Chapter Fifty-Seven.

                                    

                                          
Sitting by the window of the hotel room that overlooked Manhattan and Central Park, my mind began to wonder off in a trail of thought that was beyond my control. No matter what I tried to think about, all I could think about was that day sixteen years ago. 
                          
“What’s up, buttercup?” George asked, but I could tell by the look on his face as he sat down on the floor beside me that he knew exactly what was up. 
                          
“Nothing,” I smiled. 
                          
“Don’t lie, Sammy,” George paused. “I know your mind is going into overdrive.”
                          
“It’s just weird. This exact minute in 2001, I still had my dad. But ten minutes later, it was gone. My dad was gone.”
                          
George looked down at his hand and then reached into his pocket, taking out a crumpled envelope. “I’ve had this for a few weeks now. I wanted to give it to you. Honestly. I did. I just didn’t know when or where. I don’t think there is any perfect time to give it to you but I think it could help you feel a bit better today. It might give you some courage for tonight.”
                          
I looked at the envelope that was in his hand. After taking a few moments of looking at the envelope, I took it and began to open it. 
                          
Dearest Sammy,
                          
You don't know me but I know you and your dad. I have my entire world to thank all down to your dad. I suppose I should really introduce myself properly to you but for now I will just write you a letter in the hope that you realise how much I owe to your father and then maybe one day I can thank you personally. 
                          
My name is Gregg Richardson. I worked as a stockbroker and was based in the North Tower of the World Trade Center in New York. At the time of the 9/11 terrorist attacks, I was a self-centred 34 year old who only thought about money and when the next big cheque was going to come through so I could finally buy myself the car that I had wanted for the past three years. I rarely saw my parents who lived up state due to a family disagreement in the mid 1990s and I almost never had a girlfriend - or at least, I never found someone I actually wanted to settle down with. 
                          
8.40am on September 11th 2001 and I was sat at my desk, drinking my coffee and typing away at my computer - just like I had done every week day for the past five years. Nothing out of the usual. Angela, the security woman for our floor, gave me a quick wave as she walked to her post to start her shift. The stock exchange was due to open at half nine, giving me fifty minutes ready to prepare. 
                          
8.46am on September 11th 2001 and that is when everything changed. The whole floor, probably the entire building, broke into chaos as a Boeing 767 was heading straight towards the North Tower of the World Trade Center. It was like my entire life was flashing in front of my eyes as the plane struck the tower on floors 93 to 99. I was on floor 28. All the electricity went off and we were in complete darkness. Nobody had any other instinct but to get the hell out of there. The impact from the plane had caused a panel from our ceiling to fall down, crushing my leg in the process. I was physically stuck and couldn’t move. Nobody else around me was willing to help me. They were all heading towards the fire exits, just like the other thousands in the building. My floor was soon empty and the only sound that could be heard was the running footsteps of people down the fire stairs and the sirens from outside. I thought I was going to die there. I was losing blood and lots of it. You see on these movies that people tell the injured person to think of things to keep them fighting for their lives as they wait for emergency services but the sad reality was that I had nothing to keep me fighting. I had no wife. I had no kids. I had no family that would have missed me. I had nothing.
                          
9.04am on September 11th 2001 and I managed to meet a true hero - your dad. I had been lying beneath the ceiling for over fifteen minutes. I was in agony but I didn’t care. That’s when your dad came rushing into the floor. He had been sent up by the fire department to check floors for casualties and help evacuate the rest of the floors. He almost missed me as I ducked down. I didn’t want to be saved. I had nothing to be saved for. The rescuers should have spent their time on people who had things to live for instead of wasting it on me. Your dad was different though. He was adamant to help me. He rushed across the floor and lifted up the beams that were lying straight across my leg. As he helped me, he told me everything was going to be okay and he’d make sure I got out. He helped me across the floor as I limped. Blood was dripping all over the place so your dad grabbed a coat that had been left on the back of Jessica’s chair from personnel and wrapped it tightly around the wound. 
                          
 “My name is Kevin,” he smiled calmly. “What’s your name?”
                          
I replied with “Gregg” but burst out crying before I had chance to finish my name. Your dad wrapped his arm around me as we reached the bustle of the fire stairs. 
                          
“I’m going to have to go up and help the other floors too but just follow everyone else down to the ground floor. There’ll be paramedics there for you.” 
                          
I was astonished at how calm your father was. I suppose he was doing his job but he didn’t have to come into the building and save me. He could have followed my pleads and left me there to go down with the building but he didn’t. He saved me, just like he saved hundreds more. 
                          
9.59am on September 11th 2001 and I heard the South Tower of the World Trade Centre collapse as I let the adrenaline take over my body and attempted to run back down the stairs to safety. Grown business men who were complete strangers were crying together, holding hands as we all made our way in the same direction. I managed to get to the bottom of the stairs. I had no energy left but I managed to find the paramedics who took me to the hospital where they were sending all the injured from the buildings. In a cramped waiting room, I sat watching the news broadcasting what had just happened. The smoke could be seen out of the hospital window and seemed to hover all over the city. 
                          
10.28am on September 11th 2001 and I watched the North Tower of the World Trade Center collapse on the television screen right in front of me. 
                          
I spent two weeks in hospital as the cuts had become infected due to the dust that fell on me when the  South Tower collapsed but after that, I decided to move out of the city and to a small town up state. My parents lived in the neighbouring town and I decided to be the better person than I was before and apologise to them. I turned up at their front door and they just both hugged me. I didn’t need to say anything. Just to have them hold me again made life seem a little bit better - or as better as it could be. 
                          
I was diagnosed with depression six months after the attack and was on every sort of medication going. I saw an article in the New York Times about a support group for the survivors of 9/11 and decided to go. It couldn’t do anymore harm than what was already done. The death toll stood at 2,996 but it was obviously more with people committing suicide in a way to escape the memories and ongoing health issues. I decided to go to the support group to help me get through it. I was unemployed, living with my parents and had no idea how I was going to rebuild a life that I never really had in the first place. On the first meeting, I met a woman named Julia. She worked on the South Tower and was only one of fourteen people from above the impact zone to survive. She ended up having to have her left leg amputated but she was still the most gorgeous thing that I had ever seen. We started dating and continued going to the support group with the other survivors. November 2nd 2003, we got married and not long after that, Julia fell pregnant with our first son - Kevin, named after your father. If it wasn’t for your father, I wouldn’t be here. He not only saved my life, but he gave me a wife, a son and a daughter, Elizabeth, who was born in 2005.  
                          
Your dad did say one last thing to me before he left me to escape death. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled photo and put it in my hand. It was a photo of him, a woman and a little girl. “I’m not going to make it out here alive. I know it. But please try to give this back to my daughter. She’s called Sammy. She lives in York, England.” And that’s what I’m going to do. The photo is attached to the back of this letter. You should have it. I’ve looked after it for the past sixteen years and now it’s time to return it back to you.  
                          
I know that none of this will make the fact that you lost your father any easier, but I just wanted to let you know how grateful I am to him. There’s not only me who owes him everything. A few survivors from the support group were helped by your father. We’ve even planted a tree in Central Park in his memory and every year on September 11th, we all participate in the memorial at Ground Zero in his honour. He was a true hero. 
                          
All my love, 
                          
Gregg Richardson