"That night I watched the news; a bad idea considering I was doing my best to put everything out of my mind. I’d managed to gain a certain sense of stability with the help of some single malt scotch.
As I watched I began to get annoyed. I had already gotten tired of seeing still another shot of the towers falling, the interviews with the families hoping to hear from their loved ones. As time went by it had come to seem like someone had to cover the story until it played itself out. The coverage was repetitive, the analysis vague and speculative.
There was one story that was conspicuous for its lack of connection to the towers. A car had been found on a side road in Rockland County, empty of passengers. It had been registered to a Sally Brodman who recently had been involved in a custody battle with her husband. Skid marks seemed to indicate that the car had been forced to a stop. There was no evidence of what happened to Sally and her daughter Taylor, except that the numbers 4, 5, and 1, separated by dashes, had been written in what looked like blood on the left rear door of the car. Her husband was being questioned though no suspects had been officially named.
It had just the right eerie ring to bring my hard won sense of calm crashing down on me. It seemed like the perfect post 9/11 creepiness. More than I wanted to think about just then. I went and made myself another drink."