffeur-driven Bentley. He looked like what he was: a wealthy man. Uncomfortable as it made him, there was a reason for it. Sam's meeting today was in the South Tower of the World Trade Center.

Even thinking the name felt strange to him. It was only going to be the World Trade Center for a few more hours and then it would become Ground Zero, a place known the world over as the scene of one of the greatest tragedies to ever occur in the United States.

Missouri had told him not to come. She didn't want him to witness the horror he'd warned her about. George hadn't tried to persuade him in either direction. As much as he wanted to spare Sam from this, he understood why Sam had to come. He could do nothing to prevent this tragedy, but he could be there to help people after.

Sam was there now though, and he had to forget George and Missouri for a while and concentrate on what was happening. He needed to be present more than ever before.

The street was louder than Sam thought it would be. He'd only ever been into New York a few times in his life, the most memorable time being when he and Dean were kids and they'd persuaded John to bring them into the city. That visit had ended with Dean sneaking into the CBGB and the ride out of the city being spent in tense silence. Sam had known his father was mad because Dean had snuck out and gone to a concert, and he'd been mad, too, that Dean hadn't taken him with him. Dean had always seemed to do the fun stuff in those days.

There were a lot of people on Greenwich street. Some were walking the New Yorker hustle, avoiding other people's eyes, focused wholly on what they were doing; perhaps some of them were heading into the towers for work; maybe they had appointments like Sam. Others were obviously tourists. They had fanny packs around their waists and large cameras in their hands. They stopped in the middle of the flow of human traffic to snap pictures, drawing irritated sounds from the New Yorkers trying to go about their days.

Sam dodged around them and walked to the Starbucks a little along the street. He wanted to stop for a coffee, one last moment of normal, before the worst came. There was less than an hour to go until the first plane would hit, and Sam was telling himself to appreciate America, the world, before it changed.

He joined the queue behind two women in business suits. One was perusing the front page of the New York Times. Joe Biden was pictured and the headline declared a war of words between him and George Bush over antimissile defense. Sam knew what the headlines would be the next day, how this dispute would be forgotten as the country came together in shock and mourning.

The queue moved along and Sam took a step forward, trying to keep a hold of himself. It felt impossible though, as he alone of all of the millions of people in the city knew what was coming. He had seen it before from a distance. Now he was going to live it.

He got to the counter and put in his order. He paid and moved along to the counter to collect his drink. The woman reading the newspaper ahead of him took her paper cup and Sam took her place, watching her walk away. A part of him hoped she was going somewhere other than the towers today, that she would escape, but that thought made him feel guilty. Was her life worth more because Sam had seen her before it happened? Did she count for more because Sam knew her coffee order and that she read the New York Times? Of course she didn't. She was a person like any of the 2,700 people that were going to die in the towers. The only person in New York that could say with certainty that they were going to live through the next twenty-four hours was Sam. Everyone else was a possible victim.

Sam's order was called out and he took his drink and carried on along the street. It was time to go inside, he knew, but he was afraid of it. He was going to become a part of it the minute he stepped inside the tower, and though he had no fear for himself physically, he was scared of what he was going to see. No hunt he had taken in his life would prepare him for this. The LA Riots were next to nothing in terms of the suffering he was about to see. He had to do it though. He could save lives.

With a sense of foreboding, he walked through the glass doors and into the lobby of the South Tower. People were milling around, and Sam walked through them to the elevators, thinking that perhaps these people, here on the first floor, would be among the lucky ones that escaped.

He stepped into a car with a group of others and hit the button for the sky lobby where he would need to change elevators. Musac played on the discreet speakers, and Sam marveled at the normalcy of it. This was any other day in the towers, except it wasn't; a monster unlike any other Sam had faced was coming.

He changed elevators in the sky lobby and carried on upwards. His appointment was on the seventy-fourth floor, the appointment he would never keep, and he stepped out and into another lobby area.

The windows were large and they gave Sam a spectacular view out over the north-west of the city. Sam could see the North Tower standing proud opposite them. Sam turned away from the sight and took a seat on a couch and sipped his coffee. He was too early to check in for his meeting, even if it hadn't been a ruse, and his spot was close to the staircase and entrance to the Morgan Stanley offices. He was positioned to help people in the immediate aftermath.

A woman came and sat opposite him and pulled a pair of black heels out of her canvas bag. She toed off the sneakers she was wearing and replaced them with the heels. Sam remembered Jessica suddenly. She would wear incredible heels when they went out together, but the first thing she did when they got home was kick them off and complain about how uncomfortable they were. Thinking about her on this day in this place made him wonder where she was now. How would the news reach her of what had happened?

