Don’t worry folks. This is only A STORY . THAT’S ALL- A STORY.

The Turn Around of the Mid 21st Century; the movement back to moderation. This you are about to read is a fanciful, far fetched myth as to how that took place. Naturally too fantastic to be credible. What obviously did take place was simply the usual shifting of political tides, albeit it with a few pieces of the normal dramas which got blown out of all proportions. Mere entertainment this, and no more. It never happened.

Marcia Handsbrooke checked her hair in the hall mirror, set her President’s Support Cap carefully in place, checked her hair again, then with a spring in her step and a sunny determination stepped out in bright early summer’s morn. Her day all laid out before her. First to the weekly morning meeting to brief the other ‘Girls’ of The Mothers Vigilant on the latest warnings of Woke activity, nationally, regionally and in the town itself, making sure everyone was up to speed, on the same page, and prepped, there would also be the Church Committee meeting at midday and the PTA in the afternoon, though they tended to defer to the Mothers’ Vigilant these days, a very hard slog but worth it. Then in the evening after dinner it would be onto the Social Media. Yes the work was never done, but it was all worth it. And Mike bless him was so supportive, he never argued. There was much to be done these days. The news was often reporting disturbances in the big cities, the would be another piece about towns going through a sort of liberal woke secession. And there were always the problems in Statonville itself. The small independent church on West Tree. Those two unofficial libraries. At least two ‘underground newspapers’. Nasty scenes in public. You had to be vigilant indeed.

On stepping into her driveway she noticed idling up the street an unfamiliar blue car. That ‘H’ caught in the sunlight. No one in the street had a Honda. Inside a white couple, dressed well and appearing to be in conversation. They drew alongside, the driver rolled down his window, he looked extremely refined and respectable.
‘Excuse us m’am. Our GPS has gotten us confused, we’re looking for,’
At this point the woman, younger than him got out of the car and began to stretch and flex her leg.
‘Sorry leg’s cricked after the journey,’
‘It’s those half marathons,’ he replied in a mild, scolding, patriarchal way ‘Anyway as I was saying m’am, whereas we’ve found your lovely town of Statonville. We can’t find this ‘Brakeleaf Road?’
‘Brakeleaf Road?’ quizzed Marcia ‘I’ve lived here all of my life. Never heard of that. Can I see that piece of paper you have there? Check the zip code for you. Marcia Handsbrooke by the way,’
‘Jon Wyndale,’ he replied, smile and a brief civil handshake ‘And the Olympiad there is Feylena Raff,’ who smiled and waved as she passed Marcia’s car pacing off her crick.
Marcia looked at the document laughed.
‘Oh no wonder. You’re looking for Drakelane Road. That’s down near the town centre. I’m on my way in that direction. You can follow me,’
‘Oh computers. How do they mangled an address? That’s nice of you Marcia,’ said Jon he glanced at his watch ‘We’re running late as it is. Hey! C’mon Amy Cragg. Marcia is going to be our guide,’
Feylena still hobbling back from the driveway opening ‘Ha-ha’d and moved to their car. Marcia went to hers and gasped.
‘Oh shoot. I’ve got a flat. Mike always handles this. And I have a meeting to attend,’
Feylena placed a friendly hand on Marcia’s arm.
‘Oh they are the worst. I had two in one month. Look you’ve been so helpful to us. If you just guide us to town, can we take you to your meeting place,’
Jon chimed in.
‘Sure. I mean I can change a flat, but if you are pressed for time. And we’re happy to help,’
Feeling a bit mean for being cautious Marcia nonetheless glance in the car. The shoulder bag was open, she could see the black and gold of a bible. And the latest by Bart Murth her favourite conservative author, Feylena was slipping in the back and rummaging through it.
‘Such a mess,’ she muttered.
Marcia sat next to Jon and he followed her directions. She phoned up Mike gave him a brief account, he said he would get it sorted. He was a bit brief and edgy today, always an indication he was closing on an order. Mind you these days.
Jon’s drive was a bit speedy for Marcia’s taste, but he was obviously a good driver, reflexes very sharp, and composed too, no running commentary about flaws of other drivers, in fact hardly any talk, it was Feylena who did the chatting about how nice the town looked, finally he spoke.
‘Quiet little town,’ he said to Marcia. She was glad it gave that impression. Although…
‘It seems to be today,’ she replied almost to herself. Two places hadn’t opened. Jeff’s gun store, maybe he wasn’t well again. The local party office being shuttered was a surprise. Bret, Jane and Trevor between them normally kept it going through sun, rain or snow, strange not being able to see the smiling confident presidential face beaming out. It was a pity about the shutters, though even here in Statonville there were stone throwers.
‘And the next right. Thank you,’ she said.
Jon took the turning at what she felt was a pace.
‘There’s the meeting hall,’ Marcia said pointing to a building on the right ‘Just in front of the police station,’ which she noticed seemed to have more than the usual patrol cars parked outside, and a few unfamiliar vehicles. Anyway she relaxed there was no one waiting at the hall, waiting for her to unlock the door, Geraldine was after her chairship and would use any slip to complain in that passive way. Jon drove straight to the station though.

