Black Swan Rising

by Lisa Brackmann

  “No, it’s my fault. I should have just let you be.”

  “It’s gonna be a shitstorm, right?”

  “I don’t know. Probably.” Definitely, she thought. With those photos out there, Social was going to blow up. “We’ll deal with it. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  He cradled his injured hand in his good one and seemed to study it. “I lost it.” His voice was flat. “I just wanted to keep hitting him. I only stopped because the cops pulled me off.”

  Finally, he looked up at her. The anger had drained out of him, and he looked empty of anything else. “He killed a little kid, Linds. Am I supposed to feel bad?”

  She felt something she hadn’t felt in a while, a sudden, fierce emotion that she couldn’t even name, a chemical surge of protectiveness and connection.

  “No. No, you have no reason to.”

  She sat down in the chair Parviz had vacated. Put her hands on Matt’s bare thighs and gently massaged the muscles beneath her fingers. “You took down a killer. You’re a hero.”

  20

  STALKED BY A KILLER— A NEWS 9 EXCLUSIVE

  (BEGIN VIDEO CLIP: MONTAGE OF MORENA SHOOTINGS NEWS FOOTAGE, CHASTAIN PHOTO INSERT, CASEY AT CROOKED ARROW)

  ELISE MENDOZA, NEWS 9 ANCHOR (V.O.): Casey Cheng had more than a usual interest in the background and motivations of Morena killer Alan Jay Chastain. She herself was badly injured in that incident, one of the worst mass shootings in San Diego history.

  CHENG (IN STUDIO): Yeah, I think it’s fair to say I’m a little invested in this story (LAUGHS). I guess a part of me hoped that if I could make sense of why he did it, I could make better sense of what happened to me. I pretty much had to tell myself to think of it as something like this big storm that came out of nowhere, washed over me, and moved on … An act of nature.

  (BEGIN VIDEO CLIP: DERRY PHOTO INSERT, EXT. HIGHSMITH’S, QUIK BY) MENDOZA (V.O.): But meeting Lucas Derry on the street near Alan Jay Chastain’s last place of employment caused her to question her past assumptions.

  (END VIDEO CLIP) CHENG (IN STUDIO): He approached me when I was getting into my car. He said he recognized me, and that he was a friend of Alan Chastain’s. And I’ll admit, he made me a little jumpy. Just … there was something off.

  (BEGIN VIDEO CLIP: INSERT TRUE MEN WILL RISE COVER) MENDOZA (V.O.): But it was a comic book of all things that led Cheng and the News 9 I-team to dig deeper …

  “This is fantastic, guys,” Gloria said.

  Jordan nodded. “I’m comfortable going with this.”

  “You don’t think we’re burying the lede a bit?” Casey asked.

  Gloria shook her head. “You’ll be live on set with Craig and Elise, they’ll intro you and the story, you guys do a few lines of cross talk. We’ll run it after the main package on the Cason shootings, including your exclusive with our witness. There will be plenty of context.”

  Everyone sitting around the conference table seemed good with that. Everyone but her.

  “It just feels like there’s a lot of … me,” Casey said.

  Gloria laughed. “Yeah, it’s pretty much the Casey hour tonight. But look, you’ve earned it. You guys have done a fantastic job.”

  Casey smiled. She knew she should feel good about this. Great, even. How many times did a story like this fall into your lap working in local news?

  Though she supposed getting shot first took it out of the “falling into your lap” category.

  There was barely time to recut the segment, in any case. Hit time was less than an hour, nine minutes into the six o’clock news. She needed to do hair and makeup, change into the blouse hanging in her locker that she’d wear at the anchor desk.

  At least they’d filmed the studio segments in the newsroom, instead of at her condo or against some gauzy scrim. It made her feel slightly more like a reporter. Slightly less like some local celebrity.

  A subject.

  “Okay, guys. Just want to make sure we spread the credit around. As far as I’m concerned, Rose and Diego both should be getting airtime.”

  Rose held up her hands. “Hah! No way. That’s your job, hon.”

