We ran inside and slammed the front door of The Palace. Ava and Pam looked up at us from their game of War. Pam sat in her chair and Ava on the floor, the cards between them on a small, worn ottoman. The television was still on, but the volume was muted. Pam gave me a worried look, and Ava asked, "Grandpa, were you running?" She let out a tinker bell sized giggle.
"Yeah, Baby girl, I was." He bent over, having a hard time catching his breath. I walked past Pam's accusing glare and went to my room. A knot was tied in my stomach, and it grew with every passing minute. What is going on? How could the Speakeasies be behind the fires when they were attacked on the same night?
Where was Sam?
Why do I care?
A couple hours later Sam came in the front door. He wasn't even stopped by Pam's death glare as he headed to his room and shut the door. The knot in my stomach quieted a bit when I heard him pass my doorway, but not entirely. A snake of uneasiness slithered in my stomach as I tried to piece together the events of the last 24 hours.
"We have to do something," I said to Nathan in the kitchen that night. Pam had foolishly left her personal bread downstairs, so I made us wish sandwiches from two slices of bread, mayonnaise, and a wish on a star for some meat.
"No, we don't," he replied after swallowing his first bite.
"Yes we do. I told you what I saw last night. Whether it was a Suicide Speakeasy or not, what the police did was wrong."
"It was," Nathan replied. His eyes stared at the sandwich, refusing to look at me.
I hesitated for a moment before continuing, "The police can't burn their evidence away. They can't get away with burning a whole building. People, for God's sake!"
"They can, and they did. The innocents, too."
"Innocents?" I racked my brain trying to remember a news segment ever mentioning the innocents, but I could not.
He sighed and looked up at me for a second before looking down again.
"How did you know for sure it was a Speakeasy?" I ask.
Nathan let out a shaky breath, "Because I took my wife there."
"What?" Speakeasies were where cowards snuck off to die alone. The easy way out of a shitty life. Nathan radiated certainty in this gray world, and I couldn't imagine him being married to anyone different.
"My wife, Sharon. I drove her there. She was going to do it either way after our daughter died. At least there it would be painless and clean...they let me hold her hand," his voice cracked at the end.
I stared in disbelief at Nathan. He seemed so calm earlier today. Why would he tell me this? I felt like I should share something to show him I understood, but the truth was I couldn't. I had no way of knowing for sure since I hadn't contacted home in so long, but as far as I knew my parents were alive. They may not be well, my dad had worked for a glass factory that had recently sent most of its work overseas, and my mother worked part time at a daycare, but at least they were most likely alive. My actual parents? I had no idea and no record. Adoptions like mine kept birth certificates classified. Losing someone like Nathan had, someone he knew and loved is an entirely different set of emotions from never knowing someone at all.
I jumped a little when Nathan spoke again. "Darlene, my daughter, she died shortly after Ava was born. Doctor sent her home the next morning. She began having headaches, so she would nap a lot, and my wife would help with the baby. Five days after Ava was born, Darlene just didn't wake up from her nap. We never did an autopsy. Couldn't afford it. Doctor said it was probably an infection of some kind from the birth." I stared at him from across the table. Our sandwiches lay mostly untouched among the water ring stains. "Sharon, she cried and cried. It seemed like the tears never stopped for a month. She cried when she held Ava, cried when she cooked, cried when she sat and did nothing. She told me her plan about the Speakeasy after she confided in me that she had held a pillow over Ava's face the night before."
Nathan wouldn't look at me as he continued, "The Speakeasy that we just came from, well, other innocents had positive things to say about it. Not all the Speakeasies are the same. Some are run much more...clinically."
He inhaled a trembling breath. We sat in absolute silence for a few moments, listening to the voices so muted from the television down the hall the words couldn't be made out. Soft footsteps on the creaking floor broke the intense silence. Ava shuffled her feet across the wood and crawled up into her grandfather's lap. He picked up the wish sandwich and tore it in half. He handed the side without a bite mark in it to Ava, who happily ate the soggy bread.
The next day, The Palace wasn't getting any business. I couldn't take sitting in the pink chair next to the silent Pam another minute, and I had no other entertainment to my name. I stood up and walked to my room to slide my shoes on.
"Where are you going?" Sam asked from my doorway. Startled, I looked up to see him leaning on the chipping painted frame.
"Walk."
"Can I join?"
I nodded at him. I was sure anywhere away from Pam was good for him. Out the door and into the late afternoon sunlight we went. Not anywhere in particular in mind, just something to do. We didn't talk, just looked around us. The sidewalks were cracked, in dire need of repair. Gum littered the cement. I purposely avoided the streets that had been looted. We began heading towards the nicer side of town. The side with Persim Tower looming large over all. We received a few strange looks, and one woman in her work clothes clutched her Louis Vuitton to her chest and crossed the street, making no effort to hide her accusing eyes.
