Washington, DC – October 2014
Elizabeth can hear nothing but her heart pounding in her chest as she fakes a confident stride behind the podium. Mike steps out of her way, leaving her in the unwanted spotlight. Her eyes rise from the pre-printed speech lying prepped and ready for her, and she finds the cameras. There are so many cameras, so many eyes. Her palms get itchy as her shoulder begins its all-too-familiar throb—the pain piercing up through her head due to her tense muscles and lack of real sleep.
She scans her eyes past the cameras, past the reporters and lands on Henry. There's a part of her that feels guilty for accepting his offer of leaning on him. It doesn't seem fair. She left him. It hadn't been her choice- none of this had been her choice. But it hadn't been his either. His life has been played with just as much as hers and yet he's standing tall with a reassuring smile on his face and his eyes locked with hers. Her diaphragm relaxes, and her chest expands with a full breath as her hearing returns to normal. She can hear the clicking of cameras, the murmuring, and the questions of reporters, and she can hear Mike speaking.
"...and this is my friend, Elizabeth. She has a story to tell and is bravely doing so at great personal risk. I ask that you please listen to her and believe her. It will become apparent in the coming days that all she has to say is the truth. She's not asking for much but for the truth to be heard and for her and her family to be given peace."
Mike steps aside and gestures for her to fully take his place directly behind the podium.
"My name is Elizabeth Adams McCord," she starts. She doesn't expect to tear up before her first sentence is complete, but having her name back is a feeling she's never experienced before. Her eyes flutter shut as she breathes out, "And in 2004, while on deployment serving my country in Iraq, I was kidnapped,"
She looks at Henry and only Henry. He smiles, and she can see the pride in his eyes. She wants to feel proud of herself, too, but the anxiety and fear are still ruling in her head. So she continues to lean on Henry, and his strength becomes her own. His faith becomes their faith.
"Six months into my deployment, I was out on an assignment when an IED exploded. I was injured and behind enemy lines. So when I was taken by two men at the site of the explosion, I had thought that they were just that, my enemies- people in organizations that I was there to help eradicate. Over the next eighteen months, I came to realize that those men were not members of a terrorist organization." She pauses to breathe and makes sure her tempo and voice remain steady.
"While I was being held by the men—I was able later to identify as Samuel Rodriguez and Sayyid Al-Khalaf—I underwent various forms of psychological and physical torture as well as numerous sexual assaults." She hears her voice crack ever so slightly, but her tears remain unshed, and for that, she is grateful.
"I never thought I'd get to this point—the point of getting to tell the world what I've survived." She feels her breath catch in her throat. She wants to scream and yell to show everyone the fire and passion she feels in her soul, but instead, her head and eyes drop down to the speech. The lines that follow will change the face of the country and the world, and she feels the weight heavy on her shoulders.
"I never thought I'd get here," she repeats words that she wasn't supposed to test her voice.
"But I am. I did survive, and for the last eight and a half years, I have stayed hidden. I have been down to rock bottom and built myself up again. I have healed physically and emotionally as much as I could- though I will never be the same woman I was. I will never be the person I was before I was taken." She pauses and looks at the papers, the lines blurred by her tears.
"But the woman I am now is a woman who still loves her country and her family. And here's the point where you all might be wondering what the point of all this is." She looks back up, finding the strength to look at the cameras. She wants to make sure there is no doubt in the public's mind about her next words.
"I answer to your curiosity with what I'm sure is a shocking and unbelievable answer- President Conrad Joseph Dalton. At the time of my kidnapping, he was the director of the central intelligence agency and my boss, and one of my closest friends. I was shocked and heartbroken when I learned after I got back to the States after my time being held to find out that I was never supposed to make it out of my torturer's prison because Conrad Dalton was the one who orchestrated it all."
She hears the crowd's collective gasp and the reporters' questions, but she doesn't stop. She's reached the important part of her speech.
"I stayed in hiding for a long time due to numerous threats to my children's lives from Conrad Dalton. I was forced to leave the man I love and my children and live with an assumed identity in order to keep them safe. My children and their father had to grieve my death and live without me while Conrad Dalton continued to serve as the governor of New York and the President of the United States. And I cannot in good conscience let that man continue to hold the most powerful and consequential office in this country and the world. I have a responsibility, as a citizen and former public servant, to ensure that the office is filled by someone worthy of it, and as far as I'm concerned, Conrad Joseph Dalton is not that man."
She finds Henry in the crowd again. He's grinning, and his eyes are glassy. She's said it, and she can't take it back. It's time for the fallout.
"I understand that this information is nearly unbelievable. I understand that President Dalton is a charismatic, likable, and popular president. I understand that the American people deserve evidence. To that, I say I have turned over everything I have to Congressman Hirst and Isaac Bishop of Vesuvian Private Security to vet and prove my claims. The House Intelligence Committee will review my evidence, and I have been asked to submit to polygraph and psychological testing, to which I have agreed. I will be making myself available to answer questions from Congress as Congressman Hirst deems fit. My goal is not to cause political unrest, but it is to do what I've always done: protect and defend our Constitution from all enemies, foreign and domestic. I did not ask for this fight, and honestly, I have been scared to take it on, but it needs to happen. So, I ask that you, the American people, demand transparency, truth, and justice. Please do not let a man with an impressive résumé and a supreme public persona convince you otherwise. Thank you."
She steps away from the podium, having said her whole piece. She doesn't know how she feels about it, but maybe her brain is finally numbing out to all the stress and fear of reliving her trauma. Her shoulder aches. The back of her neck is throbbing, and her head is pounding. Her hands are sweaty and cold, and her heart is racing.
