Power: A forbidden-romance by Margaret McHeyzer

Author:Margaret McHeyzer [McHeyzer, Margaret]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Margaret McHeyzer
Published: 2022-06-30T16:00:00+00:00

“Governor Mallory Shepherd,” Jamie whispers as we approach ground zero. Jamie is good about reminding me of names.

“Mallory,” I say as I take in the havoc surrounding us. “I’m sorry I’m here under these horror-filled circumstances. What do we know?” I’ve already been briefed on the plane over, but what more has happened?

“The shooter has been killed.”

“Talk to me about the injured and killed.” I feel sick to my stomach looking at the mass graveyard in front of me. It’s not the first time I’ve seen body bags, and it never gets easier.

“Fifty-three people have been killed, and thirty-two have been injured. Three are being operated on as we speak.”

“I know the shooter is dead, but tell me about him. What could possess a man to open fire at a damn music festival?”

“He had a fully automatic assault weapon. His name was Bill James, and he was thirty-eight years old.” Fuck, he’s my age. “He lost his job because he’s a drug addict, and he got his hands on a weapon.” There are so many problems in that one statement.

“It wasn’t just a weapon, it’s a fully automatic assault rifle.”

“Yes, Mr. President.” Governor Shepherd says through clenched teeth. She and her party are staunch supporters of easy access to all weapons. “He didn’t purchase the rifle here in my state,” she says probably aware of what I’m about to say.

“This is a gun-friendly state, yet you have one of the highest gun violence rates in the country. After seeing this do you still believe background checks aren’t necessary to purchase weapons?”

“He didn’t buy it in my state,” she argues stubbornly.

“Tell that to the fifty-three people in these bags and the thirty-two who’ve been injured. Go to each of their families and tell them the shooter didn’t obtain the weapon in your state.”

“Mr. President—”

“What’s the age range of the people who died?” I ask, completely and coldly cutting her off.

“The youngest was ten, and the oldest was thirty-one.”

Ten fucking years old. The same age as Emily. I flash a look to Jamie, who distracts Mallory, allowing me a moment to walk away from her. The deathly scene before me is heart-breaking, soul-destroying. We can’t keep seeing devastation like this on a daily basis. This violence is mindless, and I need to do something about it.

I notice a woman sitting on the edge of the sidewalk. Her head is down and her hands are up around her head. It’s obvious to me she’s grieving the loss of a loved one. I walk over to her and sit beside her on the sidewalk. Mark is close by; the other Secret Service agents are fanned out around me. I gesture for them to back away. “How are you doing?” I ask the woman who looks up and startles back when she notices who’s talking to her.

“Mr. Pres—”

“It’s Bennett,” I softly correct her. “Did you lose someone here?”

Her eyes are red, and her cheeks are streaked from the tears falling from them. “Both of my daughters,” she says in a whisper.

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