Alex woke to the warmth and coziness of her bed’s blanket and comforter. She rubbed at her eyes and yawned. Morning light filtered through the window blinds. The digital readout on the bedstand showed the time as eleven in the morning, the date as November 14th, 2032, and the temperature outside as forty-five degrees. She took her phone and unlocked it with her thumbprint. A cheery voice announced, “Good morning, Alex. You have three new e-mails and no missed calls or messages. What would you like for breakfast?”

She yawned again. “Bacon and scrambled eggs. And milk.” The phone’s holographic display offered a representation of the meal. “Yep. Right.”

“Breakfast will be ready in five minutes,” the phone said and switched to a countdown.

Alex untangled herself from the covers and swung her legs out of bed. She was wearing a loose t-shirt and nothing else. The same as every morning, her gaze drifted across the digital ink posters that dominated the walls of her room. Beside her window hung a photograph of the old World Trade Center with the Statue of Liberty in the foreground. Her father sometimes gazed at the picture with melancholy. The poster on the other side of her window depicted Chicago’s boxy and multitiered Willis Tower shining against the night sky. Other buildings decorated her walls: Seoul’s twisting Dream Tower within the embrace of the district’s crystalline skyscrapers, the Burj Khalifa in Dubai with the spiraling Vertical City rising a mile and a half into the clouds in the background, and the extravagant self-sufficient theme park, resort hotel, office, retail, and residential Miapolis superstructure standing like a giant lighthouse above Miami. All of the posters were from professional photographers, but she had terabytes of high-resolution photos from the trips she had taken to those locations year after year. The posters flickered and then cycled to display new buildings.

Papers, notepads, pens and pencils, and reference photos cluttered every inch of her computer desk. A wooden home décor sign hung up above. Her mother had placed it there years earlier. The poster read Bless This Mess. Alex thought it appropriate.

A pair of computer displays occupied the far edge of her desk. The one closed to her keypad and manipulator was an older in-plane switching monitor with a quick refresh time and limited 3D capabilities. The holographic display to the right was off but came to life the moment she brushed her hand over the projector. The holographic blueprint resolved above her desk. This was her senior project at Cornell University. She twisted her index finger in a lazy motion, and the three-dimensional skyscraper twisted along its axis.

The tower was much smaller than the superstructures cycling through the posters on her wall, but it was elegant and beautiful. Too many students tried to go big with their senior projects and instead lost themselves in the minutiae that even the greatest architects outsourced to their many assistants at major companies. Some of those companies had already offered her a job but she was holding out until she finished her project, until she could prove she deserved their investments.

She glanced at her phone’s floating countdown. One minute until breakfast finished in the kitchen. She snapped her fingers to shut off the holographic display and then left for the kitchen.

Compared to her room, the rest of the penthouse high above Alexandria was decidedly low-tech. Her parents owned the requisite voice-controlled utilities, the base model control A.I. to maintain the living space, and even a tiny Airnet server, which made it much easier for her to transfer her projects between Cornell and home during vacation. Otherwise, they seemed to enjoy living in the past. The manual washer and drier and the old widescreen TV in the living room were some of the worst offenses. But there was something about being home that made her feel much more comfortable than at her apartment at Cornell. The distance was only three-hours on the high-speed expressway and even less by air and yet she always felt far away and disconnected from her old hometown and parents and the familiar sights of the capital.

The food processor dinged as she stepped into the kitchen. She removed the scrambled eggs and crunchy bacon from the device, retrieved her glass of milk from the fridge, and then went to the table. The projector in front of her clicked on automatically. Her father had programmed the device to display headlines from news agencies around the globe. Most of the articles were about the war in Indonesia – the reason for her father’s long hours at the Pentagon and the White House.

“Late night?” Alex turned to see her mother enter from the living room. Kate smiled at Alex. She was beautiful, an ageless natural beauty. That smile was the heart of it, kind, loving, and reassuring. “The usual. What time did Dad leave?”

“He didn’t come home. I’m going to go take him lunch in a bit.”

“Oh.” Alex wasn’t surprised her father had spent all night at the Pentagon but she noticed the lapse in her mother’s smile. “Do you think you could drop me off near the Gardens after?” Whenever she was home, she spent hours wandering the Constitution Garden and walking long loops between the Jefferson and Lincoln Memorials and the Washington Monument. The strolls often conjured more ideas in a single day than came during an entire semester at Cornell.

