* * *
Janine Witzgenstein was talking.
Lara was slumped on one of the couches in the Oval Office, Crow beside her, holding her up. The color of the couch was royal blue. Janine was opposite her, positively glowing, on a stately pink couch decorated with embroidered roses.
The details helped. Lara poured herself into them, while trying not to gulp too heavily at the air.
"This is indeed quite the show," Witzgenstein said. "I didn't expect it."
Lara tried to look at her eyes, but she couldn't lift her head. The whipped dog didn't challenge its master, and that was who she was now.
"Let her go, Crow," Janine said. "I think she can handle herself."
Crow let go.
"Leave us."
He stood and left. The door closed behind him. Lara stared at Witzgenstein's knees and tried to breathe normally.
"Look at me, Lara," Janine said.
Lara shivered. Just the sound of this woman's voice made her tremble. Shame came hot with the fear.
"Look at me."
She didn't.
Then Janine was there, leaning before her and pushing her hand under Lara's chin, lifting her face so that their eyes were only inches away. Lara looked immediately to the side, but Witzgenstein cupped her hands firmly around Lara's temples, breathing perfumed air delicately across her cheeks.
"Look at me, child," she said softly. "Now."
Upon the command, Lara did. It wasn't bravery now, or defiance, but naked fear. Obedience. Witzgenstein's eyes were a beautiful, terrible blue. Looking into them started Lara shaking uncontrollably.
Witzgenstein held her like that for a moment, then released her, and sat down by her side.
Lara curled away from her at once, huddling into the arm of the sofa and covering her eyes, clutching her arms about her and shaking. She couldn't help it.
"Yes," Janine said softly, leaning over and stroking Lara's hair. "I see what I've done to you. Poor Lara. There."
Each touch sent a shudder through her. But Witzgenstein didn't stop. She kept stroking, and saying soothing things, until gradually the shuddering eased and the tears ceased, and despite herself, despite knowing what was happening perfectly well, she found herself beginning to lean into each stroke.
Witzgenstein caressed her like an animal, and like an animal she yearned for it. Rather than terror, it began to feel like comfort. All other things were forgotten, any hint of defiance was gone, and the touch of this golden woman became a balm.
When the stroking finally stopped, she found she missed it. Yet she was able to sit upright. Witzgenstein shifted, returning to her seat facing Lara. Lara went back to studying her shapely knees.
"You don't need to look at me, child," Witzgenstein said, her rich voice filling the space confidently. "Perhaps that will come in time. For now, I hope there can be an understanding between us. I didn't want this cruelty, this parade, though I hope you understand why it had to happen. Call it an exorcism, if you wish to. It's been such a long time coming."
Lara found herself nodding numbly along. Her eyes drifted over the pink couch and tracked the stitching on the roses.
"I know you see now the error of your ways. Amo's dream of New LA, there was such great appeal to it. And his love for you, I do believe that was real. He loved the children he fathered too, in his own way; they can be good citizens still, and the child you are yet to bear. Nothing is beyond forgiveness, Lara, if the contrition is genuine. You will find I am a kind leader. All I ask for is honesty, and faith. What else can a mother seek?" She reached across the gap and took one of Lara's hands, began to gently knead the fingers. "Lara, my child, I promise you will flourish in my care, as you've never done before. Together we will rebuild this country as it should be, under the flag it was born to. I hope you understand why this is necessary."
Lara gulped. She didn't understand, but the sound of Witzgenstein's voice had become hypnotic, lulling her. She nodded.
"I hope also that you will see why a statement from you, recanting all your crimes, is necessary. We must have contrition, if there can be firm foundations in truth. Drake began the work, but he too was a flawed man. Rape, Lara. He raped women, and that I will never stand for. That will never happen in my time. He was a false prophet, but there are others yet to come who are not false. Perhaps you will become one, a second Saul on the Damascus Road. Would you like that, child?"
