by R. J. Blain
Bradley and his father stared at me through narrowed eyes.
“I don’t know if he was telling the truth,” I stated. “This has just been nagging at me.”
“I think it’s the most sensible thing anyone has said since this has started.” Something about Mr. Hampton’s tone captured my attention. “If the senators and representatives were allowed to have free votes, legislation like that wretched bill would die early. Or it should. Of course, I’ve always been of the belief politicians are morally bankrupt. But for so many to be that morally bankrupt? No, I think Senator Westonhaus at least told you a partial truth. Do you remember why he brought it up?”
I did my best to remember the conversation, regretting I hadn’t been able to record our talk or take notes. “He said there are no parties in the upper government, and while there are factions among the politicians, the game is already set and decided long before it’s actually played.”
“That makes a frightening amount of sense, if you view the whole situation through the lens of a conspiracy theory,” Bradley acknowledged. “It goes against everything it means to be American, however.”
“My conversation with him led me to believe there aren’t really Americans anymore, just pawns of those who were chosen to be among the current rulers of the country. Right up to the presidency. It made me wonder why we even bother to vote, if everything is predetermined.”
“The illusion of freedom,” Bradley informed me. “Just like that bill is a complete eradication of freedoms unless you’re the perfect person in the eyes of bill makers. And the perfect people in the eyes of the bill makers seems to be those who have the wealth, the general influence, and the magical abilities they want. I barely qualify. Your marriage to me will qualify you. But we’ll have to be very careful with our children. The system is meant to keep everyone in their set place. We’d have to contract our children to children of similar levels to make sure they wouldn’t be drafted. And with the draft rules eliminating age, gender, and anything else of importance as exemptions, I give it a single generation before the only people free from the draft are those with a ridiculous amounts of money, influence, and ability to operate contracts. I expect the contract rules will be expanded to allow these families to essentially ‘liberate’ Americans using the contract system.”
“Which is no different from the draft, except instead of a battlefield and being owned by the military, you’re owned by a bunch of rich assholes.”
“Hey,” Bradley complained.
“Where was the lie?” I asked in my sweetest voice.
“Cruel woman. I mean, I’m rich, but I’m not an asshole!”
“You’re not?” I graced him with my sweetest smile.
“Dad, leave.”
“No.” Mr. Hampton chuckled, went to the door, and fetched one of the takeout containers we’d picked up from the Chinese restaurant, setting it on the desk nearby along with a pair of chopsticks. “This is a reward for being assertive. You’ll have to wait to continue any plans to seduce my son until later.”
“Thank you.” I peeked inside to discover orange chicken, not as spicy as what I liked at home, but hot enough to remind me I needed to work up to my favorite treat after forced separation from my favorite food.
“Dad,” Bradley complained.
“Work before play. I feel you’re correct in your general evaluation of the situation; the goal of this bill really seems to be a general restructuring of the United States to be more of a military dictatorship than a democracy—or a democratic republic, which is what the United States should be. It’s not anymore, not really. Too much power has flowed from the hands of the people into the hands of the government. With the loss of the checks and balances system, it’s only a matter of time until the ruling parties of the United States show their true colors. The draft rules seem to indicate it’s probable the government type will shift to a more militant nature. It wouldn’t surprise me if the next phase involves a campaign for patriotism, encouraging the young to want to draft into the military. That way, when the next batch of young voters comes in, they’ll view the legislation as patriotic. That’s a very dangerous prospect.” Bradley’s father sat on the edge of the nearest bed. “What we really need to do is figure out how and why there were two attacks at the same time.”
Right. I’d forgotten there’d been a killing at the same time I’d been kidnapped. “You mean Representative Islanney.”
“Yes. The timing was noteworthy. And it’s sent ripples through the country, as it led everyone to believe the killers are part of an even larger group. We’d all believed they were connected, but the evidence seems to be indicating there isn’t any actual connection.”
“Senator Westonhaus just made a very convenient scapegoat, and my kidnappers possibly wanted the other group to take the fall for what they did,” I muttered.
Bradley’s father nodded. “And considering the ethics of those behind your kidnapping, the bills would severely offend them. They’re out to save and improve lives, not end them. The bill, in its current form, has the potential to end a lot of lives. By targeting Westonhaus and taking you, they’d put pressure on the government and the FBI to dig deeper into the case. That would bring the legislation and all of its consequences into the limelight. And it has.”
“So, the possibility exists these doctors were aware of the legislation, wanted it brought to public scrutiny, and realized they could use me to do it?”
My future father-in-law nodded. “That’s one possibility, yes. Another possibility is that they wanted to draw attention away from you so the real killers wouldn’t eliminate you for getting in the way of their plans.”
“I can’t say I’ve gotten in the way of their plans beyond presenting additional casualties.” I grimaced at the thought the killers wanted to move into terrorist territory rather than dealing primarily in assassinations. “But yes, I’ve come to the conclusion everybody wants to take advantage of me at this point in time.”
