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I look around his office and grab a few of his private receipts. Ones that confirm his damnation. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the photo album. He shouldn’t keep this memorialized slaughter at his fingertips so grab it and head out.
I walk out of his office and through the government building with blinders on. He must have shown this album to whoever sat in the same chair I did.
I hustle down the street and dip into a hole-in-the-wall restaurant. Walking to the back, where the bathroom is, I step in and lock the door behind me. Taking everything out of my bag, I flip it inside out and repack it differently, leaving out a few pieces of clothing. I spit out the fake teeth, wrap them in toilet paper, and put them in a sanitary bag. In the trash they go. I run my fingers through my combed hair and grab dry shampoo, spraying it throughout my hair. Messing it up a bit. I peel off the suffocating blazer and fold it nicely and hang it on the handicap bar. Maybe someone can use this more than me. I switch out the button-up politics façade for jeans and a comfy T-shirt.
Cleaning up what I can and trashing what I don’t need, I throw the bag over my shoulders like a backpack. Exiting the bathroom, I stand at the front to order a few sandwiches and sides.
I grab the food and drinks and head out to the park. Finding a bench out in the open, I sit down and pull a smaller bag from my belongings to place on the bench next to me. I wait a few moments before a kid runs up to me, smiling.
“Mr. Davis?” he asks. I nod. “Old MacDonald had a what?”
I smirk at the kid and hand him the bag. “A pig.” He reaches for the bag and I hold on for a second. He looks at me worriedly before I slide him twenty dollars and his toothless grin is adorable. “For your troubles.”
“No trouble at all!” He runs away.
With this meeting complete, I walk away from the park and climb into my car to go home. The entire way, I’m feeling the anxiety and stress mounting. The photo album sits in my bag and the front of my brain. There is only one person alive to whom I can talk to.
I walk in the door to my cabin and place the food on the coffee table. Looking at the basement door, I stomp down the stairs to a startled Kevin. Holding my hands up to show him I will not hurt him, he relaxes as I pull out my keys and throw them to him.
“We need to talk,” is all I say. He stares at me and his eyes agree.
I wave at him to follow. On my way up the steps, I hear the metal and mechanism of the handcuffs striking together. Kevin’s confused presence behind me is annoying. I point to the couch, and he quickly sits, eyeing the food. I turn on the TV to the news and sit next to Kevin. As I’m handing him a sandwich and chips, the “Breaking News” headline flashes across the screen.
The news anchor delivers an earth-shattering story about Senator Townes. His exposure to prostitution, BDSM, his girlfriend, boyfriend, interns, and fraudulent activities he used the people’s money for. Pictures, documents, text messages, everything is now in the open. The biggest connection is DuPont.
Reporters are camped outside the senator’s family home. His wife and kids are peering through the windows at the news cameras, who are all sitting like hunters waiting for their prey.
“Oh, fuck!” Kevin expresses. “I never thought I’d see the day.”
We sit and watch the mess unfold as the senator pulls into the driveway. He looks around, confused, and he doesn’t realize the chaos that has happened. He rushes up to his house, patting his pockets, looking for his phone.
His wife meets him at the door with a slap to his face. Hard. This was her last straw. You can see them fighting with each other before she pushes him off the porch. She walks inside and slams the door. He turns and runs to his car, trying to avoid the mass of questions.
I mute the television and sit back on the couch. Kevin focuses on the TV, not noticing me bringing out the photo album. I drop it on the coffee table and watch the color drain from his face.
“We need to talk,” I say.
He drops his food back on the table and sits back on the couch. A look of disgust forms on his face.
“It’s my nightmare.” He stares.
“It’s mine as well.” We sit side by side, harboring the same terror. I walk to the kitchen to grab each of us a beer. I hand him one while he huffs. He takes a big swig of his beer before he takes a deep breath.
“Let’s do this,” he whispers.
CHAPTER 9
BLENDED TRAUMA
Adam
I watch Kevin stare at the news screen.
“Connection to DuPont Enterprises” displays across the screen, and we both zone out for a moment.
“He won’t fall,” Kevin expresses.
“He will fall.” I stare alongside him. “Kevin, what exactly was your role overseas?”
