by James Hunt
“I trusted you! I trusted you!” Daniel’s screams could be heard all the way down the hallway. Even after he was out of the building, Smith could still hear Daniel’s words echoing in the back of his mind.
***
The six-by-eight-foot cell didn’t allow Daniel much space to walk. He could feel the walls closing in on him. He had taken off his tie, jacket, and dress shirt. Sweat drenched his undershirt. He walked around barefoot, trying to let the concrete cool his bare feet. Apparently inmates weren’t treated to the same air-conditioning standards as his peers on Capitol Hill.
Daniel sat down on the lumpy mattress. The springs squeaked from the surprise of his weight, and he leaned back till his head bumped into the wall behind him. Regardless of what happened with Jones, he knew how this would look. He could read the headlines now: “Congressman snaps under pressure from peers and public opinion. Is he fit for office?”
Am I fit for office? That was something he’d pondered for the two hours he’d been locked in that cell. In his mind he went through all the speeches, votes, and secret meetings. He justified everything he did as trying to help, but for what? Only so he could stay in office? He wasn’t sure if that was a question he wanted answered.
Daniel had joined the political scene roughly ten years ago. He had been working as a defense lawyer when he took on a client charged with kidnapping. The client was a father who had taken his daughter from the mother, who had sole custody, so that the daughter could live with him.
The mother had a lot of money, an inheritance from a grandfather. It was old money. Powerful money. The father, on the other hand, worked as a mechanic making thirty thousand dollars a year. He’d had a history of alcohol abuse way before his daughter was born, but he’d been sober for more than a decade.
Despite the father’s plea to have partial custody, the mother denied him. She didn’t want him to have anything to do with their daughter. The man was heartbroken, bleeding to death. When Daniel met with the father for the initial consultation, the father wept like Daniel had never seen a grown man cry. His eyes were desperate, pleading. Daniel took the case and asked for no compensation.
After three months at trial, Daniel lost the case. He couldn’t compete with the mother’s resources or influence. The father was sentenced to twenty years in prison. He would never forget the rap of the gavel or the wails of the father as the bailiff carried him away.
Daniel appealed the case but was denied. His firm told him that they weren’t going to sink any more of the company’s money into a lost cause. The only reason they’d agreed for him to take the case was because of the publicity, and now that they had lost the case, the only press they received was negative. Daniel quit the firm the following week.
He stayed in touch with the father for a while after the sentencing. He managed to arrange the delivery of letters to his daughter through her school. Daniel had gone to college with one of the teachers, and the teacher agreed to help out once Daniel told him what had happened.
The next couple of months after the trial were a turning point for him. He had gone to law school to make a difference, but the laws that were in place were so constricting, so binding, that he couldn’t do anything. So three months after he quit the law firm, he decided that if he couldn’t make a difference in the courtroom, he’d make it easier for justice to be served through legislation.
Eight months after that, he became the youngest congressman to ever be elected to the twelfth district of North Carolina. He built his platform on telling everyone that he could make a difference. And for the past two tortuous hours, he had been trying to figure out if he had made a difference or if he was now like that father he had tried to help so long ago.
Daniel heard the jingle of keys as the sergeant who had locked him in the cell made his way down the hall, the rhythmic click of his boots becoming louder. Daniel watched as the chubby-faced officer stepped in front of the door.
“Here he is, Congressman,” the sergeant said.
Then the long, slender hand of Jones wrapped around the iron rods of the cell door.
“Thank you, Sergeant,” Jones said.
Jones’s pearly-white smile stretched across the gaps in the coal-black gate that separated Daniel from freedom. Daniel could feel the swirl of emotions storming up inside of him. He had never wanted to hurt someone so badly yet beg for their mercy.
“You made quite a scene today, Daniel,” Jones said.
Daniel didn’t get up from the cot, but he leaned forward to rest his face in his hands. If Jones knew about it, then it wouldn’t be long before the news outlets caught wind of it as well. His career was over. His life was over, and all of it was made worse by the fact that his family would be caught in the crossfire.
“You still have time, Daniel,” Jones said.
“Time for what?”
“To save your career. To save your life.”
Daniel looked up from his hands. Jones’s smile had disappeared, but his grip on the bars remained.
“Smith betrayed you. He gave you up to save his own skin,” Jones said.
Daniel shut his eyes. He shook his head. He knew Jones was playing games with him. This was a power struggle, and right now the scales were tipped generously in his favor. The bed springs squeaked again as Daniel rose from the cot and walked to the back of the cell. He pressed his hands up against the wall, keeping his back to Jones.
