The Castle: A Ripped-From-The-Headlines Thriller

by Jason Pinter

  “There were other instances,” Remy said. “Of violence. A lot of them.”

  “Maybe so, but these are the only police reports on record. Still, it’s more than enough to call into question Get Up America! airing an interview without disclosing that the subject is a convicted domestic abuser. You said you’ll go on the record. Can I still count on you for that?”

  “There’s nothing I’d rather do,” Remy said. “But I have one small request.”

  Two hours later, Remy sent an email to Rawson Griggs, CC’d to Kenneth Murphy, Jerry Kapinski, and Rebecca Blum.

  Subject: Griggs campaign – Stanton Employment

  Body: To the Griggs campaign staff – I am officially tendering my resignation from the presidential campaign of Rawson Griggs effective immediately.

  Sincerely, Jeremy P. Stanton

  Two hours after Remy’s email went out to the Griggs campaign, the New York Gazette ran a story by Eric Celsun:

  Convicted Domestic Abuser to be Featured on Get Up America!

  Griggs campaign denies coordination of interview featuring Dennis Stanton, father of former staffer Jeremy Stanton

  by Eric Celsun

  Dennis James Stanton, father of former Griggs communications aide and ‘Upper East Side Hero’ Jeremy Stanton, is scheduled to appear on tomorrow morning’s Get Up America! The network has been heavily promoting what it calls an “exclusive” interview. The promotional material for the interview alleges that the younger Stanton committed violent acts against his father, compounded with emotional abuse centering around the care of the elder Stanton’s now-deceased wife, Margaret.

  However, police reports from Lancaster County confirm that Dennis Stanton, 62, has been charged no less than three times with at least four counts of domestic violence, towards Margaret Stanton and a Ms. Elaine Steadman, whom he was married to briefly before their union was annulled. Following his conviction on the latter of the three charges, the elder Stanton spent fifteen months in a correctional facility in his hometown of Lancaster, PA, and was released in 2004.

  When reached for comment, Jeremy Stanton, who has officially resigned from Rawson Griggs’s presidential campaign, said, “My father terrorized my mother and me for years. That anyone would give a convicted abuser airtime and publicity after his legally documented history of violent behavior is appalling and pathetic. Dennis Stanton’s voice should be shunned, not amplified. If you know Dennis Stanton as well as I do, you know he’s lying because his mouth is open. I’m sorry the folks at the Get Up America! didn’t bother to learn the truth before taking the word of a convicted abuser and promoting him to millions of people.”

  Producers at Get Up America! did not respond for comment by press time, but sources close to the network claim they are seriously considering pulling the interview. Another source claims that the Griggs campaign may have paid Dennis Stanton to take part in the interview in an effort to discredit Jeremy Stanton, who resigned under hostile terms.

  Reached for comment, Rebecca Blum, Griggs’s campaign manager, said, “Jeremy Stanton was window dressing for our campaign. Nothing more. He reaped the fruits of his allegedly selfless act for months, and over that time he became both unreliable and unstable. Despite this, the Griggs campaign paid him handsomely for his time. Jeremy Stanton had no more knowledge of our campaign than does a model hired to appear in an advertisement for a car dealership. Rawson Griggs barely knew Jeremy, and the American public will forget about him in due time.”

  Said Jeremy Stanton, “When I joined Rawson Griggs’s campaign, I did so because I believed in him and what he stood for: reform, individuality, strength, and responsibility. But those tenets have taken a backseat to nihilism and violence that I believe will drive us apart more than pull us together. I have come to fear the potential of a Rawson Griggs presidency, and I can no longer continue to support the candidate.”

  When Remy saw that the article was live, he took out his iPad and found the file he needed: the guest list from the event at the Hyatt the night Paul Bracewell died.

  Remy then blasted out an email to the entire guest list, linking to Eric Celsun’s article. It read:

  Dear friends –

  It’s been months since I stood before you and asked you to support Rawson Griggs for president of the United States. As many of you know, that is no longer the case. I do not support Mr. Griggs, and I hope that given his actions and words over the last few months, you have reconsidered your support as well.

