Authors: James Hunt
***
Smith adjusted his tie in the mirror. He was clean, shaved, and dressed to the nines. The dressing room where he waited for the final call from the producers was small. The only other objects that joined him were the mirror, a desk, a chair, and a small couch behind him. He pulled his sleeve up to check his watch. The second hand seemed to stand still.
Beth had left him thirty minutes ago so he could be alone. It was their ritual before every debate he’d had. Beth would spend the morning quizzing him, testing him on the subject matter that could be brought up and any curve balls that would be thrown at him from either the moderator or his opponent.
Then, after he’d passed through the final gauntlet Beth made him run, he’d lock himself in solitude. He needed to be alone with his thoughts, undisturbed. He enjoyed the quiet before all the noise, the lights, and the tension. It was during these moments that he could see everything clearly.
But this time felt different. Smith wasn’t sure if he would get another chance like this. There was too much at stake. This would be the turning point of the country, where it would either continue down its path of destruction or begin heading down the road of recovery. Smith knew both roads were one-way streets.
“Congressman? We’re ready for you,” one of the producers came into say.
Smith nodded and followed the young man through the halls of the studio. Every person he passed stopped what they were doing to watch him walk by. Smith wasn’t the only one who knew the gravity of this debate.
The lights nearly blinded him when he stepped out on stage. Jones was already at his podium, looking over some of his notes. The moderator was in place, and the cameras were set. Behind the cameras, there was no audience, just a few other producers and stagehands.
“You can take your place right here, Congressman. And if you can put this mic on, we’ll get started.”
“Thank you,” Smith said, pinning the mic on his lapel.
“Congressmen,” the moderator said. “When I get the green light, the cameras will open up on me, and as I introduce you, the cameras will move to you. I know this isn’t the first time for either of you, so I’m sure this will go smoothly.”
The producer gave a thumbs up and started the countdown.
“Okay, and we’re on in five, four, three,” the producer held up his hands signaling two then one and pointed to the moderator as the lights flashed on.
“Good evening. Welcome to tonight’s debate between Congressman David Smith and Congressman Raymond Jones. Gentlemen, answers will be limited to two minutes, and rebuttals will be one minute. The timer will begin after the end of my questions. Congressman Jones, you will be receiving the first question. What does the United States have to gain with the war against Mexico?”
“Nothing. We have absolutely nothing to gain. It’s a waste of resources and we’re putting our soldiers at unnecessary risk. And I would dare to say that the president agrees with me. Just the other day, I was sent to Mexico City to discuss the terms of a cease-fire. I believe a final draft was just drawn up,” Jones answered.
The moderator turned to Smith, who was meticulously taking notes. “Congressman Smith, same question.”
“I would have to say I agree with Congressman Jones, but what Jones failed to mention was his prior involvement with the Mexican government in the first place. Congressman Jones has been back-channeling with Mexican officials to work on a military strike against the Brazilians. I think we would all like to know why Congressman Jones is trading one war for another—one that could put us at odds with the Chinese, who have developed a strong relationship with Brazil.”
“That’s quite a statement, Congressman Smith. What do you have to say to those allegations, Congressman Jones?”
“Well, Congressman Smith, yes, I have been doing some back-channeling, but it’s been to prevent war, not engage in it. All of my talks with the Mexican officials have been to help us come to an understanding of where our two nations exist. Talks of Brazil may have been brought up, but I think we would all agree that Brazil as an ally would be far better than an enemy.”
“That doesn’t answer the question,” Smith said.
“Congressmen, please,” the moderator cut in. “Moving on to the next question. Congressman Smith, your involvement with Bill HR 285016 was widely publicized three years ago and then again several weeks ago. Why do you think that this bill is the answer?”
“The bill isn’t the answer. The only thing the bill offers is the chance for the answer to work. Dr. Carlson’s filtration system is foolproof. The bill would allow him to build a factory and make it legal to sell and distribute the water purified by his process. This would alleviate our water problems, boost the economy, and save our way of life.”
“Congressman Jones, same question.”