She keeps her eyes locked with Henry's as she walks back towards him. He smiles, "You just did a very brave thing, Babe. I'm so proud of you."
She nods and swallows. Her eyes close, and her head tips forward. The adrenaline and panic drain from her system, and she's left exhausted. "Yeah, you think it makes us safer?"
"It does," he assures her as she looks at the Vesuvian guys who are flanking them and scanning the crowd. They're being ushered inside a side entrance of the People's House, a supposed haven for the next several hours, possibly days.
"Call and check on the kids... We should've brought them here," she whispers.
"I'm gonna call when we get inside. The entire security team decided their location was safe. They have enough protection."
"I know," she breathes, "Still,"
He nods, "Yeah."
Clarksburg, MD - October 2014
Stevie watches her mother speak with eloquence as she wraps her arms around her knees. Against her grandfather's wishes, she retires to the bedroom her brothers had crashed in last night in this house surrounded by security and flips on CNN. Her mother's words flow through the television speakers, speaking of the unspeakable—speaking truth to power, as her father would say. She has the gift of speaking plainly, though there is nothing plain about the words that are flowing from her mouth.
For a moment, Stevie feels five years old, and her mother—her loving and generous mother—looms big above her on a soccer pitch. It was her first season, and she was barely coordinated enough to kick the ball and run at the same time. But her mother was there wearing a big smile, screaming encouragement, and cheering each time Stevie made it down the field and back. She felt invincible in those moments.
The woman speaking from the television screen isn't the woman who took her to buy her prom dresses or taught her how to put on eyeliner. But she's still her mom. Stevie has never felt so many conflicting emotions at the same time- love and loss and joy and devastation. She lost her mom when she was ten years old, and then eventually, she gained another one. She's always counted herself lucky to have gotten to be loved by two separate women who both happened to be her mother. But one left her- for genuine reasons, she knows- and one held a gun on her- for reasons she was sure she'd never understand.
When her mom's speech is over, Stevie sits on the edge of the bed and turns off the television. She stares out the window, wondering what happens next.
She's startled when the bedroom door opens, "Stevie?"
"Hey, Jase," She greets her little brother. His face has had a permanent scowl of hurt and confusion written on it since he saw the brunette who was once blonde that gave birth to them.
"Umm, do you remember, Elizabeth?" Her brother looks at the floor as if he's trying to force his brain to flash a memory that will never exist.
"Yeah, quite a bit," She shrugs, trying to seem casual.
"Yeah," He sighs, "But I don't. I don't remember her. At all."
"Jase," She shakes her head, "You were really little when she... when we were told she died,"
"Yeah, but she didn't die," he shakes his head as if trying to make sense of it all, "I want mom, my mom,"
Stevie swallows: She doesn't want to taint her brother's view of the woman who's raised him all his life. "I know."
"She did something bad, didn't she? My mom. And Elizabeth… she's the one who's… I don't want to say innocent, but…" he asks, his scowl deepening in a way that looks like Elizabeth, and it shocks Stevie. She's always thought she was the only one who looks like their mother, and now she's not so sure.
"We don't know what happened," She shakes her head, "Mom won't say anything,"
"But you know, right?" he asks, "You can tell me. Everyone... Dad is treating me like I'm Bobby or Drew... I'm not. I'm not a little a kid; I can handle it, okay?"
"You are little," Stevie teases, "Mom just finished her speech. It was good. She sounded strong."
"Do you believe her?" he asks as if he wants to, but something is holding him back.
"It's okay to believe Elizabeth and still love Jessica, Jason. We have two moms; that's part of us now," Stevie says, surprised at her wisdom and insight. "They're both a part of who we are."
"So, when the danger is gone—I am smart enough to know there's danger—what happens?"
Stevie shrugs, "I don't know. I don't think anybody does. But listen, you have your big sisters and little brothers no matter what. And dad, he's our dad, and we love him, and he loves us, and that's not going to change,"
"But what happens to her? I mean Elizabeth," he stammers, "Does she get to stay?"
Stevie takes a breath, "What's that thing Dad always says? Um... Faith consists in believing when it is beyond the power of reason to believe... I think that was Voltaire,"
"So, what, we just believe she'll stick around and that it'll make it true?" Jason asks in frustration.
"Yeah, maybe," Stevie says, "Maybe she does."
Washington, DC – October 2014
Russell stares helplessly at the television as the control room cuts back in. She was credible, sure, and strong, and the politician in him knows never to doubt the power beauty can hold in a media circus. He wants to scream in frustration and throw the remote across the room, but he only turns to Andrew Munsey.
"How the hell did she get passed your guys and end up accusing the President of being what is essentially a war criminal on national fucking television!" His words start low but only grow in volume as he speaks.
"I don't know. They must have missed her somehow," Andrew shrugs.
Russell narrows his eyes at the man across from him, "No, no, no, that's not going to fly. Now, she's in the fucking Capitol and basically fucking unreachable to us without too many questions. And she's saying our President is a fucking war criminal. I can't have her doing this, especially this close to the midterms! How the fuck did she slip by you? You've had every single fucking asset at your disposal searching for her."
The two men are interrupted when the president of the United States barges into the Chief of Staff's office.
"How the hell did this happen?" Russell's tone is lower than he's ever heard it. His eyes are dark and nearly emotionless, and the nagging thought returns: What if Elizabeth McCord was telling the truth?