The first time Sam had lived through these days, he'd been a senior at a school in West Virginia. He'd been in his second class of the day, English, and the school secretary had rushed into the room and whispered to the teacher. He had been an older man, and Sam had thought he was a dick with his strict rules and propensity to lecture at them rather than engage and teach. He had stood from his desk that day and told them that there had been an incident in New York—an airplane had hit the World Trade Center. There had been a beat of absolute silence and then people had begun to react. Some asked each other questions while others just spoke their disbelief. Sam had been frozen. He was prepared for supernatural dangers and attacks, but this was so human, an accident. At least that was what they had believed at the time. It was later that terrorism became part of it.

They were instructed to leave their belongings where they were and go to the auditorium. Sam had slipped his cell into his pocket and filed out after the rest of his class and walked through the halls to the auditorium. Other kids joined them there and they were directed to sit as the principal stood on the stage, waiting for them to be seated. When they had, he said, "The world is watching New York, and the administration and I have decided we should join them. He had pressed a button on a TV and every eye had fixed on the image of the burning tower that filled the screen.

Sam had sat with his breath held, watching the horror unfold. He had been one of the people that had shouted out in shock as the second plane came into view. He'd watched the collision and he'd known, even then, that the world as he'd known it was changed forever.

Thirty minutes later, his phone had rang and the terse voice of his father had said, "We're outside. Come now."

Sam had stood from his seat and, ignoring the commands for him to come back and sit down, he had walked out of the auditorium and through the halls to the exit.

The sleek black Impala was parked on the street outside the school boundaries, and Dean and John were standing beside it. At the sight of him, Dean had run forward and dragged him into his arms. Sam had let himself be held, not feeling like the adult he so desperately wanted to be treated as at that time but a child. Dean had released him and patted his cheek. "You okay, little brother?"

Sam started to nod and then he faltered. "Not really," he said.

"Me either," Dean said. "Come on. Dad's getting us out of here."

Sam walked with him to the car where John was standing, and he looked into his father's eyes. It had been the time in which they'd been butting heads on a regular basis—Sam's need for a normal life coming against his father's need to protect—but in that moment, John was just a father in shock like the rest of America. He walked to Sam, embraced him quickly and said, "Let's get you out of here."

For once, Sam hadn't argued.

Somewhere out there Sam was in English class, and the world was a familiar place to him still. Here and now he was a scared man that knew what was coming and wanted to flee from it but couldn't. What kind of man would he be if he didn't do his best for the people here?

He checked his watch and looked out of the window again. It was soon. The plane was already approaching.

"It's a hell of a view, isn't it?"

Sam turned toward the voice and saw the woman that had been changing shoes looking at him.

"It's incredible," Sam said.

She smiled. "Best view on a commute there is."

"You work here?" Sam asked.

"Morgan Stanley," she said with a nod, holding out her hand. "Nina Loren."

He shook her hand. "Sam Taylor. I'm here for a meeting."

"In that case enjoy the view while you're here, Sam," she said.

"I will," Sam said, smiling. "Thank you, Nina."

She waved to him as she walked away and through the double doors of the offices. Sam watched her go, his heart aching. She was Nina. She worked for Morgan Stanley. She wore Skechers sneakers to walk to work before swapping them out for heels, and she appreciated the view. She was a person to him now, and she was here on this day. Would she make it out alive? This building was full of people like her, people with lives he knew nothing about, and they wouldn't all make it out.

He wanted to flee. He wanted to run from the building until he was so far away he wouldn't even see the dust that would billow as the buildings fell. He didn't want to be here. He had to be here. He was a part of this. He had to save as many as he could. He had to make it count. This fear, this sickness, was his penance for what he had done in his life.

"Hey, look at that," someone said, and Sam's attention snapped to the window again. The first plane was coming. Sam saw the wing disappear behind the corner of the North Tower. It was close enough that Sam could clearly see the American Airlines logo on the tail. It was suddenly very real, what was coming, and Sam swallowed hard.

"Whoa, that's low," someone else said.

"It's going to hit!"

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and turned away from the window.

The sound was unlike anything Sam had ever heard in his life: a roar and then a booming that pressed in against his ears. People screamed and Sam was jostled. He reached out to steady himself against the window, and his eyes snapped open as he registered the heat. The glass was hot, as was his face. The fire that was exploding out of the North Tower was spilling its heat at them.

There was paper falling through the air, some of it was burning, but other pieces were just falling down like ticker tape at a parade. Sam wondered what was on those papers. Had they been important contracts and plans that people had labored over or were they spare sheets for the copier? It was a stupid thing to think at the time, but even with his foreknowledge, Sam was in shock. Debris was falling, too. It whipped past too fast for Sam to make sense of what it was, but he thought of the people below, wondering where it would land.

"What was that?" someone asked behind him.

"A plane," a stunned voice replied. "I saw a plane. It hit Tower One."

Sam forced himself to look up and he saw the enormous hole in the building that was spilling smoke and fire. The sight seemed to jerk him back to himself. He needed to act. He had chosen the South Tower because it would fall first and he thought he would be able to help more getting people out early than he would in the North Tower. The only floors between him and the floor the plane would hit in just over fifteen minutes were two mechanical floors. The people he had a chance of helping were here.

