Election

by Brandt Legg

  “There wasn’t much else to do. It was more fun than it sounds, especially when we were stoned.”

  “How’d you get in without them seeing you?”

  “An outside window went to a lower roof and then down a stack of strategically placed pallets,” Hudson said, seeing it all so clearly in his mind, wishing he could go back and change things. “So, that night, they get a call from a friend on the police force. Someone’s car had broken down. It’s a small town, and if the gas station is closed or whatever, then the call goes to the tire shop. They did basic engine service there, too. But by now they’re all pretty lit, and it’s raining, so they’re pissed off about having to go out. Still, it’s money, and business was slow. They’ve got to do it. Two of them take the wrecker, and when they come back, they got someone with them. A girl. A teenage girl. A black girl.”

  “Oh no.” Melissa opened her eyes and sat up.

  “Then it starts happening fast. I don’t even know how it happened, but one of those guys started making a move on her, and she pushed back, but they were drunk. A bunch of fat, racist, drunk rednecks.”

  “They raped her?”

  “Yeah.” Hudson’s hands were shaking. “I should have stopped them, but I was frozen. We all were. I think I started to move once when she first started screaming, but Gouge stopped me. We were scared. Then, suddenly, it seemed like it was too late. But, man . . . it was so horrible. She stopped fighting.”

  “She was afraid they’d kill her.”

  “Yeah. They passed her around. Once we’d seen it, I thought they’d—”

  “Did they kill her?” Melissa grabbed his arm. “Please tell me you did not watch them kill that girl.”

  “No . . . well, you know, not physically. She was all quiet by then. Like . . . vacant.”

  “Repulsive.”

  “Then Gouge’s dad started to change the tire on her car. He was pretty wasted, so it didn’t go real smoothly, but he’d changed a million tires, so he finally got it. They were giving her the talk, you know. ‘Don’t tell no one or we’ll hurt you,’ kind of stuff. She just stood there stoic, church dress all torn.”

  “Church dress?”

  “She’d been coming back from evening service.”

  Melissa shook her head. “Incredible. And she didn’t tell?”

  “Wait, this is when it turns into a nightmare.”

  “Oh, God. It gets worse?”

  “Someone starts banging on the door. So they all kind of get scared for a minute, guilty as hell, and the girl’s still there. But the guy banging isn’t stopping. He starts yelling for them to open up.” Hudson coughed and choked for a few seconds. “The guy calls the girl’s name. They all look at her. One of them grabs her, wraps a hand around her mouth. He keeps pounding, yelling louder, so one of them goes to the door, and we start hearing all this shouting. Turns out it’s her older brother. A big black man, a soldier, and he pushed past one of the rednecks, screaming for his sister.”

  “How did he know she was there?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he called the police looking for her and they said they called the tire shop. Maybe someone saw. I don’t know. Point is, he came in, and by then they had shoved her into a bathroom, but he sees her car. He looks around and sees these drunk rednecks zipping up their pants and whatever, and he starts yelling for his sister. They deny it, but her car’s there, which blows their lies. Her brother picks up a tire iron and goes for one of them. That’s when . . . ”

  “They killed him?”

  “Yeah,” Hudson said, tears in his eyes.

  “My God.”

  “They killed him right in front of us.”

  Melissa gasped. “What about the girl?”

  “They kept her tied up in the bathroom.”

  “For how long?” she asked, as if afraid herself.

  “You have to understand this was southeastern Ohio in the mid-eighties. Appalachia. One of the guys there was a cop from the next town over. They all knew every man with influence in town. Twenty or thirty minutes later, they called the police. Said it was a break-in and self-defense.”

  “And that’s how it went down?’

  “Yeah. After the cops left and the body was removed, they brought out the girl. Gave her more of the talk about not telling anyone, only now it was ‘they’d kill her and her whole family if she ever talked.’ Then a couple of them drove her and her car down the road a ways and let her go.”

