"Hello? Hello? Ted is that you? Hello?" Becky's voice sounded tinny and far away, but he could hear distinctly a tinge of urgency, of fright. Static cut in and out, drowning out what little he could make of her voice. The reception was usually crystal clear in the building.

Ted moved frantically around the room, away from walls, closer to the window, bobbing up and down, trying to catch a hot spot, all the while talking at the top of his voice and straining his ear against the receiver.

"Becky! Becky, can you hear me? Wait. You're cutting out. Becky? Where are you? Becky?"

"Ted? I can barely hear you!"

He was outside the building now, on the empty sidewalk. All around him was eery quiet. No cars, no sirens, no people. The empty car was still running, and he heard faint music coming from the Starbucks. Other than that, just the small, far-away voice in his ear, punctuated by maddening static that entirely cut out every few words.

"Ted, if you ... hear me, We're... well I don't know where ....or how we got here. Ted. I ....understand any of this! One minute I'm in the shower, and the next, I'm here in this ... white room ... the doors locked. There's so many people here, Ted. God, there's got to be... of us...and kids, too! I don't.... where we are.... and gave me a towel....and I'm scared, Ted! If you....Ted, you've got to help us...phone is dying...try to find another and...you back. Please, Ted....so scared!"

"Becky! Becky, I'll find you. Don't worry! Becky? Becky?"

But the line was dead. He hung up and looked at the last number dialed. (617) 454-6878. Sounded like a Boston area code. He hit the redial and heard the voice mail message at once. No name mentioned.

Ted stood on the sidewalk for a moment, stunned, before he could think of his next move. He kept looking up and down the street for any sign of life. He heard a dog barking somewhere close by and went around a corner to investigate. A small beagle, his leash tied to a utility pole, started whimpering and whining as Ted approached.

"Hey, pal," he said, holding his hand up to the dog's nose. The animal pushed against his open hand, licking and whining for all he was worth. From the looks of him, shivering with cold, he'd been out here a while.

"Where's you owner, eh?" But Ted was afraid he already knew. Gone. Gone like Becky was gone. She was somewhere in a locked white room, wrapped in a towel, with God knows how many others trapped with her. They were all gone. Inexplicably vanished. But where? And how, for God's sake? How does an entire neighborhood -- perhaps and entire city -- just disappear?

He thought then to dial 911 on the cell phone. It rang. And rang. There was no answer. How does 911 not answer, he thought. 

Ted unfastened the dogs leash from the pole and turned back with him toward Becky's apartment. He went in, turned off the shower, and sat down for a minute on her couch, petting the dog in an attempt to warm him. The little guy was rubbing his nose against Ted's leg in appreciation and what felt to Ted like relief.

"Well, what do we do now?" he asked. "What the hell do we do?"

Ted grabbed a small gym bag from Becky's closet, gathered some of her clothes and her heavy coat, and stuffed them in. He remembered too to grab the portable battery charger for her cell phone. He couldn't afford to miss another call.

Then he and dog went back outside to his car and started driving. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he didn't know what else to do.