Black Swan Rising

by Lisa Brackmann

  Well, this wasn’t a perfect world, but they could probably make it. Diego would have an idea what the best takes from the walk were, which gave them an advantage over the other members of the pool, even though they’d all have the same footage to work from. Rose was on deck, ready to shape what was in the can while they covered the press op.

  This wasn’t a big story on its own, Casey thought. It was news because that poor woman had died and campaign workers in other parts of the country had been wounded or shot at, because at this point, the campaign was such a circus that anything associated with it was news of a sort. But “Matt Cason heroically walking a precinct in the face of threats and violence”? They were basically being set up to broadcast a press release from the campaign, no matter how artistically they cut the segment together.

  Kim Tegan’s probably wondering who she has to shoot to get this kind of coverage, Casey thought.

  Were the other perps inspired by Lucas Derry, or by the unknown killer who’d shot Rachel Eisenstat? Were they organized in any way? Did they share a common ideology?

  Did a hashtag or two constitute an ideology?

  We can make it a story by raising the questions, Casey thought. But they weren’t going to be able to provide the answers. There wasn’t enough time for that, and if Detective Helton or the FBI knew, they weren’t telling her.

  Rose would have to take the script from here. She needed to head over to the park to meet Sarah Price.

  Casey took a Lyft to the park. Otherwise it would have been a fifteen-minute walk, and though she was walking a lot better these days, she didn’t want to get too sweaty if she could help it, since she’d be on camera later. The day had grown hotter, with dry winds kicking up—a Santa Ana on the way.

  She had the driver drop her off in the main parking lot. A News 12 van was already waiting there, an hour ahead of the press op. She wondered who else would show up for this. So far, it wasn’t like there was a lot of news to report.

  Casey headed across the park, toward the southeast corner and the restrooms where Sarah wanted to meet. Funny, she thought. The last time she’d been to this park, to this neighborhood, it was when she and Rose had ambushed Alan Jay Chastain’s mother, Helen Scott. She’d had a terrible time walking then, or standing for any length of time, or doing much of anything, really. Now, she was still carrying Trusty for the intermittent spasms and the times she got really fatigued, but she could do without the cane for short walks like this. How long had it been since she spoke to Helen? Three, four months?

  She thought of Helen Scott, pictured her heavy, strained face, her faded brown hair, the two dogs pulling on their leashes. How was she doing? Casey wondered. What was her life like? Had the outrage circus moved on to newer targets? Could there ever be such a thing as a normal life for her?

  Here were the restrooms Sarah had mentioned. Plenty of people were out in the park today, playing on the tennis and basketball courts, picnicking on the grass, tossing Frisbees around. She passed what looked like a kid’s birthday party, with bunches of aluminum balloons marking the occasion. But Sarah was right, this particular corner was relatively quiet: there were people coming in and out of the restrooms, but no one wanted to hang out there for any length of time.

  Behind the cinderblock building, it was even quieter. There was nothing here but a lone table and two trashcans, one for recyclables. A clump of trees formed a sort of screen behind that.

  Casey sat down on the bench with her back to the table and checked her phone. She’d erred on the side of being a little early for the meeting, since Sarah wasn’t exactly sure when she’d be able to get away.

  What did Sarah have for her?

  Her phone buzzed—a text from Rose. Everything okay? Haven’t heard from Diego since last text.

  Far as I know, Casey typed. I’m sure it’s fine. They’re only walking another 45 min.

  You in the park?

  Yeah, just waiting

  “Casey?”

  She almost dropped her phone. Her heart slammed against the wall of her chest.

  Maintain situational awareness, she heard Helton say in her head. But she hadn’t done that.

  Standing in front of her was a young man. She blinked a few times—the sun was behind him, and it was hard to make out his features at first. Pale but not entirely white. Mixed race, maybe white and Asian. She felt a little relieved by that.

  Then he sat down next to her, and she saw the gun in his hand.

