Fire Sweeping: The California Ballot Killings Book II

by H M Wilhelmborn

  “So are mine and Alexander’s,” Maria responded as she tasted the fruit salad.

  “So is mine,” Zahid said, “but we’re all adults, right? We don’t need our parents’ permission to have a little fun. If I’d asked for my parents’ permission, I’d never have enlisted, I’d never have met Jon, and—”

  “And we’d never have fought this morning,” Jon said.

  “Not here, Jon,” Zahid said. “We promised we’d keep this for later.”

  Jon said he needed the restroom, and he stood up and left. Zahid followed him, and Alexander asked if I’d like to try a “merry brownie.”

  “What about them?” I asked as I thought of Zahid and Jon. “Will they be OK?”

  “They’re never happy unless they’re miserable,” Alexander responded. “They honestly love that about each other. It always ends in tears. Jon will come out of the restroom crying at some point, and Zahid will tell him he loves him. Then they’ll be OK till their next fight.”

  I was tempted to ask what their fight was about, and Maria intuited my question.

  “How to boil an egg,” Maria said. “Yeah. That’s literally what the fight was over, Janet. I’m serious. Ask Matt and David. Other couples fight over money, loyalty, or honesty, but those two fight over boiling eggs. I honestly don’t how you can fight over eggs, but Zahid and Jon can.”

  Matt squeezed David’s hand, and he caressed his face.

  “These two, however,” Alexander said, pointing at Matt and David, “are so saccharine it just makes you sick. They met at ConfiPrice when Matt was buying—Why don’t you tell the story, Matt?”

  Alexander said he wished for another burger, so he got himself another one and asked if anyone else wanted one, too.

  “So, I have two roommates at that point,” Matt said as he recounted, in the present tense, how he’d met David. “And none of my roommates—none of us—likes cooking. We usually just order stuff in, and I volunteer one day to go shopping. I’m at the ConfiPrice, doing my thing, shopping for canned pasta, instant ramen, three roast chickens, and some beers—you know, just doing my thing—when I check this dude out over in the veggie section. You know, at the ConfiPrice, how they have the veggies on your left as you enter, not too far from the bakery?” I nodded. “Yeah. Yeah. There’s this dude helping this older dude in a wheelchair, who’s asking for help to get some corn and stuff. It’s Dave, and he’s, like, smiling as he helps this older dude. Dave has these great teeth, the kind that could bite you—you know, like, literally bite you—when you get down and dirty—”

  I burst out laughing. Who admitted that they had a teeth fetish? Did such a thing even exist?

  “I’m sorry,” I said to Matt. “It’s a great story. Please continue.”

  “Yeah. Yeah,” Matt says. “Dave’s, like, grabbing some corn, and then he looks straight at me, corn in either hand, and he smiles. God, the things I have done since that day for that smile and that body.”

  David smiled in response, and I studied his smile as one might study the work of an abstract artist that’s just won a major award. There was something deficient about his smile. It was compelling, but it wasn’t killer. It wasn’t the smile I’d later see on Mauru, who had, hands down, the best smile that’s ever existed.

  “So,” Matt continued, “I stalk Dave around the ConfiPrice, and when he’s getting himself some ice cream, I stand a few fridge doors over, and I just stare at all of this.” Matt made a gesture with both his hands in David’s direction as if he were revealing David’s body to us in the form of a magnificent sculpture.

  “Because you’re an asshole!” Jon said as he came back, crying. “That’s what you are, Zahid! You don’t know how to treat me. You don’t value me. You don’t even get me Valentine’s gifts anymore. You’re like the worst boyfriend in America! I cook for you, I bake for you, I even darn your socks, and I let you use my waxing kit on your back.”

  “I’m so sorry, Jon,” Zahid said. “I have lots of layers to me. I’m like a walking paradox. But you know you love me.”

  Jon rolled his eyes, sniffled, and he asked for a merry brownie.

  I raised my own merry brownie to my lips, and I took a bite.

  Then another.

  And another.

  “Whoa,” Alexander said. “Easy, Janet. That stuff has quite a bit of cannabis-infused oil in it.”

