Black Swan Rising

by Lisa Brackmann

  She knew it was real. Of course it was real. Those were real people doing those things. Having them done to her. That was Sarah Price. Someone she had interacted with for months. Someone she would most likely see tomorrow.

  What’s wrong with me? she thought. I shouldn’t be watching this. It’s disgusting. It’s …

  Her groin started to pulse, and that was the worst thing of all.

  She quickly closed the browser and shut down the computer.

  In the bedroom, the lights were off, save for a nightlight on her side of the bed that Matt had left on for her. She stripped off her clothes, draped them on the chair. They usually slept naked, especially when the weather was warm. Recently she’d found herself wondering if this habit was one of the reasons they were still together, if it had kept them close, in spite of all the time they spent apart, in spite of everything.

  She switched off the nightlight and slipped into bed next to Matt, wanting to reach for him, but he was already asleep.

  39

  CRAIG BROOKES, NEWS 9 ANCHOR (ON SET): Matt Cason returns to the campaign trail, just days after a shooting at a community fair that left three people dead and two seriously injured. Casey Cheng is live from Cason’s campaign headquarters with this News 9 exclusive.

  CASEY CHENG (EXT. CASON HEADQUARTERS): An emotional day at Cason Headquarters as Congressman Cason visits staff and volunteers for the first time since an attempt was made on his life on Saturday.

  (BEGIN VIDEO CLIP: INT. CASON CAMPAIGN HEADQUARTERS: SERIES OF SHOTS, CASON MAKES THE ROUNDS. TEARY VOLUNTEERS AND STAFF HUG HIM. ANGLE ON SARAH PRICE, WHO STANDS OFF TO ONE SIDE IN THE BULL PEN. CASON SEES HER AND APPROACHES. THEY HUG. CLOSE ON THEIR FACES. BOTH ARE TEARY-EYED.)

  PRICE: (inaudible)

  CASON (low voice): It’s okay, Sarah. We’re so glad you’re here.

  ANGLE ON CASON IN FRONT OF THE BULL PEN, SPEAKING TO THE ASSEMBLED STAFFERS AND VOLUNTEERS.

  CASON: This has been a very challenging time, for the families and loved ones of the victims in the park. For our family here. For the city of San Diego. And … it’s going to take some time for us to heal … but … I promise you, I’m here for you. I’m going to work as hard as I possibly can for you and for this community … (WIPES HIS EYES) We’ll get through this.

  CHENG (EXT. CASON HEADQUARTERS): But the challenges for the Cason campaign aren’t over. If you look behind me (CAMERA PANS), you’ll see armed security guards guarding the entrance to the headquarters. Given the continuing threats made to Congressman Cason and now to other members of his staff, they feel that they simply have no choice.

  BROOKES (IN STUDIO): A very sad state of affairs. We’ll be checking in with the Tegan campaign to see how they’re coping with the situation later in this broadcast.

  “Who knows?”

  “Angus,” Jane said. “Matt and Lindsey, of course. I’ve pinged Presley, but we haven’t spoken yet.”

  Matt knew. He’d known when he’d hugged her.

  And Lindsey … as if Lindsey didn’t already hate her enough.

  Sarah and Jane huddled in Jane’s office. It had been a crazy morning, with Matt coming in and News 9 covering it, plus the ongoing circus outside.

  Matt had left, on his way back to DC. The media left with him, but the headquarters was crowded with volunteers, which surprised Sarah some. “We’re not going to let this scare us,” one of them had said, an older woman with gray hair and a tanned face who looked like she hiked a lot. She was one of the regulars. Rachel, maybe?

  Sarah wondered if they came out of loyalty, or out of excitement.

  She shivered a little, thinking of how Matt had hugged her, the way his body had felt against hers, the way he smelled: his freshly laundered shirt, the spicy scent he wore that couldn’t quite cover the slight musky tang of his sweat.

  “We’re so glad you’re here,” he’d said.

  What did he think of her now? What did he see when he looked at her?

