The Silencer

by RC Boldt

  “Internet fact-checkers continue to label these posts as ‘false’ or ‘misinformation,’ and we here at Channel 3 also urge our viewers to proceed with caution and skepticism when viewing anything from social media accounts like these.

  “The President has expressed his grief and designated the flag fly at half-mast, specifically emphasizing, ‘Though the Vice President may be surrounded by rumors and suspicion, we still mourn for a man who served his country and its people.’

  “Our hearts go out to young Brianna Wray, who was placed with social services, but we received word that she is doing well, considering the circumstances.

  “Stay tuned for future updates on this story…”

  “Not that I don’t appreciate you helping me bake these pies, but your moping is killing my soul, honey.” My mother sighs before softening her tone. “Please, just tell me what’s wrong.”

  I take my time placing the final strip of lattice dough over the pie before I answer. “It’s a long story.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, I signed up to bake ten pies for the church bake sale, and we’re only halfway through. I’ve got nothing but time.”

  Placing the pie in the oven and setting the timer, I turn around and lean against the counter. It’s a struggle with where to start.

  I grab a dish towel and wipe my hands, buying time because I don’t even know how to tell her the truth when I’m still struggling to wrap my mind around it.

  Mom dusts off her hands and waves me over to the table. “Sit down. The other pies can wait.”

  She slides onto a chair, and I lower myself into my seat with the excitement of a man on death row. How the fuck am I going to tell her?

  Leveling her with a sharp expression, I start with, “You can’t repeat anything I’m about to tell you.”

  “Of course.” Her face is creased with worry. “Just talk to me, honey.”

  “Kennedy…” I heave out a breath and scrub my hands down my face. “She’s Alaina Wray.”

  My mom blinks. Then she tips her head to the side with a, “Hmm. Well, that explains a lot.”

  I stare at her in shock, and she offers a patient smile. “Landon, you might be my only biological child, but I’ve been a parent to a few others.

  “I’ve learned to recognize when people are hiding things. When they’re not just afraid of being around people but afraid of what others might see when they let them in.”

  She folds her hands on the table. “I could see a lot of that in your Kennedy.”

  I make a derisive sound. “She’s not mine. Pretty sure she’s never been mine.” I bury my face in my hands and grit out, “She lied to me. Everything was a damn lie.”

  Mom rests a hand on my shoulder. “What did she lie to you about?”

  I raise my head and meet her gaze. “What didn’t she lie to me about?” Frustration wells up inside me. “I thought we were on the same page. She does this work for these kids, but it was all a front.”

  Mom drops her arm and sits back. “So, she hasn’t been helping the children whose cases she consults on?”

  Heaving out a breath, I shake my head and stare down at the cloth placemat. “But that’s not all she does.”

  I swallow hard past the tight lump in my throat. “I walked in on her when she was about to kill Chip Wray. She said he raped her and let his friends do the same. That they—” I break off, mashing my lips together as a mix of fury and shock courses through me. “They got her pregnant, and she ended up with a botched abortion.”

  “I’d have to have a fucking uterus for you to get me pregnant, so no worries there, champ.”

  Her words from that night come back to haunt me.

  My words spill out slowly as I realize the truth. “She must’ve been biding her time, waiting for an opportunity to kill him, and I gave her the damn golden ticket.”

  I fall silent before confessing more. “I found out Chip did something else.” It takes effort to lift my eyes to hers. “Back when I was dating Gina, I thought I had…” Breaking off, I drag a hand over my head and grip the back of my neck where my muscles are knotted to hell and back.

  Finally, I blurt out, “I thought I’d gotten her pregnant, but it was his. He let me believe it was mine. That it was my fault. That I’d done that to her and made her feel like she had to leave.”

  Her face is pained. “Oh, honey. I had no idea. I wish you had come to me.”

  “I know.” I shake my head. “I should have.”