  “What did your cop say?” Casey asked her on the way to her locker.

  “‘Thanks for the tip,’ basically. I told him about the True Men graphic novel connection. I don’t know if he took it seriously or not.”

  “I bet he does. We were right about Lucas.”

  And he’d repaid that favor by calling Rose five minutes before the press conference announcing the park shooter’s identity took place. They’d gotten it on the air before anyone else.

  “Yeah,” Rose said. “What he said was, two mass shootings that might be related, trying to kill a US congressman, that meant the FBI was getting involved, and he’d let them know about the comic book.” She laughed. “It sounds ridiculous every time I say it.”

  Still, it was worth giving Helton the heads-up, show they were willing to keep trading information. Building up that kind of goodwill with a well-placed police officer never hurt.

  They’d been careful not to make any definitive claims in the segment. Just that Lucas’s tattoo had reminded Casey of the cover of True Men Will Rise. And that the man who’d claimed to be the friend of a mass murderer then went out to commit his own killings.

  This wasn’t how Sarah thought she would see the inside of Jane’s house.

  She’d hoped that she would become part of the core staff. Be invited over for strategy sessions. Ben had been invited before. Yeah, I had drinks over at Jane’s last night, he’d said, so casually.

  Now he was in the hospital, and he might not make it, and she was here, and she was only here because of what had happened at the park.

  If Ben hadn’t been shot, would she be here at all?

  Jane lived in Clairemont, which surprised her. She would have pictured Jane in some other kind of neighborhood, something nicer, or older, or more distinctive. But here was her house, a small tract home overlooking Tecolote Canyon just off Clairemont Drive, in a part of Clairemont that wasn’t fancy at all.

  “The bathroom’s here,” Jane said. “Do you want to take a shower? Get out of that shirt? I can bring you something short-sleeve. And … pajamas or sweats or something.”

  “That would be great,” Sarah said. She did want to get out of these clothes, out of the bra with straps cutting into her shoulders, the black pants that had been too warm for a summer’s day.

  The blazer with Ben’s blood all over it … what had happened to that?

  “Maybe you should sit down first,” she heard Jane say.

  She shook herself. “I’d really like to shower.”

  “Okay. I’ll get you some things.”

  Sarah stood in the shower for what felt like a long time. It might not have been. She realized, finally, that she’d lost track of where she was for a while, just letting the water fall on her body.

  I shouldn’t waste water, she thought. California has cyclical droughts.

  She got out of the shower, dried off, and dressed in the clothes Jane had brought—a soft Padres T-shirt and long cotton knit shorts. She didn’t put her bra back on. Like her white shirt, it too was crusted with dried blood.

  What do I do with these clothes? she wondered. She finally laid them down on top of the closed toilet.

  When she came out of the bathroom and into the living room, there was another woman in the house who held Jane in an embrace, a taller woman with a halo of frizzy red hair. “I’m fine,” Jane was saying. “I’m fine.” She sounded a little irritated the second time she said it. “Char, I wasn’t even there.”

  When the two broke apart, Sarah could see that the second woman was pregnant.

  “Sarah, this is Charlotte,” Jane said. “My wife.”

  Charlotte rushed over. She wore a wild, floral-print dress and necklaces strung with
silver and chunks of turquoise and glass beads, and her arms were decorated with tattoos of flowers, filigree, a feathered quill and inkpot, and a cartoon Wonder Woman that looked like it was from World War II. “Oh, sweetie,” she said, clasping Sarah’s hand. “Welcome to our home. How about if I make you a margarita?”

  Jane ever so slightly rolled her eyes, smiling a little as she did. “Charlotte is a drama professor at UCSD,” Jane said. “In case that wasn’t obvious.”

  “You hush,” Charlotte said, heading into the kitchen.

  Jane has a pregnant wife, Sarah thought. It was hard to absorb. Not that Jane was gay, but because she’d never thought of Jane having a life outside the campaign at all.

  The kitchen was separated from the living/dining room by a bar and a row of cupboards on either side. Knotty pine in the kitchen and painted white wood with glass panes on the bar/dining room side. Older white linoleum tiles in the kitchen and dining area.

  “Are you hungry at all?” Jane asked.

  Sarah shook her head.

  “When was the last time you had something to eat?”

  She tried to remember. A protein shake in the morning, before the event. A Luna Bar at the park, maybe?

  Jane gestured toward the couch. “Sit. I’ll get you something.”

  Sarah sat. It was a long, poufy leather couch that faced a wall of bookcases, framed photos, and a large TV. To her left were sliding glass doors that led out onto a fenced deck. Below that, the canyon: clumps of sage and other shrubs, a few trees, brown and gold earth between and around the desert green plants.

  There was nothing fancy about the house. The furniture was mix and match. The walls needed paint.

  Sarah stared at the photos interspersed among the books on the wall opposite. Families at holidays. Jane and Charlotte hiking. Friends having dinners and picnics. Then one that caught her eye: a selfie of Jane and Matt, wearing baseball hats, at a ballpark, the two of them grinning and showing teeth, Matt holding up a beer, both of them looking younger.

  From the kitchen she heard the sound of a cocktail shaker and ice.

  “Salt or no salt?” Charlotte called out.

  Sarah thought about it. She couldn’t decide. “Salt,” she finally said, because salt was the normal thing to do, wasn’t it?

  Charlotte came out with a drink in a tumbler. “Rocks,” she said, putting it on a coaster on the coffee table in front of Sarah. “I hope that’s okay. Blended is an abomination.”

  “Thank you,” Sarah said. She sipped. Cold, almost tart, lime with a honeyed alcohol bite.

  “I want one of those so much,” Charlotte said. “I use good tequila and fresh lime.”

  A minute later, Jane appeared with a platter of cheese, salami, and hummus. “We’ll need this to absorb one of her margaritas.”

  “Should we order pizza?” Charlotte asked.

  “Let me … let me talk to Sarah about that.”

  “Okay. I’ve got some work to do in the office.”

  Sarah knew that was code. Jane wanted to have a private conversation. She sipped her drink. Thinking, a few more sips and I’ll feel better.

  Jane sat down on the couch next to Sarah. Close but giving her space. “You’re not from San Diego, right?”

  “No. I moved here from Connecticut.” To work on the campaign, she almost said. But that would have sounded strange, wouldn’t it? To move to the opposite coast for what had started out as an unpaid internship?

  “Do you have relatives or friends in town?”

  Sarah shook her head. “It’s okay, though,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Well, there’s no reason you can’t stay for some pizza, then, is there.” Not a question.

  What Sarah really wanted to do was go to her apartment and crawl into bed. But I’m here, she thought. At Jane’s house. A place where she’d wanted to be.

  And maybe it was better not to be alone right now.

  “Sure. Thanks, that would be great.”

  Jane had a pizza place on speed dial. “One veggie, one meat, is that okay?”

  After she’d ordered, Jane went into the kitchen and returned with her own margarita and a large tumbler. “Top off?”

  “Thank you.”

  Jane sat. Took a long sip of her drink, seeming to stare at it. “Look, you do Social,” she finally said. “I know you get how it works. Right now, there are some photos and videos circulating of what happened in the park.”

  “Right,” Sarah said, nodding. Of course, there would be. Plus, she’d put up that great GIF of Matt using the fire extinguisher. She wondered if it had gone viral, given the shooting.

  “Some of the pictures … ” Jane’s dark eyes met hers. “You were there. You saw what happened.”

  Sarah nodded. When she closed her eyes, she could see it still: the man with the gun, Matt’s fist driving into his face, Ben’s blood all over her.

  When she opened her eyes, Jane was still staring at her, with an expression that might have been concern.

  “They’ve probably gone viral,” Sarah said.

  Jane nodded. “Unfortunately, they have. And … I just want to give you a heads-up … there’s one of you. Sadly, it’s attracted some trolls.”

  All at once she felt a rushing in her ears, like the air was being sucked out of the room. “What was I doing?”