  “Look, we all feel the same way,” Jane said. “It really is up to you. We’ll support whatever decision you make.”

  How did she feel? Could they all see it on her face, the desire?

  You’re not allowed to feel that.

  “I’d like to stay, for now. If you don’t think it will hurt the campaign.”

  Jane’s expression was neutral. “So far, you’ve been an asset.” Now she smiled, as though she’d just remembered she should. “You’re doing a really good job, under really tough circumstances. Just know that you can come to me anytime. Okay? You don’t have to go through this all on your own.”

  Sarah nodded. “Thank you,” she said.

  She thought Jane was sincere. When she’d told Jane the truth yesterday, Jane had reacted calmly. “Thank you for telling me,” she’d said. “I understand why you kept this a secret. I’m sorry you felt you needed to.”

  “Would you have hired me if you’d known?” Sarah had asked.

  Jane had paused, seeming to really consider. “That’s a good question. But we did hire you, and you’re not going to be judged on this. What happened to you wasn’t your fault,” she’d said.

  She thinks she means it, Sarah thought. But Jane didn’t look at her the same way now, no matter what she said.

  Sitting at her desk, Sarah wondered how long she had, before the True Men did whatever it was they had planned. How long could she just be Sarah Price, before everyone would look at her and see Beth Ryder?

  40

  They just won’t stop.

  Casey stared at her phone. Of all the horrible tweets and posts and emails she’d received, this one …

  This one was the worst.

  “Diego’s still looking for parking,” Rose said, sitting down at the table. “I had him drop me off so we could order.”

  Casey nodded. “Good plan.” The Shanghai Saloon closed at eight thirty, so they had less than an hour to get their dumpling fix. She liked the place even though it was kind of cheesy: a big restaurant with a black chalk wall, a kung fu mural on the wall behind the bar, a rickshaw in the middle of one of the seating areas, and Chinese lanterns lining another. It was close to work, the dumplings were good, and they had fancy cocktails and plenty of craft beers.

  “That was some moment with Sarah and Cason, wasn’t it?” Rose said, like it was a particularly juicy bit of gossip. “Do you think he knows? Do you think she told them?”

  “She said she was going to.”

  “Hey.”

  Casey looked up from her phone. Rose rested both elbows on the table, fingers weaved together, staring at her. “You okay? What’s going on?”

  Nothing, she almost said. What was the point? The threats were nothing new.

  She sighed, opened the email she’d sent Detective Helton, and clicked on the link inside it. Slid the phone across the table.

  “Jesus Christ,” Rose said.

  They’d used an archival photo from the Rape of Nanking. Casey thought she even recognized it: A dead, naked Chinese woman, her limbs splayed out, a bayonet shoved into her vagina.

  Me show you good time Casey Chink. Just you wait

  “Did you … you’re going to tell Helton, right?”

  “Already sent.”

  “Oh man, this sucks.”

  “Something to drink?”

  The waitress, young, tattooed, with a deep purple streak in her hair, had her order pad out. This was not a place where the waitstaff hung around while you made up your mind.

  “Pitcher of 394 Pale Ale,” Rose said. “Three glasses. No arguing,” she said to Casey.

  Why not, Casey thought. She was done for the day, and anyway, beer went well with dumplings.

  “Hey.” Diego slid into the empty chair next to Rose. “I had to park all the way down by the auto customizing place where the pot dispensary is.”

  “Ca
sey’s getting death threats again,” Rose told him.

  “In point of fact, they haven’t stopped,” Casey said. “They just get worse every time I’m on the air.”

  “That is seriously messed up,” Diego said.

  “Casey, what do you want to do? I mean … this is scary.”

  It was more than scary. It was exhausting. Tensing up every time she opened her email or her Twitter account or her Facebook page or the comments on News 9’s stories. Looking over her shoulder every time they went out, and checking her surroundings once, twice, three times wherever she went. Making sure no one had followed her to the gated entrance of her building. Waking up to every unexpected sound that made it through her double-paned windows.

