The Politician - Flash Fiction Story by Elizabeth Mercurio

 

The Politician

Flash Fiction Story

by Elizabeth Mercurio

           

            They were outside his window again, the protestors. Damn the cops, couldn’t they keep those people away with their rainbow flags. Luckily his wife Cindy and the kids were away visiting his in-laws. He was tense and wondered how he’d sleep. He had an important golf game tomorrow with the same donor who’d given him a check for $10 million. He’d been so stunned by the amount he’d clutched the check the whole flight home. He’d need his rest, but he was still thinking of his teenage daughter, Rhian. He’d disliked the name, but his wife had insisted on naming the baby girl after her great-grandmother a strange old lady he’d only met once. She’d held Rhian shortly before she passed away at the old folk’s home. The old woman had smiled and stroked the baby’s cheek. The next day she’d died.

            He and Rhian had a blowout fight before they left. His wife had found letters Rhian had written to a classmate, another girl, love letters. How could his own daughter be gay? Hadn’t they taken her to church before she could walk, told her the story of Adam and Eve before she could read. What would his constituents say? His powerful friends? Donors? He knew he was reactive. Rhian had cried and left for her grandparent’s house with the shadow of his red handprint on her face. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, but this could ruin him.

            He went downstairs to pour himself a drink to help him sleep. The bourbon warmed his chest, and he began to feel drowsy. Their Doberman Molly tried to jump on the sofa next to him. He wacked her hard across the snout. She whimpered and slunk away to her bed in the corner. Molly, what a ridiculous name. He’d wanted to name her something more imposing. He hadn’t even wanted a female dog. He’d gotten the animal to look vicious and protect his family and home, a watch dog. Once again, he’d been overruled when his young son had insisted, they call her Molly. Molly might look ferocious, but with the children doting on her she’d become as docile as an old housecat.

            It was midnight now; he’d better get some shut eye. He felt he must check his daughter’s room one last time, make sure all the letters were destroyed. He started in the special box she kept in her closet. Over the years she’d kept things there, things that were important to her. As a child it held her favourite doll or stuffed animal. This is where his wife had found the love letters wrapped with a silk ribbon lying under a favourite sweater knit by her grandmother. When his wife showed him the letters he didn’t hesitate. He burned them all.

            Then he saw something, a black smooth stone set in a beautiful antique amulet of shining silver. He hadn’t seen it in years. His wife’s great grandmother Rhian had bequeathed it to his daughter in her will calling it the heartstone. It had come in an envelope with dried flowers and a note written in Welsh it said: Ag yn Nawdd, Pwyll; Ag ymhwyll, Goleuni;

Ag yngoleuni, Gwirionedd; Ag yngwirionedd, Cyfiawnder; Ag ynghyfiawnder, Cariad. Below this in English was scrawled: And in protection, reason; And in reason, light; And in light, truth; And in truth, justice; And in justice, love.

            Not knowing why, he felt compelled to further inspect the amulet in brighter light and brought it to his bedroom. He held it under the bedside lamp. On the back there were small markings engraved in the silver. Markings he’d never seen that almost seemed a hieroglyphic of sorts. He heard a surge of wind and looked out the window. The protestors were gone. They’d likely be back tomorrow. They were mostly angry at his harsh policies towards the LGBTQ community, but he knew he must hold the line and keep his base constituents happy.

            He set the necklace down, shut off the light, and tried to sleep. In his restless sleep he sees visions of himself being chased by a gaunt, bony old hag. As she grabs his shoulders from behind he is astounded by her strength. Her black nails close over his shoulders, her blue-violet hands hold tight, and she bites him on the back of his neck with jagged fangs. He awakens screaming, but no sound escapes his mouth. He is awake but cannot move. It’s as if he is paralyzed. After what could be minutes or hours, he is able to move his limbs again, but he feels weak and full of dread.

            He walks down to the kitchen to get a glass of water and checks the microwave clock. How can it only be 1:30 am? Molly is sitting by the kitchen door probably waiting for his son’s return. He suddenly longs for her sweetness and warmth. He goes to pet her, but Molly hasn’t forgotten his earlier treatment and trots away up the stairs to sleep in his son’s room. Alone he shakily gets his water. His throat is so dry the water hurts going down. He smoothes his hair back and that’s when he feels it, a wound, a bitemark at the base of his neck.

            His climbs back into bed thinking perhaps the bites must be from an insect in the house, there was no other logical explanation. Though the pillow is soft his mind is crippled with anxiety fearing the return of the red eyed hag. He drifts off then suddenly feels himself gasping for air. The woman is back. She straddles him her hands around his throat choking him. At that moment beyond the woman’s horrible visage, he recognizes the face from long ago, the face of a great grandmother, the woman that had once held his baby girl so tenderly. As his face became blue, he chokes out the last word he will ever say: “Rhian?”

Elizabeth Mercurio is the author of the books Doll and Words in a Night Jar. She is an Assistant Editor at Lily Poetry Review. She earned an MFA in poetry from The Solstice Low-Residency Program. Her work has appeared in Ample Remains, The Wild Word, Thimble Magazine, Vox Populi, and elsewhere. She was the 2016 recipient of The Sharon Olds Fellowship for Poetry and was named a finalist in the Cordella Press Gwendolyn Brooks Poetry Prize. You can find her at: https://www.elizabethmercurio.com/