Author: Peter Sargent
Category: Suspense
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/peter-sargent/page,11,22515-the-dead-reckoner-volume-one-absolution-and-desolation.html
hesitate to introduce herself, but to her it was a comfort. Since this man didn't appear to be a threat, it was a way for Marianne to ease into a familiar and comforting place. Paul Varden had won election less than a year ago. She had become accustomed to stumping for him and engaging in various political discussions. She felt more alive when meeting people this way. Sometimes she couldn't help herself.
“What is it like?” the man said, “I mean, to find out he's such a jerk?”
The woman behind him said, “Richard.”
Richard went on, “For me it just shows what trouble you get into without a moral compass.”
Marianne wasn't taken aback by this opening volley. It was one thing to encounter educated people at dinner parties with differing views, even if they were at times belligerent. More common was some rube accosting her at an airport security line. This occurred with greater frequency than she had expected, but nine times out of ten it came down to someone who took issue with Paul's choice words about religion. He had won his seat by a slim margin. Though popular for positive economic policies as a state senator, Paul had struggled because he was an avowed atheist who had made his name prosecuting church and state separation cases when he was an attorney. Connecticut was a blue state but not quite as blue as its neighbor to the north. Marianne did what she did best and changed the subject to a topic she could argue.
“I don't know if you're from Connecticut or are familiar with what Senator Varden has done there.” she said. “But I would say that he's accomplished what many thought was impossible, which is pursue pro business and green policies. He's been successful at it too. The state now has one of the largest green industry sectors in the country and it's a significant driver of employment.”
That sounded good. Nonetheless, the barrel shaped man pressed on with his original campaign plank.
“Why would you defend such an entitled prick?” His wife tugged at his arm and he continued. “I thought you were some soulless, high powered wall street vampire capitalist. I would've expected you to walk all over him and leave him in your dust.”
Marianne considered the little girl. That was the member of this family her eyes were drawn to. There was dad, a hulking bully. The mom had proven just how impotent she was. What was the hope for their daughter? Marianne put her hand on her belly. She almost swore that she could feel a tiny, tiny heart beating in there. She didn't like to back down. It had always been for own good before, but not now. Maybe she could be a mother after all. Maybe she could stand up as an example. She left the diplomatic talk behind.
“Why should you be afraid of me?” she said. “If a man did what I did, you would call him a winner, not a vampire capitalist. As for my relationship with Senator Varden, I defend him because I believe in what he stands for. If he gave all that up, I wouldn't hesitate to give him up too.”
She wondered if that was really the right thing to say. She tried to read the girl's face and got nothing. The speech was for her, but it probably went over her head. If Marianne was going to do this she needed a little practice.
There was no time to practice here, though. The line had advanced to the security kiosk. Marianne turned and there was the state trooper, staring her down from behind the TSA agent. They didn't stop her though. Marianne put her things in the bin and placed the bins on the conveyor belt. As she approached the scanner portal, she her phone rang from inside the x-ray machine.
She didn't know how to feel. Maybe it was Paul. Maybe he was telling her that everything was fine. Or maybe he was trying to warn her. She could still turn back. Once on the other side, Marianne dashed over to the outgoing conveyor and grabbed her phone before anything else. The call had been from her mother. There was a message. That was no help.
Marianne wheeled her bag up to an empty gate so that she could be alone. The windows overlooked the tarmac. She saw a row of a dozen planes waiting for takeoff and sighed. La Guardia reminded her of purgatory, each plane inching forward as the passengers paid for their sins. Marianne raised the phone to her ear and started the message replay, but then something much more pressing grabbed her attention.
People were watching her. She saw them look away when she noticed. They fixed their eyes on the perpetual roll of CNN coverage which occupied dozens of screens all over the airport. At first she saw pictures of herself standing with Paul at the victory rally, arms raised. Then she saw police leading Paul from his town home in handcuffs. They passed the “For Sale” sign and Marianne felt herself come unglued from the Earth.