  “Well, there’s two choices,” she said. “Doing my job, or not. I choose to do it.” She shrugged. “So I’m just going to have to put up with this.”

  The waitress had returned with their beer. She put the glasses on the table and poured three pints.

  “Cheers,” Casey said, lifting her glass. They clinked.

  “Casey, this isn’t a binary choice,” Rose said. “You’re getting the flack because of the stories we’re doing. These, these Alan Jay people … they’re crazy. Or they’re assholes, I don’t know. But if this is dangerous, you don’t have to keep doing it.”

  “Are you kidding me, Rose?” Here was something that cut through her exhaustion. She felt a rush of some emotion—anger? excitement? “These stories, they’re making our reputation. We’re getting prime slots, we’re getting heavy promo, and now we have an inside channel to Cason’s campaign. I get that they’re using us to get their messaging out, but it’s great stuff, and nobody else has it. When we release the Sarah Price interview? That’s more national coverage, for sure. It’s worth the … the inconvenience of getting trolled on Twitter by some little shithead losers.”

  Rose started to wag her finger, but it was more than that, Casey realized. Her hand was shaking.

  “You know what, Case, this isn’t just about you. Diego is out there with you on nearly every shoot you do, and he can’t look behind him, he’s got his eye on the viewfinder and he’s watching you. Somebody could come up behind him while you’re shooting and … ” Her voice broke. “This whole thing, these assholes we’ve been covering, they’re scary. Maybe most of them are trolls, but the things they say … and some of them shoot people.”

  “No kidding,” Casey said, raising her glass to her lips.

  “Oh, shit, that came out badly.” Rose fished around for something in her backpack and pulled out a package of Kleenex.

  “Hey, we could always go back to surfing bulldogs,” Diego said. “Everybody likes surfing bulldogs.”

  “Surfing bulldogs are stupid and sad,” Rose said, sniffling. She circled her arm around him and for a moment, leaned against his shoulder. “You know English bulldogs are so genetically deformed from overbreeding that their heads are too big to fit through their mothers’ birth canals? C-section. Every single English bulldog is delivered via C-section.”

  “Look, I’ll be fine,” Diego said. “These assignments, it’s mostly the three of us anyway, and I know you guys’ve got my back.” He kissed Rose on the cheek. “We’re doing good work. If it’s up to me, which it’s not, I say we keep doing it.”

  Rose blew her nose and let out a sigh. “Yeah. An Emmy or a Peabody would look pretty sweet in my cube, right?”

  “Okay, so are we agreed? No surfing bulldogs?” Casey asked.

  “No surfing bulldogs.” They clinked glasses.

  It’s not just about my ambition, Casey thought. It’s about not giving into bullies. It’s about covering the stories that need to be covered.

  And … so what if it was about ambition? What was so terrible about her wanting to make her mark on the world?

  But that image came into her mind again, of that woman several generations dead, defiled and killed by men who either hated her or must have thought she was not fully human, that they were entitled to her body and could do whatever they wanted to her. How else could you do that to someone?

  Whoever sent that to me isn’t serious, she told herself. They do it because they can get away with it, get their lulz without consequences.

  But if they could do something like that … and get away with it … would they?

  41

  The tweets and posts went out in waves, hundreds of them, starting at 2:34 a.m., surging around six and again at nine. Posted on the campaign’s Facebook page, on the pages of news organizations and gossip sites, tweeted out with their handles, with hashtags for #MattCason, #CasonShooting, #AJLA, and #TrueMen.

  First they’d sent out the video, which wasn’t that hard to find—nothing was ever entirely gone from the internet. Blurred the boys’ faces so you could not see them, only hers, and put the sounds from a porn film over their voices.

  The text they’d used was: “Sarah” is Beth Ryder. Ride her @RepMattCason everyone else has! #BethRyder

  Casey wasn’t sure what woke her until her phone’s text alert went off, the loud orchestra sting by her ear jerking her upright, her heart pounding. Stupid me for not putting the thing on Do Not Disturb, she thought, fumbling for it.

