Not Alone

by Falconer, Craig A.

  “What kind of websites?” Emma asked.

  Dan shrugged. “Just, like, conspiracies and stuff.”

  Emma turned to the blogger, who was typing everything on her phone but had been forbidden from recording the audio. “Leave that part out,” she said. “Just put writing code and staying in my room.”

  “But I’ve never written any code in my li—”

  “Just put that,” Emma repeated, ignoring Dan’s complaint.

  “Okay,” the blogger said. “I think we’re ready for the next shoot.”

  “One more question,” Emma said. “You were 18 when you got this misdiagnosis, right? So why did your dad suddenly decide so late that you should see a doctor?”

  “My uncle shot himself in the throat,” Dan said.

  The blogger looked at Emma for permission to type this. She got it.

  “And they didn’t have any mental health stuff when my dad was at school like they do now,” Dan went on, “so he started to worry about me. He thought I was too quiet. I dunno, depressed, maybe. I wasn’t. 100%… I wasn’t. We never talked much about anything, but especially stuff like that. Anyway, he said if I was going to live in his house then I was going to talk to the doctor. But Clark didn’t want me to go because he said that they would turn my quirks into symptoms. That’s what he said. He said “quirks don’t sell drugs, so they’ll turn them into symptoms and convince you that you need whatever they’re selling.” And as soon as we went, my dad wished that he’d listened to Clark. He wasn’t ashamed of me or anything, and when he looked at the symptoms that people with actual STPD have, he knew I didn’t have it. He just felt guilty for pushing me into it because he knew it would be a stigma. Because that’s the thing with labels: they’re sticky. You know what the media are like with mental health; we’ve already seen it. You’re either perfect or you’re crazy. There’s no in-between.”

  “I think we should publish all of that,” Emma said. “People relate to human stories. And it doesn’t matter if it’s only an interview on a fashion blog; every news outlet will pick up whatever you say. This way it doesn’t sound like you’re being defensive by issuing press releases and making public statements. This feels organic. Authentic.”

  “Are you not going to ask me about the leak, though?” Dan said.

  “This article is about you,” Emma emphasised. “The leak is news in its own right, and everyone is talking about it anyway. The point of this is to flesh you out as a relatable guy who people can get behind.”

  Dan nodded indifferently. He respected how Emma could maintain such a laser-like focus on business, but part of him just wanted to talk about aliens.

  The photoshoot concluded after two more outfits. The blogger agreed to send Emma a draft of the feature as soon as it was ready so that Emma could make the necessary edits.

  Emma and the blogger then held their phones close together until the $2,000 feature charge transferred over to Emma’s account. The blogger left after saying thanks to Dan, which was the first word she had spoken directly to him since hello.

  * * *

  Dan understood the practicalities of why the money went to Emma’s account first, and he accepted that she had set the interview up and wouldn’t be working for free. He didn’t know the going rate for PR reps or agents or whatever kind of role Emma was playing, so he asked her straight up: “What’s your fee?”

  “My fee?” Emma said, gathering up the designer clothes that apparently now belonged to Dan.

  “Yeah. What percentage do you keep?”

  “A hundred,” she said, deadpan.

  Dan smiled, like he was waiting for the punch line.

  “Do you know how much you’d be paying me per hour if you’d come to us?” Emma asked.

  “But I didn’t,” Dan said. “You came to me.”

  “Which is why you’re getting this for free. But that doesn’t mean that we pay you.”

  “I just thought…”

  “Look, Dan. You seem like a nice enough guy, so I’m going to be as clear as I can here. We’re on the same side for different reasons, okay? We both want people to believe you for as long as possible. Your reasons are your reasons, and you’re entitled to them, but I’m at work right now. This is my job. I’m getting paid for this, but if there’s no return on what I’m doing then the firm will call me back to go somewhere else. This two grand goes straight to the firm, and it won’t even cover half of these clothes. When we get you on real TV shows, the firm will get the money it needs and you’ll get the audience you need. See how it works? Win-win.”

  “And then what?” Dan said. “You just move on to the next thing as soon as you’ve milked everything you can out of me?”

  Emma sighed. “I can’t promise how much longer I’ll be here; it depends how things go. All I can promise is that while I am here, I’m going to do everything I can to make sure people believe you. I’m going to do that by getting your truth in front of as many different people as I can and by protecting you from people who are trying to prove you wrong. That’s what I’m doing. That’s what this is.”

  “Why do you always say your truth instead of the truth?” Dan asked, picking up on the thing he could most easily find fault with. Emma had just shattered any illusions that her motives were pure, but at least they were now clear.

  “The truth’s a difficult thing,” Emma said. “I’ve spent nine years in this business and I relearn that every single day. But usually our clients don’t even believe their own stories, they just want us to convince everyone else. I know this is different.”

  “How old are you, anyway?” Dan asked. Nine years seemed too long for Emma to have been in any kind of business, and her “I know this is different” line had successfully slain his brief anger. He was already tired of not being believed, but Emma’s obvious proficiency in her work was bound to increase the chances of other people believing him, so Dan was willing to overlook her own doubts.