  I’m writing today for personal reasons as well. Tomorrow, my father is scheduled to appear on a popular morning show to discredit me. Though I cannot prove it, I am certain this charade was orchestrated by the Griggs campaign.

  Below is a link to an article just published in the New York Gazette. My father, whom I have not spoken to in over a decade, is a convicted domestic abuser. This news program withheld this information from their promotion, and the public, likely due to the ad revenue Rawson Griggs had brought their network.

  It is not enough to condemn the network for these actions: we must literally take it to the bank. As I said that night at the Hyatt months ago, you all have influence. I hope that you will spread the word about your disapproval for what Get Up America! plans to do. I will be boycotting the network until this happens. I hope you will consider joining me, and encouraging those who follow and trust you to do the same.

  Sincerely,

  Jeremy Stanton

  Rem sat back in bed in his hotel room and took a deep breath. He had just waged war on Rawson Griggs. Remy’s army was online. The Hyatt guest list alone could reach a hundred million people. Now he just prayed it worked.

  Fifteen minutes later, Remy checked his social media feeds. Dozens of people from the email list had posted the link to Celsun’s article, along with the hashtag #WeSupportRemy, promising to boycott not only Get Up America! but the entire network. Influential reporters and even other campaign surrogates joined in. Within an hour, #WeSupportRemy was trending.

  One of the re-posts came from Doug Rimbaud:

  Campaigns may have their differences in policy, but giving this “man” airtime is shameful. #WeSupportRemy

  Every time Remy refreshed his feed, he had dozens of new replies. Of course there was a fair amount of backlash; Griggs supporters threatening to put his dick in a blender, saying his father had wasted the sperm, saying that they hoped, once elected, Rawson Griggs would send Remy to Guantanamo.

  At least the haters were creative.

  Two hours after Remy blasted the Hyatt guest list, Get Up America! issued a statement on their Facebook page:

  Due to the release of incendiary information previously not seen by Get Up America! that directly contradicts statements given by Dennis Stanton, tomorrow’s interview will not be airing. There is no scheduled run date at this point.

  Remy jumped off the bed and pumped his fist in the air. He called Eric Celsun.

  “I had a feeling you’d be calling,” Celsun said.

  “What’s your favorite drink?” Remy said. “Because I’m buying you a lifetime supply of whatever it is.”

  “I don’t accept gifts from subjects, but if you sent a six-pack of hard cider to the office, I wouldn’t turn it down.”

  “Hard cider? Really?”

  “Heaven in a bottle, my friend.”

  “I’ve never tried it. I don’t think they served hard cider on Griggs Force One. Seriously, Eric, great work. Thank you.”

  “You don’t need to thank me,” Celsun said. “I didn’t do it to curry favors. I did it because it was a legitimate story. It just so happened that it was also the right thing to do. Always nice when those two things line up.”

  “Well, thank you anyway. Part of me wishes I could see my father’s face when he hears he’s off the air. I just hope the bars in Lancaster have enough Wild Turkey.”

  “I think the Griggs campaign had your father on standby,” Celsun said. “They were able to get him on air crazy quick. I’m guessing the Griggs peop
le approached your father well before approaching Get Up America! In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if they got to him not too long after they hired you. Maybe even before they hired you. As an insurance policy, a ‘break glass in case of emergency’ just in case you went rogue. Which, well, you kind of did.”

  “In the meantime,” Remy said, “I’m reasonably sure that Rawson Griggs killed the last guy who was disloyal to him.”

  “Well, I hope you can sleep tonight knowing you’ve pissed off Keyser Söze.”

  There was a knock at the door. Remy bolted up from bed. He looked at the taser sitting on the nightstand. The little piece of plastic and metal suddenly looked grossly inadequate.