“I remember the hearings on Bill HR 285016, and from what I recall, third-party scientists debunked Dr. Carlson’s method stating, and I quote, ‘inconclusive results from our tests lead us in a direction where we cannot endorse this method due to health concerns’ end quote. And if scientific evidence wasn’t enough, then what about the voice of the people? Public support for the bill plummeted once this research was published. I still don’t understand why Congressman Smith insists on trying to overturn our citizens’ clear statement that they don’t want anything to do with Dr. Carlson’s filtration process.”
Jones had always been slippery. It was how he’d survived in politics for as long as he had. Smith looked down at his notes, more out of habit than need. He knew every syllable on those cards like the hairs on the back of his hand. He needed something more. He needed to drive the point home.
“Congressman Smith, rebuttal?”
“You know, in my political career, which has spanned almost two decades, I’ve come across a lot of questionable decisions. I’ve been involved in some of them myself. The choices we face as congressmen are supposed to be simple. The people guide our decisions… but the truth is that’s not always the case. Sometimes we choose to go off the beaten path and forge our own agendas. Every congressman has done it, myself included. However, I’ve found that there are two types of paths that a congressman will go down when faced with that crossroads. The first is to go the way of self-indulgence to ascend in his or her career. This road is filled with bribes and lies. This path in no way helps the people or the country, no matter what lies politicians tell themselves. The second is much harder. It takes you down a path that serves the people but, at times, can conflict with your own self-interest. I’d like to say that I’ve chosen this path more times than the other, although I know that wouldn’t be entirely true. But that’s what I’ve done in this case. In fact, right now, off the coast of Canada in the city of Halifax, I have a team working with Dr. Carlson to continue his work. I acted alone in this, but I did so with only the best of intentions for my country and the citizens I serve.”
“Congressman Smith, are saying that you’ve set up an illegal water operation on foreign soil?” the moderator asked.
“Yes. In fact, I had a meeting earlier today with Senator Harris about establishing a new relationship with the Canadians to allow Dr. Carlson to continue his work in exchange for debt forgiveness on the Great Lakes loans.”
The producer behind the moderator was motioning for him to cut to commercial.
“Well, we’re getting word we need to take a quick break, but I think I know where we’ll pick up when we return,” the moderator said.
The camera stayed on the moderator’s smile for a few seconds, then the lights faded to black.
“Call the authorities. This man has gone behind the backs of every government official and put not just our country at risk but the lives of the Canadians!” Jones said.
“Actually, I had a meeting with the Canadian ambassador a few days ago,” Smith said. “The Canadian government is very excited for the opportunity.”
Jones’s jaw went slack. He moved his mouth, but no words would form. Jones disappeared backstage and didn’t return.
***
There wasn’t a face in the living room that wasn’t smiling. Amy was so happy she was crying. John and Kevin were fist pumping, Gabby and Emily were running around the couches, and the noise had woken Eric from his painkiller slumber.
When the moderator came back on and announced that Jones had left the debate, Brooke was in shock. The fact that he just disappeared like that without explanation said everything she needed to hear. She just hoped that the rest of the country heard it as well.
The news anchors from earlier reappeared on the screen to help fill the dead air. The two men were in shock, and the blonde woman who’d chosen Smith to win the debate was all smiles.
“That was the strangest ending to a debate I have ever seen,” the older man said.
“We’re receiving analytics from our online polls in regard to the debate, which had more than ninety million viewers. It is the highest-rated debate in history. We had a few questions on our polls tonight to see how the American people felt each of their congressmen performed. The first question was, ‘Which congressman aligned with your personal views?’ And the results are a staggering eighty-three percent for Congressman Smith.”
“Wow. That’s unbelievable.”
“The next question we polled with our viewers was, ‘Do you agree on the war with Mexico?’ The results here are a little more even. Sixty-one percent say ‘no’ while thirty-nine percent say ‘yes’. And our final question in the polls was ‘Given the chance to support Bill HR 285016, would you?’ This is by far the most interesting statistic: eighty-nine percent of viewers said they would. Eighty-nine.”
Another roar of cheers filled the living room. This was it. This was the beginning of going home. If people were willing to give Dr. Carlson’s method a try, then there was no reason the Southwest couldn’t rejoin the Union. There would be enough fresh water to last for generations to come.
Emily came up next to Brooke on the couch and gave her a big kiss on the cheek. Brooke picked up her daughter and lifted her into the air, twirling them both in circles. She pulled Emily in and squeezed her like she would never be able to let her go. Brooke just might be able to go home after all.
