Chapter 21
Several days later, he realized that his dream was not a backward glance at 9/11 but a harbinger of trouble to come. He arrived home from a particularly nettlesome day catering to the dictatorial needs of Señor to find Lleyton and Belle riveted to the TV in the kitchen, their normally smooth brows furrowed, their matching bow-shaped mouths pursed in concentration as yet another god-awful fish-and-salad concoction was left untouched. Immediately, he thought there had been another “event.” Maybe it was only a routine plane crash. Only a plane crash, he thought, disgusted at the relativity of life’s tragedies.
“What’s up?” he said, fighting for control.
“I think you better hear this,” Lleyton said. He aimed the remote at the TV, pumping up the volume.
“I’m Jackie Wyman,” an ano