The pace of the morning moved faster and things unravelled. As soon as Jon’s car stopped, close to the entrance Feylena, now quite agile, was out of the back seat opening Marcia’s door, unfastening her seat belt and setting a firm hand of Marcia’s arm.
‘Quick Marcia,’ she said in a low voice ‘Get inside. Now,’
Taken a back, confused and a little scared Marcia blankly responded to the now very authoritative military affirmative tone. She did manage a ‘What is going on?’ as Feylena’s now firm grip steered through her the station door, Jon close behind, apparently with his back to her.
Marcia didn’t have a lot of time to take things in as she was hurried through the main office Feylena and Jon now quiet silent, that grip tighter. On her frequent social and civic visits, she’d got to know the officers. A few regular desk folk were not there. Others seemed very muted, heads down. There were some unfamiliar figures. Three in a military style outfits, one of them at a desk and a computer, the two others, still and observant. She had this sudden feeling of being under threat and this pair were protecting her.
As they went through another set of doors she found her voice and senses, mostly now fear driven.
‘Please tell me what is going on?’
From behind her Jon spoke, soft, calming.
‘It’s for your own safety Marcia,’
Oh my, she thought, she had been right.
Her mind now frenetic with ideas of terrorists. Here in Statonville. Was she targeted? You heard on the news about random shootings of folk, prominent in their localities. Mike? The boys? What about them?
She realised, the normally friendly officers and staff, all looking straight ahead, carrying papers, or tapping on phone, tablets. Seeming too absorbed to speak to her.
And into Chief Phelbarg’s office. Only he was not there. An older man, gaunt faced with an air similar to old Principal Dyrsmere at High School, he had been a firm but fair man you never really wanted to be summoned to though.
‘This is Mrs Marcia Handsbrooke sir,’ Jon said in a respectful tone.
‘Thank you agents,’ the man spoke in a deep southern accent, gestured to the chair ‘Please sit down Mrs Handsbooke,’ Marcia now sweating and shaking noticed how he had one of those courtly southern ways she thought only existed in films ‘Agent Raff. Water for Mrs Handsbooke please. You must be quite shaken Mrs Handsbooke. You may take a few minutes, then we will talk,’
‘You should drink,’ Feylena said solicitously handing Marcia a cup of water, and she did as suggested, her mouth was very dry, she could hardly speak, her thoughts all jumbled.
‘Where is Chief Phelbarg?’ she asked, the only question she could frame. The man smiled, gently.
‘He’s busy with other matters Mrs Handsbrooke,’
‘I would like to speak with my lawyer,’ with the sips of water she found clarity.
‘Mr Garmith of Halsdech and Garmith?’ the man asked.
‘Yes,’ she said shaken again, How did he know? The gentle smile again.
‘I believe the partnership is somewhat occupied this morning,’ the smile faded a sadness replaced it ‘There is a suddenness of Uncertainty Mrs Handsbrooke. Even in Statonville,’
With that he referred to a laptop.
‘I am sorry to hurry you Mrs Handsbrooke,’ he turned to a side door calling out ‘Mr Aideren. Mrs Handsbrooke’s file please,’
File?
A young collegiate fellow appeared, smiled briefly handed a manilla folder to the man and sat down, a tablet on his lap. The man lifted out one piece of paper and turned it towards Marcia.
‘Mrs Handsbrooke. Will you please examine this document and confirm all the details are correct?’
Her married name, her maiden name, names of her family. Mike’s business details. Her various associated groups. Bank account details. And more. Twenty five of her forty years all laid out. Marcia found her outrage, she spluttered. She demanded to know what was going on. Who were you? You people. Jon blocked the door. Feylena patted her shoulder. The young man was tapping something on his tablet. The older man could have been Principal Dyrsmere. Serious untroubled features.
‘Please answer my question Mrs Handsbrooke. I assure you it is for the best. The more you co-operate, the more you will understand,’
‘Please Mrs Handsbrooke,’ that was Jon, he sounded so sorry for her, in her shock and more confusion she wilted.
‘Yes. Those details are correct,’ she croaked.
‘Thank you Marcia,’ whispered Feylena. The young man kept tapping. The man continued, he looked stern now. Like the time Principal Dyrsmere reprimanded her and Shirl’ for being caught smoking under the bleachers.