Lara nodded. She didn't know any more what she was nodding to. She just wanted to please this great, powerful woman. She wanted to be away, even as she wanted to be held close.
"I had hoped so. It will begin with an address, given tomorrow. Others will help you, but the words must be your own. The crimes. The lies. The demon inside."
At that, a fragment of the old Lara surfaced. She looked up and met Witzgenstein's sharp blue eyes for a moment, before flicking rapidly away.
Janine laughed. "Ah, there you are. Lara. My dear. I'm no monster. The things I've done that were cruel, that seemed evil to you, or petty, were just my ways of shaking off my own shackles. I'm purer now, with my own demon finally gone. I rejoice every day that he left the borders of our country."
Lara shook her head, looking at her hands in her lap, fidgeting with her nails.
"Of course, I'm speaking of Amo," Witzgenstein went on. "The devil speaks to us in subtle guises, child. In time you will see all the ways in which he led us astray. You will see the cult of idolatry he built around himself, and the inner circle of the lost who defended his many sins to the hilt. You will take responsibility for your role at the side of this Antichrist, and pay amends, and so with atonement you will be forgiven."
Lara froze. It was suddenly hard to breathe. Again a piece of her old self rose up, and she found the nerve to speak. "Antichrist?"
She felt Witzgenstein beaming at her. No more needed to be said, but still she went on.
"All of it, Lara. Every gulp of that man's poisoned chalice, from the moment you were seduced by his fair white skin to his last murder at your side. Every one of us must shake off his depraved legacy. Only then will we enter a new time of peace and prosperity. Only then will the others come to us, and hold us in their arms, and sing Hosannas on the National Mall."
Once more Lara found the momentary strength to look up. This time Witzgenstein winked.
"Only then will we be safe from the fires of hell that consumed New LA. It fell for its moral turpitude, Lara. Racial disharmony. Gross iniquity. An abandonment of God's laws. With your help I will repair those cracks in our national character. America will rule the world once more, and you will stand by my side when that happens, with your children in my care. Love, really, is what I mean to preach. Beginning with your speech, Lara. They will provide you with pen and paper. The speech is scheduled for tomorrow, at midday, on the South Lawn. Everyone will be there. That is all."
Witzgenstein stood and went to her desk.
A chill came into the air. Lara felt that she'd been dismissed, and forgotten. The glow of Witzgenstein's attention had moved away, and left her as less. She rose like a guilty child, not daring to look again at where Janine sat, signing documents. The warmth rising off her still was palpable, like a demon on the line.
Lara went to the door, camouflaged in the wall, and knocked.
Crow opened it, smiling kindly. "You see," he said earnestly. "Lara, you see?"
She did. She felt calmer inside. For the first time in a long time, she knew what she had to do. Renouncing Amo would be easy. It was the right thing to do.
"A pen," she said quietly. "Paper. Witzgenstein said so."
"Witzgenstein said so," Crow answered, like a mantra. "Come."
8. ANNULMENT
That clarity faded.
"It's the Lincoln Bedroom," Crow said, as he deposited her in a large square room on the second floor of the White House. The walls were a golden geometric pattern, the curtains hung in golden billows, the floor was a rich red and green tapestry, but for all that she was st
ill a prisoner. "For the President's most honored guests."
Lara stood where he left her.
"President," she said dully.
"She's not so bad," Crow protested gently. "Lara. I know you can see it."
He moved round to face her. He was the same Crow, but different, just like she was the same Lara, but different. Something was changing that she didn't understand. Something was slipping inside her like a worm, gumming at her thoughts insidiously, changing things.
"Not so bad? She crushed us, Crow. She didn't have to do that, but she did. She was destroying supply cairns, hurting all of us, just to make us surrender." She paused, almost too weary to go on. Outrage was beyond her. Crow already knew this. "On the stage in LA she wanted me dead. You all watched, and what was my crime? Being married to Amo. Amo was just trying to protect us. But she would have cheered as Drake killed me."