  “Vegetable oil is harmless,” I said. “I’m a big girl, and I love fried food.”

  Maria laughed. “You’ll be telling us a different story in forty-five minutes, Janet.”

  About an hour later, I was on my planet—Planet Janet.

  Me: “I feel this wave of warmth rush through me! It’s ecstatic! Even the angels must feel it!”

  Jon: “She’s high. Janet’s high.”

  Me: “I’m not high. It’s a wave of oceans and rivers and tingles all through my body. Tingle, tingle little star! You know, if I were a unicorn, I’d be farting out mini rainbows right now. A mini rainbow for you! A mini rainbow for you! And a mini rainbow for you!”

  Zahid (laughing): “Janet’s as high as a kite. I’ve seen some funny reactions in my time, but none like this.”

  I then stood up and said, “Did you all know that the singular of ‘zebras’ is ‘zebrum’? One zebrum plus another zebrum equals two whole African savannah zebras! Yeah, it’s like Japanese. Japanese guys are so damn hot! Cortland guys are so damn hot! Finger Lakes guys are so damn hot! I’m so damn hot! Can I have some more brownie, Maria and Alexander? I love me some chocolate brownie. How do you like ’em apples!”

  “No, Janet,” Maria said, shaking her head as she removed the rest of the brownie from my right hand. “You’ve had enough. You’ve already eaten three-quarters of it. It’s your first time. Take it easy.”

  “You’re such a good friend to me,” I told Maria as I cupped her face in my hands. “Maria Sanchez, do you know there’s a fish called ‘scrod,’ which you can buy at ConfiPrice? It’s like haddock or something, and it’s on sale today. Yes, Maria, you’re everything to me. I also really like Alexander del Roble, your husband.” [Turning to Alexander now.] “Alexander, why won’t you allow anyone to call you ‘Alex’? How I wish you had a brother or something, Alexander. You’re so sweet, and you’re kind to my sister, Maria, but you’re not my type, Alexander, but your brother would definitely be my type. Yes, sir!” [Maria later told me that I then saluted Alexander and his friends] “I like men in uniform, Jon, even men who don’t know where Cortland is. Do you know where Cortland is? I’m so happy right now! I see unicorns tumbling out of heaven right now with rainbows coming out of their backsides. There’s the gate of heaven! There’s Jesus! Jesus is putting up a sign on the gates of heaven. It says, ‘Heaven Is Closed Because of the Job Action By the Angels.’ OK, do you all know how scrod, the fish, got its name? Matt and David, you eternal lovebirds.” [I apparently made smooching sounds as if I were imitating how Matt and David might kiss each other.] “So, if my mom finds out that I’ve been eating marijuana, I’m screwed, you’re screwed, and we’re all scrod!”

  Everyone was laughing.

  I honestly do not remember what came next, but Maria and Alexander swore that I got up and told everyone that I was singing my “original song” called “Find Me a Unicorn,” which I repeated several times as I hugged myself and looked toward heaven.

  Find me a unicorn

  A man who will help me soar

  Find me a unicorn

  A man who will love me more

  Find me a unicorn

  Oh, find me a unicorn

  Just find me a unicorn

  A man I can adore

  Apparently, my song also had everyone laughing, and Alexander’s friends had to be begged not to record and put me up on social media.

  I was not done, however, because my final stroke of genius was apparently to tell everyone that I hoped I ended up with a guy who was not only good to me but who was also monogamous. I then looked again to heaven and said, “God, pleas
e damn the non-monogamous!”

  I recount my night with the merry brownies because, the more I think of it, the more it reminds me of the first time I saw Mike; I lost control.

  I’d long thought that I’d seen Mike for the first time at our condo in Rancho San Antonio, where Mike had appeared with Granite. It wasn’t so. I’d seen Mike for the first time at the CWP camp at San Ysidro, which Mauru, Jon, and I had passed on our way back from the mall at San Ysidro.

  Seeing Mike for the first time, my breathing had quickened, and I had to take several deep breaths because just looking at Mike made me feel a little light-headed. It felt like I’d met him before, someplace else, some other time, and we’d had a history together, which, incomplete for any number of reasons, was now built into the unfinished trajectory of our souls.