Sam snapped to attention and raised his voice above the clamor of noise. "Everybody out!"

Some people looked at him, seeming confused, and others scared.

"It hit the other tower," a man said. "We're safe here."

"You're not," Sam said. "Get out now!"

Even as he said it, people began to spill out of the doors to the Morgan Stanley offices.

"Use the stairs," Sam shouted at them. "Don't go to the elevators."

"We're on the seventy-fourth floor," a young woman said.

"Trust me," Sam said. "Use the stairs."

Other voices were added to his as more and more people came out of the offices. There was a man shouting above the voices. "Stay calm and walk carefully. Go down the stairs."

Sam looked at the man, dressed in a suit and red tie, and felt a wave of relief. He had forgotten it wasn't just him trying to save. The media had been full of stories of heroism, people that had stayed to see their friends and co-workers get to safety before they had left themselves. Many of them didn't make it out because they had stayed to save others. They were real heroes.

People continued to spill out, and Sam watched them file away. There was no real panic. People were treating it like a drill. It was the best way to react. Only Sam wanted to make them run, get out faster, save themselves, even though he knew that was the worst thing they could do. Only Sam knew what was really coming for them, flying through the sky toward them like a missile.

For a moment, Sam was torn, unsure of whether to stay and continue to persuade people to leave or to move on to another floor. He realized this floor was already in motion. They had someone taking care of them. He wasn't needed. There were seventy-three floors below that needed help.

He joined the people on the way to the stairs and allowed himself to be carried along in the flow. It was crowded but calm. People were moving along carefully. Sam had expected chaos, but people were doing the right thing. He knew chaos would come later.

He was down many floors when he saw an opening to get out of the staircase. He pushed out of the flow and through a door of people queued to access the stairs. There were people talking in the lobby, talking as they had been upstairs, but a man and woman were directing them to the staircases and advising them as the man upstairs had.

As Sam stopped and looked around, the PA speaker above them crackled to life and a slightly strained voice said. "This is the Port Authority Buildings Association. There is a contained fire in Tower One. The emergency services are attending. There is no need to evacuate Tower Two. I repeat, no need to evacuate. Return to your desks for the safety of all."

People stopped where they stood and began to discuss what was said. The stream of movement leading toward the staircases stopped.

"Ignore it," the woman directing people shouted over them. "Evacuate. A day's missed paycheck is nothing as long as you're all safe."

People seemed to absorb what she was saying, and they began to walk to the stairs again.

Sam went to the woman that seemed to be in charge and asked, "Is everyone moving?"

She shook her head. "Some won't leave their desks, and there's a meeting in the Culvert Suite that haven't come out yet."

"Culvert suite?" Sam asked.

"Far end of the hall," she said.

Sam thanked her and rushed into the offices. The reception desk was empty and Sam ran past it to the room at the end of the hall. It had double frosted glass doors with decals declaring it the Culvert Suite. Sam pulled open the doors and went inside.

Around a long mahogany table sat thirteen men and women. At the top of the table was an older man with grey hair and a weathered face. He looked at Sam and Sam felt he was being sized up; the quality of his suit being compared to the length of his hair. "Can I help you?" he asked.

"You need to get out," Sam said, raising his voice above the tannoy that was repeating its call for people to remain.

"It seems not everyone agrees with you," the man said, drawing a few laughs from the men and women around the table.

"It doesn't matter," Sam said, glancing at his watch, there were only minutes until the second plane hit. "You need to get out of here." When they still looked unconvinced, he spoke impassioned. "There is nothing important enough to make you stay in this building. No deal or decision you make today is going to count for anything tomorrow after what's happened to Tower One. It's all meaningless. If there is anyone in the world that you love waiting for you, needing you to be safe, get out of here now."

The man stared him down and Sam implored him with his eyes to understand. He needed them to get out.

"Very well," he said. "Ladies and gentlemen, this meeting is adjourned. We are evacuating."

As if was any other day and the meeting had come to its natural completion, they closed notepads, screwed the caps on pens, and began to put their belongings into bags. Sam watched as they stood and began to file from the room. The man that had sat at the head of the table walked to Sam and then stopped.

"You have either just made a grave mistake or helped us greatly," he said. "I don't know which."

"Believe me, I've helped," Sam said.

He followed them out of the room and back towards the stairs. He checked his watch again. It was close now. The plane would be in sight, visible from the south windows.

He had just reached the receptionist desk when he heard the roar of a plane approaching.

It was time.


So… Here we go. I was very nervous about covering these events, and I spoke to Gredelina1 and Jenjoremy about it first, but it was agreed between us all that there is no way to cover these years without these events. And there is no way Sam wouldn't be there. He would want to help who he could.

I can only relate to how the world felt about that day. I'm a Brit so I can't empathize with America about how it felt for you as I've never experienced what you did. I have done my best to be as respectful as I could with this sensitive subject, but I'm not perfect. I can only hope I don't offend.

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx