Black Swan Rising

by Lisa Brackmann

  She hadn’t known he’d kept it.

  She shuddered.

  You don’t get to lose it, she told herself. You aren’t the one who saw what he saw.

  You aren’t the one who beat a man nearly to death, either.

  He deserved it, she told herself. The world will be a better place if Lucas Derry never wakes up.

  But god, those photos. The look on Matt’s face. The rage.

  “You want another beer?” she asked.

  He was refusing painkillers, in one of his self-punishing moods. She had no doubt he was in some pain, with the surgery only this afternoon. He could have a beer at least.

  He nodded. “Just one more.”

  But it was good he was moderating himself. He could get angry when he drank too much.

  A double play ended the Padres’ half of the inning. “Oh for fuck’s sake,” Matt muttered. He hit the mute button for the commercials.

  Lindsey put the cold beer on the coffee table where Matt could reach it. She sat down next to him, on the side with no injury.

  “Do you want to talk?”

  He took a last swallow of the old beer. “I don’t think you want to hear it.”

  Lindsey felt herself go suddenly cold, felt her heart thumping in her chest. If he’d fucked Sarah, she didn’t think she could take it.

  “You can tell me.”

  Whatever it is, just get it over with, she thought.

  “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

  She was suddenly so tired. “Okay,” she said. It was funny, how little she felt. Maybe she didn’t want to do it either.

  “I go to DC and I hate it. The atmosphere’s toxic, and nothing’s getting done.” He snorted. “Nothing good anyway.”

  Lindsey almost laughed. So not what she was expecting. But she didn’t laugh, because he was actually talking, and she owed it to him to listen.

  He took a long pull of the cold beer. “It’s not normal politics. There’s no compromising. It’s war.” He drank deeply. “And I’m tired of fighting.”

  The game was about to start again, the Nationals’ half of the inning. Matt reached for the remote.

  “Matt, wait.”

  His hand dropped to the couch.

  “Are you saying you want to quit?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  You shouldn’t be angry, she told herself. He’s been through a lot. “If you need to drop out because of what happened at the park … I understand, I really do, and no one would blame you.”

  “And if it isn’t?”

  “Then why did you decide to run for reelection?” She tried to keep her voice calm, to make it a genuine question, but it sounded like an accusation, and she knew it.

  “I don’t know. That’s what a ‘rising star’ does, right? I mean, that’s what you wanted me to do.”

  She couldn’t swallow the anger now. “Oh, don’t you put this on me. I didn’t make you do this. You’re the one who wants everyone to love you. Not me.”

  He covered his face with his good hand. “Yeah,” he said, without heat. “Add that to my list of fuckups.” He picked up the remote and unmuted the TV.

  33

  “Jesse Garcia and Anbar.” Jane let out a sigh and closed her eyes for a moment, her fingers pushing up her glasses so she could rub the bridge of her nose. “Okay. Thanks, that’s good to know.”

  Jane and Angus had been watching something on the TV when Sarah walked into her office, heart still pounding from Wyatt’s phone call. A press conference with a backdrop of water and palm trees. Somewhere on Mission Bay, she thought, but she wasn’t sure. She still didn’t know the city that well.

  The man frozen in front of the microphones looked familiar. Good-looking. A few years older than Matt. Wavy brown hair past his ears that was streaked with gray and sun, big brown eyes, the kind that invited you in. I should know who he is, she thought.

  It came to her suddenly—that TV show when she was a kid, the one about the American family who lived in Botswana. He played the dad, the heroic and kind veterinarian at the wildlife sanctuary.

  “Is that—?”

  “Jacob Thresher,” Angus said. “Yep.” He jerked a thumb at the screen. “Meet our independent challenger.” He aimed the remote at the TV and backed up the recording. Pushed play. Thresher moved and started talking.

  “I want to support our troops in the ways that really matter.” Thresher knew where to look, not right at the camera but just to one side of it. Deliver a line, and then look to the other side. “What that means is not sending them off to be maimed or die in misguided imperial adventures. It means not supporting corrupt industries that are getting rich off their suffering.”

  Angus paused the DVR, laughing a little. “Does he really think that’s going to sell in San Diego? Home of, oh I don’t know, the largest concentration of military and federal employees in the United States?”

  Sarah nodded. “One out of every five jobs, right? If you look at the ripple effect, I mean.” She’d done her homework.

  “Twenty-three billion dollars in direct spending. Ten percent of the local economy. I mean, it might go over okay in Ocean Beach, but in this district? In Clairemont?”

  “It’s not about a winning message,” Jane said. She sounded tired. “It’s about a message that will drain off enough votes for Tegan to slip by us. We’re going to need polling and we’re going to need oppo. Here’s hoping the party is in a generous mood.” She turned her gaze to Sarah. “So, your … your contact, Wyatt. Did he say when Tegan’s campaign plans to deploy their little grenades?”

  “He wasn’t sure. He said the timing was tricky. Just that we needed to get out in front of it.”

  “Good advice.” Jane stared down at her desk. Sarah had the sudden thought that her stare would burn holes in the blotter if she held it long enough.

  “That reporter from News 9,” Jane said. “She might be a good channel to get our messaging out.”

  “Casey?” The idea made Sarah uneasy, though she couldn’t say why.

  “Yeah.” Jane smiled in a way that did not reach her eyes. “You give them access, they want more. They tell the story you want them to tell, you give it to them. That’s how this works. And I like the story she’s telling.”

  Jane’s phone rang. The ringtone was “Take Me Out to the Ballgame.” Matt?

  “I need to take this,” she said. “Sarah, why don’t you take a break? Get some air, some dinner. We’ll talk more later.”

  You need to tell her, Sarah thought. There’s a third bomb. You can’t just put it off until it all explodes.

  She knew that, but it was still a relief that she didn’t have to tell her right now.

  Five p.m. Sarah wasn’t really hungry. When she was younger, she’d eat to soothe herself. She’d gotten a lot better about that in the last couple of years. Instead, she’d train. Lift weights. After, she could have a protein shake, and some of those were pretty good. Even decadent.

  Today, her stomach just hurt. Her body ached. Everything was tight, tensed up, like the world was pushing against her and she had to push back, just to stand still.

  Maybe she should research Jesse Garcia and Anbar, see what she could find out. But she wasn’t sure if she could focus, and besides, Jane had told her to take a break.

  Later, she thought. I can take a break later.

  I should go to the gym, she thought. But was there really enough time for that? What if something came through on Social? On one of the feeds? On Twitter or Facebook, Snapchat or Instagram?

  Don’t spiral, she told herself. Don’t. You know what happens when you do.

  She started driving before she decided where she wanted to go: to the hospital to see Ben. She wanted to see how he was doing, before it all came out.

  If it comes out, she thought. Maybe Wyatt was
wrong. He knew, she was pretty sure; she didn’t think he was bluffing. But maybe “they,” whoever they were … maybe that whole thing was bullshit.

  You’re kidding yourself if you think that’s true, she thought.

  It was inevitable this would come out. She’d always known that, as much as she tried to wish it away. She just hoped she’d have more time. That she could keep pushing the consequences down the road, until they wouldn’t matter so much.

  How long had Wyatt known about her? she wondered. Had he investigated her after she started taking his calls? Or had he known from the beginning and sought her out?

  “He’s stable enough now that normally anybody who wanted to see him could just walk in,” Angus had told her today. “But because of the whole situation, they’re checking people first. You’re fine,” he’d added, before she could ask. “I figured you’d want to see him after things calmed down a little.”

  They’d moved Ben from the Intensive Care Unit to Progressive Care this morning, which was very good news, Angus had said. “Things keep going this well, he’ll be in a regular unit in a day or two.”

  She entered through the lobby where she’d waited for Jane, was it just two days ago? It seemed impossible to believe. But there was the grand piano, the warm wood paneled walls, the tastefully lit coffee shop.

  When she got to Ben’s unit on the fourth floor, she paused for a moment at the nurse’s station. Should she ask someone if it was okay for her to be here? What if Ben was sleeping? I should have called first, she thought.

  Too late for that. She followed the signs on the wall to his room.

  The door was open. Two people were inside, she could see them sitting on a couch and chair by the foot of the bed. Middle-aged. The TV was on, the sound muted. She thought the man was watching it. The woman read a magazine.

  “Hello?” she said in a low voice, in case Ben was sleeping.

  They looked up.

  “Can we help you?” the woman asked. She didn’t sound very helpful.

  “I’m Sarah. I’m … a coworker. From the campaign.”

  “Hey, Sarah.” Ben’s voice. Weak, but recognizably his. She stepped inside the room. She could see him now. He wasn’t quite sitting all the way up, but the head of his bed was raised so that he could make eye contact.

  “Hi.” She stood there for a moment, feeling awkward. Now that she was here, she didn’t know what to say. The middle-aged couple—they had to be his parents—didn’t help either. Neither of them said anything. Their expressions were unsmiling, almost hostile, especially the woman’s.

  “These are my parents,” Ben said. “Glenn and Susan.”

  The two of them stood. In a way they reminded her of her own parents. Glenn wore a golf shirt and Dockers; Susan, bright blue capris and a short-sleeved floral print shirt. Both of them pale, like they didn’t get outside much, both a little heavy around the middle. The kind of people who lived in a newer house in a suburb somewhere, who had newer cars. Upper-middle-class white people. They were what “normal” was. Or had been. Suddenly they looked strange.

  “It’s so nice to meet you, Sarah,” Susan said. “You’re the one who helped Ben, aren’t you?” Not hostile after all. Just exhausted and worried.

  “I tried to,” Sarah said.

  “Thank you,” Glenn said. “Thank you for trying.”

  The three stood there, Susan with her hands clasped in front of her, until Glenn stretched out his arms and hugged Sarah stiffly around the shoulders, and then Susan did the same.