  “You know, Keyser Söze?” Celsun said. “From the movie with Kevin Spacey and the lighter and…hey, Remy, you still there?”

  Remy grabbed the taser from the nightstand and crept to the door. What if he peeked through the peephole and someone shot him in the eye? Had he seen too many movies? Or was this his life now?

  “Remy? Remy, you there?” Celsun was still on the line.

  “I’m here. Just hold on a second.”

  Remy figured if someone shot him, at least Celsun would hear it.

  “I know you’re in there,” came the voice from the other side of the door.

  It was Alena. Remy almost fell to the ground in relief.

  “I’ll call you back,” he said to Celsun, and ended the call. He opened the door. Alena was standing there in jeans and an overcoat.

  “What the hell is that thing?” she said, pointing at Remy’s hand. He was still holding the taser. He tossed it onto the chair in the corner.

  “The last few days,” he said, “bad things seem to keep happening to people I care about. Thought I might be next.”

  “I know about Trevor,” Alena replied. “Can I come in?”

  Remy nodded. She entered and hung her coat on a chair. She was wearing a white turtleneck and her hair was done up in a bun. She was dressed simply, but as always she made the clothes look better than they were.

  “How did you know where to find me?” Remy said.

  “I heard about Trevor. I met him when you were in the hospital. God, that seems like ages ago. You weren’t returning my texts, so I thought you might be with him. So I went to Beth Israel. You were gone, but Chris told me where you were staying. Does your place really have bedbugs?”

  “I sure hope not,” Remy said.

  He couldn’t tell her the real reason he was staying there. What he believed her father had done.

  “You know I left the campaign.”

  Alena nodded. She sat down on the bed. Remy pulled out the desk chair and sat across from her.

  “I’m sorry but I’m not,” she said. “You’ve been different recently. We’ve all seen it. You used to have this, I don’t know, lightness to you. It’s killed me to see that dim.”

  “I’ve watched the same thing happen to you,” Remy said. “And it eats away at me.”

  “I know,” Alena said. “I miss how it was before. How are you?”

  “Considering I spent the whole day trying to submarine a tell-all interview with my own father after visiting my best friend in the hospital—I’d say I’ve had better days.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Why are you sorry?”

  “Because I know what it’s like to feel like the world is crashing down around you,” she said. “But you were there when I needed you, when I hurt. And I know you well enough to know that you’d need someone too, when you were in pain.”

  “Sometimes I can’t believe I’ve only known you a few months,” Remy said.

  “I know,” she said. “Come here.”

  Remy hesitated, just for a moment, then moved to the bed. His heart was jackhammering. He could feel the blood rushing in his temples.

  “Lie down,” she said.

  He did. She curled up next to him. Her perfume was light, crisp. He could feel her breath on his neck. He thought about the night in Spokane, Alena curled up next to him, the slight tickle as she breathed in and out.

  “So we go to sleep, and when I wake up, you’ll be gone, right?” Remy said. “That’s how this works?”

  “Not this time.”

  Alena leaned over Remy and kissed him softly on the lips. At first, he was frozen by the shock of it. He didn’t move. But then he felt Alena’s hand burrow under his neck, pushing his head up, and he pressed back into her, kissing her deeply.

  Remy shifted onto his side until he was face to face with Alena, running his hand down her neck, her shoulders, her back, resting it on her hip. She slid her hand around his back and pressed him towards her until they were touching, moving against each other. She wrapped her leg around his, pulled him closer.

  Even though this was the first time they’d been this close, Remy felt like he knew her touch, her body, every inch of her.

  They kissed for what seemed like hours. Then, slowly, they slipped off their clothes. He ran his finger down the curve of her spine and felt her shudder, heard her moan softly. Remy took the time to look at her body, head to toe. He wanted to remember this, remember every inch of skin, every curve, because he had no idea what would happen next.

  “I’ve wanted this,” he said to her. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this.”

  Alena stopped kissing him and looked him in the eye.

  “Yes, I do,” she said.