  “I’m 31,” she said. “Or 25. It depends who asks.”

  Dan grinned. He helped Emma load the clothes into his car, and after a few minutes asked her when she thought President Slater might respond to Godfrey’s comments.

  “The second she touches down,” Emma said. “No question. And then you’ll respond tomorrow. It’s best to let the world sleep on it and see if Godfrey responds again when it’s morning in London. The firm wants you to do a little panel show tomorrow evening. It’s not live, and it’s filmed in New York, so you’ll be doing it via satellite and I’ll be right beside you. The show has nothing to do with Blitz and the questions will be strictly about the issues, not about you. It’s a current affairs show and your leak is one of the topics they’re focusing on. We’ll go over everything tomorrow, on the way.”

  “Where do we have to go?” Dan asked. He liked the sound of it.

  “The studio is in Amarillo. You don’t have to drive, obviously; the firm are sending a car.”

  “We’re driving to Amarillo? That’ll take longer than it would to fly to New York! Are your firm really that cheap?”

  “Seven hours max,” Emma said. “It was my decision, and it was nothing to do with money. A) I don’t like flying, and B) driving is a lot more private.”

  “But you literally just flew here from Vegas,” Dan said. “And you just flew there from New York.”

  “Those are the only two flights I’ve been on in the last five years. I told you: my work is in New York. The only flight I plan on taking any time soon is when I go back, which will be for good. Vegas was a one-off when the firm needed me to go at short notice, and it was the same coming here. Well, this was extra short notice.”

  Dan didn’t say anything.

  “If you want to fly to New York, we’ll fly to New York,” Emma sighed, making her feelings clear. “Or you could fly to Amarillo and I’ll meet you there, because I definitely think it’ll be easier for you to do it via satellite than in the studio. Otherwise I won’t be by your side. I pushed for the network to let us d
o it somewhere in Colorado but they said it has to be one of their studios. So it’s your call: fly to New York or fly or drive to Amarillo.”

  “We’ll drive,” Dan decided after a few seconds. “It’s not like I have plans.”

  “Thanks. And like I said, it gives us time to go over everything on the way.”

  “So I guess that means I have tonight off?” Dan asked with a slight laugh.

  “Don’t rub it in,” Emma said. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  “Do you want me to drop you off at your hotel?”

  Emma shook her head. “I have to make sure you get home without anyone bothering you. I’ll get a cab at the end of your street like I always do. Just along from where the media were this morning.”

  The media being at the old drive-in was precisely the reason Dan had hoped to take Emma to her hotel. It was almost six, and Dan had someone to meet.

  “Do you think I should maybe say something at the drive-in when we pass?” he asked as he stepped into his car. “Because if we feed them, they won’t bite, you know?”

  “Not tonight,” Emma said. “Let Slater have her say first. Walker vs McCarthy was a good start, but Slater vs Godfrey is box office.”

  Dan didn’t argue. Presidents and prime ministers arguing about aliens was definitely good for the issue’s credibility, and he could always sneak out to meet Trey when Emma was gone.

  “Okay,” he said. “You’re the boss.”

  D minus 75

  Andrews Field

  Joint Base Andrews, Maryland

  As President Slater’s plane landed in the late afternoon, she and Jack Neal ran through the details of her “rushed” response one final time. Very soon, she would be addressing a controlled media scrum just outside the air base.

  Jack Neal’s background was in public relations. His association with President Slater began when he caught her attention shortly after transitioning into campaign management and saving several previously written-off local campaigns. His big break came when Slater appointed him head of her Senate campaign, and since then he had risen as quickly in her eyes as she had in the country’s. Jack was well spoken, highly presentable and more than a little machiavellian; in short, everything Slater needed in a senior aide who was more visible than any unelected advisor before him.

  Jack’s advice in this instance was for President Slater to speak outdoors and make it look as though she was doing everyone a favour by agreeing to say something about an issue that she didn’t think worthy of her time.

  “Really sell the disinterest,” he said. “I want you to look exasperated with disinterest. Then finish by saying you have more important things to attend to. And when they ask “like what?”, you know what to say. That’s it; just like we said.”

  Slater looked down at the runway and wondered how it had come to this, let alone so quickly. 24 hours ago she had more or less supported Richard Walker’s decision to use the alien nonsense to deflect attention from a much more difficult issue, and now she found herself backed into a corner with no choice but to do the exact opposite.

  Minutes after her feet were finally back on American soil, President Slater’s car pulled up beside a gathering of journalists and reporters.

  “Now,” Jack said.

  Slater stepped out and strode towards a conveniently placed media gauntlet. Near the end of the line, she stopped. “Godfrey?” she said, replying to a call that she may or may not have heard. “What about him?”

  Jack Neal played his part by encouraging Slater to return to the car without commenting, but she resisted his artificial plea and walked back to the middle of the line to face the cameras.