  A small pistol. Black.

  “I saw you go into the Starbucks. I waited for you outside. You didn’t even notice.” He sounded excited. Happy. “I followed you on my bike.”

  Their legs were angled toward each other, their knees almost forming the base of a V. Like we’re doing an interview, Casey thought briefly, the way you cheat your angle on a couch.

  She could hear in the distance the slap of basketballs on cement, the rattle of the wooden backboards and chain-metal hoops.

  So this was the Big Empty. Average height, average build, with hunched shoulders. Younger than she was. Practically a kid.

  Why hadn’t he killed her yet?

  “I thought about doing it at the Starbucks, but I decided to wait,” he said.

  “Why?” she managed. Her mouth was so dry that the word caught in her throat.

  “Because of what A.J. said. That he wished he’d seen their faces.” He was staring at hers, now. Taking it all in, his eyes wide with a kind of wonder.

  Maybe he didn’t really want to do it.

  Keep him talking, she thought.

  “Did you know A.J.? You were friends?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Me and him and Lucas. We used to hang out sometimes.”

  He wore a T-shirt, and she could see a square of Saran Wrap on his forearm, the one that held the gun, kept in place by semitransparent tape.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Brandon,” he said, almost shyly.

  What do I say now? she thought briefly. It’s nice to meet you?

  “Brandon. Look … A.J. … .A.J. is dead. And Lucas might as well be. You don’t have to end up the same way.”

  “Who says I will?” His voice sounded harder.

  You’re losing him.

  “Prison, then? For the rest of your life?”

  He shrugged. “At least I’ll have done something big.”

  This isn’t working, she thought. It’s not working. Think of something else.

  She tilted her head toward his bandaged forearm, trying not to look at the gun, at his finger moving on the trigger. “Is that a new tattoo?”

  He nodded again. “You want to see it?”

  “Sure,” she said. “Yeah.”

  He pulled off the wrap and the bandage. “I got it for Lucas,” he said. “And for you.”

  A circle with two crossed lines inside, like a plus sign, with a starburst in its center, the colors bright, the lines red and raw.

  The gun in his hand was facing sideways, so he could show her the tattoo. Now it slowly righted itself, the barrel aimed at her chest.

  From over his left shoulder, Casey saw movement: a person, someone approaching.

  A woman. Sarah.

  Casey quickly glanced away, back to the gun.

  Had Brandon noticed?

  Don’t look at her. Keep his attention on you.

  Casey focused on Brandon’s eyes. They were bright, and he was smiling. “True Men, right?” she said.

  “Uh-huh. He’s a genius. He talks about what’s really going on.”

  Sarah was just a few yards away now. Out of the corner of her eye, Casey could see her blurry figure advance, making a wide circle toward the front of the bench.

  Oh god, what do I do? If I yell, he’ll shoot.

  Could Sarah see the gun? His right hand, the one that held it, was the h
and farther away from her, closer to the table’s edge.

  Sarah stood in front of them now, and Casey still wouldn’t look at her.

  Please god, please let her notice something’s wrong.

  “Casey? Am I interrupting something?”

  Brandon turned, the barrel of the gun swinging along with his head, toward Sarah.

  There was no time left. Casey let out a scream that came from deep in her gut, grabbed Brandon’s wrist with both hands, and pushed as hard as she could, slamming the back of his hand into the edge of the table, and the gun went off, an explosive crack, and she slammed his hand into the table again, but he didn’t let go. Now his free hand formed a fist and smashed into the side of her head, and she saw a burst of stars but she kept her grip on his wrist, and that was when Sarah jumped on him with a grunt, knocking him down onto the bench, his head dangling off the end. Casey saw her dig her knee into his belly, wrap her hands around his neck, and Casey tightened her grip on his wrist, forcing his arm down until something popped in his shoulder, and he made a sound in his throat, a choked-off scream.

  His fingers unclenched, and the pistol dropped to the ground.

