9. Breaking News

Something was wrong, she could see it in his face and the tight, tensed way he walked. "Who was that?" Evelyn asked as her husband stepped into the room.

Rick reached for her hand, bringing her to her feet. "Nobody. I need to talk to you."

He pulled her into the empty hallway. "What?" she asked. "Is something wrong?"

Rick nodded, then seemed to change his mind and shook his head with conviction. "Don't worry, sweetheart. It's nothing. I just...I have to go."

"But..."

"I'll be back as soon as I can. Things could go really bad if I'm not there."

"Tell me."

"I can't--"

"Rick." She looked him straight in the eye, unblinking. "Tell me."

He could see in her face that she already knew, but that didn't make saying it any easier. "It's Lock."

The future queen did an admirable job of keeping her walls from coming down, but the fact was she felt like bursting into tears and her husband knew it. "What's going to happen?"

"Don't worry, sweetheart, I'm just going to go down and get my guys out of there. We're just going to back off, I'm not about to get into anything with your cousins. That's the last thing I want."

"Good intentions don't always pan out."

"It's okay, I'll calm them down and--"

"What about you? What if they do something to you?"

"I'll be fine. Hey." He tipped up her chin, noting the tears that still lay dormant in her eyes. "We've got the rest of our lives to look forward to, right? We have to start with this diplomacy thing somewhere. Might as well start with Lock."

"Maybe if I came with you..."

Rick shook his head firmly. "No. That would just make things worse. I'll be right back, I promise."

Evelyn swallowed her fears once and for all and smiled, putting on the bravest face she knew. "I'll be waiting for you."

He kissed his wife goodbye, though the embrace was tinged by the bittersweet anxiety that he feared would follow them throughout their lives. "I won't be long. Don't worry, love. Everything is going to turn out okay."

Evelyn wished, as she watched him walk away, that she could believe those words.

It is said that the camera does not lie. In an age where stories of UFOs and fairy folk are prevalent, a picture is worth a thousand words. This doesn't mean that every photograph is the pure and utter truth; photographers have for over a hundred years had the means to alter their art in any way they chose. The video camera brought on a whole other age, in which leaders had to live their lives in the public eye and the world could be captivated by reality TV. It so happened that on this particular day, a man named Jacques had brought along his new video camera, not knowing how his innocent documentation of his everyday life would affect the world's perception of what was about to happen.

He was eager to try out his new electronic toy, and knew his boss Lock would probably not allow him to film what was to happen today, so Jacques had set the camera up on a knoll just above the green, adjacent to the whooshing noise of the bustling highway. He couldn't hear anything from up here, much less could the camera's microphones, but he was so enjoying practicing zooming in and out and fiddling with the focus that he barely noticed the arrival of the Capulets.

They were without their leader, the camera noticed. Now Ardeth Bey led them, swaggering toward Lock and his gang with all the bravado and conceit befitting a doomed man. They had words, though the camera could not hear them. It was then that another car pulled up, and Rick Montague jumped out. Jacques saw this and zoomed in a little more. Montague got between Lock and Bey, speaking to the crowd in general as if he thought they'd listen to him.

They didn't. The camera saw, though Montague didn't, the knife Lock hid in his right hand, the subtle way the muscles of his neck pulsed. The camera continued to record; Jacques' throat tightened as he carefully tracked the action. He knew he should turn off the camera, he had to, but he couldn't bring himself to stop taping the violent scene unfolding below him. A scuffle broke out, dust rose, and Montague once again placed himself between friend and foe. He shoved Lock away, who tripped in the sand as he went backward, crashing to the ground in a most ungraceful way. It didn't take him long, however, to leap to his feet and lunge at his enemy with renewed vigor.

Montague ducked. Bey did not.

The camera watched impassively as the man fell to his knees, took in the spread of blood against stark white, zoomed in on shaking hands. Montague caught him before he could fall completely helpless to the ground, and Jacques strained to hear their words. It all took only a few seconds, and the shiny new camera recorded death.

Jacques realized he had nearly forgotten to breathe, and clutched at the camera to keep it steady as Montague stood, walked toward Lock with measured steps. Lock backed away, Montague kept coming. After a minute Lock gave up all pretenses and made for his car, which zoomed away in a shower of spinning wheels and flying sand. Montague leapt into his own car, pursued Lock with all the ferocity that the little white sports car could muster.

The camera tracked them as they drove into the distance, turned right toward the highway, went out of sight. Even its weak speakers, however, picked up the explosion. A plume of smoke at first, and the camera saw it, followed by fire climbing into the sky, falling, dissipating. Then, blank, silent.

Jacques turned the camera off.