  Remy began to kiss her neck, learning her body’s rhythms as he touched her, outside and in. She gave him a condom and when he was ready, she pulled him on top of her gently. Remy took his time, discovering what made her shiver, what made her moan. And then she took him inside of her, and he stared into her eyes as they moved together, knowing she would be there in the morning.

  And she was.

  Remy looked at the woman lying naked in bed, and wondered if, just for a while, they could disappear somewhere. Somewhere nobody knew them. Where she wasn’t Alena Griggs and he wasn’t Jeremy Stanton, and they could wear loose fabrics and lie on a warm beach and drink sugary cocktails, then retreat to a sun-dappled cabin with a ceiling fan and a soft bed and make love for hours on end.

  Somewhere that wasn’t a cheap hotel room in midtown Manhattan, where they’d wake up and still be who they were the day before.

  While Alena slept, Remy showered. He took his time. When he got out, she was sitting up in bed, the bed sheets wrapped around her shoulders, his cell phone in her hand.

  “You got a text,” she said, “from Grace Rivas. She wants to meet with you, apparently.”

  Remy walked over and took the phone. Alena looked at him, clearly expecting some sort of explanation.

  “What are you two meeting about?”

  “Alena,” he said. “It’s complicated.”

  “Coming here last night was complicated too,” she said.

  “I know.”

  Remy took a deep breath. He didn’t know what to say. But he couldn’t keep it from her any longer.

  “Your father,” he said. “I think he’s done some terrible things. And I’ve been working with Grace to find out whether they’re true.”

  Alena held the sheet closer, eyes narrowing. “What kind of things?”

  “Alena, we don’t have to talk…”

  “Yes. We do. What kind of things do you think my father has done?”

  “I really don’t want to go into it now. There’s too much we don’t know.”

  “What kind of things?” Alena stood up, taking the sheets with her. She pushed Remy backwards. He stumbled, surprised.

  “I think he may have had something to do with Paul…with Paul’s…”

  “With Paul’s what?”

  “With Paul’s death.”

  Alena looked like she’d been punched in the stomach. “You…what?”

  Remy nodded.

  “You think my father had something to do with my husband’s death?”

  He nodded again.

  “Oh, fuck you, Jeremy,�
� Alena said. She tossed the sheets back on the bed and grabbed her clothes. She marched into the bathroom and locked the door. Remy stood there, shaking. What the hell could he have done?

  “Alena,” he said, shouting through the door. “Please. Let’s talk.”

  She came out a minute later. Clothes on, hair a mess.

  “Stay. Sit down.”

  “Not a chance,” she said. “I know my father never liked Paul. But he would never do something like that. Why would he risk his campaign, risk me? Just because he disapproved of the man I married?”

  “No,” Remy said. “He did it because Paul was working for Annabelle Shaw’s campaign.”

  Alena’s mouth hung open. Remy felt wretched. There was no easy way to say any of it. And there was never a way he could have told her.

  “I shouldn’t have come here last night,” Alena said softly. “You’re lying.”

  “God, trust me, I wish I was,” Remy said. “He was feeding them information. Paul found out your father was being propped up by foreign money. Tens of millions, maybe more. Your father was near broke. He was being used. And when he was elected, your father could direct government policy to make millions, if not billions. For them and for him.”

  Alena stood there, shaking her head. “That’s insane. You’re insane.”

  “It’s not just me,” Remy said. “You know Michael O’Brien? Paul’s friend from Spokane? Paul told O’Brien all of this.”

  “And you decide to loop me in now? After I sleep with you?”

  Remy looked at the floor, shame burning through him.

  “I didn’t know how to tell you. There was never time, and I couldn’t say anything while I wasn’t sure. But now, I’m sure. I’ve seen you dragged through hell. I didn’t want to pull you further down.”

  “If this isn’t further down,” Alena said, “then you tell me: what is it?”

  He said nothing.

  “Go to hell, Remy. I should have never come here last night.”