  “We got him,” Casey gasped. “We got him.”

  55

  (BEGIN VIDEO CLIP: BRANDON GATES IN GREEN JAIL SCRUBS, ARM IN SLING, APPEARING IN COURT) CRAIG BROOKES, NEWS 9 ANCHOR (V.O.): As expected, Gates was charged with the murder of campaign worker Rachel Eisenstat and the attempted murder of reporter Casey Cheng. In the case of Cheng, his lawyers argue that he harbors an obsessive fixation on her and his intent was merely to frighten, not to harm. Casey Cheng, however, insists that she owes her life to Sarah Price’s intervention.

  (END VIDEO CLIP) CASEY CHENG, WITH SARAH PRICE (IN STUDIO). CHENG: It’s safe to say I would not be here if it weren’t for Sarah (SHE LOOKS AT PRICE, GIVES HER ARM A SQUEEZE). She was incredibly brave. She just tackled him like she was a mixed martial arts star or something (LAUGHS).

  BROOKES: Do you have any martial arts training, Sarah?

  PRICE: No (SHRUGS). I bench-press.

  BROOKES: Casey, I understand you have some news about the perpetrators of the online harassment you’ve been experiencing. An arrest has been made, hasn’t it?

  CHENG: Yes, it has. This gentleman appears to be one of the ringleaders, and I will say that the frequency of the threats has dropped considerably since his arrest. His name is Stephen Orlov, and as it turns out, he runs George Drake’s fan club.

  BROOKES: Wow. And … is there any evidence that George Drake himself was involved?

  CHENG: I think it’s too early in the investigation to say (SMILES). But I’m sure the authorities will be looking very closely at that possibility.

  BROOKES: Casey, after everything that’s happened … how are you coping?

  CHENG: Well … right now, I’m taking a few days off. And after the election’s over, I plan on taking a long vacation. Maybe to Bhutan. I hear it’s the happiest place on earth.

  BROOKES: And you, Sarah? You’ve been through a lot in the last few months. What are your plans?

  PRICE: Finish the campaign.

  BROOKES: Finish the campaign. You’re okay with going back to that? You’ve been in serious danger now, twice. You’re not afraid to keep going?

  PRICE: I actually feel better than I did. Because that first time, in the park, there wasn’t anything I could do about it. This time (SMILES), this time, there was.

  “Casey Cheng has got to be the luckiest bitch in local news.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Three times, man,” Charlie said as he swapped his camcorder’s battery. “Three guys with guns. That’s just freaky. I mean, not if she was covering Afghanistan, but San Diego?”

  Gabrielle felt her cheeks flush. “Well, this is embarrassing. I thought you were talking about the stories she’s been filing.”

  “That too.”

  Charlie had worked in Afghanistan and Iraq for a couple of years, and even though he swore he’d come to San Diego to “chill and collect a paycheck,” she sometimes thought covering this beat was a big bore for him.

  Casey worked hard for those stories, Gabrielle told herself. You shouldn’t think of hard work as luck. She didn’t want to be one of those women who cut down other women, just because she was ever so slightly jealous.

  Also, let’s not forget that that shit’s terrifying, she thought.

  She wondered how Casey was handling it all. They weren’t exactly friends, but they’d met a few times on stories and at functions, had chatted over drinks. Everybody pretty much knew everybody in this business. Gabrielle still couldn’t get over the way that Casey had kept going after the same damn things that had nearly gotten her killed in the first place. But then, Casey was a little intense.

  Not that Gabrielle had anything against her. When she’d gotten shot covering Crooked Arrow, Gabrielle had cried. She’d thought about it for weeks, thoughts like, “that could happen to me, that could happen to any of us,” and she kept asking herself if what she was doing was worth it.

  But the fact was, nothing like that was likely to happen to her. What happened at Crooked Arrow, what happened at the park, things like that hardly ever happened in places like San Diego, just like Charlie had said. They were a statistical anomaly.

