37
Wednesday, February 3, 2021, 11AM Eastern Standard Time
“Sir, I’m sorry to say we have not been able to find anyone else who precisely resembles the person you describe.”
The President seethed in his chair.
“I’m sure he’s out there, McCarthy. Let me see the videos. Especially the nighttime ones.”
“Of course, sir. But I doubt you’ll find anyone perfectly matching the description.”
The President pounded the desk. “We need to find him. YOU need to find him.”
The dream had come to him with particular force the previous night. Himself, walking toward the church. The man with the sign, walking out of the church, pointing. “You.” The crowd, red-eyed, pressing toward him.
But then he felt himself rising, up, up, high above the man, and the crowd, who continued to point at him and chant. He rose into the sky, looking down on the entire area, Lafayette Park, the Ellipse, the surrounding streets raying out away from the White House toward infinity, the streetlights coming on.
Then suddenly the man with the white beard was beside him, perhaps slightly behind him so he could not quite see him.
He whispered, “YOU” one final time. And then, “END IT.”
And at that point the President had awakened, having leaped once more to a sitting position in bed, and once again the silhouetted figure at the door had inquired whether he needed anything. Leon Carver echoed the man in the dream, and yet was the exact opposite.
The Director looked pained.
“Have you given any thought to the man we spoke about earlier?”
“Which, the guy with all the signs?”
The President had begun to wonder whether he could be the one, but he held back from rewarding the Director with this knowledge.
“I don’t know.”
“He does have a long beard. And he was outside the White House for a few weeks before the Inauguration. We could look further into him and his activities,” the Director said.
The President felt a sudden pain in his lumbar region. He leaned forward and placed his right palm on his lower back.
“Are you all right, sir?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Okay, look into him further. Come back next week and tell me you’ve found him, or else.”
“Yes, sir.”
Some of the color had left the President’s face.
“Okay, get out of here. I have stuff to do.”
“Of course, sir. I will report to you next Wednesday.”
The President merely responded with a flicked left hand. The Director rose and walked out the door.
“Mrs. Johnson,” the President said. “Yes, sir?”
“Mrs. Johnson, I would like one of those cushions for your lower back, the kind that massages you.”
“Well thank you, sir, but I don’t need… Oh, I’m sorry, for you, sir. Of course, sir.”
He flicked off the intercom.
Everyone’s a pain in the ass, he thought.
© 2020 Nolan O’Brian