Memories For Sale

1. Dreams Remembered

Dreams Remembered

Washington, D.C., February, 2030

Ellis Piersol spread the morning paper on the table just to the left of his coffee. He hoped it would be refreshing news, but he wasn't expecting it.

Violent Crime Up 37 percent in Nation's Capital

He sighed and went on to read, but saw that other major cities fared no better. Violent crimes were up by 17 percent in New York, 22 percent in Chicago, and 43 percent in Los Angeles.

What the hell was the world coming to?

He finished the article, drained his coffee, then called for a car. He needed to get to the hospital.

Twenty-five minutes later he sat in a chair opposite Megan’s bed. An oxygen mask covered her face, and tubes were sticking out of her nose and throat, but at least she was still breathing. That was one thing to be thankful for.

They had brought her in, unresponsive, promising not much of anything. At one point they had even pronounced her dead, but miraculously, she had survived.

She had been in a coma-like state for almost two months, and she hadn't spoken a word, but the prognosis was better than it had been. It still wasn't good, but it was better. At least he had something to pray for. Ellis had been through a lot of s**t in his life, including the nasty business of politics, but nothing had prepared him for this. Nothing was worse than seeing his child in a position like this while he sat helpless.

He scooted his chair closer to the bed, then reached out and held her hand. He squeezed in gently. "I'm here for you, baby. Daddy's here. And I'll be here every day until you don't need me to be, although I hope that day never comes. Try to remember the good times, the times we spent together with Mom. She loved you as much as I do. Remember that. Don't forget."

He patted the back of her hand, bent down and kissed her forehead, then whispered goodbye. "Be back tonight, babe."

Four of the best bodyguards in the world waited for Ellis in the hallway. He left the room and joined them, walking down the corridor. A man turned the corner, heading their way.

Dennis Markum, the lead guard, drew his gun and moved forward to intercept the man. "Stop. Who are you? Why are you here?"

The guy held up his hands. "Whoa! I'm reaching for my badge, nothing else. My name is Detective Grant Langley."

Dennis had his gun pointed at Langley. "State your business."

"I'm here to look into the Megan Piersol attack." He then nodded toward Ellis. "Mr. President."

"Are you armed?" Dennis asked.

"Yes. A gun in my holster, nothing else."

Dennis held out his free hand, palm up. "I'll hold it."

Langley opened his coat, exposing the gun, and let Dennis grab it. Afterward, he took a cautious step toward the president. "Mr. President, I'm here about your daughter."

"My men are looking into it," the president said.

"I'm sure they are, sir. But that doesn't let me off the hook. I drew the case, and I have a few questions."

Ellis sighed. "Go ahead."

"How did you learn of the attack, sir?"

"We were notified by one of our agents and by the hospital, shortly afterward. Apparently, someone found her in the bushes not far from Nordstrom, and then they called an ambulance. That's all I know."

"The Nordstrom's entrance to the mall?" Langley asked.

The president nodded.

"Where were her guards?" Langley asked and cast a casual, but accusatory, glance toward Dennis.

"They...let her go into the mall by herself," the president said. "But it wasn't their fault. I okayed it. I'll wish I hadn't for the rest of my life, but I did. And there is no going back."

Langley was busy writing notes when the president started moving. "Listen, Detective. Not much is more important than finding out who did this to my daughter, but I've got a meeting in less than a half an hour. It might qualify."

Langley stepped aside. "Of course, sir. My apologies. And don't worry, we'll find out who did this. I swear."

Dennis handed Langley's gun to one of his men, who lingered behind until the president was out of sight. Then he handed the gun to the detective and ran to catch up.

Ellis got to the Capitol Building a few minutes early. Despite that he hurried in, surrounded by his Secret Service protection. Rich McCabe was in the hall talking when the president entered.

"How is she?" McCabe asked.

"The same. Nothing different."

"Goddamn sin is what it is. Don't worry, sir. They'll get the son of a b***h who did this."

"I'll be happy if they get him," Ellis said, "but I'll be happier if she just comes out of this okay."

"Of course, sir. I'm sorry."

Ellis laid a hand on McCabe's shoulder. "No harm done, Rich. And thanks for asking."

After the normal ceremonial activities, the president stood to speak. "Have you all seen the papers? I hope so. Violent crime is up in almost every major city. And not just by a little bit. We're talking double digits in every location. Some places it was up over 40 percent. Forty percent!"

He let the mumblings roll around the room before continuing. "And I think you know what's to blame—these new visors.”

"We can't blame a product for what other people do," a representative from Colorado said.

"Really? That's easy for you to say.” Ellis looked through his notes. “Denver only had a 10 percent increase in crime. Not nearly as much as other big cities."

"That's not fair to say, Mr. President."

"It might not be fair, but it's true. You people sound like those NRA lobbyists who say guns don't kill, people do."

"It's true," someone shouted from the back of the room.

"Yes. I know it's true. I know that people are the ones who aim the gun and pull the trigger. But it's the gun that holds the bullet."

Ellis took a drink from his glass of water, then placed his hands on the podium. "I'm proposing a ban on the new visors. And I'd like your support."

"A ban? We can't ban that product."

Rich McCabe stood. "Mr. President, we all know of the terrible misfortune that befell your daughter, and we all feel for you, but I have to agree with my esteemed colleague from Colorado. On what basis could we request a ban on the product? Give me one, and I’m with you.”

"On the basis that it's evil," Ellis said. "On the basis that it drives men to do things they wouldn't ordinarily do."

"Mr. President, I empathize, but I still don't see how we can do this. The Constitution—"

"To hell with the Constitution," the president said. "Who cares about the Constitution? What is the Constitution anyway? A bunch of words written by ordinary men two hundred-plus years ago." He scanned the room. "Ordinary men. Two hundred years ago."

"You can't say that about the Constitution," one man said.

"I can and I did. These people lived in the eighteenth century. They couldn't possibly have foreseen what's happening now, and they wouldn't have any idea what to do if they could have foreseen it. And I can’t imagine they’d approve of it. Imagine yourself trying to write legislation for the year 2230.”

Senator McCabe stood again. "As I said, I empathize with you, Mr. President. But I want to do what's right. We need to protect these people who make the product, no matter who they are. I say we put it to a vote. See who is in favor and who isn't."

Piersol nodded. He knew this was as good as he was going to get. "Show of hands," he said. "All in favor of banning all visors, raise your hand."

Besides the president, only half a dozen others raised their hand, McCabe included.

Afterward, McCabe approached the president and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mr. President, but it doesn't look good. Perhaps we could increase the police protection? Maybe that would help with statistics?”

Piersol stared at the floor. "We've already done that, Rich. And the cities where we approved increased protection, it did no good. I'm afraid that short of calling out the National Guard in every city, we're not going to do any good. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a lost cause."

"Don't despair, sir. We'll think of something."

"We can think all we want, but until we get rid of these damn glasses, we won't make any progress. But thanks for your support. I appreciate it."

McCabe patted his shoulder. "Of course, sir. No problem."