Crow shook his head. "You've got it all mixed up, Lara. No. Amo was the one. He hurt us all. Witzgenstein was even trying to save him. She never would have let Drake hurt you. And what has she done to you, Lara, really? Given you food. Taken care of you when you needed it. Given you a suite of honor." He gestured round at the golden walls. "We were on our knees, and she had mercy. She's a good person, really. Amo just covered it up."
Lara barely managed a sigh. She felt so tired.
"She put us on our knees. What's happened to you, Crow?" His face was the same proud, dark oval, like the carved figurehead on a mighty ship, but his eyes weren't the same. He looked like a ghost, haunting himself. "It's only been three days."
He shrugged, smiled. "We were on our knees, and she had mercy. That's what I remember. We were tired and hungry and beaten. Then she came, and Lara, things have been better since then." He beamed. "I'm working with the children, and they adore her. They light up when she's near. She's kind."
"She's not kind," Lara said, her voice sounding as if from very far away. "I haven't seen my children."
Crow's face turned sad. The emotion was too simple. "I know. That was hard on her, I think."
"It was hard on me."
Crow took her hand.
"You're doing so well, Lara. Just listen." He squeezed her fingers. "Listen to your heart. This is a good place. Try to see past the lies Amo built for you, and see this new world. And if it's hard, if it seems cruel, that's only because she wants you to get better. Medicine doesn't taste good, does it? But we need it, so we can live a better life."
He smiled at her eagerly, like she was a child. Arguing with him felt like holding back the ocean. "It's lies," she said quietly.
"What are lies?" Crow asked. "She likes you, that's real, despite everything you've done. You should be grateful. I know I am. I feel at home here."
Lara looked at him, feeling shattered. The fear from before was gone, replaced with a sullen deadness inside. "You feel at home. Here. With her."
He nodded. "I know how it looks. She has me stand at her side, her 'red man' for all to see. You'll be her 'black woman', I understand, but what is so wrong with that? It's what we are. There's no shame."
Lara felt tired. She swayed, and Crow guided her into a chair, at a desk. He set her pen and paper before her.
"Take your medicine," he said, with a hint of concern in his voice. "Make her proud. Don't upset her."
Lara snorted. "Or she'll banish me?"
"She has your children, Lara," Crow said softly, then paused. "We have them."
Lara looked up into his eyes. They no longer seemed so kind. The strength she saw there was rallied against her, now, not on her side. "We," she repeated.
"We," he said again, seemingly finding strength in the word. "Some prices are worth paying. We're building something great here. You'll be a part of it. I want you to be."
She slumped away from him. Her hands settled on the desk.
"I'll leave you to your thoughts," Crow said, and padded quietly away over the fine carpet.
"Wait," Lara called, as he opened the door.
"Yes?"
"Amo said not to stop. I know you remember that. The other bunkers may shoot us down, just like they did New LA. Another nuclear bomb, Crow."
Crow smiled widely. "You don't need to worry about that. Amo was a liar, manufacturing fear to maintain control. I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't set that explosion himself. Anyway, now we have Witzgenstein to protect us. However you look at it, that explosion was really God's judgment, wasn't it, raining down hell as a warning to us. Don't you see? Now that Amo is gone, we're free! If the bunkers even exist, which there's no proof of, then they'll have no reason to see us as their enemy. They will know Janine never did anything but reach out to them with God's loving hand."
Lara swayed. Every word felt like a punch, dizzying her, throwing her off balance. "You don't even believe in God."
"People change," he said. Then he gave a little nod, like he was approving his own answer, and ducked out, closing the door and locking it behind him.
Lara turned forward, to where the pen and paper rested on the red leather top of the pedestal desk. The Lincoln Bedroom. She stroked the leather surface, like the cover of her Bible in her convoy prison. It was warm and supple. Had President Abraham Lincoln sat at this very desk, she wondered, once upon a time? Had he signed the Emancipation Proclamation here, freeing her ancestors from slavery? Now what kind of proclamation would she write, signing herself into a new kind of slavery?
