She took a deep breath, wishing she had some D to settle her nerves and calm her. She knew it would have been a shitty idea to be high when idiots like Ernesto were introducing her to the American public, but the drug was the only thing that drove Arthur out of her head when she started thinking too much and she didn’t want to think—
“Ms. Stone, do you not want to answer the question?” said a piercing voice, jolting her from her thoughts.
“What? I’m sorry, could you repeat the question?” she asked, trying to blink away the lights, searching to see who had asked the question.
“First, I have to say you were amazing,” said a young blonde woman near the back, pushing up her glasses. Even from this distance, Gwen could see how wide her eyes were, her smile barely constrained. “What I asked was how did they manage to take you down? The TV footage showed you absolutely demolishing the enemy.”
Gwen laughed to herself, realizing that the young journalist was clearly older than her, admiration shining in her eyes. “I think I just pushed myself a little too far. I can get a little carried away,” she said, trying to give her what she hoped was a warm smile.
“I have a question for you, young lady,” said an older reporter pushing her way to the front, her iron-gray hair tied into a harsh bun and wearing a no-nonsense tweed pantsuit.
“Yes, of course, that’s what we’re here for,” said Gwen, giving her a tight-lipped smile and feeling a little nervous, her stomach twisting in knots. The reporter glared at her with a penetrating look, her mouth a twisted frown.
“I’m not sure what type of hogwash the Council of Cardinals is trying to sell the American public,” said the journalist in a blunt tone, her voice thin but strong, “but I was a member of the press long before the current era of rubber-stamping. Is it not true that it was you who caused the explosion, that you are responsible for the deaths of over eighty thousand people in the D.C. metro area?”
Gwen sat back in her chair, confused and not sure what to say. The Cardinals had given her the list of questions that would be asked, told her that it would be easy. “I’m not—”
“What’s more, I’ve spoken to many people in Ann Arbor who know you,” she went on, “including an alleged drug dealer named Marco who contacted me after seeing you on TV. He told me you were little more than a junkie and a paid whore! Is this true, Ms. Stone?”
Gwen glared at the older woman, who simply crossed her arms while giving her a smug and knowing smile. She wanted nothing more than to wipe that look off her face, throw her through the wall or maybe fly her up as high as she could and watch her fall to her death. With a start, she began to giggle, a small chuckle at first, slowly growing into full-blown shoulder-shaking laughter, mad laughter that caused the assembled group to look at her in confusion. All except the older reporter who had asked the question. She watched with a mix of pity and self-satisfaction, unaware of what she could do. “Fuck it,” she said, letting the vibrations she always felt now rush through her, like hearing your favorite song played on a loudspeaker, waves of pure sound driving into her soul. In a blink she was above the old woman, yanking her into the air by her collar and darting back to the front of the room before the gaggle of reporters could react, giving the hysterical woman a good shake every time she tried to speak or scream.
Floating above the table, she turned to face the gasping crowd, holding the woman up high for their cameras to see. “Everything this idiot has said about me is true. All those deaths are on my hands, and I gotta live with that. But I’d rather eighty thousand than seven million. That’s the number of people who live in the entire D.C. metro area, and those people are alive because of what I did! Don’t you assholes remember New York? The Russians would have done the same thing in D.C., killed millions of people and drove many more from their homes. I stopped that from happening. And yeah, I was a junkie and I was a whore. I did what I had to. I’m all those shitty things this bitch says I am, but let me tell you, there are way more junkies and whores in America than there are lily-white saints like this lady here,” she said, shaking the shrieking reporter. “America, the pure, shining city on a hill you people talk about; I have no clue where it is. Back in Eight Mile, where I’m from, the only America I know has to be a whore, because there are no freaking jobs for regular folks and it’s the only way to feed your family. Life is so bad, most people can only get through the day by getting high! Right now, the country needs a bitch like me way more than she needs a sweetheart, and if you ask my friends, they’ll tell you I’m one hell of a bitch!”
Gwen didn’t know what to expect. Part of her wanted them to cheer like in the movies, but only the young reporter in the back cheered, bouncing up and down for a moment before catching on to the somber tone of the rest of the assembled group and settling down. Most of the journalists stood stunned at what they had seen and heard. On her side of the table, only Uriel looked up at her with a smile on his metallic face—and oddly enough, Acolyte Ernesto as well. Everyone else looked at her in fear or shame. With a shrug, she dropped the hapless reporter back to the floor and resumed her seat. “Any other questions for me?” she asked with a smirk, daring anyone to challenge her.
She was surprised when the reporter from the back, the blonde who’d cheered her on, raised a nervous hand. “I’m sorry, but my colleague next to me is too scared to ask this question, so he gave it to me.”
“Go ahead. I said I was a bitch, not a monster,” said Gwen, feeling light now, not caring anymore. Everything was out there, what more could they do?
“Here goes nothing,” she said, cocking her head. “My colleague would like to know if the rumors are true, that your recent injuries were caused by an apostate, a member of Divinity Corps who betrayed you, and if so...what are you going to do about it?” she said, finishing in a small voice, cringing as though Gwen would fly over and crush her.
“There is no foundation to this rumor. It’s fake news at its worst,” blustered the acolyte at the podium, sputtering and trying to be heard above the uproar of the journalists who leapt suddenly to their feet.
As Ernesto struggled to be heard over the din, a thought tore through her brain like a tank shell. For the first time since that day, she could see glimmers of clear horizons.
“It’s true!” she said, trying to make herself heard above the stunned crowd, slowly floating once again above the table. She paused, hanging like a marionette on display, giving them a moment to quiet down. “Arthur was my friend,” she began, straining to keep emotion from her voice, “but he betrayed me, his teammates, and most of all, his country. During his escape, he killed dozens of men under his command, including his own mentor, the late Major Bishop O’Connell, a founding member of Divinity Corps. A man who raised Arthur out of poverty and gave him a better life. He would have killed me too, if not for Uriel here,” she said, giving the big man a reassuring look. “I promise everyone in this room, and everyone watching at home, that I will bring him to justice. He will pay for everything he has done, so help me God!”
About The Author
Rhett’s love for all things science fiction grew out of a Sunday morning family tradition of watching Star Trek re-runs on the cbc. His love of storytelling is the result of to many hours as a dungeon master trying to murder his players!
He lives in Pincourt Canada with his wife, daughter, and a crazy calico named Maggie.
If you like gritty, dark science fiction with deep characters you’ve found your author.
If you’ve enjoyed the book please feel free to leave a review on amazon. Even a few lines will be a big help. Click on the link below.
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Ascension: Children of The Spear: Book one Page 29