Music Girl

Mom had been on the phone for over an hour now, and she wouldn’t let me into the kitchen where she was. In short, something vastly important and probably bad was going on.

My time in Boston was coming to a close. I didn’t want to leave, just like I hadn’t in August, but this time it seemed worse. A simple taste of freedom wasn’t enough – I wanted the full-course meal.

Aravic was completely miserable, and I don’t blame him one bit. Nothing really seemed to comfort him though, which was frustrating. But at least I wasn’t the only one trying (and pretty much failing) to cheer him up. Nic talked to him a lot, and even Jacoby offered to teach him how to fight. It wasn’t that they knew what had happened (Aravic had asked me not to tell), but everyone could tell that it was something bad, so they comforted him as best they could.

“Sam, I need to talk to you.”

Finally, Mom was off the phone and had come out into the living room where I was reading a book on my make-shift bed. “Is it about that phone call?” I asked, setting the book down.

“Yes. That was Na—your father,” she said, sitting down in her usual chair.

“Great, what did he want?”

Mom gave me a stern look before continuing. “He said he’s coming up on the fifteenth to DC for the President’s Inauguration. He’s taking Tomas, so he thinks you and Aravic would be benefited from it, too.”

All I could say was, “Wow.” Father never did anything nice for me.

“Yes, I was surprised as well. He talked to the school – your teachers are going to e-mail you your work, and you and Aravic are going to stay here until the fifteenth when I’ll drive you two down to DC, then you’ll fly home the day after the inauguration.”

That was a pretty sweet deal. “Is Rachel going to be there?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Did he… say anything about Aravic?”

“He said Social Services contacted him a few days ago and that they’re going to get everything settled when they’re back in Denver.”

“Great. I’ll go tell Aravic, then.”

-

Aravic seemed a little happier at the news that we got to miss about two weeks of school. “Plus, I’ve never been to DC,” he added before shutting himself back up in my room.

Over our extended time there, Miryah and I did a little shopping and cross-dressing so we could play music in the streets, Nic finally took out the stitches he had put in my arm from the gash I got before Christmas, I won three fights, and Jacoby taught me some new Aikido moves.

The night before Aravic and I were due to leave, I had Alex take a look at the bit of audio Aravic had recorded back at the beginning of December. Alex frowned as he listened to it.

“Who was that again?”

“The first voice was my brother Tomas, and the second was Antonio. He’s the leader of the Skulls in Denver.”

“Oh, I know who he is. He’s got quite a few connections on the East Coast. I mess with the branch over here’s communications a lot, and he pops up every so often. So who do you think he’s talking about?”

“I don’t know anymore. Someone important though.”

“Obviously.”

“Well… I thought for a bit they maybe wanted my father, but why would Regalists kill each other?”

“Why indeed.”

“So then I thought… Ryan Mull.”

“The guy who got elected who everyone thinks is a Regalist?”

“When he really isn’t? Yeah, him. But I mean… no one knows he’s rebellious. And he’s now the President, so why would a guy like Antonio get hired to take him out?”

“Well, if I remember right, he used to be a Marine sniper for a while,” said Alex, moving over to his computer. He typed for almost a minute before he spoke again. “Yeah, he joined up when he was eighteen, but was dishonorably discharged at twenty-four.”

“For what?”

“Stabbing a fellow soldier in combat,” Alex replied grimly. “So it looks like he could be a potential assassin. And a good one, too.”

“So… what do you think?” I asked, anxious for a near-professional opinion.

“I think… I think it might not be as far-fetched of an idea,” Alex finally said, frowning heavily at his computer.

-

We had to leave first thing in the morning in order to make it to DC to meet my father’s plane. The good-byes had been heartbreaking, and I tried not to think about them. Even Aravic seemed to be a little sad about leaving Boston.

The car ride was a long and boring one, which mainly composed of looking out the windows and listening to music. I didn’t want to read because I’d get carsick, so I filled my head with new music instead.

It was nearly two when we finally pulled in to Ronal Reagan National Airport. Mom parked the car and we wound our way through the parking lot and into the airport. It was packed with travelers of all sorts of different nationalities, and I think I heard about ten different languages just on our way towards baggage claim. At least Aravic and I didn’t look too out of place, seeing as we were both hauling luggage.

We only had to wait around for a few minutes before we saw Farther and Tomas in the crowd. My spirits soared when I realized Rachel wasn’t with them.

“Hello, Rebecca,” Father said coolly as he approached us, leaving Tomas to get their bags.

“Nathan,” Mom replied, nodding. “I trust you can take them from here?”

“Yes. My chauffer is waiting outside.”

“Good.” She turned to us. “Alright sweetheart, be good. Write me,” she said, hugging me tight.

“I’ll e-mail,” I promised, and she kissed my cheek.

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

She released me and shook Aravic’s hand. “It was nice to meet you, Aravic,” she said with a kind smile.

“You too. Thanks for everything,” he replied, managing a smile himself.

“Let’s go,” Father said, dumping his suitcase at my feet. Gritting my teeth, I shuffled my own bags around and picked up his as well, staggering under all the combined weight.

