Panic

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The phone awoke Evan Casher, and he knew something was wrong. No one who knew him ever called this early. He opened his eyes. He reached across the bed for Carrie but she was gone, and her side of the bed was cool. A note, folded, on the pillow. He reached for it but the phone continued its insistent shrill, so he answered.

‘Hello.’

His mother said, ‘Evan. I need you to come home. Right now.’ She spoke in a low whisper.

He fumbled for the bedside lamp. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘Not over the phone. I’ll explain when you get here.’

‘Mom, get real, it’s a two-and-a-half-hour drive. Just tell me what’s wrong.’

‘Evan. Please. Just come home.’

‘Is Dad all right?’ His father, a computer consultant, had left Austin three days ago for a job in Australia. He made databases dance and sing for big companies and governments. Australia. Long flights. Evan had a sudden vision of a plane, scattered across the outback or Sydney Harbor, ripped metal, smoke rising. ‘What’s happened?’

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