“We’ll go there first. I’ll stop by your dad’s office on the way back. You know security these days…” Alex nodded. Getting inside the Pentagon was an ordeal. Even though every guard and most of the officers recognized her as General Bedford’s daughter, it often took half an hour to get through the perimeter security and the battery of scans. She had been inside the White House for a Christmas Party the year before. She still had nightmares about the security line. “How’s the project coming?”

“I think I’ll be done in a month or so. It’s mostly the minor details now.”

Kate sat across from Alex. “Do we get a private tour when you’re done?”

“If I actually make it into the gallery.”

“Of course you will.”

“Any new offers?”

“BLT and DLR keep calling me at school. I’m still waiting to hear back from Ryan & Associates, though. Hopefully, if I make it into the gallery…”

“You will. I saw something on the news last night. I saved it in case you want to watch it. They were talking about this little Frank Lloyd Wright house a few miles from here. The Pope House, I think.”

Alex nodded. “The Pope-Leighey House. He has another one not far from here, too.”

“Have you seen them?”

“I went the summer after freshman year. They’re pretty small. Our apartment is bigger. I liked the designs although I’m not sure I’d want to live there. It’s really open with these big floor-to-ceiling windows in the bedroom, which is right at ground level. But then that’s what most of his houses are like.”

“Have you studied Frank Lloyd Wright?”

“I’ve taken a few classes on his designs. He was… dedicated. He wouldn’t just design the building itself, he’d make up every little detail like the furniture and carpets and tables and lights. He liked nature and glass a lot. That’s why most of his designs have those tall windows that let you see the outdoors. I just wish he’d designed some bigger stuff. The Guggenheim Museum in New York is pretty great. Do you know that big white cylindrical stack that looks like a curled ribbon? His only real tower is in Oklahoma. I’ve gone through the sims but I’d love to visit it someday. He designed it to look like a tree, although… I don’t really see that. It’s still a great design. He had a plan for a mile-high skyscraper called the Illinois. It looked a lot like a combination of the Freedom Tower and the Burj Khalifa.”

Alex noticed her mother smiling again. Her answer to a simple question had become a lecture. She smiled as well and shook her head. “Sorry, you’re probably not interested in it that much.”

“Of course I am. It’s what you love, honey. I’d listen all day. I still remember that first time we brought you to New York. You were looking out the taxi and pointing at every skyscraper we passed. You wanted to know what they were named and how tall they were. Your eyes were so bright. I think you spent most of that trip just staring out the hotel window.”

Alex nodded, slowly. Her memories of that visit were fragments, difficult to isolate against the dozens of times she had visited New York since then. In the past three years alone, she had gone to Manhattan on her own six times. She often spent a week walking around with her camera from dawn until dusk. What she enjoyed most was going up to the sky lobbies at night and gazing at the city glowing against the darkness.

“Do you think Dad will be able to make it to the gallery if I get in?”

“Of course. He wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

“It’s not always his choice.”

“I promise he’ll find a way to make it. We’ll both be there for you.”

Alex finished eating and took her plate and glass to the sink. “I’m going to take a shower. Do you want to go after that?”

“Sure. I’ll get your father’s lunch ready.”

Alex returned to her room and went into the adjoining bathroom. She turned on the shower and then stuck her cleaner in her mouth while she waited for the water to warm. She bit down on the device and felt the familiar vibration in her gums. As soon as the beep sounded inside her mouth, she extracted the cleaner, spit into the sink, and rinsed off the device. She smiled in the fogging mirror. Her attempt to mimic her mother was close although something was missing. Something was always missing.

She stripped off her nightshirt and entered the shower. This was another benefit of visiting home. The shower in her Cornell apartment was automatic; she would step in, the warm mist would come with the soap and body wash and rinse and then it was over after a minute. Quick and efficient. Environmentally friendly. A great money saver for the university. She preferred standing beneath a real showerhead.

Once she finished, she turned off the water and got out to dry herself. She glanced into the mirror again after wiping the fog away with her towel.

Absolute darkness inhabited the eye sockets of her reflection.

Alex stumbled back in surprise but then the steel-blues resolved from the shadows. An illusion. A trick of the light. She shook her head and began to blow-dry her hair. She wasn’t sleeping enough. Too much time agonizing over her senior project and the uncertainties of her future after Cornell. That was all.

So why was this new chill in her chest and stomach refusing to fade despite the humidity from her long shower?

She left the bathroom and hurried to get dressed.

Her mother was still in the kitchen packing a bag lunch for her father. “Ready to go?” Kate said happily.

Alex nodded. As long as she had her smartphone, she was ready for anything: jotting or dictating notes, referencing a read-only hologram of her project – Bedford Tower as she jokingly called it – taking photos or video of any inspiring sight, and paying for a taxi when she was ready to return home.

