PART I

FANTA (TM)

Chapter I

A Left-wing Man

In 2015 Charles Bishop decided to stay at the Marriott Hotels and Resorts in downtown Kansas City, Missouri. There was nothing too particularly strange or otherwise unusual about his visit there, he was a simple traveling salesman who happened to be stopping by in Kansas City to do what all salesmen do. No one paid him any attention for he didn't attract attention. He was a simple man on a simple job in a simple city. Though it doesn't really advance the plot of this story any further, we might as well expound on how he came to stay at this particular hotel on this particular date.

Bishop graduated from the University of Ohio in the summer of 2008. He participated in all of the usual graduate fanfare that takes place immediately after graduation, but then he immediately decided it was time for him to move. With much determination in his lungs, he packed his bags in the cramped dorm room he had stayed for four years (yes, he was one of those people) and drove a full eighty miles to Columbus, Ohio. There, he found the new apartment he would be sharing with a complete stranger, and moved in.

It should be noted that our single character in this story is a staunch Democrat. He was so firm in his beliefs and absolutely unwavering in his ideals that he earnestly hoped he would be sharing a two-bed one-bath apartment with anyone but a member of the opposite side of the political scale. To him, even a serial killer would be preferred over a Republican, at least a serial killer would try to hide their wrongdoings. When he walked through the door of this house, however, he discovered that it was filled with McCain campaign posters and bumper stickers. Horrified, he turned around to run back to his car and drive as far away from the apartment as possible, when his new roommate appeared from out of the bathroom. He had been spied. He could not leave.

"Name's Bruce." The man extended his hand in an act of friendship. Charles' excuse was that he was carrying luggage, so he stared at the outstretched hand for a number of seconds. Bruce dropped his hand onto the handles of the luggage. "I might as well show you where you'll be staying." Charles warily followed the Republican to his new bedroom. It was plain and simple as a bedroom could be, but it reeked of body odor. "Yeah, sorry about the smell," Bruce addressed, "The last guy who was here never seemed to take a shower. I didn't have time to, you know, do a power wash of the carpets and wall before you got here." He let out a small chuckle, and upon seeing Charles' motionless, decided to leave him to his own devices. It took a while for Charles to calm down enough to actually go to sleep, but he eventually did at five in the morning.

Living with Bruce was not as arduous of a task as Charles had originally thought, but he still hated it. Every time he would see those dreaded McCain posters, he would cringe and have to seclude himself in his room for a good thirty minutes at the least for the feeling of rising vomit to pass. Especially dangerous were the times when Charles would walk in on Bruce watching the political debates on CNN. They would oftentimes start with Bruce yelling at the TV for some opinion with which he didn't agree. Charles would then come in out of nowhere and backup the original opinion. Bruce would counter with a strongly-worded opinion about something vaguely similar to the topic. The rest of the discussion would be rife with slippery slopes, ad hominems, and a plethora of other logical fallacies. By the end, as with most discussions concerning politics, both parties (quite literally in this sense) would leave angry and the topic would be left unresolved.

Charles was indeed in the presence of an unfamiliar light, so they say. Every once in a while, it is refreshing almost to see things from an opposing viewpoint. However, these things only work if both sides are willing to be open that just maybe their ideas are wrong. With both Charles and Bruce, their ideas were absolute and perfect. No adjustments were needed. If one of their ideas was wrong, they would insist that it really wasn't as they quietly change their opinion in the slightest bit and then insist that was their viewpoint the entire time. Their internal political meters would always remain fixed, and that would be their own fault. However, the point of digressing on this story is not to give commentary on politics, it is instead intended to provide some background for our solitary character (spoilers but Bruce doesn't really matter in the overall story) as he walks into a local restaurant.