“Let me,” Aravic mumbled as we walked, reaching for Father’s bag.

“I got it,” I snapped back, pulling away from him.

We walked back outside and into a pick-up area. People and drivers swarmed around us, rushing to leave. I didn’t even need to follow Father and Tomas to find our ride – it’s kind of hard to miss a limo. The driver and I filled the trunk with suitcases and the four of us were ushered into the back.

“To St. Regis,” Father told the driver, and we were off back through the streets of DC.

“So Aravic? How was your vacation?” Father asked coolly, pouring himself some wine from the cooler. What a stupid, insensitive question.

“Um, alright,” Aravic replied as normally as he could. “I liked Boston.”

“Good, good.”

“Hey Aravic, I got the new X-Box Virtue,” said Tomas excitedly. “We can play it once we’re home.”

“Cool.”

Well, at least when Rachel wasn’t around, Father simply ignored me. I just sipped fruit juice and watched the snowy city from out the window silently. I could easily deal with being ignored.

We passed the Mall and the White House on the way to the hotel. There was a crew of people setting up in the President’s Park for the inauguration tomorrow afternoon. Even as we pulled up to the hotel, I could still see the white buildings down the street.

A valet met us at the curb, opening the door and unloading our luggage for us. As I gout out, I pulled a crumpled five out of my pocket and handed it to him. He nodded in thanks and continued to load suitcases onto a roller thing. He pushed it after us as my father lead us into the lobby.

Impressive as the marble building was, it’s columns and reception desks and plush chairs reminded me of the STECo building, giving me the chills. We got checked in and escorted up to our suite. Miraculously, though there were only three bedrooms, I was allowed my own room because Tomas declared sharing a room with Aravic. I didn’t know which surprised me more; Tomas sharing or Father letting me have more luxury than my brother. Either way, I was grateful, and moved my belongings into my room, which consisted of royal purple covers on the bed, an armchair by a fireplace, and my own flatscreen TV, among other things. Just as I started to dig through one of my bags for a book, I heard Tomas and Aravic’s voices from the room next to me.

“I don’t know how the fuck you were able to put up with my sister for that long,” Tomas said.

“It wasn’t that bad. I’m used to her by now,” Aravic replied.

“Yeah, I guess you have been.”

“She is really hot.”

“Whatever.” Silence. “You sure you’re not getting attached to her?”

“What? No, I’m sure. My only attachment is when I’m fucking her.”

“Good.”

I frowned. What the hell had that been all about? Was Aravic lying… or not? Like I cared either way, but – well, I thought he had changed.

-

“This is the stupidest thing ever,” Tomas complained as we walked down the street, sloshing through slushy snow on the sidewalk. “Why is this in the park? I thought this was supposed to be outside the Congress building?”

“It was a special request by of President Elect,” Father replied in a tone implying he didn’t think much of Mull.

“Mull’s probably worried about repercussion,” I muttered to Aravic.

“That’s why he wants it in the park,” he replied in an equally low voice. “Even the closest buildings are too far away for a gun man.”

I just nodded.

We were directed around the White House and through a gate where we were ID checked before entering the park. There was a decorated stage, podium and speakers set up at the north end, and there were already hundreds of people milling around, waiting for the inauguration to start.

Somehow, Father had managed to get us reserved seats right in front of the stage. It was unnerving, being so close to the Secret Service agents with their clearly visible guns, but reassuring at the same time. I kept scanning the crowd for Antonio’s face, but it was impossible to focus on just one face. Aravic shot me a questioning look, as if asking if I had seen anything, so I shook my head no.

Finally, the seats on the stage filled in, and when the crowd was quiet, the Chief Justice stood with Corey Oles, a balding man and new VP. The Justice had the Royal Book in his hands.

“Please place your hand on the book,” the Justice said, and Oles did so. He had a faint smile on his face that I didn’t like at all. “Please repeat after me.”

And so Oles did. “I, Corey Oles, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitutions of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me, Holy Creator.”

Applause and cheering, but I was suspicious. Something besides his smile was making my skin crawl.

The marine band started up and played some music, along with Hail, Columbia. I checked my phone. It was just a minute after noon.

When the band settled down, Mull now stood. He made Oles look frail and old by comparison with his imposing height and neat, dark hair. He stood with composure before the Justice and placed his hand on the Royal Book. His voice was strong and confident as he repeated his oath.

“I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States. So help me God.”

“Yes,” I muttered excitedly. He had said God. Not Holy Creator.

The band started playing again, but I could just make out the Justice saying, “Mr. President, you said, ‘God,’ not, ‘Holy Creator’.”

Mull smiled. “Yes, I know,” he said.

The men giving the 21-Gun Salute were marching into position between the stage and the barrier we were behind. As Hail to the Chief started, I shoved my fingers in my ears.

“Ready! Aim! Fire!”

Gun shots rang out, but there was one that seemed louder and to last longer. Then screaming. The whole park filled with screaming. Mull was lying on the stage, blood seeping from the hole in his forehead, and the open Royal Book was by his hand, spotted with Mull’s blood.