  “They really believed she wouldn’t talk?”

  “They knew she wouldn’t.”

  “How?”

  “Even if she did, no one would believe her story.”

  “Really?”

  “That’s just the way it was then.” Hudson wiped his eyes. “These men were powerful in that small-town, rural kind of way. One of them owned a small parts factory where the girl’s father worked. Another one had a brother who was mayor of Columbus. They weren’t going to get caught.”

  “And they didn’t?”

  “No.”

  “But that’s not the end of the story?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Afraid not.”

  “Because the girl who got raped was Rochelle Rogers?” Melissa asked, already putting the pieces together.

  “Yeah. The guy that kind of started it all, the one who brought her back to the shop, who first raped her, he was the one whose brother was the mayor of Columbus. And five years later . . . ”

  “The mayor of Columbus was elected governor of Ohio.”

  Hudson nodded.

  “But why did Rochelle kill the governor? He wasn’t even there that night.”

  “She wanted the guy to know what it was like to lose a brother. I’ve always assumed she was going to kill a family member of each man that had been there that night, but she wanted the governor first. Maybe because he was the authority, part of the system that allowed it all to happen.”

  “Probably just because the governor’s brother was the ringleader. The first to violate her.”

  “Maybe.”

  Melissa just stared at him for a long time, letting it sink in.

  “If I had won, I was going to pardon her.”

  “But, Hudson, she killed an innocent man. It’s disgusting and tragic what happened to her, but the Governor wasn’t there that night, probably never even knew about it. Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

  “He was there, though. Maybe not in person, but he was a part of that culture, and it was that culture that gave rise to his power. I’m not saying he deserved to die. I’m not saying that at all, but he wasn’t as innocent as it might seem.”

  “Wow,” she said, climbing out of bed and standing with her hand on her hips. “Then am I guilty every time one of our country’s drones accidentally kills a civilian?”

  “Yes.”

  “Really? Then you are, too.”

  “Yes, and that’s part of what my campaign is about. Taking responsibility for all the wrong things we’ve done and are doing.”

  “Then, I sure hope you win, Hudson, so you can test your theory and find out if it’s possible to reconcile those views—guilt, and doing what is right. Sometimes right and wrong must coexist.”

  Hudson got out of bed too. “Anyway, it doesn’t look like I’m going to win.” He searched her face for disappointment. “Can you forgive me?”

  “Hudson, don’t you know? I love you no matter what.” She hugged him. “You need to forgive yourself. You were a dumb, stoned kid.”

  “But—”

  She put a finger on his lips. “And I believe in you. You’re going to win today. And when you do, promise me you won’t pardon Rochelle.”

  “Why not?”

  “Don’t you see? It won’t change that night. As awful as that was, she made a choice, the wrong choice, and took justice into her own hands. She killed an innocent man. If you pardon her, people will want to know why. They will find out, and it will destroy your presidency. You won’t be able to do any of the good; the real good that
you want to do, that you need to do.”

  “She didn’t deserve—”

  “Of course not,” Melissa interrupted. “But Hudson . . . I can forgive you for not turning those men in before Rochelle killed the governor, but I can’t forgive you for throwing your life away by pardoning her.”

  Hudson wanted to argue with her. He needed to scream! How could she not understand the torment, the guilt, the grip that night had on every day of his life that came after? How could she say that Rochelle was wrong?

  The rage of it all boiled just beneath the surface. A scream formed in his mouth, but the only words that came out were, “You really think I can still win?”

  “You are going to win, Hudson. I predict that twenty-four hours from now, you’ll be the President Elect of the United States of America.”

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  In spite of everything, Hudson couldn’t stop campaigning. After he and Melissa cast their ballots in Ohio, she flew to Virginia for a full day of rallies and “get out the vote” efforts, while Hudson headed to North Carolina, then to Pennsylvania, and later up to Michigan. They would meet in Cleveland, along with Florence and Schueller, to await the returns once the east coast polls closed that evening. Vonner would be there as well. He’d taken the entire top floor of the Hilton Hotel.