  We’d recognize each other in this lifetime, therefore, not by sight, but by how we reacted intuitively to each other as we finished the work of another lifetime. Maybe in that lifetime, we’d made a pact: We’d lead our lives independently at first in this lifetime, and then we’d gradually make our way back to each other, falling into each other’s orbit, little by little, as we reintroduced ourselves and made space for each other in our lives.

  The act of reacquainting ourselves with each other, explosive and unsettling by any measure, would then free us from our inhibitions, and we’d unleash ourselves in ways that others—and we—might find strange or even shameful.

  I had to see Mike again.

  It was no longer about that single encounter at his place in mid-January 2039, but about something greater than either of us; at least, that’s what I told myself.

  I became so desperate to see Mike that I struggled to justify wanting to see him again. What could I tell Mauru that would make him accept that I needed to go to Menlo Park, without raising any alarms?

  After much thought, I told Mauru that Larry, Amandine, Andy, and Hannah were all going up to the CWP campus in Menlo Park for the weekend, and they needed me to go with them. I didn’t know why they needed me (since the CWP had removed me from all CWP matters), but Larry had said that he wanted me there.

  Mauru, ever trusting, understood that I had to go.

  15

  Whatever It Takes

  I rented a car on arrival in San Jose, and I arrived at my hotel in Menlo Park about forty minutes later.

  In my room, there were roses on the bed and a message, “You’re here.”

  Housekeeping knocked on the door and delivered a case of Greenland Glace water.

  I stared at the message on my bed.

  I felt guilty, and I thought of Mauru. I sent him a text message, “Arrived safely. XXX.”

  I took a shower, turned the TV on, and I discovered in the welcome message on the TV that Jeremiah Trehoviak owned the hotel.

  The TV also had the text of Scrimmage, the California Homeland Channel as channel one, and there was a map of the CWP campus, which was a series of fourteen buildings shaped like Cs joined one to the other like cups in an inverted C-shape. In the center, was an artificial lake “with swans, weather permitting.” The swans, apparently, were good for the children admitted to the renowned Center for Water-Related Illnesses, which was also on the campus.

  I found myself saying a snippet of prayer I’d heard as an adolescent.

  “Help those, like me, who don’t know what they’re doing and where they’re going.”

  After breakfast the next morning, I called Mauru and the kids.

  They were going swimming in my parents’ pool, then they’d have lunch, and Mauru’d take Jon and Nate to see the movie version of George Eugene’s The Dapple-Gray Horse Runs Free.

  The twins were drawing pictures with Mom and Dad. Helen, Mom’s best and only friend, was coming over, and Mom and Helen were working on scheduling a vote of no confidence against “President Jim.” Dad seemed a little more pensive and withdrawn.

  “What evidence do they have against Pastor Jim?” I asked Mauru.

  “I don’t know, Jan,” Mauru said. “Your mom says he has two lovers, and her private investigator has given her the videos. She’s over the moon that she can force a vote of no confidence, which she and Helen say they’ll win.”

  “And then he’ll have ninety days to resign,” I said. “It’s an embarrassment. Honestly, who cares if he has a lover or two, as long as he does his job as pastor?”

  Mauru didn’t respond.

  I arrived at the CWP campus about twenty minutes after the call.

  It was the day after Section 1(a)(1) had become law, which included the Law of Lavish Things and the Law of Water Allotments. Section 1(a)(1) was immediately effective, but the Water Court still needed to be set up and sworn in, which would take a few more months.

  The Law of Lavish Things would entirely go into effect in three years, but it had been passed earlier as a preventive warning. The Law of Water Allotments, also part of Section 1(a)(1), was immediately effective, and it would allow utilities across the state to charge all Californians the actual price of water, which we were told had been heavily subsidized in the past.

  At the CWP campus, I stood before the massive automatic glass doors on which the letters “CWP” had been frosted. On either side of each door were the federal, state, and CWP flags. As much as I’d grown to hate the CWP, I was in awe.

