Page 65 of Power
“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. “My only two children.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I say as I reach out to place my arm around her quivering shoulders. Mark clears his throat, telling me in his own way that I shouldn’t do that. But protocol be damned. This woman is hurting.
She lifts her head to look at me. “Tahlia’s only twelve, and Jessica’s seventeen. I bought them the tickets for Christmas.” I can’t comprehend how harrowing this is for her. “I should’ve gone first, not them.” She points to the mass grave. “This isn’t the natural order of death.” She breaks down, howling with pain. I pull her toward me and let her cry on my shoulder. In this moment, she could very well be a threat, she could easily pull a knife out and stab me through the heart. It’s a risk I’m willing to take to show her a bit of kindness and compassion. She’s just lost her daughters, and she’s going to be hurting for a long time to come. She finally pulls back and straightens her shoulders. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have cried on you.” She darts her gaze toward my shirt. “Your shirt is ruined.”
“Don’t worry about my shirt. My heart is breaking for you.”
Absentmindedly she reaches her hand out and gently places it on my forearm. “Please don’t let their deaths be for no reason.” She holds eye contact with me before standing and walking toward someone who’s calling her.
My mind is shrouded in a horrible darkness as I try and make sense of the travesty that’s occurred. I hate this part of my job, but I know I can make a difference, and this is the very reason I chose to run for president, and why Kathryn supported me. Because we believed we could make a difference. I can make a difference.
Standing, I walk back toward Mallory. Jamie is a step behind me, and Mark is to my side though slightly ahead. The rest of the Secret Service agents surround me, watching to make sure nothing happens. “Mr. President,” Mallory starts as I walk to her.
I extend my hand to shake hers. “Mr. President, we need to leave,” Jamie says as he places his body between Mallory and me once we’ve briefly shaken hands.
“Mallory.” I give her a curt nod and a glare, still fuming at her lack of compassion for the victims. Instead, she wanted me to know that the shooter obtained the rifle from some other state. “I need you to find out where the shooter got the rifle, and I want to know everything about his background,” I say to Jamie as we walk toward the armored vehicles waiting to take us back to Air Force One.
Staring at the center of this ruinous scene as we drive away, I can’t help but feel an impotent rage. “Mr. President,” Jamie’s address snaps me out of my growing anger. I look to him and wait for him to repeat what he’s already said. “Air Force One is ready for you.”
The drive back to the airstrip is filled with tension and my mind is racing to think of what I can do to stop this from happening again. I need to call a meeting when I get back. “I need to see Liam in my office when we return.”
Jamie nods, brings his phone to his ear and in a quiet voice, makes the call.
“How bad was it?” Liam’s already waiting in my office as I walk in.
“Bad is an understatement.”
“What do you need?”
