The Prior

POV: Elliot Foster

Peter chats. I’m not exactly listening. My brain rifles through the plan over and over again. Walk in with Peter. Do a lap around the main floor. Drop Peter off at South Tower stairwell. Walk to North Tower stairwell. Wait by fire alarm. Pull at 9:39. Run. Meet Cassidy and Max at Subway Station. Wait. Hope Peter fufills his duty.

We enter the mall. Crisp air conditioning only worsens the chills on my spine. We lap around the mall. Entrance to South Tower. Peter turns, opening the push door. I wave at him through the glass. He waves back. I shudder.

The mall goers point and laugh and shop. It makes me queasy. They have no idea. I almost drop my phone. My palms are wet with sweat. The time on the flip phone reads 9:23. I pick up the pace a little. My hightops squeak against the mall floor. I see the sign for the stairwell. I half-jog the final 15 feet and enter. The stairwell is muggy. My neck feels damp now, as if double coated in sweat and air moisture. Footsteps pound from above. Someone’s coming down the stairs. My heart skips a beat. Act casual. Act casual. I glance back at the flip phone. Perfect.

I turn it on and click the arrow, searching for Cassidy’s contact. I select it and hold it to my ear. The line rings.

“What happened? Are you ok?” she says, through the phone.

“Everything’s fine! Slipped out of my meeting to see how your day was going,” I say, trying to act casual. I see the person now. They’re half a flight above me. A man, in a suit.

“Are you like in trouble?” she says. I try not to appear frustrated.

“No. How are the kids?” I say, as the man passes by me.

“Uh, great. They’re great,” she says, not very convincing.

He pushes the door open and it slams. I sigh.

“Elliot?” she says. I suddenly remember that I’m on the phone.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to look suspicious in the stairwell. Everything’s going to plan. I love you,” I say.

“Gotcha. I love you too. Bye.”

I hang up the phone and reorient myself next to the fire alarm.

9:32 am.

7 minutes. I release a breath. My hands shake. The business man returns. I quickly pull the phone back up to my ear. He doesn’t bat an eye. I talk to myself, hoping he can’t hear the silence on the other side. He walks up 4 flights of stairs. I count them, worried that I’ll miss the time. My stomach must have a hole in it. Heartburn races up my throat. God.

After hearing the 4th floor door slam again, I glance at the time on my phone. 9:38. Oh, god. This is it. This is it. Should I pull it early and get the fuck out of here? No, no. They might clear the building, and have people returning, before the planes it. This was expertly timed. Right? We timed it, right?

The time changes. 9:39. I punch the glass around the alarm as hard as I can. Shattered glass falls all around me. My fingers dig into the edges of the white pull lever. I yank it down with aggression. It slips out of my hands, flopping back to it’s original position. Did it go off? I freeze, my ears straining for the sound of an alarm. Nothing. I reach back and pull the trigger again. Nothing. Oh god. Oh god. I spin on my heels and fly up the first flight of stairs. My eyes scan for another alarm. Where? Where?

My vision goes blurry. What the fuck. I spin around, now on the first floor. Where is the next alarm? The first floor door swings open. A ear piercing sound hits my eardrum. People flood out of the office floor. It is going off, I process. More doors open from the floor above me. The alarm gets louder and louder. There’s no speakers in the stairwell. Oh my god, I have to go. I grip the edge of the stairwell and pad down the stairs. I can only go as fast as the person in front of me. A lady. Wearing heels. Go faster! I scoot to the other side of the stairwell. I pass the woman with heels, but get stopped immediately after. Two business men walk side by side, each on the phone with someone else. Move! I fight the urge to shove them out of the way. We’re almost there. I make it out the doors of the stairwell and see the outdoor exit. I don’t care how suspicious I look. I am running. These people should be too. But, of course, they don’t know what I do. I shove out of the glass exit doors. The cold air of the city hits me. I have to go. This is all still a dangerous zone.

I look both ways. A taxi is flying down the street. Fuck. I sprint across the way, but not fast enough to avoid getting honked at.

“Yo, watch where you’re going man!” he shouts, in a classic New York accent.

I ignore him and continue to run towards safety, the subway station. I approach the station Cassidy and Max aren’t here yet. I glance around at the crowds of people, all evacuating the tower. I’m probably getting lost in the crowd. I dash down the stairs and cling to the far wall, away from the towers. I can’t breath. The subway floor is stuffy. Am I any safer down here? What if Max and Cassidy are waiting upstairs? This must be a panic attack. I clutch my chest, it panging with each beat. I focus on my breathing. Ok, ok. It’s ok. Where is Cassidy? I flatten myself against the wall as people rush back and forth past me. The pain in my chest is crippling. Is this a heart attack? What if I’m having a heart attack right now? I’m too young, right? Oh god, it hurts.

“He must be down here! Elliot?” A familar voice calls. I wince, looking towards the stairs. She runs down the stairs, Max trailing behind. She runs up to me.

“Cassidy,” I croak, “I think I’m having a heart attack.”

Her face changes in an instant. Her hands come around me and grab my shoulders. Max dials a phone number. I groan in pain.

“Yeah, my friend’s having a heart attack……Subway station by the world trade center. Busy?” he says, “What?”

Cassidy turns around and looks at Max. He shakes his head.

“The planes. They can’t send anyone. Occupied,” he says.

Cassidy squeezes my biceps and lays me down on the ground.

“You gotta stay conscious, ok?” Max says.

I black out.