  Something was inviting about their reception area, which was spacious, naturally lit, and it looked out on the artificial lake with swans (which didn’t seem to be moving). It was all so peaceful that I took a seat on one of the cushioned benches and took it all in through the massive windows overlooking the lake.

  Did I know what I was doing? And why was I really there? What would a successful visit with Mike be? Would they let me see him?

  At that point, Mike had been imprisoned for about three months. I needed to see him. Sometimes, one needs to return to a point in one’s past to see if whatever’s there still has any bearing on the present.

  For a moment, I was tempted to go back to my hotel room.

  A message came in from Mauru. He hoped that I’d be able to get some time for myself. Maybe I’d be able to relax a little while in Menlo Park. He loved me.

  An older woman, dressed in a CWP uniform, arrived with a tray on which she had lemonade. She offered it to me.

  “Ms. Whitaker Virdis,” she said as I took the lemonade and thanked her, “the California Water Party needs your advice and help. Please join us.”

  She walked away.

  A few doctors passed me, nodded politely, and talked about a child for whom they felt compelled to do everything. “We just can’t let her family go through this again,” one of them said. “I just won’t let that happen. And I’m contacting the foundation to pay all her medical costs.”

  An ambulance announced its arrival in the distance.

  I’d imagined that the heart of the CWP, its very soul, would be a lot more frenetic. They’d have Trehoviak’s goons beating people up, and there’d be lots of CWP prisoners, like Mike, arriving in handcuffs. There’d be converts in long lines muttering Scrimmage, while Greta, Anton, Sheila, and others whipped them into shape every time they made an error. Some of them would have bloody noses because they’d have said something unflattering about Trehoviak. And there’d be photos of Jeremiah Trehoviak everywhere.

  I enjoyed my lemonade, and another glass was served to me when I was done.

  A group of people, “pilgrims” as the CWP called them, arrived in tour groups sponsored by Trehoviak’s foundation, and they were led away from the reception by CWP personnel, after both being served lemonade and receiving welcome packets and lanyards with their names.

  The pilgrims looked around, took photos, and expressed the wonder that one often associates with those arriving in a basilica they’ve only seen in books, and now their dream has just been realized.

  They pointed at the swans, and I wondered how the CWP had gotten swans to take up residence on their campus. Had they bribed them?

  W
orried that I was being jealous, which is often a precursor of cruelty, I wondered if my rejection of the CWP reflected nothing but the age-old human refusal to accept something new, famous, and somewhat unfamiliar.

  I walked to the front desk, which was like an island with happy CWP bees at computer terminals serving the king bee, whose imprint could be felt everywhere.

  “Hi, hello, Janet,” a woman said to me.

  I stared at her.

  I recognized her!

  It was redundant, superfluous Louise! Louise had denied Hannah and me nine courses at the fundraiser at WS&X in May 2037.

  “Hi, Louise,” I said. “Great to see you again. Sheila Stanleyson said that I could come here as a Californian and request to see the CWP member of my choice. I’m wondering if I might see Mike Iet.”

  A few CWP people stared at me when I mentioned Mike’s name. Then they glanced at each other and continued working.

  “Of course,” Louise said as she batted her eyelids and smiled. “Indeed, it is possible, plausible, and likely that you may request and ask to meet with the CWP member of your choice and selection. Scrimmage—”

  “Thank you for Scrimmage,” all the CWP members at the reception said in unison.

  “Thank you for Scrimmage,” Louise said. “Scrimmage requires and mandates that we uphold the Right Path—”

  “Thank you for the Right Path,” all the CWP members said.

  “Thank you for the Right Path. So, Janet, for us to entertain or accept your request to see Mike, you’ll need to—you must—memorize and repeat at least the first or second part of Scrimmage to our satisfaction and pleasure.”

  “Are you serious, Louise?”

  “Of course. Yes,” she said. Louise gave me a laminated sheet of paper with Scrimmage on it.

  I requested a pair of scissors.

  When Louise gave me the scissors (believing, no doubt, that I’d use them for something else), I cut the Scrimmage sheet in front of Louise and the Hoviaks, put the Scrimmage bits in a neat pile on their reception island, and I walked out. Looks of consternation followed me.