text: (TW ... mention of assassination, hanging) (Note, can be read on its own or as a continuation of previous story “Essy 37 Head of State” submitted in contest #224) The assassination went off without a hitch, shocking the world and those closest to him who did not see it coming. After years of oppression and cruelty, the freed citizens fled in droves, leaving Washington DC abandoned by all. All except Jane. Jane wandered the empty halls fighting the urge to continue her job which was null and void. The offices sat silently, the phones not ringing, the keyboards not clicking. The only sound was Jane’s soft footsteps as she walked the halls alone. The staff was long gone in pursuit of better lives. All except Jane. For Jane was not part of the general staff, she was not the run of the mill employee. She was, in fact, the personal assistant to the dictator. *** Waking past the desks he had his usual men surrounding him, their clacking shoes making that awful announcement of their approach, instilling fear into the environment. Jane worked quietly, keeping her head down, entering the data with both speed and accuracy, saying a silent prayer for no errors. Punishment for errors came quickly. She kept her eyes glued to the forms on her desk, her face expressionless. “You.” The footsteps stopped at her desk. “Follow me.” It took a moment to register. He had routinely made similar demands, picking out girls to summon into his office. The beautiful girls, they went in hesitantly, came out broken. Jane, with her scars from long ago, had a shield keeping her safe from his desires. “Yes, sir.” She stood and followed him into his office, his surrounding men now surrounding her. “What is your name?” “Francesca, sir.” “Have her name changed to Jane,” he instructed the man on his left. “Yes, sir.” Turning his attention to the next man in his entourage, he commanded, “Arrange her office and uniform.” “Yes, sir.” Turning on his heel, he barked, “Follow me.” Once again, she followed silently into the unknown. Looking around the office she had been led into, she asked, “What is happening?” “Your new position, Jane. You are now his personal assistant.” *** How many years ago was that? Too many to count. Before that, life with a cruel father and spineless mother was what she called her childhood. Unknown at the time, that cruelty saved her from the wicked world she found herself thrown into, prepared her for life with the dictator. The scars she carried both internally and on her face became a barrier no one would cross, not even him. She entered the clerical room, her soft footsteps in stark contrast to theirs, the memory tightening her chest in fear. Walking through the deserted aisles she stopped at her desk from years ago, reliving the sheer terror of the moment she was commanded to follow him, receiving her assignment. Looking at the papers strewn about, she wondered where her replacement admin had gone. The new government had appeared overnight in perfect coordination with the assassination. Fifty Heads of State, unknown before the takeover, took charge of the country, each needing a staff of their own. The girls fled to their new positions, free to choose from the many opportunities, finding their freedom. Months later Jane still wandered the empty halls, slept in her tiny room in the basement of the White House and prepared her meals in the massive commercial kitchen. Free to leave had left her frozen in place. Feeling a sudden chill flow through the massive and abandoned room she was startled. How long had it been since she ventured outside? Swept along with the mob to watch the public hanging had been brutal, seeing the lithe body swinging was both unbearable and awe inspiring. Such an act of courage setting the country free while giving up her own life. For he had made the rule an eye for an eye, and she had knowingly agreed when pulling the trigger. Having seen enough of the macabre celebration she had raced back inside, quickly seeking solace in her office, knowing that without her boss she reported there based solely on the familiarity of routine. Lost in thought, she walked down the marble staircase to the lobby. Opening the grand double doors, she gasped to see the snow falling on the empty lawn. The bleak scene of destruction became secondary to the beauty of the white blanket. Although temporary, it was long enough to give Jane some relief. Images floated through her mind. Were they something she had read or saw online before the signal was blocked? Perhaps memories from those few fleeting years when her father had left her and her mother penniless and abandoned in their dilapidated home? All these years later, as fate would have its twisted way with her, she once again stood penniless and abandoned, this time on the steps of what had been the grandest home in the country. Pulling the black woolen coat tighter around herself she took a step out, tilting her head back, an unnatural position for her. The cool flakes fell on her, soothing her, not discriminating one side of her face from the other. Following that long ago whisp of a memory she stepped onto the lawn and lay down. “That’s it, Francesca, there you go! See your angel, sweetheart?” Mama had said after they swept the snow with their arms and legs. Her mother had come back to life in their abandonment. A short burst of light had shone in the time between her abusive father leaving and the president turned dictator bringing darkness over the country. She stood, looking back at the angel in the snow in front of the White House, null and void. What was to become of her? *** Tiptoeing into his office she looked around, went to his desk, and sat down. Quickly nauseated she stood and ran out. Fleeing past the rows of desks she recalled her early days while she still had her own thoughts, her own voice. Finding the hollow space under her desk she had taped a folder there, imitating the silent action of her coworkers. Her papers. Did he ever find them? Surely not, for the punishment would have been swift and severe, displayed for all to see. Falling to the floor she placed her hand under the cold metal desk. Her heart racing, she pulled down the folder, tape stuck to all four edges. Startled to discover unfamiliar pages in a handwriting not her own, she sat and read the detailed instructions left behind for her to find. *** “Who shall I say is calling?” “Jane.” A pause. “No. Francesca.” Jane was null and void. *** Searching the supply room, she organized a pile of uniforms in her size to take with her. Pulling on warm black boots and layers of clothing including a woolen coat and scarf she felt prepared for the journey. S37 had offered to send her a car but the roads of the abandoned capital had not been plowed and the snow was thick and heavy. Preferring to walk out on her own, she agreed to meet on the road traveling north to State 37. After an extensive and comforting conversation with the closest Head of State, she looked forward to meeting her new boss. She silently thanked whoever had left those instructions for her in the hiding spot known only by the clerical staff, for she had saved her life. One last look around. One deep breath. She walked through the double doors and closed them tightly behind her. The angel from earlier was snowed over, no trace to be seen, but Francesca saw it perfectly in her mind’s eye as she walked across the great lawn to her new life.