***
Once the announcement was made that Jones had left the debate, Terry turned his radio off. He could hear the honking of car horns and the cheers coming from the people in the houses of the neighborhood around him.
But Terry was only focused on one house. He pulled his binoculars to his eyes and glanced through the windows of the house he was casing. There, in the middle of the living room, twirling her daughter around in the air, was the woman he’d been chasing.
Once Amy regained some semblance of composure, the first call she made was to Daniel. She could hear the relief in his voice from the debate results. With the rest of the country finally on their side, change would happen. If nothing was done, then civil war would break out, and they both knew that would do much more harm than good.
Brooke reached for the phone before Amy hung up. “Let me talk to him,” she said. Brooke had to cover her other ear to block out the raging noise the kids were still making. “Daniel, it’s Brooke.”
“That’s some pretty good news,” Daniel said.
“I know. It’s definitely a step in the right direction. Listen, I know it’s going to be a while before everything gets straightened out, but I was hoping you could make some calls to see if we could stay here for a while—legally, of course.”
“Sure. I don’t think it should be a problem now.”
“Thank you.”
Brooke handed the phone back to Amy, who began to smile and cry all at the same time again. John rushed over to Brooke. “Mom, can I go with Kevin to his friend’s house next door?”
“John, I don’t think it’s a good idea. Technically we’re still not supposed to be here.”
“C’mon. They don’t even know me. We’ll just tell them I’m visiting from Maine or something. Mom, please.”
She had a hard time trying to come up with a reason to say no. With the landslide victory that Smith had been able to land, the stresses of the past week began to ease. “All right, but do not go anywhere else.”
“Thanks, Mom!”
John gave her a hug and then disappeared with Kevin out the front door. Emily came running up to her, smiling. “I suppose you want to leave me, too?” Brooke asked.
“It’s okay, Mom. I’ll stay with you.”
“Thanks, baby. Hey, Amy,” Brooke said, calling over to her sister. “What do we want to do for dinner?”
Before Amy answered, the entire house went dark. The TV shut off, the lights went out, and the hum of the A/C through the vents went silent. Brooke walked over to one of the light switches and flicked it on and off.
“Where’s your breaker box?” Brooke asked.
“It’s down in the basement.”
“You have any flashlights?”
After fumbling around in the kitchen, Amy managed to find one of the flashlights she kept for emergencies rolling around next to some of her old Tupperware.
“You really should have a better-organized and stockpiled emergency stash, Amy.”
“I know. It’s just I never have time for it.”
The circle of light from the flashlight grew and shrank as Brooke moved it over the wooden floorboards and walls until she came across the basement door along the side of the staircase.
Brooke sniffed the air. It was musty. The old wooden staircase creaked with each added step of pressure she gave on her way down. The beam of the flashlight caught the circling dust floating through the air in the realm of its watchful eye. Once she made it to the bottom of the staircase, she saw the gray box that encased the breakers.
She swung the metal door open and flipped the breakers off then on again, but the darkness remained.
“Did you find it?” Amy asked, yelling from the top of the stairs.
“Yeah, I flipped the switches, but nothing happened.”
“Try it again.”
Brooke flipped the switches off one more time then pushed them on. Aside from the clunk of the breakers switching back and forth, nothing happened. Brooke closed the breaker box and stomped back up the stairs.
“You might want to call the power company. See if a transformer went bad,” Brooke said, walking back into the house. When she looked out the window of the back door, she could see that the lights in the house behind them were still on.
Brooke then rushed over to the front living room, checking the other surrounding houses. All of them still had power. “Amy, check the landline.”
Amy picked up the phone on the kitchen counter and shook her head. “It’s dead.”
Brooke started to feel the rapid beat of her pulse. Her body flushed hot, and she immediately pulled the revolver from her pocket. “Use your cell and call the police,” Brooke said.
“Brooke, what’s going on?”
“Now!”
She went back into the living room to grab Emily and Gabby. She pulled the girls close and led them back over to the basement. Amy had her phone to her ear, waiting for someone to pick up, “Yes, I need a police car to my address.”
Brooke knelt down to the girls, both of whom wore looks of terror on their faces. “I need you guys to play a game for me, okay? Whoever is the quietest and bravest gets a big bowl of ice cream. Sound good?”