  She draws in a deep breath. “In the beginning, I was grateful for Mr. Wray. I was wrestling with the loss of your father and at my wit’s end, wondering what to do to help you before you threw your life away.

  “But after a while, I began to get a weird feeling about him—not when he was with you—but the way he would look at the young girls there at the Club. It was something I still can’t quite describe, but it made me uneasy.”

  She shrugs. “Chalk it up to a mother’s intuition, I suppose. But after you enlisted and left, I recall a time I went to the Boys and Girls Club, and both he and Mr. Paulson were there—long before he became mayor. But the two of them were watching a young teenage girl in a way that I can only describe as predatory.”

  After a pause, she adds quietly, “I know you’ve heard rumors about some of them and—”

  I shake my head. “The Bureau constantly gets flooded with conspiracy theories, and they end up being dead ends every time.”

  “Are you sure about that?” She raises her eyebrows. “Because these people have a lot to lose, not to mention a lot of money to make things go away.”

  I can’t answer her because I know she’s right, but…fuck. My mind is still so convoluted. Finding out a man I looked up to for fucking years wasn’t the man I thought him to be.

  Finding out the woman I loved wasn’t even fucking close to being who I thought she was.

  I find Mom watching me with a curious expression. Finally, she lets out a sigh. “You might not like what I’m about to say—you might disagree with it, and Lord knows there are many at church who would, too—but not everything is so easily cut and dried when it comes to the battle between good and evil.

  “Because, although I believe in God, I also believe that He gave us free will for a reason. People can judge me all they want, but if it came down to taking the life of someone inflicting great harm on my child or myself, I wouldn’t hesitate.

  “There will always be a battle waged against evil, and everyone fights it differently. Who are we to judge a person who decides to kill the person who brutalized them?

  “My question for you is, are you upset that Kennedy didn’t end up fitting the image you had for her? Or that she took the life of her abuser?”

  I roughly rake my hands through my hair. “How can you be so calm about this?”

  Mom reaches for my hand, squeezing it tight. “Landon, I will never tell you how to think or feel. But I want you to have an open mind. I don’t want you to look out at the world through one single lens.

  “Sometimes, the way we look at the world changes. We find a different perspective, and it opens us up to new ideas and thoughts.”

  Her eyes crinkle at the edges, her smile tender. “I want you to think hard about how you feel and think about the questions I’m posing to you. Don’t answer—just think them over.

  “Do you love Kennedy? Is she an evil person? Or is she going about her life, attempting to stifle the ones doing the evil?” She pauses. “When you killed insurgents to save your men, did you feel like you were doing evil? Or was it for the greater good?”

  Mom gives my hand another squeeze. “It’s a slippery slope, and we all have our own thoughts on this, but when it comes down to it, you have to ask yourself whether you love Kennedy and are willing to understand and accept the woman she is.”

  Pinning me with a heavy look, she asks, “If you had a daughter who was abused sexually, can you honestly tell me you wouldn’t feel compelled to physically hurt the person who did it t
o her?”

  Holding my eyes for a beat, she slowly leans back. “Because I happen to recall a certain FBI agent ‘accidentally’ roughing up a few people who’d violated some children.”

  Mom reaches for her cell phone sitting nearby. She swipes a few times before setting the phone in front of me. “I entertain myself sometimes with theories people have about certain things, like NASA or the earth being flat.”

  At my skeptical look, she tsks. “Rolling your eyes at someone who discovers inconsistencies doesn’t do anyone any good. Being open and actually listening to someone else’s idea is a part of growth.

  “You might disagree with it, and that’s okay. We’re human, and we all have different ideas. Being respectful of them is what people often forget to do.

  “But I digress…” She gestures to the screen of the phone. “Now, this is one of the accounts I follow on Instagram.”

  I squint at her in disbelief. “You’re on Instagram?”

  Mom gives me a sharp look. “Young man, I’ll have you know I’m quite tech-savvy.”