  5:55 a.m. There were three text messages showing on the lock screen. She’d somehow managed to sleep through the first two, from the morning show producer and Rose.

  The most recent text was from Sarah Price.

  You can run the segment now.

  There were two police cars parked in front of the headquarters, along with several news crews.

  The news crews weren’t a surprise, even though it was just after seven and the headquarters wasn’t open yet. But the police cars?

  It only took a moment for Sarah to see what had brought them. Red and white paint splatters and blotches, all over the building’s brown stucco wall, the windows, the planters, and the dense, dusty shrubs flanking the walkway.

  Their lot in front of the headquarters building was taped off. She drove around the back. The damage looked worse there, including scorch marks from a fire—a Molotov cocktail, maybe? That lot was taped off too. She kept going down the street to the next industrial building and parked in the lot for the brewery there.

  She had no choice except to walk past the news crews. Three reporters with cameramen hovered by the walkway. Sarah didn’t see Casey or News 9.

  “Hey, it’s Sarah, right? Would you have a moment to speak with us?”

  “Are you Beth Ryder?”

  “Sarah, could we get a statement from you?”

  “Not right now,” Sarah said, ducking her head. She walked toward the entrance, staring at the cement pavers that were spattered with red and white paint. Then she raised her head and stared back at the news crews.

  What was the point of trying to hide? Everything was out in the open now.

  That’s when she saw someone from News 9—just a cameraman, the burly Latino she’d seen before. He stood back from the others, panning across the building, not focused on her.

  For a moment, she felt a flood of gratitude like a warm bath, that at least News 9 was leaving her alone.

  Of course they’ve already gotten what they wanted from me, she thought. They can afford to be generous.

  “You work here?” the security guard at the door asked.

  “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “Name, please?”

  For a moment, she couldn’t speak. “Sarah. Sarah Price.”

  He made a sound somewhere between a cough and a snort and looked her up and down. A big guy with a thick neck and a blunt crew cut. “Oh, yeah,” he said, the corners of his mouth sneaking into a grin. “I recognize you.”

  “Security cameras don’t really show anything,” Angus said. “Just guys in masks with paint guns.”

  “We’re going to have to have twenty-four-hour guards,” Ja
ne said, shaking her head. “I can’t see any way around it.”

  “Will the party pony up for the security, do you think?”

  “Let’s hope. I think at this point we can make a good case for it. Capitol Police are covering Matt and the district office.”

  “For kids with paint guns?”

  “We don’t know if it’s kids. We don’t know if they’re connected to what happened at my house, or what just happened to Sarah. Or what happened in the park for that matter. We can’t take the chance. People who come here to work and volunteer need to feel safe.”

  Sarah sat in Jane’s office with Jane and Angus. They were the only people at the headquarters. Others would be arriving soon, at eight, when Natalie usually came in and opened up the doors.

  “How do you want to handle this, Sarah?” Jane asked. “I have a draft of a memo to send out to the staff, but if you’d rather make a statement yourself, that’s fine too. Whatever you’d prefer.”

  Sarah tried to think about it. Her mind was blank. “I don’t really care,” she finally said.

  “Okay,” Jane said, still watching her. “I’ll send it to you for your review.”

  “I just want to do a good job,” she said. It was all she could think of to say.

  Angus smiled at her. “That’s one thing we’re not worried about.”

  She could feel the tears gathering. She hadn’t cried since she’d known she was about to get outed. She didn’t want to cry now, not in front of Jane and Angus.

  “Thanks. I’d better get to it.” She picked up her laptop bag and started to rise.

  “Sarah, keep in mind that most of the work you’re doing can be done remotely,” Jane said. “If it gets to be too much for you dealing with the circus, you don’t have to come into the office every day.”

  “You think I’m a distraction.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

  Jane was silent for a moment. I need to learn how to do that, Sarah thought, to stop myself from saying things before I’m ready.