"Really, Serena, I'm just relaxing and looking forward to things just calming down a little bit."
"What about this Impeachment and Resignation Ceremony? Are you looking forward to that?” Serena looks again to her audience. “For those of you who live in a cave and don't know, there's going to be a gala ceremony to mark the disgrace of The President, and his formal removal from the canon of divine leadership. They set up this table, you see, and ritualistically re-enact the Last Supper. Key cabinet members play the roles of various apostles. Andrew Jefferson, Security's Head, will be cast as Peter—you know, the ‘three times deny me’ guy—” she turns to Leslie. “And I hear that your old boss, Guard Tom Russell has been selected by congress to play the part of Judas Iscariot. That must be gratifying."
Leslie takes a deep breath but doesn't reply. She gazes off to the side of the stage.
"You know these newfangled formal traditions fascinate me,” Serena continues. She turns again to the audience. “Really, I find it most fitting Father Washington's final task in office is to act out the sacrifice of his own body and blood. Don't you think? Don't you think?"
There's a burst of approval from the crowd—they hoot and whistle, they raise up their hands and applaud. When the noise finally subsides, Serena turns expectantly to her guest, licking her glistening lips. Saint Leslie of Security hesitates. Her face goes blank. Then she smiles. “Well I ... I mean.... “She shrugs. “Yes, I'm sure it'll be a lot of fun."
* * * *
In her sleep she stands on the rocks that jut from the sands of low tide. She's even gotten out of the habit of searching for that lost tide, that watery blanket over her memory. The smells assault her. Amniotic and sexual, the rusty smell of blood, her own acrid sweat—cinnamon and musk, now not only reminding her of her father, but Roger too. When she's awake it's enough to know Everett has been locked up, Roger has escaped, Washington and Russell have been disgraced. But in her sleep, low tide fills her with terror. She writhes in the snarled mass of her wet sheets, and the fear is the sting of her father's fist, the choked, shadowy silence of Tommy Russell, the bursts of light set off when her head bounces off her father's floor. Darkness, broken and desperate fingernails, the complete loss of control over her body. No revenge could ever compensate this terror. Yet even while she still feels unsated, she wonders how Tommy Russell is healing.
One day she will run again. The thought almost feels like the old stretching arms of the head mem inside her. Maybe she'll search for Roger and the fetus. But even that's uncertain now, because if she found them she might not be alone anymore.
Her solitude is all she has. It doesn't seem like too much of a sacrifice. And it gives her the only control she has ever known. She stands on the jagged black stones of her memory and she knows, for the first time, what really belongs to her.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Although new on the science fiction scene, Andrew Tisbert has been nominated for the Sidewise Award for Alternate History, alongside such luminaries as Harry Turtledove and Paul Reed. His fiction has appeared in Paradox Magazine, Talebones, Son and Foe, and the L. Ron Hubbard Writers of the Future anthology.
Originally from Vermont and Upstate New York, a series of dubious decisions left him currently exiled in Los Angeles, where he divides his time performing as a flutist in an alternative metal rock band, finishing his next two novels, arguing politics, and working with the homeless.
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Visit www.lachesispublishing.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.
The Rise and Falling Out of Saint Leslie of Security Page 20