  Thousands were gathered in the adjoining Huntington Convention Center. Hudson and Melissa found a few minutes alone in their private suite.

  “I’ve been thinking about Rochelle,” Melissa said. “You chose Celia Brown as your running mate because of Rochelle, didn’t you?”

  “Not here,” Hudson cautioned, but nodded silently.

  “You’re a complicated man, Hudson,” she said with an impressed smile.

  “Not really. It all gets down to guilt and shame, honor and duty, right and wrong. I’m actually quite simple.”

  In spite of his warnings to her, he brought up an altogether different sensitive topic. One that she could only assume he no longer cared if Vonner heard. “What I told you this morning, I’ve never told anyone before.”

  “Thanks for finally trusting me with that,” Melissa said, touching his hand.

  “Now there’s something else I’ve been wanting to tell you.”

  “You’re just full of confessions today, aren’t you?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “Is this one the affair on the campaign trail?”

  “No,” he said, ignoring the joke again. “I was going to wait for Schueller and Florence to get here, but we probably only have a few minutes of privacy left.”

  “Fitz and everyone else are expecting us,” she said. The senior staff of the campaign were in the “Election Center,” on another floor, where they could monitor results from all the states and every major media outlet. They’d been expecting Hudson to join them thirty minutes earlier.

  “They can wait,” Hudson said. “Vonner’s upstairs, and he can wait, too.”

  “Still don’t think you’re going to win?” she asked. “Polls have been wrong before, you know? Look at 2016.”

  “I’m not sure I care about winning or losing anymore.”

  Concern filled her face, but she remained silent as he walked to the window to gaze out over Lake Erie. The lights dancing on its dark waters seemed to capture his mood—somber, reflective, maybe a trace of hope.

  “I have actual proof that this isn’t the first election that Vonner has interfered with,” he said, turning back to face her.

  Melissa gave him a shocked look, one in which he detected a flash of anger. “What is it?”

  He shook his head. “You know Vonner’s a REMie, Melissa. He’s one of the manipulators, and he’s done everything possible to manipulate me into power.”

  “If that’s true, then why do you think you’ll lose?”

  “Because Bastendorff is a better manipulator.”

  “If you do lose, that means Vonner also loses . . . then what happens?”

  “Something. Something has to happen. Because whether I lose, or Newsman Dan loses, either way, the REMies win.”

  “You’ve got to confront Vonner, let him tell his side. Hudson, you know this man. He put you here. Have you even let that sink in, or have you been too busy chasing conspiracies? I know you think it’s a long shot, but what if in a few hours you actually win, and suddenly you’re the next president, and we’re going to live in the White House? You, the leader of the free world?”

  “Or Vonner’s puppet.”

  “Talk to him,” she said. “It seems to me that NorthBridge is a bigger threat to our country than a bunch of wealthy men.”

  They’d all been holding their breath for another NorthBridge attack. Everyone expected something to happen on Election Day, but the threat had actually helped bring a record turnout. Reports all day had suggested this would be the highest voter turnout in more than one hundred years.

  “Don’t you see? NorthBridge exists only because of what the REMies have done for decades.”

  “And don’t you see? NorthBridge, the REMies . . . if you’re the president, you have a chance.” She moved close to him, put a hand on each shoulder, and looked into his eyes. “A chance to change everything you think needs changing, solve every problem, right every wrong.”

  He nodded. She was right.

  “Just don’t forget,” she added. “Whatever you think of him, Vonner gave you this chance.”

  The early returns had the election too close to call, but by one a.m. Eastern time, the race was decided. As the Associated Press called Virginia and its thirteen electoral votes for Pound, Fitz grabbed Hudson and hugged him. “We did it! We did it! We elected a common man President of the United States!”

