13
“We’re too late to film and edit a proper interview for the news tonight,” Hayley Jovanka was saying, thinking aloud, “but we could do the interview and pull a soundbite to advertise the full interview tomorrow…”
“Fine,” Joan replied crisply. She hated the thought of the interview, of being scrutinized, dissected… but sacrifices must be made.
Optics, she reminded herself.
“Excellent,” Hayley replied. “What’s your address? I can bring a crew over within the hour.”
What?
“No,” Joan blurted abruptly, “not my home.” Her hand spasmed around the phone. “That is, I would prefer to film the interview elsewhere.”
There was silence for a moment from the other end.
“Ms Ferguson, let me make sure I understand our deal: if I provide for you the kind of positive exposure you want, potentially helping you to regain the governorship, then you will allow me continued access to your story, as well as to exclusives regarding all happenings within the prison, should you be reinstated as governor.”
“Yes,” Joan returned shortly. “When I am reinstated. It is a mutually beneficial scenario.”
“Right,” Hayley agreed. “Then… if I could offer you some advice, Joan…”
Joan’s jaw clenched. “Yes, Hayley?”
“Interviews performed within the home humanize the subject. They let people know that there is more to you than just an ex-governor. We keep it subtle: just little trinkets in the background, maybe a photograph next to you. That kind of thing.”
Joan listened, her eyes surveying her space in a new way, as a stranger might. How had Vera viewed her house when she came for dinner that one time?
Joan consciously chose not to think about the fact that Vera had been the only guest to ever see her home.
Her gaze swept over the fencing foils, the violin, the space where the photo of her father used to be.
“And you have a perception problem, Joan,” she heard Hayley continue. “You seem cold, aloof. Kind of… freakish…”
Freak.
Her father told her she wasn’t a freak. But he was gone. The space looked strange without the photograph. But… she couldn’t keep it on display.
Not after…
“Joan?” Hayley interrupted sharply. “Ms Ferguson? Are you still there?”
She could still hear his voice, his words. She had revealed that her father had abandoned her. And then he had replied that maybe she didn’t need him anymore. She had him.
She had been learning empathy.
“I’m here,” Joan replied quietly. “We will film the interview here.”
When she became Governor, all the chaos would disappear.
She would be in control again.
***
“Me,” Vera stated blandly. “You think I might have helped Ferguson to give Novak a hot shot.” She shook her head, looking out into the night. “I can’t believe you would even say that.”
Bridget sighed, rubbing her face with her hands. “I know. I know.” She sighed again. “But, Vera, I have to be certain.” She looked at her closely. “You’re… acting strangely. Your affect is off. I can’t help but think there’s something you’re not telling me.”
Vera fidgeted in her chair, still looking into floodlights from the outer walls. “I’m the Governor,” she exclaimed, finally turning back to face Bridget. “Of course there are things I can’t tell you!”
“But see? Even that,” Bridget pointed at Vera, making a little circle around Vera’s face. “That’s off. That’s not the normal you, Vera.”
“A prisoner died under my watch, and I just had to inform her best friends, one of whom is currently undergoing cancer treatments! You think that I’m likely to be normal right now?” Vera asked incredulously.
Bridget shook her head, holding up her hands. “You’re right, you’re absolutely right. And I should hardly be making accusations right now.” She rubbed her temple. “But Vera? Just remember: you’ve been her victim before. She was your mentor. You trusted her, you modeled yourself after her…”
“What?” Vera asked. “I did no such thing!”
Bridget’s look was full of meaning.
Vera sat back in her chair, suddenly exhausted. “Fine. But it’s effective. I’m effective now.”
“You were always effective,” Bridget returned.
“No, I wasn’t,” Vera said quietly.
They sat in silence.
“My point,” Bridget stated finally, “is that Joan Ferguson is a psychopath. She is relentless. With enough time and resources, she could have gotten to anyone. And, apparently, she did.”
Vera threw up her hands. “And what do you want me to do about it? Do you want me to start a witch hunt among my own officers?”
“If Joan Ferguson gave a hot shot to Novak, she must be taken to trial again,” Bridget stated vehemently. “She must not be allowed to go free, Vera!”
“We have no proof!” Vera yelled, abruptly losing patience. “All we have are the words of a dead woman, given to you by your ex-con girlfriend! There is nothing I can do!”
Bridget stared at her, her head cocked to the side. She suddenly fell back in her chair. “Oh!”
Vera had trouble meeting her gaze.
“You already knew, didn’t you?” Bridget asked, her voice hushed. “You already knew about the hot shot!”
Vera forced herself to stare back, not replying.
“If it wasn’t you, then who?” Bridget asked. “How did you know?”
Vera’s gaze drifted back to the windows. “Ms. Westfall,” she stated, ignoring Bridget’s question. “I think it’s time for you to join your girlfriend and go home.”
Bridget sighed, watching her.
Vera continued to stare at the window. Her own reflection stared back.
Silently, Bridget packed up their papers, exiting the office.
Vera’s head fell back against her chair. Was she doomed to forever protect Joan Ferguson, to save herself?
Her reflection gave no reply.