Bradley’s smile promised future trouble, likely to begin the instant we could get his father back to his own hotel room.
“What do you mean?” Mr. Hampton asked.
“Well, I saw the news articles about how Westonhaus has decided to use me to keep people interested in his political campaign.”
“Yes, he has been rather relentless about using your disappearance for his benefit. I really don’t think he was directly involved, but he certainly isn’t letting that opportunity slip by him.” Bradley’s father wrinkled his nose. “The boy here swindled more donations for the library out of the assholes, too. He figured if they were going to use your disappearance for their gain, he’d use their greed for the library’s gain. And, as just attacking Westonhaus’s wallet hasn’t been sufficient payback, he’s gone after every representative and senator supporting the campaign.”
I snorted at that. “We’d be able to build a whole new building if they all contributed. I swear, considering the articles, I thought I was running to be the president.”
“Well, you’ll have a great budget once you’re back to work,” my future father-in-law replied with a chuckle.
“My reappearance is going to be a problem, isn’t it?”
“For Westonhaus’s campaign? Possibly. Actually, the media has already started going to work on it. I’ve leaked to my favorite reporters, and I’ve taken a few pictures of you and Bradley together for them to show off, from an anonymous contributor, of course. I waited for you two to be particularly lovey-dovey. That paints Bradley in a really good light, and your determination to return home to him paints you in a good light, and those who were trying to start a fuss over you two not having a real relationship won’t really be able to keep talking without looking like idiots. On that front, you’ve benefited. Westonhaus won’t be able to martyr you to the same extent, and he’s had to make an announcement celebrating your escape. I did not make any mention of your foot, although it’s clear you’re standing on your own. I didn’t take any pictu
res of your legs below the knees. Quite on purpose. The media was also asked to neglect mention of your foot. We can watch responses from the upper politicians to see if any of them slip.”
“You haven’t eliminated their involvement?” I asked, unable to keep the surprise out of my tone.
“No. It’s entirely possible that the doctors are being funded by corrupt politicians, the killers—or the doctors are the killers, and they had one group of them take out Islanney while securing you for their surgical endeavors.” Bradley’s father shrugged. “Honestly, that is my favorite of the possibilities. It’s morally bankrupt in terms of lost lives, but a bunch of doctors would not want these bills passing. The number of deaths that would result from the draft system would be staggering—and medical care would become the purveyance of the rich. More than it already is. The military would keep the useful soldiers alive and the rest would end up dying in battle.”
“Isn’t that a bit extremist?”
“Not particularly.” Bradley’s father snapped his fingers at his son and pointed at the laptop, which Bradley handed over. After some typing and scowling, he handed the computer to me. “Read that article.”
I obeyed, noting it came from one of New York’s predominant neutral newspapers, which made it one of the better sources of news in the city, as they presented both sides of the fence rather than embracing a specific bias. The newspaper had gotten a hold of the latest rendition of the bill, printing it in its entirety along with an analysis of what every single clause meant. It had taken a hundred and fifty pages in fine print, along with a complementary digital version to the public, not counting against the newspaper’s typical view limitations meant to earn them revenue. I whistled.
Somehow, in the time I’d been missing, the bill had gotten worse. Exsanguinators had gotten removed from an immediate death sentence, with the first true exemption being made.
Any exsanguinator who opted to provide at least fifty hours of donation time to a hospital every year would not be drafted.
“I hate that this clause is here, but I love this clause,” I complained.
“The exsanguinator clause is something else. It’s making waves through the nation, actually. Someone got the brilliant idea that any talents suitable for the medical field should have the same exemption, which would majorly augment hospitals. Even our familial talent would be useful.”
“Because you can prove rape?” I asked.
Both men nodded.
“The identification of medical trauma, like rape, would fit into the proposed bill,” Bradley’s father said. “And it’s being proposed by the people; it’s definitely made some waves in the congress. It was not on the agenda, and it looks like it better be on the agenda or there’s going to be an uprising.”
“An uprising?” I blurted. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, at least twenty percent of the populace has realized they’re inevitably going to be drafted, and they don’t like it. There’s a lot of talk of rebellion and revolt now, and there are even whispers of civil war.”
I sucked in a breath, staring at the laptop and the lengthy article the newspaper had printed, covering the entire bill in detail. “Civil war? Are you serious?”
“Unfortunately. I think that’s part of why the serial killers haven’t hit again after your disappearance. Everything is in flux. Senators and representatives are claiming that the bill is under discussion for modification. The individual who leaked the original bill was killed in a car accident. The government attempted to claim it was an accident, but the FBI called it suspicious and is investigating a probable murder—an assassination. The President attempted to announce it was not an assassination, but the FBI is no longer dancing to Castillo’s tune. We expect the lead of the FBI to disappear under mysterious circumstances, too, at this point. As do the people. The news outlets aren’t pulling punches, either. It’s a problem.”