They left the penthouse and took the elevator down to the parking garage. The Bedfords owned three vehicles. Her father’s Nissan sportscar rarely saw use because a government van and driver were always waiting to take him to and from the Pentagon. Her mother drove a mid-sized electric SUV, which waited in a stall close to the elevator. The doors unlocked as soon as they recognized her mother’s fingerprints on the handle.

Alex glanced toward her pickup across the garage. The emerald green truck possessed every safety feature imaginable. Her father had given it to her on her eighteenth birthday. She liked the pickup for the sense of security it offered but she disliked driving in general, especially on the expressways. Even with the AI in control, the barely organized chaos of cars weaving in and out of lanes and racing by at over a hundred miles an hour made her nervous.

Alex got into her mother’s SUV and put on her seatbelt. Soon, they were out on the street. She watched the waters of the Potomac and occasionally gazed at the distant obelisk of the Washington Monument. She closed her eyes. The monument persisted as an afterimage. Suddenly, twin fireballs ripped through the structure. Enormous chunks of marble collapsed to the ground and embedded themselves in the grassy field. The monument tilted and snapped in two.

Alex opened her eyes and sat hard upright. The Washington Monument was still there across the river. Her heart thudded in her chest. She looked around. No flames. No smoke. No explosions. Yet the scene of destruction had been as real as the surrounding city, as real as her mother’s SUV, as real as the seatbelt, as real as Katherine Bedford.

They continued along the parkway, onto the bridge over the Potomac, and into DC. Alex kept her eyes on the Washington Monument, watching for any signs of an attack. Kate parked the SUV near the curb once they reached the Constitution Gardens.

“What time are you planning to head back?”

Alex didn’t answer at once. Her thoughts lingered on the horrifying sight of the Washington Monument collapsing in flame. “I’ll… I don’t know. I’ll be back before dinner.”

“I’ll put together something nice. Hopefully, your dad makes it home by then.”

“Tell him I love him.”

“I will, honey.” Her mother leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

Alex smiled before getting out of the car, circling to the curb, and then watching until the SUV vanished back into the DC traffic.

The Gardens were quiet and peaceful. Alex spotted only a few tourists snapping pictures. She was near the northwest corner of the Gardens, closest to the Lincoln Memorial and the Vietnam Veteran’s Wall. If she headed that way, perhaps she could manage a few solitary minutes at those monuments – a rarity even when she visited on off days or during poor weather. Yet the Washington Monument demanded her presence. She needed to put her hand on the marble and make sure it was still there.

She set off at a brisk walk. The air was cool with a gentle breeze that ruffled her hair and the surrounding tree branches. Soon, she reached the border of the Gardens and crossed over into the open field surrounding the Washington Monument. Strangely, she was alone aside from the cars on Constitution Avenue to the north and 15th and 14th to the east. As she neared the monument, the city sounds faded against the breeze and the hollow tapping of her shoes on the stone walkway.

She stopped at the base of the monument and stared up at the apex. Everything was the same as her other countless visits over the years. What did you think? It wouldn’t be here? Whatever you saw wasn’t real. You just fell asleep for a second and had a bad dream. She set her palm against the monument. She half expected the marble to catch fire, shatter, and collapse at her touch.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Alex withdrew her hand and spun around. A man approached along the same path she had taken from the Gardens. He was about her father’s age but without the sags and jowls and with traces of brown still showing through the grey of his hairline. He possessed an athletic and confident step, and his steel-blue eyes locked with hers as he came to a stop a few feet away.

“Uncle John?” she said in surprise. He was not exactly an uncle but that was how she had known him for years before her mother and father had told her the truth about the artificial insemination. She had only seen him a few times since starting at Cornell.

“Hello, Alexandra.”

“What are you doing here? I thought you’d be at the Pentagon.”

“Lunch break.”

“Mom is heading there now to bring Dad some food.”

“I see.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Do you… remember, Alexandra? Do you remember any of it?”

“Remember what?”

Martin walked to the Washington Monument and put his hand to the same spot she had touched. He leaned his head forward and closed his eyes. “Is this really what you want?”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m sorry. I should go.” He shook his head and started away.

“Wait! Tell me what’s going on.”

He hesitated and looked back. “You have seen something, haven’t you?”

“This morning in the mirror… My eyes. And when Mom was driving me here. I saw an explosion. It was right here. Everything fell apart.”

He gestured north toward the White House. “You were there. Up there on the roof. You saw this fall.”