  A trace of a laugh escapes me. “I’m impressed.”

  “Now,” she says, pointing at the screen, “this person is very vocal against pedophiles and always tries to bring awareness to child trafficking and whatnot. I noticed they’ve been tracking the deaths here in D.C. And with the news of Chip’s death, this is what they posted.”

  I scan the graphic they made. Each of the deceased is identified with a photo, and a line is drawn with a brief description of their connection.

  At the center is a photograph of a seventeen-year-old Alaina Wray. Chip Wray is connected to her with a caption: Rapist asshole who pimped out his own daughter.

  On Alaina’s other side is Eleanor Wray with Worst Mother of a Lifetime Award; Pimped out her own daughter.

  Lines connecting from Chip and Eleanor Wray to Mayor Paulson and Attorney General Millingham, as well as Millingham’s secretary, Catherine Lefholtz, each with corresponding descriptions. From Chip, additional lines connect Senators Bomer and Trudel.

  Paulson: Rapist asshole who knocked up Alaina Wray. (Go research Doctor Hemstein and his suspicious death following a procedure he did on a teenage girl who matches the description of Alaina. An old tabloid photo still floats around sometimes of Alaina looking ill and being helped inside the man’s office after hours.)

  Millingham: Likes cutting (there’s a video clip that pops up from time to time before it’s taken down that shows him cutting on children and laughing when they cry and bleed). He likes them young.

  A story got stifled years back when someone had an audio recording of him bragging about “fucking the Wray girl so hard she bled.” Guess what happened to the dude who shared that recording? #Suicided

  Catherine Lefholtz: She drugs them first and restrains them for Millingham. Research Tiffany Williams, a teen who has aspirations of becoming a congresswoman, and her claims against Lefholtz and Millingham. She ended up dead of an overdose a week later. Friends and family still claim Tiffany would never have touched drugs after losing her best friend unexpectedly to a drug overdose just one year prior.

  Senator Bomer: He prefers watching over taking part in the rapes. Interns he and Trudel have shared have come out with accusations, but they always get buried and the poor girls’ reputations ruined. Go digging on him. He enjoys manning the cameras for their little pornos.

  Senator Trudel: Videos of him pop up on the dark web from time to time before they “mysteriously” get deleted. In one of them, it’s crap quality footage, but it sure as shit looks exactly like a seventeen-year-old Alaina Wray restrained while Trudel rapes her.

  Another line extends from Chip to a man identified as James Gallagher:

  Former Navy SEAL. Worked security for Chip during his position as Secretary of State around the time when Alaina Wray went missing. He later became a whistleblower, disclosing some pretty disturbing information. He was found dead in his home from “suicide” and surrounded by child porn paraphernalia.

  Was Alaina Wray murdered? Or did she manage to escape these sick fuckers?

  I’ve had two theories, but lately, I’m leaning toward this one. It’s far-fetched and probably whimsical, but I think someone helped Alaina escape and hid her for years. Then, when she was old enough and knew how to handle herself, she came back to kill off the fuckers who made her life a living hell.

  My other theory was that Alaina Wray was murdered, likely from one of them “playing” with her too much. Obviously, I don’t want to consider this one, but it’s still possible.

  Either way, someone’s out there, hunting these bastards down, and they’ve got all of us cheering them on.

  #FuckPedos #HerNameWasAlainaWray #ElitePedoCircle #SaveTheChildren #ChildrenAreNotSexualToys #JusticeForAlaina #PedosDeserveDeath #FuckTheElites

  “This is…” Shit. I grind my palms against my eyes with a groan and slump back in my chair. “I don’t even know what to say.”

  Mom remains quiet, letting me mentally cycle through things, because Christ. Talk about a mindfuck.

  Lowering my eyes to the placemat, I toy with the edge. “If I told you I was in love with someone who…took justice into her own hands, what would you say?”

