Panic [antikvár]

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, földed, 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. FII explain when you get here.' 'Mom, get real, it's a two-and-a-half-hour drive. Just teli 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 pláne, scattered across the outback or Sydney Harbor, ripped metál, smoke rising. 'What's happened?' 'I just need you here, okay?' Calm but insistent. 'Mom, please. Not until you teli me what's going on.' 'I said not on the phone.' She feli silent, he said nothing, and the uncomfortable tension of an unexpected