Alex closed her eyes. She was on top of the Executive Residence. A man wearing a military uniform and with a strange rubbery cover over his skull and eyes stood beside her. They watched as fire and smoke consumed the Washington Monument. The structure collapsed. Triangular black aircraft soared overhead while raining missiles on the city. Then she was falling.

Martin caught her and guided her to a nearby bench. The skies were clear blue again. The monument stood intact.

“W-What’s happening?”

“Remember, Alexandra. This isn’t real. None of this is real.”

“Yes it is!” she shouted.

Martin took a step back. “Alexandra…”

“No!” She leaned forward and buried her face in her hands. Explosions reverberated in the distance. The thick odor of smoke. The crackling of fire. For an instant, when she raised her head to look, the ruins were all there, the collapsed blocks of marble surrounding the bench and blocking her view of the city. She stood and everything returned to normal. The world began to spin. She stumbled against Martin and then just as quickly backed away. “T-This is a d-dream. I’m… I’m still asleep. I just have to wake up.”

“You’re not asleep. We’re trapped. We have to get out of here!”

“You’re not real!”

Martin vanished. Alex reached into her pocket and removed her phone. Call Mom or Dad. Something’s wrong. You’re seeing things. You’re sick. You need help. She put her thumb to the screen and unlocked the device. A holographic warning resolved to inform her of a lack of signal. She shook the phone, raised it above her head, and stood to try and get a connection. The three-dimensional red text persisted above the screen.

“Dial Mom,” she said.

The phone offered only the same message.

“Dial Dad.”

Still no change.

“Emergency!”

Nothing happened.

The phone slipped from her grasp and clattered against the walkway. She fled the monument going south toward the Lincoln Memorial. A howling scream and rush of air passed overhead. She looked up and saw a triangular black aircraft veering through the dark atmosphere. A missile dropped from its weapons bay and sped toward a building north of the Gardens. A firestorm erupted from the structure. The flames united with the inferno spreading along the National Mall. Smoke billowed into the air and obscured the sun.

Alex sprinted across 17th Street. A burning van sped past her and swerved down into the World War II Memorial’s Central Fountain. The driver leaped out of the van. He was on fire. He knelt and then collapsed on his side in the waters. Alex followed the van into the memorial and ran the fountain’s perimeter. She reached the Lincoln Memorial’s Reflecting Pool and diverted to the south side of the waters.

Shrieking afterburners drew her attention toward the White House. Another of the black aircraft glided high above the city. The smoke obscured its presence in the sky but she could discern it against the darkness by the glint of the inferno reflecting off its fuselage. All at once, the aircraft descended like a hawk coming in for a kill. The Lincoln Memorial was its target.

She tried to scream for the aircraft to stop but she was out of air, her lungs burning from the long sprint. A missile fell from the aircraft and shot forward. Alex watched the exhaust and flames burning from its engine. She closed her eyes and clenched her hand into a fist.

A shockwave knocked her off her feet. She landed hard on her back and looked up expecting to see the Lincoln Memorial burning. Instead, clouds of smoke and falling debris had replaced the missile and the black aircraft. She got up and continued running.

She made it inside the temple-like structure and collapsed to her knees at the base of Abraham Lincoln’s looming marble statue. Perspiration dripped from her forehead into her eyes. Her head throbbed as if her skull were able to implode. Her breath came in short and painful rasps. She fell to her side and then lay on her back while staring at the louvered lighting panels and floodlights, which flickered as the structure trembled and quivered from nearby explosions.

“Alexandra.” Martin appeared above her and knelt down. He took her hand and clasped it in between his. Alex saw a sailboat and this same man although much younger. He was holding her hand as the breeze blew through her hair. He spoke her mother’s name with so much love.

“Help me,” she begged. “Dad, what’s happening?”

Martin drew back for an instant. He looked shocked. Her eyes widened as she realized what she had said. Yet she had no time to contemplate the words.

“I wish I could, but it’s up to you to remember,” Martin said. “You’re almost there. You’re almost out.”

She shut her eyes and shook her head. Martin’s grip tightened. Random and confusing scenes cycled through her memory. She was standing on the George Washing Bridge looking toward a nightmare version of New York, the high-rises and apartment buildings all broken and dilapidated. She was standing on top of a skyscraper and watching a helicopter vanished into the storm clouds. She was at the base of a mountain and heading into a deep tunnel. White letters on the entrance portal read CHEYENNE MOUNTAIN COMPLEX. She was chasing someone through dark hallways full of death. She was in another city on an overpass. Men in military uniforms died in agony around her. The scenes came faster and faster and then united into a singular awareness.

Alex remembered.

She sat and looked into Martin’s steel-blue eyes.

The world vanished.