As he entered the small diner, he spotted a small crowd of reporters and cameras. He wondered what they could possibly be doing there. He passed it off, however, with a quick wave of his hand. He sat down at a table, ordered a beverage and a small meal, and fumed over the tirade he just had with his roommate. He took a small bite of his sandwich, smashed his jaws together and tried to ignore the commotion that was happening near the front of the restaurant. Soon, the crowd peeled away as they shuffled their way towards him and Charles saw why the media and the crowd was there.

"Hello, sir. How are you this day?" the center of the crowd asked. Charles threw down his sandwich, surged up, and grasped the man's hand that was extended towards him.

"I am great now that I've seen you." Charles' hand grew tired from shaking the man's hand for so long, so he dropped it to his side. "What are you doing in Ohio, at this restaurant?"

"I'm just dropping by. Are you a student?"

"Oh, no, sir. I've graduated just this year."

"That's great! What did you major in?"

"Business."

"That's wonderful. I wish you luck. You look like you'd make a great salesman."

"Thank you, sir," Charles shouted at the man as he was swept away by the crowd of pedestrians and reporters. Charles finished the rest of his sandwich with glee and left the diner. The next day, he submitted a résumé to a business with the quote, '"You look like you'd make a great salesman." - Barack Obama, presidential candidate' underneath his references section.

Amazingly, he was granted the job.

It was under this job that Charles Bishop was staying at the Marriott hotel in Kansas City, Missouri in 2015. He awoke precisely at seven ante meridiem, departed his hotel room (number 305), and arrived downstairs for the continental breakfast that was served. He piled on plastic eggs and unintentionally dried fruits and made his way to a table in the far corner. He took a swig from his glass of orange juice, remembered that he had brushed his teeth that morning, and immediately spit out the pulpy liquid back into the cup.

This improper action did cause him to glance over to his right, in sort of the way that a sneeze would cause a sea cucumber to look at a mollusk in a particularly bad joke. On the table beside him sat a large book being read by a complete stranger. He spied at the top of the page and gleaned the title: Les Misérables by Victor Hugo. He initiated the conversation with the stranger that follows:

"Excuse me, sir, but I happen to notice you're reading Les Misérables."

"Oh yes, I am. It's really good and I highly recommend it."

"Isn't it extremely long?"

"Yeah. This copy is over 1,400 pages. I'm only on page 500."

"How long have you been reading that thing?"

"I've been slowly making my way through it for the past nineteen years."

Silence.

"I'm a slow reader, okay?"

"Hey, I'm not judging."

"It's a really good book, okay? I checked it out from the library nineteen years ago and I've been on the run ever since. I keep moving and running away but they keep sending book inspectors after me. This last one forced me to run back to my bedroom, pack my bags, and jump out the bathroom window."

"You're on the run from book inspectors from the public library?"

"Do you know how much money I owe after nineteen years? I'd like to know because I keep running away before they tell me exactly how much I owe. I'd assume it's a lot."

"I'm sure it is. It's worth it though, it's a great story."

"You've read it?"

"Oh, no, I just watched the movie."

"There's a movie?"

"Yeah, it's like three hours long though."

"That's shorter than nineteen years! Where can I watch it?"

"Oh, I have it in my luggage upstairs. I can just give it to you."

"You'd do that for me? You really would?"

"Yeah, sure. It's like ten bucks. Come on. My room number's 305."

Later that day, a book was dropped off at the public library. At first glance, there didn't seem to be anything wrong with it. Upon closer inspection, however, one would discover that it happened to be one of the longest books the library has, Les Misérables. Upon even further inspection, one would discover that there was a small plastic rectangle on the inside. The librarian running the book returns found this book. It was a gift from heaven for the librarian. He picked up the book and pressed it against his nose, smelling the sweet scent of a book that had been returned after nineteen years of being checked out. The librarian soon discovered the library card inside. On the back was scribbled with a pencil, "I guess I won't be needing this anymore, Book Inspector Chase." On the reverse side was printed in ink:

Name: John Matthew Valentine

Library: Kansas City Public

Card #: 24601