Both of the girls nodded sheepishly.
“Okay, so I’m going to have you go downstairs with Aunt Amy, and you guys stay there until I come back down to grab you.”
“You don’t think it’s him, do you?” Eric asked, cutting in. Brooke nodded.
“Thank you. We’ll be here,” Amy finished, then hung up the call. “They’ll have someone here in ten minutes.”
“Ten?” Brooke asked.
It was too long. But then again, if it was who she thought it was, then he was only after her. Keeping Amy and the girls downstairs and away from any conflict was the safest option for them.
“Is there a cellar door that leads into the basement from the outside?” Brooke asked.
“No,” Amy answered, shaking her head. “There aren’t even any windows.”
“Eric, take the girls downstairs and stay there until either myself or a police officer shows up. Make them show you their badges before you open the door. Got it?”
“Brooke, what’s happening?” Amy asked.
“I should be the one staying up here,” Eric said.
“You can barely walk, let alone shoot a gun. Now go!”
A crash sounded from upstairs.
“Hurry!” Brooke said.
Eric escorted Amy and the girls into the basement. Brooke raised the revolver to the second floor of the house. She turned the flashlight off, trying to use the darkness as a form of cover. The revolver shook slightly in her hand. She pressed her feet lightly and methodically around to the front of the staircase to get a better look.
Brooke tried to control her breathing, avoiding being too loud. She waited at the end of the staircase, the revolver aimed at the second floor. Her entire body felt like it was on fire. She kept having to close her eyes, shaking the flashes of the last time she’d pulled the trigger out of her head. The memories insisted on inserting themselves into her conscious mind. The squeeze of the trigger. The bullets. The shattered bones. The blood. Brooke’s heart raced. She couldn’t control her breathing anymore. A tightness formed in her chest that felt like it would choke her.
Then the crash of the back door being broken down brought her back from the memories. Brooke turned the corner to see Terry bolt inside and duck behind one of the counters. She squeezed the trigger, and a bullet pierced one of the cabinets. She cursed under her breath. A wasted shot. She was being too reactive. She took a deep breath and crouched behind a table by the front door. It gave her a clear line of sight from the entrances to the kitchen from the hallway and the living room.
“Brooke, this isn’t a good idea,” Terry said, his voice booming, making sure that Brooke could hear him no matter where she was.
“The police are on their way,” Brooke replied. “You’ll have to answer to them before you try anything.”
Brooke’s eyes darted between each of the kitchen’s entrances. She knew he could come at her at any moment. She just had to keep him busy long enough for the cops to show up.
Terry darted into the living room. Brooke drew a bead on him and fired but missed as he ducked behind the sofa. “Shit.”
“How many you have left? Probably three, right? Looks like a five shooter,” Terry yelled. “Put the gun down, Brooke. You’re worth more alive than dead.”
By now the neighbors would have heard the shots and called the police, only quickening the response time. Brooke was just glad at least John and Kevin were safe.
But then, as Brooke was eyeing the couch intensely, she saw movement at the back door. It gently swung open, and her heart dropped as John’s foot crunched on a piece of glass. “Mom?”
Brooke sprinted down the hallway. John just kept standing there looking at Terry, his mouth open, speechless. His figure grew closer. Brooke reached out her hand. She was so close to him. Then, just before she reached him, she watched Terry’s gloved hand touch John’s arm and grab him.
Brooke stopped. The muscles in her arm spasmed from the grip she had on the revolver. “Let him go!” Spit flew from Brooke’s mouth as she barked the order. She looked for a clear shot, but Terry had pulled her son close. She didn’t trust her aim enough to pull the trigger.
“Put the gun down, Brooke,” Terry said, holding the knife to John’s throat. “Put it down, and your son lives.”
John’s body was rigid and awkward from the hold Terry had him in. Her son. Her first born. The barrel of the revolver dipped slightly, then she lowered it to her side.
“Put it on the ground, and kick it over to me. Keep your hands in the air,” Terry said.
Brooke slowly placed the revolver on the tile floor then kicked it over as instructed.
“Living room. Walk,” Terry said.
Whatever happened to her family was on her. And if the outcome wasn’t the one she wanted, she wasn’t sure if she would be able to live with herself.