‘Now Mrs Handsbrooke. Your membership of the Mothers Vigilant. Did you of your own free will, six times vocally and five times in written documentation or the computer equivalent use the word ‘Purge’ in relation to fellow citizens of Statonville or concerning elected officials of this state you are resident in?’ he handed her another paper. To her horror she saw itemised in print comments she could recognise, maybe not the exact words ‘In addition. Did you  of your own free will ten times vocally and seven times in written documentation or the computer equivalent make hostile remarks concerning the race, religion or social orientation of citizens of this nation?’ another piece of paper. The process was repeated three other times in swift fashion his voice beginning quicker, more demanding. Marcia could only stammer, make half sentences of protest, excuse or weak demand. Was this all right? She could not recall ever word she had said. From somewhere within a flurry of anger burst out.
‘It’s true then. There is a Deep State,’
And there was Feylena’s hand on her shoulder a slight squeeze, when she looked up to the young woman, this time the expression was firm, the eyes fixed on a tv screen, with the volume turned down. To one side of the news reader was the picture of one of the very vocal colourful rising stars in the current government. According to the feed he had died in a car accident, no other vehicles involved. Other words coming out on the feed. Erratic driving. DUI? Marcia was not a stupid woman. She made the connection. Without one word said.
The questions were repeated. She could not answer though. She was gripped with fresh waves of anger, fear and confusion. Feylena’s hand on her shoulder again, this time it came with a pat, like the expression firm.
‘I think Mrs Handsbrooke needs time sir,’
The man nodded to Jon. Jon also firm faced stood the other side of Marcia, he and Feylena led Marcia out, this time through a back exit. There was a sturdy vehicle, no windows, inside sat three other women seated, belted in silent, she recognised them, a woman guard in uniform and of stone face regarded Marcia cold eyes silencing her.
‘You will sit please. Do not converse with the others. Look straight ahead,’ Marcia shaken did as she was told, there was a gathering numbness of thought, a lack of will. Someone was belting her in. The seats she thought were surprisingly comfy. She had been grateful for that water, so clear, so cool.
The doors closed. There was a slight jolt as the van moved off.