  “Thank you,” Susan said after an awkward pat. “I know that must have been really frightening.”

  Sarah nodded and swallowed hard. She didn’t want to think about it right now.

  Glenn seemed to notice. He rested his hand on Susan’s arm for a moment. “Hon, you want to go grab a bite to eat? Give these two a chance to catch up?”

  Susan hesitated, like she didn’t want to leave Ben alone with Sarah. Finally she nodded. “That’s probably a good idea. Can we bring anything back for you, Sarah?”

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  Susan leaned over the bed and kissed Ben on the forehead. “We’ll be back in a few, honey.”

  “Take your time,” Ben said.

  He was still very pale, his skin the color of putty, the beard stubble on his face so dark against it that it looked like scratches of ink on paper. He had an IV going into one arm, a tube hooked around his ears and looped under his nose, prongs in the nostrils delivering oxygen.

  “It’s good to see you,” he said after his parents had left.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. Things were … ” What should she say? What did he know about the last few days? “There was a lot of press, and things got pretty crazy.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure things were crazy.”

  How much had he been told? Jane had been with him, and Angus. Matt had visited too. But he’d been so much sicker then.

  “How’s Matt doing?” he asked.

  “Out of the hospital. He had to have surgery on his hand, but aside from that he’s okay.”

  “Good.” Ben closed his eyes. She thought he might drift off. Maybe that would be for the best. She hadn’t really thought about what she should say to him. Just that it would be nice to see him, before …

  “How’s Social?” he asked.

  “It’s … busy.”

  Ben managed a laugh. “Yeah. I bet. Anything trending?”

  “Well, I’m still trying to get things up and running after … after what happened.”

  He closed his eyes again. Maybe this time he really was drifting off. The room was silent, save for the hum of machinery and the soft whisper of oxygen.

  “What is everyone not telling me?” Ben finally asked. “Everyone keeps saying things are okay. I asked my folks to bring me a charger for my phone and they ‘forgot.’ Look, I know it’s bad. I know people died. Just tell me.”

  He was going to find out eventually, she thought. “How much do you remember?”

  “The guy with the gun. Pushing you out of the way. Getting shot.”

  She felt it then, the sudden shock, the body slamming into hers. He’d pushed her out of the way?

  “I didn’t know.” Her voice came out in a whisper.

  Ben didn’t say anything.

  “I didn’t know,” she said again. “I’m so sorry.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he said, with some of his old irritation. “It’s just how it happened.”

  It could have happened that way. There was no way to know. None of the videos, none of the photos, showed exactly what had happened.

  She tried to think about angles and trajectories and if his account made sense, and gave up.

  You can’t make this your fault, she told herself. He could have gotten shot no matter what he’d done, and she might not have been hurt either way. It didn’t change that he’d tried to help her, and she’d tried to help him.

  She nodded. “Thank you,” she said.

  Ben shrugged. “So tell me what’s going on.”

  “Matt nearly killed the guy who shot you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  He grinned. “That’s awesome! Why didn’t they want to tell me that?”

  “Well, there’s photos … and … they’re just ugly, that’s all. And there’s a lot of trolls commenting.”

  “Fuck them. Who cares?” It might have been her imagination, but it seemed like some color came into his cheeks. “Matt’s a fucking hero! Let them try to label him a liberal wimp now.”

  “Yeah,” she said, nodding.

  He couldn’t understand, she thought, how on edge everyone was. The phone calls. The death threats. But he didn’t need to know about that right now. Didn’t need to know about the photo of her crouched by his side
. Or Jesse Garcia and Anbar—not that she knew what those were about either. Or Jacob Thresher, their new independent opponent.

  Should she tell him about Thresher?

  “I’m so glad you’re feeling better. Everybody misses you a lot.”

  “Just give me a couple of days. I’ll be back.”

  Looking at him lying there, the color faded from his cheeks, she doubted it would only be a couple of days.

  Her phone rang. The ringtone she’d assigned to important contacts.

  “Go ahead,” Ben said, closing his eyes.

  It was Casey Cheng.

  Sarah had pocketed the reporter’s card at the end of the interview, thinking, Why would I want to talk to you again? But she’d entered the information into her phone anyway, just in case. Now with what Jane had said, about using Casey to get their message out, she was glad she did.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Sarah, it’s Casey Cheng. From News 9. Would you … would you have some time to meet?”

  “When?”

  “As soon as possible. Now, if you have time.”

  Sarah thought about it. She was supposed to be taking a break. There was nothing to stop her from meeting Casey before she went back to the office.

  “Sure. If we could meet somewhere in Kearny Mesa.”

  “That’s good for me too.”

  Perfect, Sarah thought. She’d PM Jane on Campaigner first, let her know about the meeting, promise that she wouldn’t say anything about Jesse Garcia or Anbar. She wouldn’t know what to say anyway. Explain that she just wanted to see what Casey wanted, work on establishing a relationship that the campaign could use, like Jane had said. Show she could be an asset to the campaign, in spite of who she was.