“Think of your family, Daniel.”
Daniel’s hands slid down the rough concrete. Of all the cards to play, Daniel had known Jones would pull that one. He walked to the front of the cell to face Jones. When Daniel made it to the cell bars, Jones removed his hands.
“What do you want? You want to know what Smith is doing? You want to know what I’ve been doing?” Daniel asked.
“I already know about Dr. Carlson. I already know about your meetings. All I need is a location where Carlson is working. You give me that, and I can make everything disappear. I can ensure you’re reelected for the next fifteen terms. I can make sure you and your family never want for anything. I can be a powerful friend, Daniel. You know what I can do. Stop fighting me and work with me.”
“Work with you? Work with you to destroy what this country was founded on?”
Jones lunged at the bars. The forceful thud of Jones’s hands hitting the iron gate surprised Daniel. He hadn’t thought Jones’s frail body could produce that much force.
“What this country was founded on was the belief in survival. That’s what I’m doing, Daniel. Ensuring that we survive. Now, I’m sorry that my methods don’t represent the same Boy Scout code that you and Smith carry around, but I can tell you that everything I have ever done has been for this nation. Because, despite you detesting me, I live in this country as well, and my fate is attached to its outcome just as much as yours!” Jones said.
A dribble of spit flew from Jones’s mouth and landed on his chin. He wiped it away hastily with the back of his liver-spotted hands.
“You really believe that everything you’ve done has been for the good of the country?” Daniel asked. “You’re delusional.”
“Don’t go down this road, Daniel. It’s not a journey you’ll survive. You have until tomorrow to give me your answer.”
A few moments after Jones left, the sergeant came back and opened Daniel’s cell.
“You made bail,” the sergeant said.
“Posted by whom?”
“Congressman Jones.”
Chapter 14
Brooke had been idling in the cruiser for the past three minutes. Her eyes were fixated on the desert sand in front of her. It wasn’t until Eric waved his hand in front of her face that she snapped out of her trance.
“Hey, anybody home?” Eric asked.
“The tire tracks. Up ahead. What do you think they’re from?” Brooke asked.
“I’m going to go with some type of vehicle.”
John snorted, and Emily giggled.
“Hey, you two in the
back. Don’t encourage him,” Brooke said.
“Brooke, I’m sure it’s fine,” Eric said.
“I haven’t had the best track record when it comes to crossing deserts this week.”
“Regardless of who it is, we still have to cross.”
Brooke looked back over to the “Welcome to New Mexico” sign on the left. The sun had worn most of the lettering off, but she could still see the state’s outline, which had once been proudly printed on the sign. Now the state of New Mexico was known mostly for death.
The races had started a few years back. They’d become wildly popular. Fire and blood drew in large crowds, and the large amounts of prize money kept contestants coming back every year. Brooke had watched a race on television once. She turned it off after the first ten minutes. The show was nothing more than perpetuated violence.
Now, with the region in exile, she was afraid what little law remained in the state had now vanished. The trek through New Mexico would be more than just a fight against the elements. Brooke shifted the cruiser into drive and rolled over the state line.
It was three hundred miles to Texas, and they had packed enough fuel to last them well into the Lone Star State. Eric suggested keeping to the north, stating that the security closer to Mexico would be stronger. Brooke planned it so that by the time they reached the Texas border, it would be nightfall. Crossing over during the daylight didn’t seem like a viable option.
Brooke kept the cruiser at a steady forty miles per hour. At the pace they were running, they’d make the crossing in roughly eight hours. That meant eight hours of watching the horizon for marauders, Mexican military, and the Mexican gangs that had worked their way slowly up to Albuquerque.
“You guys ever watch Bugs Bunny?” Eric asked.
“Who?” John replied.
Eric turned to look at Brooke, who had her eyebrow raised.
“I guess they wouldn’t get the Albuquerque joke,” he said.
“I think that was a little bit before their time,” Brooke answered.
“Such a shame.”
***
John’s head bobbled against his headrest. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep when his mom slapped his leg.
“John, wake up,” Brooke said.
John rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked out the window. His jaw almost dropped. For miles, all he could see was white sand. For a moment, he thought he was at the beach.
“Where are we?” John asked.
“White Sands National Park, or at least it used to be,” Brooke said.
“Why is everything white, Mommy?” Emily asked.
“It’s because of the gypsum in the sand,” Brooke answered.
“It’s pretty,” Emily said.
John had never seen anything like it. If it wasn’t for the blazing heat, he could have thought they were driving through snow.
“Can we stop to look around?” John asked.