“What about the CIA?”
“Completely mute. They’re probably afraid of sharing Senator Jamesville’s fate. That’s the man who gave a copy of the bill to the newspapers. And he didn’t just send to one paper. He’d mass mailed a digital copy to every single news outlet with a contact form or email address—and he’d contacted reporters to share the bill with.” Bradley’s father sighed and shook his head. “Jamesville had the least to lose.”
“What do you mean?”
“Jamesville had cancer, which had not been announced publicly, nor had he informed anyone of the diagnosis. He informed the newspapers, stating as much. They ran a piece about his probable murder, and that he had volunteered in case it led to his death. That supports what Westonhaus told you, though. That politicians who stray from the game plan end up with a severe case of dead.”
The idea that the government killed politicians who stepped out of line sickened me. “Westonhaus told me that was how it worked. Do you think he expects to be killed?”
“I don’t know what I think,” Bradley’s father admitted. “Either that or he wanted to see if the game could be changed if he had you on his side—or as a random element in the game. Or if our cell is a part of the government’s efforts to find the killers so they have control of the situation.”
“It’s okay as long as the government is the one doing the killing?” I resisted the urge to beat my fist on the desk, gave Bradley his laptop, and attacked my Chinese food instead. “Why have there been no killings since my disappearance, then?”
Bradley closed his laptop and set it aside. “I think it may have been due to Senator Jamesville’s actions. The media has brought a lot of what’s going on to light. With the bill in full view of the public eye, do they need to plan any more murders to draw attention to the situation?”
I acknowledged his point with a nod, nibbling at a piece of orange chicken and basking in its heat. “Where does that put us with the doctors, though? Do you really think a bunch of doctors would go so far?”
“If it means saving so many lives? I have no doubt of it. It’s the same idea that a bunch of librarians would get together and try to figure out how to solve a murder mystery without knowing hardly anything about how murders are solved,” my fiancé pointed out. “We’re really bad at being investigators, though. We’re improving. It helps there are people in the FBI who are teaching us what we need to do. Beatrice has been getting lessons on collecting and submitting evidence. Mickey is being educated on research and information gathering. Meridian is learning how to question people, since she is good at talking but bad at keeping secrets. She’s also good at math, so she’s learning how to interpret financials. My mother does her lawyer things and gets into fights with the agents who want to tell her how to do her job. I think the FBI wants to send agents to her now for some teaching.”
That didn’t surprise me in the slightest. “And you?”
“I’m perfect as I am.”
I laughed at that. “And how about you, Mr. Hampton?”
“I’m also perfect.”
Goodness. Between the two of them, they’d slay me with their smug confidence. “I need to read this bill over and get caught up on current events. Go away, Mr. Hampton. If you have something that bears any resemblance to a clue, text it to Bradley.”
“All right. We’ll resume this in the morning. Bradley, don’t let her work too much tonight. Sacrifice your body if you must.”
Bradley coughed, and then he laughed. “Sure, Dad. Whatever you say. When you call Mom, tell her I love her. Confess the full price of what we bought today, and make sure you reinforce that Janette was glued to the case the instant she spotted the necklace. That should buy you time to justify your purchases. I’ll contribute with working on a new stock portfolio for you.”
“That should help contain the beast. Call me if there are any issues.”
“We will,” Bradley promised.
SIXTEEN
I worried the damage was already done.
The changes in the bill left me with more questions than answers, but I ap
preciated the newspaper’s analysis of every clause, which explained things in layman’s terms. As a general rule, the analysis established Americans would be little more than pawns in a military dictatorship, which would be thinly disguised as a democratic republic. The people, those who weren’t drafted to serve in the military, would still be able to vote, but they’d only be able to vote for their local representatives and the President of the United States. The bill took the constitution, snapped it in half, and scattered its remains to the four winds.
The bill’s writers had gone so far as to list which sections of the constitution would need to be reworked and rewritten to allow for the bill’s changes to go through without being hampered. I took the time to jot down every section they intended to destroy, discovering most of the Bill of Rights would be eradicated or changed to suit the new government.
The only basic right left intact would be the Freedom of Religion, and even that would undergo changes. Churches would lose some of their current rights, becoming a cash cow for the government. Most charities would come under fire as well under the new rules involving so-called religious freedom.
It disgusted me that the writers believed barring charitable contributions should become a constitutional matter.
Sometime after polishing off our leftovers and taking a bath together, Bradley lost the war with his fatigue, leaving me to tear through the human rights violation the United States would become if the main bill was made it into law. With a better idea of the current state of affairs in the upper government, I began checking into the candidates to become the next President of the United States. Senator Westonhaus would play the game, taking over Castillo’s role as the next Tyrant-in-Chief. The newspaper that had coined that phrase took a lot of flak from the government-backed reporting outlets.