A news drone hovered high above a well-to-do apartment complex. The clean balconies with well trimmed evergreens in decorative pots were barren of people, but the speaker reached the passersby on the sidewalk. The broadcast was loud and clear. "Rally with President Persim, tonight at 8:00 at Persim Tower Park. Memorial to follow." The drone took off to the next commercial site. I watched it zip away over the rooftops when I felt a rough hand slip into mine and pull. Sam tugged at my hand, and I made no move to follow until he pointed with his eyes at the police cruiser parked on the opposite street. The cop inside leaned greedily over his steering wheel, ready to jump out for some action. So we walked hand in hand, until we got back to the place where we belonged.
I had full intentions of arriving at Persim Park early, but The Palace had a couple families that were displaced by the fires that spread to their apartments check-in that afternoon. Pam insisted that I clean out the refrigerator and check the rooms for dead roaches before I left to go anywhere.
I looked in Sam's room after I threw the last cockroach into the trash. He had never expressed interest in going, but he had heard the drone announcement. Sam was sitting on the edge of his bed reading an old newspaper left by a previous tenant. He examined it like a relic because it was a relic. Most people got their news by other means: phone, ear implant downloads, tablet, drone fly by if you lived in the right neighborhood. But the thing about the "modern" means for news was you had to have money or live by money to hear it. So newspapers still barely survived in places like the East End because paper was cheap.
I knocked on his already open door. "Going to Persim Park," I said. He folded the newspaper and set it on his bed. His eyes glanced at my face and back to the newspaper before making eye contact. He was slow to speak, choosing his words carefully.
"Our president has my full respect...but I will mourn here."
The tone in his voice told me he had doubts. Everyone "respected" our president. The walls had ears, and most people who did openly disagree with the president tended to be on the verge of a mental breakdown. Rick's face appeared in my mind's eye with his face filled with terror before the needle in his neck subdued him.
A few months ago a group of local business owners got together to try and set up a meeting with the mayor about property taxes on their small shops. One by one they all ended up visiting a speakeasy and boards went up over their shop windows.
"Are you going to watch it on Pam's television?" It was not mandatory by any means, but whenever the President gave any sort of speech it was assumed everyone would be watching in some form or another. The library with its free screens would be packed by those who couldn't afford them at home.
I stared into his brown eyes, trying to read them. Did he truly want to sit in silence for the dead, or was he sick of President Persim? I hoped it was the latter. "You know...I just don't care for television." It might have been my imagination, but for less than a microsecond I thought I heard him pause before he said the word television. Was he going to say Persim?
By the time I left it was already 7:40; I never actually made it into the park. The green (well, winter brown) lawn was packed, vendors were selling food and President Persim T-shirts. The vibe was more of a celebration than a memorial. I stood in a throng of people on the edge of the sidewalk that bordered the well pruned park. Hovering above the crowds were giant screens that held a close up view of the stage that had been built in a few hours. I stood in the crowd and smelled the food others were eating. My stomach growled with hunger, but no one heard it over the mumbled voices of others.
The last of the light was just about to be eaten by the horizon when the stage lights beamed on. The people next to me and all around went insane. It was as if ACDC were about to walk out onto that stage. But instead of ACDC an average looking, middle aged woman in a blue pantsuit strolled out from behind a black curtain waving at her adoring fans. Her white teeth beamed in a friendly smile from behind a pale peach lipstick. Faint crow's feet wrinkled the corners of her ice blue eyes.
When she made it to the clear bullet proof podium she took in the cheers for a moment before raising both her hands for silence and bowing her head slightly as if in modesty. There was no microphone to be seen, no earpiece to possibly malfunction or distract from her pristine face. She was the first president to have a microphone embedded under the skin of her neck. She was also the first president to declare that she didn't need a full bullet proof casing around her or secret service so close. She confidently proclaimed years ago that her popularity in the country was so high that she would be shocked if an attempt on her life was ever made. The secret service members were still with her, of course, but they were all backstage. You would never see an intimidating agent in view of a camera shot.
"We are gathered here today to mourn those lost in the fires and violence. A tragedy that claimed the lives of many valued citizens. We thank God, and the brave men and women that fought the blazes and criminals. We give praise to our officers that protected our friends and family from those that took advantage of the confusion. Our men and women of the law should be given our ultimate thanks." She paused as murmurs of agreement went through the crowd. A lone whistle was heard from somewhere in the back of the crowd.
"Officials have confirmed the fires were started by the ring leaders of the Suicide Speakeasies. We do know the identities of these men but are not releasing the names due to the confidentiality of the situation."
Hisses and boos echoed through the crowd like waters being released from a floodgate. She raised both her hands again and hung her head dramatically in mock defeat. I looked around and saw mothers hold their babies closer to their chests as if these evil people would come after their children right now.
"Our country needs to stand together-"
"What a lie," I mumbled to myself. Disgust from the inaccuracies was spreading through me.