His mother didn’t say anything for a minute, then he felt the cruiser start to slow.
“Sure, it’s about dinner time anyway,” Brooke said.
John stepped his right foot out of the car and smiled when he hit the sand. He turned back around to Brooke and Eric, who were unbuckling their seatbelts.
“Cool,” he said.
He could hear Emily laughing, chasing after him as he ran up the side of one of the white dunes to get a better look at his surroundings. His jaw almost dropped from the view. Thousands of white, rolling dunes stretched further than he could imagine. He knelt down into the white powder and picked it up, letting it sift through his fingers. Emily finally made it to the top of the hill and fell to her knees next to him.
“It feels soft,” John said.
Emily scooped up a pile in her hands and rubbed it around in her fingers. “Yeah, it’s weird.”
John rubbed the tiny granules of sand off his fingertips. He touched the tip of Emily’s nose, leaving a small dab of white, and she giggled. Then she reciprocated by dropping some of the sand down the back of his shirt.
“Emily!” John yelled.
He chased after her down the hill and scooped her up. She was laughing, and while he was still mad at her, he couldn’t help but chuckle. He set her down, and she helped him wipe the sand off his back.
“Dad would have liked it here,” John said.
“What do you guys talk about?” Emily asked.
John pulled his shirt back down and turned around.
“What?” John asked.
“At night. I hear you talking to him.”
It was something John had done most nights since his father’s death. He had a lot of questions that he needed answers to. Questions that he didn’t want to talk to his mom about. They ranged from girls to guns to whether or not his dad was proud of him.
John’s face flushed red slightly, embarrassed that Emily had heard him. The truth was his dad never answered back, which he was glad of. He couldn’t imagine having to tell some shrink that his dead father spoke to him from beyond the grave.
“It’s kind of a one-way conversation, Em,” John answered.
“I tried talking to him too, but he didn’t answer. Why do you keep trying?” Emily asked.
“Because I miss him. And, I don’t know, I guess it just makes me feel better.”
The father–son talks and trips and the moments that every other son would get to experience would never happen with him. He was going to have to figure things out on his own. He just hoped that he was smart enough to do it.
“I’m glad it makes you feel better,” Emily said.
John grabbed his sister’s hand, and the two of them walked back over to their mom and Eric, who were setting up lunch.
***
It could have been a picnic under any other circumstances. Brooke watched Eric and Emily try to build some militarized version of a sand castle. Eric kept telling Emily that while a princess may love a garden, setting one up outside the defensive walls wasn’t a good strategy.
“Why can’t we just put it behind the wall?” Eric asked.
“Because, a princess needs space to run around. She can’t just be cooped up inside the castle all day.”
“But wouldn’t it be safer for the princess to garden inside the castle? What if their enemies come storming through while she’s in the middle of planting some carrots?”
“She’ll fight them off.”
“All by herself?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I think the princess should try going through basic training before she starts making such reckless decisions.”
Brooke chuckled to herself. She looked around for John but couldn’t find him. She panicked for a split second until she saw his feet through the space under the cruiser. She left Eric and Emily to work out the rest of their castle blueprints and joined her son.
John was holding the family picture he’d managed to salvage before they left. The glass had cracked in the frame, most likely either from the bumpy ride or the Mexican gunfire they had experienced yesterday.
“That was a good day,” Brooke said, gesturing to the photo.
“I don’t remember it,” John said.
“You don’t? Well, I do,” Brooke said, taking the photo from him. “It was the week after school let out of your seventh grade year. I’m pretty sure you had just gotten a shot of adolescence the day before because you were in a terrible mood.”
John rolled his eyes in response.
“Oh, looks like it’s kicking in again,” Brooke said, nudging him with her elbow.
“If I was in such a bad mood, why was it a good day?” John asked.
“Because your dad came home that day.”
“He did? I don’t remember that.”
“It was a surprise. He wasn’t supposed to be home for another week.”
“I’m sorry I’m difficult sometimes.”
John’s response threw her off a bit. He kept his head down when he said it, so she knew he was embarrassed. She tilte
d his head up by his chin.
“Hey. It’s all right. You’re not the only fourteen-year-old with raging hormones. Everybody goes through it,” Brooke said.
“Yeah. You should see some of the other kids at school.”
“Oh, I have.”
Brooke handed the picture back to John and kissed him on the cheek.
“Brooke!” Eric yelled.
She rushed around to the other side of the cruiser to the sight of Eric running toward the car with Emily in his arms. Behind them in the distance was a caravan of vehicles heading right for them.