  I lift my eyes to hers. Her mouth curves into a faint smile. “As long as she’s good to my son and loves him, as long as she fights for those who can’t fight for themselves, there’s nothing to say.” She holds up a finger. “Except for maybe, 'Welcome to the family.'”

  Chapter 83

  Kennedy

  Luckily, it was pretty damn easy to send a message to Jodi Carshedi’s private Instagram account.

  @AnonDC17: It’s over. You don’t have anything to worry about. The mayor and his asshole friends won’t be bothering you or your family anymore. My suggestion: talk to a professional if you feel the need but don’t let what happened to you stop you from living your life.

  You will move on, and you’ll find happiness. Your happiness is the best form of revenge.

  @JodiCarsh: Who is this?

  @AnonDC17: It’s not important. Just be well. You deserve nothing but happiness. Take care.

  @JodiCarsh: Why won’t you tell me who you are?

  ERROR: Message cannot be delivered to @AnonDC17. User invalid.

  Filing behind the others, I board the plane, preparing to leave D.C. behind once and for all.

  Never in a million years would I have expected to be leaving behind my heart and soul, too.

  Settled in my business class window seat, I splay my hand flat against the cool glass. My chest feels as if someone has ripped open my flesh and rib cage, leaving it gaping open and baring my insides.

  As the plane ascends higher over the landscape of D.C., I force myself to finally say it in a near-silent whisper.

  “Goodbye, Landon.”

  Chapter 84

  Landon

  It was a shot in the dark, but I figured it was worth a chance.

  After scouring everything I could online, even venturing into what I’d been trained and directed to dismiss as the usual “conspiracy theories,” I’d taken what I could from them and did my own digging.

  What I found was more disturbing than anything I ever expected, and I’m not only referring to what I discovered about the pedophile tendencies of those embedded in D.C.’s political world.

  I know now why she would kick me out at night. She was too busy killing off these fuckers. Singlehandedly infiltrating their tight circles and breaching their security, she killed them and staged it as suicide.

  Dr. Kennedy Alexandre.

  Alexandre, Alexandre… Holy fuck. The Count of Monte Cristo is one of my favorite books, and I thought it had been a unique coincidence that her last name was the author’s first name. Alexandre Dumas penned the story of betrayal and revenge.

  And Kennedy made it her own.

  Now, here I am, seeking out the one link to Kennedy I know of. One I’m not exactly jumping for joy over meeting—if he’s even
still here.

  Stepping inside, I scan the dark interior of the bar. Something is finally going my way because I spot him sitting at the far end of the bar. He’s smartly chosen a seat that gives him a full view of the entrance and allows him to have the wall at his back.

  He may not glance my way, but I have a feeling he senses my approach. Sliding onto the barstool beside him, I order a whiskey neat, and he remains quiet. It isn’t until the bartender delivers my drink and leaves to tend to other patrons that he finally speaks.

  “Figured you’d hunt me down while I was still here.” He takes a swig from his beer without looking my way.

  I swirl my whiskey. “Take it you don’t live here?” I sip it, welcoming the slight burn.

  “Nah. I bounce around these days. Wherever the contracts tell me to go.” There’s a pause. “Sometimes stateside. Sometimes overseas.”

  “Figured you for former military.”

  “Same,” comes his quick response, but there’s a hint of amusement in it.

  We fall quiet for a moment until he says, “If you’re here to ask me about her, I can’t tell you much of anything.”

  I turn to look at him, and he meets my gaze with a shrug. “We had a thing here and there, but nothing serious. Always on her terms.” Taking a quick swig of beer, he eyes me. “She called it quits before we ran into each other that day. And before your FBI brain gets out of hand”—his eyes gleam with amusement—“no, we didn’t hook up after you left.”

  I cast him a sharp look. “How do you know I’m FBI?”

  He lets out a low laugh. “Takes one to know one.” Saluting me with his beer, he adds, “A former one, in my case.”

  Interesting.