Anthony DeCosmo - Parallels

Ashley held the box in her hands, both of which trembled as she opened the lid…

…The spongy Nerf football floated in the February air after leaving the hand of Benjamin Trump. It spun and wobbled with a trajectory far removed from a spiral.

Jorge Benjamin Stone-looking clumsy in his heavy blue and red winter coat-stumbled left then right as he adjusted to the ball’s approach which bounced off one arm, the other, then fell to the ground where it rolled in the quarter inch of snow on the mansion's front lawn.

"That a boy Jorgie! Good try!"

"Ah, darn," the kid cursed his fumble.

"Throw it on over to grandpa, kiddo!"

The older man continued his personal quest to keep his grandson distracted from the fact that he had not seen his father in almost three weeks.

Jorgie, as much as he missed his dad, had not yet broken down into fits of hysteria or tears. Indeed, grandpa and the boy’s mother were both impressed-perhaps even disturbed-by how well JB handled the separation.

Don’t worry mommy, father will be back soon.

I just can’t wait until father comes home so I can show him my new drawings.

JB picked up the ball, cocked his arm, and then flung a wobbling pass to his grandfather…

…The three plasma screen televisions along the wall in the basement conference room carried video from three difference sources.

One played a tape of the previous night’s NBN news broadcast.

Another replayed a recent report from a station in Virginia covering events outside the Governor’s residence, a stately 19 ^ th Century home that doubled as regional military headquarters.

The third streamed the live local signal from a regional television station.

Jon Brewer stood in front of the three screens. The sights and sounds of the three different feeds mixed together into one jumbled mash of descending chaos that conspired to hypnotize the General like a deer caught in oncoming headlights.

Gordon Knox hovered behind, his eyes darting from screen to screen to absorb each new sight; each new implication. His mind calculated and recalculated with every new image.

Two other men occupied the basement conference room, both couriers from Imperial Intelligence and responsible for delivering the tapes now playing for their superiors.

"Our top story is the disposition of Emperor Trevor Stone. It has now been well over two weeks since the last public appearance…"

"The protestors are refusing to leave the grounds until someone from the Imperial Council admits that Trevor is no longer in charge of…"

"You’re looking live now at a food distribution center outside of Hazleton. The crowds began gathering early this morning as rumors of the Emperor's death spread like wildfire…"

"…our reporters have camped outside the mansion at Harveys Lake in a so-far futile attempt to get a response to our inquiries…"

"…I asked several of the demonstrators if their presence was encouraged by members of the Imperial Senate. While they denied that these protests are politically motivated, there is no denying that the Senators themselves are jockeying for position should Stone in fact be gone…"

…Ashley pulled two photographs from the blue box and absently strolled from the bedroom into the adjoining office with her eyes glued to the images.

The first shot captured a group standing arm and arm at some kind of celebration as evident by their eclectic but overall formal wear. She recognized Lori and Jon Brewer as well as Dante Jones, each with big smiles, a few apparently fueled by consumption.

At the center of that line stood two people, the first the man with whom she shared a bed and had mothered a child: Trevor Stone. He wore the tuxedo she found in the closet. He had never worn that tuxedo for her.

Next, a blonde woman with wavy curls in hair falling to her shoulders, attractive blue eyes, and in a striking black dress. Trevor's arm held the woman's waist tight, something more than friends merely lining for a picture.

Ashley did not need to be told; her instincts identified the woman easily enough.

Nina Forest…

…The spongy football left grandpa’s hands again, this time with a tighter spiral.

Once again, JB stumbled to move into position to make the grab but at the last moment he looked away, his eyes diverted to the mansion behind him, his eyes finding and locking on the second floor balcony and the closed glass doors there. The forgotten football bounced to the snowy ground.

"JB? What’s wrong?"

Grandpa followed the child’s gaze but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Jorgie knew different.

Without warning, without a word, Jorge Benjamin Stone ran away from the game of catch with his grandpa. He hurried across the yard, his feet crunching on the thin layer of crusty snow as he raced inside…

…The images on the screens continued flashing a collage of the uncertainty sweeping the fledgling nation like a tsunami crashing to shore and carrying inland. Groups on the verge of turning into mobs, newscasters dismayed at the lack of response, concerns over supplies, the war, and unrest.

Trevor had forged order from the chaos of the invasion. Without him, it would all fall apart and Jon felt powerless to stop it.

"General Brewer, sir," one of Knox's men reported. "We intercepted a communication from Internal Security in D.C. to Dante Jones asking questions about the chain of command."

Knox responded to in incoming call and said, "I've got A-G Center on the line. It’s Stonewall; I’ll put it on speaker."

The NBN newscast tape spoke to a man on the street: "No, no, he’s not dead. Don’t say that, man. That’s bull. He’s not dead. He can’t be dead."

Voices and images crashed together in Jon's mind becoming a muddled mishmash of information overload jamming his thought process.

"Some of the I.S. officers in Washington are saying something about a clause in their funding that indicates they report to the Senate and not the Imperial Council."

"Hello? I say, is anyone there? Jon? Gordon? I think we need a little direction out here. Some units are starting to wonder who is in charge. Shepherd is due back any time now. I just hope there’s an army still here for him to command."

Gordon Knox's hand fell on Jon's shoulder.

"You have to do something. You’re in charge now…"

…Ashley put aside the group shot and examined the second photograph, apparently a still-shot from a video image.

She held the photo in one hand while her eyes studied it, not so much the image itself, but the understanding it delivered. The answer to her loneliness, to the mystery of Trevor's heart, to the malaise blanketing the life she led with him.

Ashley barely heard the stumble and clunk-clunk of footsteps as they raced toward her.

JB, panting, stopped in the doorway and looked at his mother. She met his eyes and shared a moment; so much can change in a moment.

The picture slipped from her fingertips, fluttered in the air like a dead leaf from an autumn tree, and came to rest on the floor.

Jorgie followed his mother's eyes to the fallen photo depicting Trevor and the blonde woman in the black dress, cheek to cheek and smiling.

Smiling the way two people smiled when they are in love.

– The conference room remained crowded for most of the day. Aides and assistants came and went; couriers delivered more tapes and special editions of newspapers.

Through it all, Jon watched the video play and listened to the voices on the tapes from radio broadcasts and read the words written in ink.

Knox barked orders. Orders to his aides and assistants. His operatives.

Orders like ‘get someone we can trust over to the train station in D.C. to keep an eye on things," or "call over to Senator Benson’s office and tell him to remember who his friends are; tell him I may need a favor and he damn well owes me."