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“This will be your cubicle. You share it with two other interns,” some no-name staff coordinator had said, pointing to a depressing looking box. At the time it could have been Oz’s Royal Palace, I was that enamored. The coordinator went over sexual harassment (HA!) and a few other rudimentary things before giving me my task. I was to stamp and mail flyers to campaign supporters.
The day flew by quickly. I felt like a member of the team. Becca Riley, Morris’s campaign manager and resident rattlesnake, stopped by the desk to wish me luck on my first day. I nearly fainted. Then, as if the day couldn’t get any better for naive me, Morris himself walked in.
Mitch Morris was an icon. With perfectly maintained dyed blond hair, blue eyes, and an Abercrombie jaw, he was the epitome of the all-American boy. When I thought back on the time, I was sickened by myself. Sickened, because I knew if he’d just asked me to sleep with him, I would have said yes. Instead he’d decided to force it.
Over the months, I’d felt myself change. I used to be so hopeful and naive. I thought the world could be a better place. I thought we were all working toward the same goal: a better tomorrow. I was an idiot, I guess. Now, I’m still working toward that goal, but I now know you can’t fight evil with good, you have to fight evil with evil.
I walked along the empty cubicles and desks, the dark night illuminating the surfaces in gray. The lonesome office was such a stark contrast to the day. During the daylight hours the office was a mess of phone calls, yelling, and paper shuffling. Everyone had a job to do; most had multiple jobs to do. It felt like I was walking through a ghost town.
I had a job to do, even now: take down Senator Mitch Morris. Fight evil with evil. My plan was to get him indicted on some other charge, even if it was phony. If I couldn’t prove he was an evil, raping bastard, I was going to get him into jail somehow.
To start, I needed access to his computer and a few aids’ computers. It was going to be a long process. I’d need access to his home, his office, and maybe even a few others’ computers. It would be worth it, though, if it got rid of Morris—at least, that’s what I was telling the gnawing in my gut. That’s what I was telling the icky sliding feeling that made me feel like I was losing myself completely.
I was dressed in all black, wearing a black shirt, black leggings, and gloves. Maybe it was cliche, but I hadn’t exactly had cat burglar training. I had taken Anthropology instead of Intro to Framing in college. I was going off whatever I had seen on TV and read in books. They taught me: wear all black and bring a knife.
I left my gun in the car. Only bring what you can comfortably run with. I didn’t know where to stash my gun since I was wearing all tight clothing. Also, I was trying to be inconspicuous. I figured dressed in black with a noticeable gun bulge sort of screams “I’m up to no good.”
As I looked through files on the computer, I heard a sound. I ejected my USB and ducked down, out of sight, my breathing hitched. I hadn’t expected anyone to be at the office, and perhaps that assumption would be my undoing.
I waited for what felt like hours, but when I checked my phone it had only been minutes. I decided to wait for a few more before getting up. For all I knew the sound had been in my head. As I got ready to stand I heard the sound again, this time much clearer: “No, Senator Morris!”
My gut turned to ice. I knew that sound. I had made that sound. I ran to the location of the voice, no longer caring whether or not I drew attention.
I ran into the alley after hearing the sound of distress, but when I burst forth it was silent. The silence was a haunting yet brutally magnifying force. It magnified the crush of my shoes against the snow and made my breathing nearly deafening. Even though it was the dead of night, the white snow lit up the night. I could see everything.
There’s something inherently eerie about night. Call it biology or call it mumbo jumbo, but my senses are always on high alert when the moon comes out. Outside in the alley, a light breeze was blowing that gave me goose bumps. The breeze carried the smell of a nearby Chinese restaurant and the night air became an amalgam of fried egg rolls and that dark earthy smell that seems to only come on Halloween night. Lucky me, it was the middle of December and it smelled like creepy ass Halloween.
I trailed my hands against the cool brick exterior, feeling the grooves and loose grains against my gloved finger. The breeze was chilly and smooth on my arm, like an unwanted lover. Even though everything appeared fine, something stuck in my gut like a twisted knife. Something still wasn’t right.
Still trailing my hands on the brick, I turned the alley corner so that I was no longer on the side of the building but at its back. I peered up at the moon. It was copper colored, like blood, supposedly a rare occurrence. People called it beautiful, but I knew better. Nothing that beautiful could come without strings.
The alley was illuminated only by the moon, but the bright white snow meant I could see everything clearly. Too clearly. I saw him. Senator Mitch Morris had a girl pinned against the wall, his hand down her skirt. Her face was frozen in terror and his hand was over her mouth.
No. No. No. No.
The memories threatened to crash back like a tsunami destroying an island. I fell against the wall, trying to catch my breath. I could have turned back and never seen it. I could have continued with my plan and never been in the situation. I still could…
The girl let out another pleading cry and Morris shoved his hand harder against her mouth. Her eyes watered in pain.
Dammit. I had to do something.
I shoved my own memories back until I was completely, utterly numb. If you had pierced me with a needle I would have felt nothing. Walking slowly up to Morris, I prepared to make my move. I sidled up behind him until I was so close I could smell the sickeningly sweet aroma of his aftershave—an expensive cologne, probably. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet, and a raping monster with any other scent is still as evil.
Morris didn’t notice me. He was too busy being a lecher. The girl he was assaulting, however, did. Her eyes widened, threatening to pop out. I wished I could have given her some hint that I was her friend, but in order to do what I was about to do, I had to go completely numb. I couldn’t feel anything. Compassion was gone.
The only weapon on my body was the knife and my knife training consisted of cutting up tomatoes. Somehow, I thought Morris would be a little more difficult than the occasional slippery tomato. I was only about a foot away from him. My gut clenched.
I could leave. I could turn around and run away and he would never know. I could still get out.
But I didn’t.
Because that girl was me once, and everyone had turned and run away from me.
I swallowed and turned off my brain. Thoughts would only hurt. Getting ready to use my knife, I elbowed Morris in the neck. He coughed and sputtered, taken off guard. Using that to my advantage, I pressed him against the wall, knife to neck.
Morris wasn’t a big man. He was maybe only an inch or two taller than my 5’7” self, but his presence was imposing. As I shoved him against the brick wall, I had to keep reminding myself that I was the one with the knife.
Finally I had evidence. Finally a witness to take down Morris. I wouldn’t need to frame him. It was one thing if one intern called him a rapist. You could call one intern a liar and a whore, but when two interns come out of the woodwork…and what if—now I was just dreaming here—but what if when me and the new girl came out, more of his victims surfaced?