Oh god, this is how it happens?
And yet, she was all wrong. It was so much worse than she had feared.
The anchor said, “Paul Varden, the freshman senator from Connecticut, was arrested this morning on charges of statutory rape. Police raided his Stamford home and searched for evidence of his alleged affair with a high school sophomore. Authorities have not released the name of the girl, but sources close to Varden suspect that she is the daughter of his chief of staff.”
A familiar feeling washed over her. Her father had cheated on her mom, but that wasn't what stung. Marianne had always defended him. While Mom spent all her time blowing smoke about politics and roughing up Dad for every infraction of her ten thousand life sucking rules, Dad had worked hard and had never raised his voice. It didn't surprise his daughter that he'd been getting his kicks off in another dimension, one where he mattered. Hell, three minutes a week rodgering another woman probably spent his frustration and made him a better person – at least until Marianne left for college and the man hosed his skull in the garage.
The news went on, “There are rumors developing that the senator received a profile from the Sorter, a psychological profiling computer program gaining increasing notoriety for its accurate predictions of human behavior. These rumors indicate that the Sorter had indeed predicted the senator's actions. Whether these rumors are true or not, this developing story will affect the Senate hearings on what legal action can be taken as a result of Sorter profiles. Paul Varden was an adamant opponent of the Sorter and many political commentators believe his arrest will ensure victory of those measures when the full Senate votes on them tomorrow.”
Marianne had believe that if that vote passed, the Sorter would cripple American society. She still believed that. What she doubted was whether Paul had ever believed that. He was so good at making his point that is was sometimes difficult to know if he really cared about it. Or was this is simple as a man wanting to silence the witness to his crime? He had taken the test, after all.
“We'll try to reach you again when we ave a better idea of her condition.”
That's what the voice in the phone message, not her mother's voice, was saying. It was hurried and tense. Marianne hadn't heard the first part and didn't know what that last sentence meant. The message ended after that. She let her hand slip to her side, the phone resting on her hip.
What bothered Marianne about her father, what just about killed her, was learning that the other woman had been one of Dad's high school girlfriends. She'd even met this woman before. She'd witness cryptic Christmas cards and phone messages from her. When the truth came it made Marianne wonder if her dad had been having it on the side all this time? Instead of reaching his limit after fruitless years of trying to please the woman he loved, could it be that he'd considered his marriage a mistake from the beginning? Perhaps he'd made a decision he regretted and spent the rest of his life trying to have it both ways.
The same sort of doubt burned in her flesh that morning she sat at La Guardia, waiting for a plane to take her on a mission to steal another person's pride and joy. There was a second when an image of Paul sitting at his dining table in the dark flashed through her mind. There was his campaign banner, a memento of his most recent triumph, hanging on the wall like a team pennant. And there was the mantle, cleared of everything except for the pictures of the two people, one a woman and the other a girl, that h
e'd been sleeping with. It was then that Marianne knew her place. She was a trophy.
As soon as that thought settled in her sickened stomach, another rolled in.
She's not conscious.
That's what the voice on the phone had said. Then an alarm on her phone went off. It was reminding her of her boarding time. She hurried to her gate and boarded the plane. No one there seemed to recognize her. Perhaps no one even bothered to look. Marianne lifted the phone to her ear again and replayed her message.
“Hello, I'm trying to reach Marianne Madora. This is Doctor Pierce at Presbyterian Hospital. A few minutes ago we brought your mother in with a collapsed lung, apparently due to an untreated pulmonary fibrosis. The damage is quite advanced and she's not conscious. We'll try to reach you again when we have a better idea of her condition.”
Marianne almost envied the dilemma which faced her just a few moments ago, when she stood in the security line. Times were simpler then. All she'd had to worry about was whether she should turn back as Paul had suggested or fly off to this one last kill, risking prison. She had been sure she'd loved Paul. She had been sure she'd keep the baby. She had been sure she'd find another job more suited to her role as wife and