Lies.
Hell.
The Antichrist.
A missile would come. She knew that for certain, even if the rest was starting to dissolve into mush. Amo had said so, but it was getting harder to keep a grip on what he'd said, and what was true. He'd also promised he'd come back to her, but he hadn't. He wasn't here now, and she was alone. Witzgenstein's words echoed in the emptiness inside.
She wanted to see her children. They were an ache in her chest, wearing her down. She wanted her baby to be safe. There were so many things she wanted, and was doing this so hard really, as the price to get them?
With one hand on her belly she picked up the pen, set it to the paper, and began to write.
* * *
Crow brought her speech back three times, each time with large sections scratched out in red ink and replaced with short, sharp sentences.
I annul my relationship with Amo.
Each time her speech grew shorter, and sharper.
I annul my relationship with the place once known as New LA.
She accepted that New LA was gone. She accepted her responsibility.
I annul my relationship with my children, and with the infant I am now carrying.
The last round of changes stopped her. She looked up at Crow.
"I can't say this," she said.
His expression didn't change. No sympathetic smile. He was growing harder. "You have to, Lara. It doesn't mean you'll never see them. It just means they need time to recover. They need stability, peace, and when they see you, that peace is broken. They'll just see you screaming like yesterday. They'll see Amo with Drake's blood on his hands. You're unstable, and we want to protect them."
Though she was numb, the tears still came. "Protect them from me?"
Crow remained unswayed. "Look at how they fared under you, Lara. They were starving. They were refugees. They were alone, because you were too busy driving and planning against Janine. You've been a poor mother, and we can't allow that to continue." He tapped the speech. "This is it, now. No changes. Deliver it well."
He left her gasping.
A bad mother.
Unstable.
Annulled.
Food was pushed through her door, the same as before. A wet towel was pushed through her door. They gave her a bucket and tissue paper. She sat at the window and looked out over the wild White House lawns, more broken than she'd ever thought possible. There was always something more to lose.
It didn't matter that she'd been fleeing a nuclear bomb. It didn't matter that Witzgenstein had been destroying s
upply caches. She had been a bad mother to her children. She hadn't made time. She hadn't been strong enough.
She sat and dreamed of another time.
She and Amo were strolling through the tall corn crops of Chino Hills, way back at their first harvest. She was only moments away from telling him, for the very first time, that she was pregnant, and the anticipation of it was making her sick. She'd been so excited, and it felt like every thing he said to her was a confession that yes, he already knew, he'd noticed, sorry to spoil the surprise.
But it had been a surprise. When she told him he'd been floored. He'd laughed, then cried a little, then hugged her too hard and let go bashfully, then ate a piece of unripe corn and spat it out, and kissed her, and capered like an idiot and lifted her up then put her down, and perhaps it was one of her happiest moments ever.
Annulled.
Birds flickered across the greenery out there, like sprites in one of Amo's video games. He'd always tried to get her to play. Once she'd gone into the 'Darkness' with him and Cerulean and accepted the 'tour' they took her on, all three of them walking abreast down digital alleyways, collecting whatever their clicking little diviners popped up.
"I don't get it," she'd said.
"There's nothing to get," Amo had said. Cerulean had been laughing in the real world; she could hear him sitting next to her. "It's relaxing."
"It's boring."
"Boredom is a bandage," Cerulean said, through his warm chuckles. "Look, Blucy!"
There was a girl with blue hair, but she wasn't doing anything special. She was just standing there. Lara strolled with them until even Amo was laughing too.
"OK, yes, it's dull to a normal person," he admitted.
"So this is what you guys do together all the time," she'd muttered, taking off the VR goggles. "I'd rather watch gray fuzz on the TV."
Cerulean found that really funny. As she left the room, she heard him muttering quietly to Amo, "I used to watch the gray screen all the time."
The Lies (Zombie Ocean Book 8) Page 10