Jon and Feylena exchanged looks.
‘I do prefer a soft deceptive pick up. No distractions. No nosy neighbours,’ he said
‘That was easy,’ she said ‘Comparatively speaking,’
‘Yep. Final part. Another Hot Spot town secure,’
There was a grunt
‘You think? You pair don’t get off so easy this time,’ their superior had joined them ‘Our demonstration is getting a bit more active than we wanted. Some clown’s doing a Washington 2021 and brought a noose. The editor of the local, pro-presidential newspaper has locked himself in the john and is screaming for help,’
‘Good place to hide out. Very convenient ,’ mused Feylena.
‘I’ve said it before’ Jon said with irony ‘None so deadly as liberals, let loose,’
‘I hate crowd control,’ Feylena grumbled ‘I always get kicked in the ankle by some old biddy. I mean a six foot male lummox; you can deal it out and no one minds. But a five foot festy granny?’
Jon patted her on the shoulder. Very sarcastically funny, she thought.
‘I’m sure the director himself will visit you in hospital,’
Naturally she was not mollified.
‘It’s not like we even arranged the demo. That Swatson. He always gets them so fired and agitated. There’s an art to arranging an effective spontaneous demonstration,’
‘I’ll bring you flowers and candy,’ Jon assured.

A month later Marcia was in complete co-operation with the authorities. The diet of dull food, routine low key questioning, isolation and a newsfeeds concerning a high profile financial scandal masked by a government bills and presidential decrees was lose and running all day. She could not be sure what was true. Actually she didn’t care. Because….
The first week. There had been the shown to her video footage of Mike being interviewed by some other men, again polite and low-key. They were thanking him for his assistance.

‘Well I knew she was being politically active, But I thought that was just Marcia. I mean she always did have strong views. Some many folk do these days. I didn’t think there was anything like that to it. I mean violence? Well yes she has her own handgun, but these days who doesn’t it? And she always kept it locked up from the boys,’ at that stage he had started to cry ‘The boys. What do I say to the boys? Boys, your mom has been arrested for being a,’ and he broke down.
The hand on the shoulder.
‘We appreciate this is very hard for you sir. Mr Handbrooke. We thank you for informing us of your concerns in the first place,’ There was sympathy.
‘But I thought you would only be concerned with those she was associating with. Just give her a warning,’ and more sympathy.
That had been the first real body blow. Mike had informed on her.

Then she could not see the boys. She was told by a very empathetic matronly woman it was all for the best. They were safe and the media being kept away. She talked a lot to that woman.
The woman was a good listener. And a very good compiler of reports. As were others.
They decided it was best not for folk such as Marcia to see the programme.
‘Living With a Terrorist’ actually there had been a great deal of debate over the title, some wanted it toned down. Others argued it was necessary to keep the Liberal population on edge and give the moderate conservatives something to think about. Mike was on it, though at his request his face was in shadow and his voice changed.

There were howls of outrage from some conservatives but in the wake of the three school bombings by the right-wing militia the Sons of Liberty, the tide of the nation was turning. There had been some debate about using schools as arranged targets, but though these were spectacular there were only a few cuts and bruises ,and shocks. It was also an ideal cover to efficiently with no quarter terminate several of the militia in shoot-outs, the rest lost the will.

Six months after the Vice President resigned following revelations of their links to the Big Money Scandal (You think we could have come up with a better title? It worked didn’t it?), the lead coming from papers found in the care of that DUI accident. The President stepped down due to severe health issues. The midterms saw a move to the centre. Nothing so useful as a disillusioned or embarrassed conservative. The staged mass burnings of Presidential memorabilia were popular and there were spontaneous ones.

‘Hi there hero. How’s the leg?’
‘Will you tell those so-called jokers back at Office. No more ironic balloons or flowers. Your candy I appreciated. But Look at the place! Like a florists! Anyway the leg hurts like crap. I’m gonna have a scar for life. How is that going to look on the beach? Normally, yeah part of the job.  But taking a bullet for that that a-hole? A rampant misogynist, last holdout of the cabinet,’
‘Yeah, but his blubbering and peeping his pants on TV? Character assassination at its finest there partner,’
Feylena was not assuaged.
‘Another inch and it would have been my ass. My sweet sensational ass,’
Jon patted her other leg.
‘They can do wonders for scars these days. Anyway, what red-blooded American girl doesn’t go for someone with a mysterious scar?’
‘Jenny does not care for me to being the focus of other red-blooded American girls. I get fan mail! I shall have to get another new hair job,’
‘You’ll get a commendation,’
A rude noise followed. Then.
‘Put the word out that when I get out I’ll be looking for the sniper and when I find them, irrespective of rank or clearance I’ll shove their fancy customised rifle so far up. There’s only so much staged reality a girl can take dammit,’