A few hours later Jonathan set the phone calmly down on the desk, not bothering to replace it in its cradle. His mind flowed slowly, smoothly, as he worked out what to do next. If the Capulet gang didn't find his son before the police did, he was as good as dead. If the police found him first, at best he'd be tossed in jail, and no amount of palm-greasing would get him out. At worst he'd be banished, flung from the city gates in a disgraceful heap, effectively ending the true Montague line until or if Sheila ever had a child.

Jonathan wasn't sure he'd want to know what that child would turn out like, so it was probably a good thing that Sheila showed no motherly instincts. On the other hand, his only son was now effectively finished in all aspects of life, including the political arena. No way this sort of scandal would blow over, no. The king wouldn't take kindly to a Montague man murdering the princess' favorite cousin, that was certain.

Jonathan reached for the television remote and flicked through the channels to his wife's station. Sure enough, there she was, blonde hair a little frazzled, effectively playing the part of barely-concealed grief over her stepson's predicament. His wife was a very good actress. The public would like her bravery. He'd have to thank her for that.

Onscreen, Sheila was interviewing Chief Bey, who was clearly genuinely upset over the loss of his nephew. "What can you tell us about the accident scene?" she asked him, her normally smooth, catlike voice broken by a carefully placed hint of motherly tears.

"We haven't completely reconstructed what happened," said Chief Bey, "and obviously the Capulets and Montagues have differing accounts."

"Do you have any suspects in the murders of Lock Capulet..." --here she lowered her voice in sympathy-- "...and your dear nephew, Ardeth Bey?"

The Chief's jaw clenched, and his words were grim. "We are seeking for questioning all men involved in the murder of my nephew. Rick Montague is wanted for the murder of Lock Capulet and for questioning in the other case as well."

"But," purred Sheila, her acting skills kicking in for lack of maternal instinct, "couldn't the car crash have been an accident? We have tape that shows--"

"No more questions at this time. Thank you, Mrs. Montague."

With that the chief turned and stalked away. Sheila, not used to being so abruptly left in the lurch by her interviewees, was silent for a moment before launching into another canned account of what had happened on the Green that day. "It is a sad day in Verona City," she said, pictures of the scene under her voiceover. "Two of the city's most respected sons are dead, and another prominent man is missing and wanted for murder. From what we've been able to piece together, early this afternoon a challenge was issued to the Montague family by Lock Capulet, the king's nephew. Chief Bey's nephew, Ardeth Bey, was apparently killed in the incident. Capulet was then chased, by car, by Richard Montague, a drive which resulted in a terrible crash that claimed the life of Capulet. Montague is apparently wanted for questioning, though clearly..." Sheila looked meaningfully at the camera. "Clearly, anyone who watches the tape will come to the inevitable conclusion that the incident was an accident. It is important, in this dire time, that we not let family loyalty color our perceptions of this tragedy, and let the truth shine free and unobstructed."

Sheila then launched into a summary of the physical evidence of the crime scene, but Jonathan had tuned out. She'd done perfectly, perfectly. This was why he'd married the woman. The thing about Sheila was that people trusted her when they saw her on camera, implicitly, no questions asked. She said Rick was innocent and spouted off a bunch of flowery language about truth and life and liberty, and the people would believe her. The woman was a public relations genius.

It had to work this time. If it didn't... Jonathan's son was a dead man.

People have a way of ignoring what they think does not concern them, and at that moment Evelyn had no inkling of the ways in which her world was turning upside down. She hadn't seen the television news in days, and she was at the moment far too wrapped up in the debate between various pieces of lingerie to much care what was happening in the rest of the world.

She had to admit, though, she was getting worried. It was now well past dinner, nearly five hours since Rick had left the temple. He'd said he wouldn't be long. Shouldn't he have called her, to let her know he was okay, and on his way, or in the hospital, or dying at the side of the road? Her cell phone had been off, and she could have kicked herself for not noticing earlier. What if something had happened to him? What if Lock had...

The room's phone jingled loudly, and she snatched it up. "Rick?"

But no, it was Imhotep, and he sounded bleak. "Why wasn't your phone on? Where are you? Are you okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be okay? What's wrong?"

The priest paused. "Turn on the news, Evelyn."

Evelyn found the remote with shaky fingers and pressed "on." The images that greeted her nearly screamed at her even in the silence of mute button. Sheila Montague, uncharacteristically ruffled, barely holding her composure on camera as she reported at the scene of an accident. Two cars; a spectacular crash. A dead man; a wanted man. She placed the phone on the sofa beside and her and sunk down to the floor. The tears started soon after, but not even she could tell whether they were for her cousin or for...

Her husband.

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