  “Helping Ben. There’s the internet for you.” Jane let out a sigh, shaking her head. “What you did was really heroic. Don’t let a few trolls get you down.”

  “What are they … what are they saying? Do they know who I am?” Her voice sounded shrill in her own ears. She told herself to breathe.

  “They’re just saying the kind of stupid shit that frustrated basement dwellers say on the internet, that’s all.”

  Sarah got out her phone. “What’s the hashtag?”

  “Sarah—”

  “What is it?”

  Jane hesitated. “Cason shooting,” she said. “And some other ones, I don’t know. There’s just … a lot of ugliness attaching itself to this, and then with the shooter claiming to be a friend of the nut who shot up the brewery … ”

  There was the photo, from News 9. She barely recognized herself.

  Nice tits LOL

  I’d fuck it.

  In the ass or with a bag on its head?

  Who is this cunt anyway?

  Probably @RepMattCason’s jizz jar

  Her hands shook. She gripped the phone harder.

  “I’m so sorry,” Jane was saying. “Don’t even look at it right now, okay? We’ll deal with it, I promise.”

  “There’s nothing you can do about it,” she heard herself say. “They won’t stop. They’ll just keep going.”

  “Some of them are also threatening a sitting US congressman.” Jane’s voice was hard. “Believe me. We will deal with it.”

  “I guess that’s more important than them talking about raping me,” she blurted out.

  You could see it on Jane’s face, a moment of acute embarrassment, like she couldn’t believe she’d said what she’d said. “Oh, Jesus, no. I’m sorry. Of course it’s not. It’s just that, the FBI or whoever’s handling this will focus more attention on it because Matt’s involved.” She stopped in midgesture. “Fuck,” she muttered and took a big gulp of her margarita.

  Jane set down her glass with a thunk. “You’re right. Yes, the authorities will take the threats on Matt’s life more seriously than they’ll take the threats on you. He’s a congressman, and someone tried to kill him. You understand that, right?”

  Sarah thought about it. She supposed she did. She could smell the gunfire just now, hear the shots echo in her head.

  Rape threats were just something some men said to women, she told herself. Most of them didn’t follow through. And most of the things they were saying now weren’t even thr
eats. Just … what were they? Desires?

  “You’ve had an awful experience today,” Jane said. “And what’s happening online now—nobody should have to put up with that. You need support from other people, and I want to make sure that you have it. A counselor who specializes in this kind of thing. We’ll take care of it.”

  Which part of it? Sarah wondered. Seeing someone getting shot right in front of you? What was happening to her online? What had happened to her before?

  “In the meantime … is there someone we can call? A friend or a relative? A boyfriend?”

  She’d stopped talking to so many people when she’d become someone else. And the few friends she kept in touch with, it wasn’t like she talked to them about anything important. Mostly they texted about what was going on in that moment. Trivial stuff. She stayed connected with them on Snapchat and Facebook, but she never posted anything of her own. Just “liked” and gave thumbs ups and occasionally said “Congratulations!” and sent birthday cake emojis.

  She knew she would have to call her parents, but the last thing she wanted to do was tell them about any of this. She couldn’t take the edge of hysteria in her mother’s voice, the anger in her father’s.

  “There’s no one,” Sarah said. “There’s no one I can talk to.”

  “You can talk to me.”

  Talk to Jane? The remote, all-powerful Jane? She didn’t look like that now, though. If anything, Jane looked kind.

  It was tempting. Just to tell the truth, for once. But if she did …

  Would they keep her on the campaign?

  “So, do you like baseball?” Sarah asked.

  “What?” Jane looked confused.

  “I just … the photo.” She pointed to the wall. “The one of you and Matt. And this shirt.” The one she wore, with the Padres logo, the swinging friar. “I … I never really followed baseball.”

  “Oh.” She could see Jane’s shoulders relax and sink down, a hint of a real smile. “Yes. I love it. Matt and I are baseball buddies. We’ve been getting season tickets together for years.”

  “Lindsey isn’t a fan?” Sarah wasn’t even sure why she asked. She felt sneaky asking it, somehow.