In the government location…
They had been chosen. On the whole they did not care to have been chosen. Some secrets you best steered cleared away from. But they had been drafted in. A back-handed compliment. Each in their own way wondered how the people on the other side of the table dealt with such details on a day to day basis. Seniors in Law Enforcement, Security, Intelligence and The Military. When the chosen had read the reports and closed the folders their spokesperson started.
‘Thank you for your confidence in us. You have our assurance on this, the political side of the equation will not be allowed to be known. We assess there will be documentation to be signed which will make us complicit, each one,’
‘Correct Senator. We on this side of as you say the equation value your understanding, perspective and sense of responsibility to the Nation,’
‘Will we ever meet the planners and executives of this series of strategies?’
‘They will remain to the nation and colleagues, unknown, unremarkable, middle ranking functionaries, albeit ones with a great interest in Constitutional Law, Political and Social History, but those would be seen as parts of their official jobs,’
‘And yet. They spent their true careers thinking The Unthinkable, planning for situations such as these and laying in place strategies within strategies, having to shift and alert with varying political climes. Incredible that it worked so well,’
‘As we understand it, the basis has been in place for some One Hundred and Fifty years. The vital stability of the nation, the inviolability of the cohesion of the federal system as laid down in the Constitution. It has been utilised on a few occasions, although not to this extent. This was indeed one whole year in the detail planning,’
‘How could you be sure of the loyalty and co-operation of all staff on the ground?’
‘There had been that previous year of sifting through those whose loyalty was to the administration and not The Constitution. They were, one way or another neutralised or isolated. The details are in Appendix K,’
‘A mighty endeavour indeed. Some might argue a coup. Some romantics a conspiracy. But then these would not be realists. And of course, the viability and stability of a state can only be continued by realism. A shame about the number of deaths and lives ruined, but there again had this been an invasion by an outside power all this would have been accepted as a price,’
‘We are glad that the political side of the equation sees things that way,’
‘And we in turn are glad that you who hold so much in the way of, shall we say hardware, did not decide to take over the whole control,’
‘We hand you back The Constitution. Please keep it secure,’
Papers were signed documents secured in safes deep in rooms, within rooms known only to a very few.
There was a brief exchange of words between the political side of the equation.
‘Quite the price paid,’
‘The alternatives would have been so much worse,’
‘We are agreed on that,’
And everyone returned to the business of repairing and instigating the return to the mundane.

The one who had been vice-president did ensure they did not drink much. Too much drink and you could make a careless comment, which would be found out. There were monthly visits from very civil men to ask after the disgraced vice-president’s welfare and chat about that month’s activities. Those monthly reminders. At least those kept the threat of legal charges and imprisonment at bay. This must be going on in a few locations. Once the theoretically second most important person in the USA  did not ask about anyone else. It was all for the best. If they were very lucky everyone would forget about this vice-president, they would become a footnote. What a welcome fate.

Marcia was released. She had not contested the divorce. She could not think much these days. She just wanted it all to stop. A charity found her a part time job and a small apartment in a small, quiet town. All she had to do was register once a month with the local police who treated her civilly enough. She kept herself to herself, grew potted plants and adopted a rescued dog, she cuddled and cried to it a lot. Because she could trust the dog. She would never be involved in any committee or organisation again. It was noted and recorded she never voted again on anything.

Federal funds paid for Agent Raff’s cosmetic surgery and new hairstyle. She was assigned to training. The profile was deemed satisfactorily lower. A woman named simply as ‘Jenny’ agreed with the style and the posting.

Remember. This is only story. A fanciful tale. There is no evidence of anything so outrageous taking place. People simply had enough of the overblown antics taking place and gave up on the administration of the time, going back to more calm times.

The End.

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Footnote: Thanks to Jill Dennison of Filosofa for the series Parent’s (Night)mare

https://wordpress.com/reader/feeds/12093442/posts/5629704699

Being the inspiration for this ‘alternative history’ take on her series.