  The final numbers:

  Dan Neuman – 266 Electoral Votes

  Hudson Pound – 271 Electoral Votes

  Hudson looked over at Melissa, who had spent even more time in Virginia than he did. She smiled, but it was a bittersweet smile. He smiled back, a stunned, worried kind of smile. He mouthed the words Now what? to her across the jubilant room. The line from the 1972 Robert Redford film, The Candidate, made her laugh.

  Melissa answered by pointing up. She wanted him to go see Vonner.

  Hudson pointed to her and then to the bathroom. She nodded and headed toward that end of the room. It took Hudson almost three minutes to limp thirty feet, as everyone had to hug, shake, congratulate, and even kiss him. He made eye contact with Schueller and Florence, who were there with their partners, but it seemed impossible to reach them through the jubilant mob. Finally, Melissa and Hudson were locked in the bathroom.

  He looked at the large, glass-enclosed shower with multiple showerheads and teak benches, and he wanted nothing more than to get in and try to rinse off the grime, the lies, the deaths, all the ugliness of the campaign, the false world he’d come to know. Instead, he grabbed Melissa and kissed her hard, desperate, his passion full of fear.

  “Say something,” he panted. “Tell me what the hell . . . ”

  “Congratulations, Mr. President . . . Are you ready?”

  “Yes!” He laughed. Suddenly, it was real. It was his. I can do anything!

  “Vonner is not some movie madman bent on taking over the world,” Melissa began, still holding him. “There are many layers to power in the world. Vonner is obviously part of that, but the voters have spoken.”

  “Have they? We don’t know that.”

  “You won. You’ll be president. No matter what you think about the whole CapStone thing and the REMies, the president of the United States is certainly a huge, huge part of the world’s power structure.”

  “But if the vote isn’t real, I can’t—”

  “You must. No matter what!”

  “I thought you’d be on my side.” His resolve was crumbling. Hudson felt like he’d been hung on a pendulum—the noose tightening as he swung between right and wrong.

  “Oh baby, I am on your side, but you’re the president elect.” She pushed her hand through his blon
d hair and smiled at their reflection in the mirror. “Can’t you do more good in that job than on the local school board? You know so much more now. You know how the world really works. Fix it!”

  “I don’t know.”

  Someone was knocking on the door.

  “Yes. You. Do. You fix things.” Melissa stepped back and looked into his eyes. “Schueller once told you that the best chance the world had for change, for things to be right, was if you were president. I believe that. Your son believes in you. Florence believes in you. Who cares how? You know tens of millions of Americans want you to be president. You can do this!”

  “If they let me.”

  The knocking, now continuous and louder, echoed.

  He took one last look at Melissa and opened the door.

  “What the hell were you doing in here? I was ready to pee off the damned balcony,” the man said, barging his way inside. Then he realized who Hudson was. “Oh, my. Uh, sorry, Mr. Pound.” He laughed nervously. “I mean, President Pound. Sorry.”

  Hudson pushed passed the man without a word. Melissa followed.

  Florence and Schueller found their father as he made his way to the hotel suite’s door.

  “Congratulations, Dad!” Florence said, sounding elated, but he could see the conflict in her eyes. She looked at him, scared of what they knew.

  Schueller leaned in and whispered in his ear.

  “Okay,” Hudson said, stopping to stare at his son for a moment, then reaching for the door.

  Fitz had worked his way back across the crowded celebration. “Where are you going?” he asked. “We need to get you downstairs for your victory speech!”

  “Upstairs first,” Hudson said.

  Fitz nodded. “Of course.”

  As Secret Service agents escorted him to the glass elevator, Hudson thought of the critical news Schueller had just given him.

  Chapter Seventy

  “He’s coming up,” Vonner said to Rex as he clicked the Communicator.

  Rex nodded and checked the mini-syringe. It was ready. Death in minutes by “natural causes.”