  What had seemed like a huge conspiracy was just three sick losers with guns.

  If something like that happens to somebody else, then it’s not going to happen to you. Just like if an airplane crashes, the flight you’re taking the next day won’t, because that roll of the dice already came up.

  Which she also knew was not how probability and chance actually worked, but whatever.

  “You ready to go do this thing?” she asked Charlie.

  Charlie slammed the News 12 Expedition’s door shut and clicked the lock in his key fob. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

  Another day, another Kim Tegan campaign event.

  “ … and we’re gonna continue to do great things together!” Kim Tegan pumped her fist. “We’re gonna protect our borders and protect our American values!”

  Tegan’s headquarters was decked out in red, white, and blue bunting and star-spangled balloons. There were the usual big bowls of super-sized Costco snack mix, some wine and beer and soft drinks. She’d gotten a good turnout. The volunteers and staff were a mix primarily of older white women and younger white men, with a few older men and young women mixed in. Some of the younger guys were from the local and state party, Gabrielle guessed. Both sides were putting in everything they could throw at this race.

  Most of the local news affiliates had sent a camera or a team out to cover Tegan’s appearance, a quick hit at most for the 11 p.m. show. As Tegan finished speaking, several of the photographers were already headed for the door. Gabrielle would have loved to pack it in herself, but as tempting as that was, they’d already come out here and Tegan promised press availability.

  Anyway, it was too late. Tegan’s media guy was approaching.

  “Hey there,” he said, all smiles. “We thought we’d do the press availability out back—there’s still some nice light.”

  “Sounds good.”

  She and Charlie followed him through the party and through the back door, out to the parking lot.

  Three crews had stuck around for Tegan, including News 9.

  “So how’s Casey doing?” Gabrielle asked Hunter, their on-air guy.

  “You know, she seems okay. A little wound-up, I mean, more so than usual,” he added, his voice dropping a couple of notes.

  So she wasn’t the only one who thought Casey was a tad intense.

  “She took a couple days off but made sure to give us the interview first. Now she’s back. Swears she’s taking a long vacation soon as the election’s over. Personally I think she’s interviewing for a national gig.”

  Good for her, Ga
brielle thought. She didn’t want to be Casey Cheng, when it came right down to it. She had a husband and a five-year-old, and what she really wanted at this point in her life was less stress, more money, and better hours.

  A seat at the anchor desk, that would be good.

  “Hi, guys!”

  Kim Tegan smiled and waved at the assembled crews. The media staffer guided her toward the building’s wall—a terra cotta–colored stucco, it would make an unobtrusive backdrop for the shot. Otherwise you risked having someone walk into the shot from the parking lot.

  The light was nice, the setting sun casting a diffuse, golden glow. A few campaign staffers and volunteers stood to one side, watching.

  “Hi, Kim,” Gabrielle called out right away. “You’ve made some remarks recently about the dangers of extremist language, and you’ve decried the negativity going back and forth on this campaign. But we haven’t seen any real letup in attack ads coming from you or from Cason. In this last two weeks before the election, will we see a more positive tone from you?”

  Tegan hesitated, her forehead wrinkling. “I think so,” she finally said. “Yes. I mean … I can’t do anything about the PACs supporting me. The tone they take isn’t something we can control. But … ” She shook her head. “I meant what I said before. We’re not enemies, we’re opponents.”

  “True men will rise!” someone screamed, and Gabrielle turned and saw a young man standing with the volunteers, clutching a pistol, opening fire.

  56

  SAN DIEGO, Calif. (AP)—Congressional candidate Kimberly Tegan was shot and killed today outside of her campaign headquarters by a campaign volunteer who opened fire as Tegan prepared to take questions from reporters. A warning: the footage in the following links contains graphic images and may be upsetting to some readers.

  There were three versions of the killing, three takes from slightly different angles, the camera moving at different moments, depending on how the photographers reacted, capturing different nuances of the same event.