"Do you support these vile people?" A red bearded man next to me retorted. His dark brown eyes glared down at me with contempt. Shit, he heard that.
"No, but I know they didn't start the fires. I don't think anyone fully knows yet-"
"Hey! This one supports the Speakeasies!" He cupped one hand around his mouth and used the other to point a sausage finger at my face. A few faces dared to turn from the speech on stage.
"No, I-" Glass shattered at my feet. I looked up in time to see the group of teenage boys, about 10 yards away from me, where the bottle came from. A tall redheaded teen took aim at me with another glass bottle.
"Get out of here!" Said a voice from somewhere in the crowd behind me.
"Look, I don't mean. The other night, I saw-" Pain followed by the colors white, red, and black. I couldn't feel where the bottle smashed my forehead, but when I gained my eyesight back and touched my hand to my face I felt the sticky blood.
Screw this.
The small commotion must have attracted some attention. I saw a drone leave the formation around the stage. I quickly pulled my hood over my face so a clear photo of me couldn't be taken. I needed the city's facial recognition system tracing me like I needed a hole in my head. I turned and pushed my way through the crowd. As I shoved my way out, the onlookers turned back toward the stage like swinging doors, their eyes transfixed on the words tumbling from the president's lips.
"And that is why, I hope to see you for a third term!" The sound poured from the monitors hanging above the crowd.
A third term? What the hell?
There was a silence for just a moment as this unconscionable thought was taken in before the crowd became deafening with applause and cheers. I kept walking, head down. When I reached the edge of the crowd, I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"Are you okay?" A deep voice sounded from behind me.
"Fine," I lied and turned around, knocking his hand off my shoulder. I felt a trickle of sticky blood roll down my forehead and bead on my eyebrow.
My heart skipped a beat when I saw that the voice belonged to an officer. I had never been arrested, but I had seen plenty of arrests to be uncomfortable around any one in uniform. He looked uncomfortable too and swallowed. I swallowed as a mirroring reflex.
"How do you know about the Speakeasy fires?" he asked.
I swallowed again, unsure of the situation. I stared into his eyes. Everything about him screamed police. His haircut, clean shaven face, posture. His walkie crackled and we broke eye contact for a split second. I took the opportunity to run. I ran about 20 feet before glancing back, expecting him to be in full pursuit, but he just stood there on the sidewalk watching me sprint away. His body language was unreadable.
Pam didn't notice the blood on my face when I came in. Her eyes never left the screen, watching the news covering the rally. The SCLRDS didn't have a mirror, but the bathroom was taken by a guest when I arrived back at The Palace. So I entered the foul smelling room and turned on the faucet above the utility sink. I waited the first few seconds. The plumbing in this room always ran a sickly yellow for a bit before clear water came out. As I rinsed what I believed was the last of the blood from the cuts on my forehead away I heard the door to the SCLRDS creak open. I turned, expecting to see Pam.
"Nathan-I sorry. Can I help you?" I tossed the bloody rag into the metal sink.
"Can I help you?" He raised his graying eyebrows. "Saw drops of blood on the floor."
"Oh, um, well no. I'm alright. Fell, but thanks for letting me know. I'll clean that up before Pam sees." He narrowed his eyes at me in a strange way. "I mean, thank you for asking."
"Mmhmm. Did you go to that rally? I told you it was a stupid thing to do."
"No, of course not. I just watched it with Pam," I said hoping that Nathan didn't watch it with Pam. "I wanted to see what she would say. I was right. The Speakeasies took the blame, but I know what I saw, Nathan-"
He put up a hand to stop me. "The people will believe what they believe. There isn't a damn thing one person can do 'bout it. This isn't a story." He held up a small pocket sized book before I could reply, Princess Ellie Takes a Day Off.
"I've read this book to Ava a hundred times, and I am getting sick of it. Read it to her for me tonight. She won't go to sleep until someone does." He smiled at me.
I touched my forehead and took my hand away to check for any more residual blood before taking the book from Nathan's hand. "Thank you," he said as I headed to their room.
"Where's grandpa?" Ava asked from under the green blanket.
"He needed some grandpa time," I told her. "Can I read this to you? I heard it was a good story."
"Okay," she said and scooted over for me to sit down next to her on the bed.
I started, "Once upon a time..."
Ava was asleep, thumb in mouth, before the end of the story's happily ever after. I tucked her in and clicked off the only lamp in the small room before quietly shutting the door. Nathan came down the hall from the bathroom. "Asleep," I whispered to him.
"Thank you," he looked at me and wrinkled his forehead. "Don't get too caught up in all these happenings. These last few years I've seen people just get more ignorant. Take what the news says at face value. People don't think for themselves, and you're just going to get hurt if you show others that you do."
I placed the book in Nathan's hand. Then I walked to my room and shut the door.