  A bearded young man stood behind Slater, several metres in the distance. The uninvited citizen held a placard which read “SLATER LIES, TRUTH NOW”, with two words on each line. From the angle of most of the TV cameras, the sign was right beside Slater’s head. No one standing at that angle had any inclination to either tell her about the sign or ask the man to move, so their cameras captured what had the potential to become an iconic and embarrassing image.

  Unaware, Slater began her well-rehearsed response. “Prime Minister Godfrey is under extreme pressure,” she said. “But that doesn’t change the fact that his comments were highly irresponsible. I won’t allow myself to fall into his trap by assisting him in diverting the British public’s attention away from their own domestic concerns.”

  Someone shouted something about Dan McCarthy, with the word “McCarthy” highly audible to everyone present. They all hushed to hear what Slater would say.

  “I don’t want to give Prime Minister Godfrey the publicity he wants on this issue, and I certainly don’t want to give any publicity to the source of the lies that started it. I have more important things to—”

  “Bullshit!” yelled the bearded man behind Slater, loudly enough to cut her off mid-sentence.

  She turned to see where the heckle had come from and saw the man being promptly tackled by her security.

  “The Australian letter is real,” the man shouted as he was dragged away, offering no physical resistance beyond sandbagging his weight. “It’s a matter of time until the rest of the evidence is…”

  His voice faded away.

  “I have more important things to attend to right now,” Slater continued, trying not to look flustered by this genuinely unplanned interruption. She stood awkwardly in front of the line of reporters, waiting for one of them to shout “like what?” as Jack Neal had assured her they would.

  When no one did, Jack stealthily assumed an anonymous position at the back of the media scrum and covered his mouth with his hand. “Like what?” he yelled in a strained voice.

  President Slater saw Jack’s other hand in the air, pointing to the car. She walked towards it and answered over her shoulder as she went:

  “China.”

  D minus 74

  Drive-In

  Birchwood, Colorado

  Dan pulled up just within sight of the old drive-in. Despite the steady rain, there were far more vans and people than there had been in the morning, but no sign of Trey. Dan kept his distance. The ACN van was there, presumably with Maria Janzyck still inside, along with several other larger vehicles which displayed logos with letter combinations Dan didn’t recognise.

  The lack of a Blitz News van was some consolation, but it was now 6:42 and Trey was nowhere to be seen.

  Dan drove slightly further away so that he couldn’t see into the drive-in lot itself but could still see the entrance, hoping to catch Trey before he went in and thus avoid dealing with the other reporters. All Dan could do now was wait and pray that Trey hadn’t gone home in frustration.

  He ran through everything he had done since 6pm and absolved himself of any guilt by recognising that he had arrived at the drive-in as quickly as he could.

  When Dan first got home from the hair salon he caught a replay of President Slater’s disastrous outdoor speech, which prompted Emma to text him that she would “need to get hold of that bullshit guy for some media stuff.” He then heated up one of his Houghton’s Home Fresh meals and ate it in front of the TV as quickly as he could.

  By that point Dan was already fifteen minutes late for his meeting with Trey, but he opted to wait another five to make sure that Emma would be well away from the drive-in.

  He then did something he had avoided doing for three years and had hoped he would never need to do: he removed his framed cheque from the wall beside his bedroom door.

  Without the cheque, Dan had $6.40 in his wallet and $20 or so in his bank account. Cash flow wasn’t normally a big problem since Clark took care of almost everything, but Dan wouldn’t be paid by Mr Wolf at the bookshop for another four days. That struck Dan as an unreasonable length of time to expect a complete stranger like Trey to go without the money he had hopefully spent on the old calligraphy book and the digital translator.

  Dan paused for a moment to consider the possibility that Trey might not have managed to
get the items and that he might be about to cash his cheque for no reason, but he pushed the thought aside and put the cheque in his wallet.

  The bank was naturally closed at 6:30 on a Saturday evening, but Dan knew that the pawnshop would be open. He knew the guy who owned the place so didn’t anticipate having any problems with the year-old cheque.

  Dan drove to the pawnshop and was pleased to see that the owner was behind the counter. Before Dan even had the cheque out of his pocket to ask if he could cash it, the man — older than Dan’s father and with a name he couldn’t quite remember — recognised him.

  “Dan McCarthy,” he said, sounding almost as chirpy as Emma.

  Dan smiled, wishing the man had been vain enough to name the store after himself so that he would know what to call him in reply.

  “How’s Big Henry doing?” the man asked, his face making clear that it was a real question rather than just something to say.

  Birchwood wasn’t the kind of small town where everyone knew everyone else, but everyone knew Dan’s father. “Pretty much the same,” Dan said. “Awake but away.”

  The man gave his best wishes and asked what Dan needed. After one look at the cheque, he gave Dan the full $85 in cash. Dan thanked him and offered the standard $5 charge but the man wouldn’t hear a word of it, saying that he would do anything for Big Henry’s boy.

  There was then some small talk about Dan’s leak, with the man saying that he had always known the government were covering something like this up. Dan didn’t want to be rude but really did have to get to Trey, so he cut the conversation off as soon as he got the chance.

  As Dan walked towards the exit, the man called after him.