“Why are you doing this?”
“How does it feel, Senator, to be powerless to protect someone you love?”
“What do you want from me? Just tell me what you want me to do.”
An image of a middle-aged African-American woman flashed onto the screen.
“This woman’s name is Chantrel Jones. She lives in a low-income area of Chesterton. She has an abusive ex-boyfriend who now stalks her. He’s physically abused her in the past and threatened to kill her. The ex has a restraining order issued against him, but he continues to harass her. Chantrel has applied for a concealed carry permit so that she can protect herself from him as she walks the three miles to work every morning.
“Chesterton, as you know, has very restrictive gun laws and requires all concealed carry permit holders to prove they have a legitimate need for a weapon before being issued a permit. So far, Chantrel has been unable to obtain a permit. You will help her obtain one within six weeks’ time. If you succeed, your daughter won’t be harmed.”
“Okay. Look, if you’ll give me some paper and a pen, I’ll write a letter to the chief of police there. He’s a personal friend of mine. I can help get her a permit by the end of the week.”
The voice laughed.
“But that would be too easy, Senator. You won’t be allowed to use your influence to get the permit. You won’t be allowed to do anything as yourself. You will work with Chantrel to help advise her on how to fill out the forms and how to use the existing legal framework to move the process along. However, you won’t have any advantage that isn’t already available to Ms. Jones.”
How did this happen to me? How did I end up here? What in the world is going on?
The Senator pushed the questions out of his mind and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. There would be time to plan his escape later, but for now, he needed to make sure he did exactly what they asked him to – for his daughter’s sake.
“I’ll need to have access to the forms she’s filled out either online or hard-copy. And, can I communicate with her? I’ll need to ask her some questions, too, at some point.”
“You’ll have everything you need to begin in the envelope. Ms. Jones’ initial application was denied. That’s been included along with the instructions on the appeals process. There’s a slot in the door through which you can put any forms, as well as written notes, with any requests or questions you might have. You’ll be allowed to talk to Ms. Jones once a week at precisely 12:15 p.m. Today will be your first call. The video screen will display the date and time for the remainder of your stay.”
Just then, a slot not much bigger than a small briefcase opened at the base of the door. A manila envelope was shoved through, along with a bottle of water and a small plastic bag containing what appeared to be a sandwich. The access door quickly closed again, and the Senator heard the clicking of a lock on the other side.
* * * * *
Xavier greedily drank down three-quarters of the water, saving the rest for later. Putting the sandwich aside, he forced himself to focus on the material in the packet before him, but he wasn’t able to completely ignore the questions running through his mind about his captivity. Why him? They must know he helped craft the legislation that made Chesterton a veritable fortress against gun ownership. It was that success that helped propel him to become a senator, where he promised to do the same for the entire state. Was the NRA behind this, or was it some other gun-crazy right-wing group? Whoever it was, they were obviously very serious and had the means to carry out their threat against his daughter, so he better deliver.
As he reviewed the case, he felt hopeful. The restraining order Chantrel had successfully taken out against Brad Thompson – the ex-boyfriend turned stalker – provided some excellent details of his violent behavior that should definitely serve in her favor in the appeal. The woman seemed likeable from the photograph and hand-written material she had provided detailing her experiences with said ex-boyfriend. Being likeable would help her in front of the appeals board, which met once a quarter.
A knot formed in the pit of his stomach. Once a quarter…. If they met on the same schedule they used to when he was a councilman, that would be the fourth Thursday of the first month of the quarter. He did the calculation in his head – the 25th of July. Counting today, the six weeks would be up on Friday, the 16th of August, which meant that almost three of his allotted six weeks would be spent waiting for that appeals board meeting. They would only get one shot at this. The appeals board had the final say. If they turned the application down, it would take a court battle to overturn their decision, and that was time his daughter didn’t have.
He felt somewhat better after reading the response in the permit denial letter. It said that Chantrel had “failed to prove that your life is endangered or that your circumstances put you in life-threatening situations on a regular basis.” It went on to explain that the ex-boyfriend had never actually been arrested for assault and that the neighborhood in which she lived and worked had an average crime rate, failing to justify any unique threat to her that the rest of the general population was not exposed to. There was blather at the end about the great success of the gun-control process and how it actually made the whole city safer, and that, in reality, she was now less likely to be the victim of violent crime as a result.
Xavier picked up a picture of Chantrel that had been taken after her ex-boyfriend had hit her. Her lip was split open and slightly swollen where she had been hit. Despite his own dire circumstances, the Senator felt sorry for her.
According to the information in the envelope he had just received, the appeals process was still straight-forward. After filling out a simple online form, Chantrel would be put on a list of people appealing that day. The board would hear each appeal, in the order which the applicants had signed up. The applicant would present their case, answer follow-up questions that might be asked by the board, and then be sent to wait in the foyer as the board discussed their case in closed session. The applicant could be called back in if the board had additional questions. This would continue until all appeals had been heard. If you didn’t want to wait for the official ruling letter to arrive in the mail, you could find out the final decision of the board the following Monday by calling the city police station headquarters.
Xavier read over everything in the packet three times, making notes on a legal pad outlining what he thought would be a winning strategy for their appeal. The whole process took slightly more than an hour, after which he ate the sandwich. A BLT on wheat. Not his favorite, but the tomatoes were fresh. At least it didn’t appear they were planning to starve him while he was here.
He looked at the time. It was 10 a.m. With nothing to do but think between now and when it was time to talk with Chantrel, he began running through everything he could remember from the night before. He tried to recall anything that might give him some insight into who had abducted him.
He’d arrived at Bob Guthrie’s house around 9 p.m. with Shareese. They’d found Bob on the back veranda. After talking with him for a few minutes, they had begun to mingle with the other guests. At some point, Xavier had spied Richard Brown, a fellow-senator who was on the Ways and Means Committee. He had been trying to corner Richard for a month to discuss a road-widening project for Xavier’s district that was dangerously close to going unfunded. After telling Shareese he had some business to discuss with Richard, they split up, agreeing to meet by the fountain in the back yard just before the fireworks were scheduled to begin.
He remembered making it back to the fountain and seeing Shareese. He also recalled the fireworks starting. But after that, things became a bit fuzzy. He tried to remember if he’d seen the grand finale or not. Did he and Shareese go anywhere afterwards? Did they make it back to his car? If so, he certainly wouldn’t have been in any shape to drive. Somehow, his captors must have put something in one of the drinks he had consumed. But how had they spirited him away from the party without anyone noticing? Had they taken Shareese, too? Surely it would have made a scene if they had carried his unconscious body across the lawn. There were dozens of people who would have seen. The more he thought about it, the more questions he had.
The next two hours passed slowly, torturously even. He couldn’t remember when he had last spent this much time completely alone with no distractions. Under other circumstances, it might have been an opportunity for some healthy relaxation – a chance to unplug and decompress. But with his daughter’s life on the line, all he could do was obsess over the predicament he was in and worry for her safety. How had they gained access to her apartment? How wide was the conspiracy of people who had to be involved to pull off something like this? Was there any possibility of escape? Would his kidnappers keep their word and spare his daughter’s life if he succeeded at what they had asked him to do? Would they really let him go when this was all over?
He was relieved when, at twelve o’clock, the silence was broken by the sound of his abductor’s voice.
“Are you ready for your phone call with Ms. Jones, Senator?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Good. Let’s go over some guidelines. Rule number one – she doesn’t know who you are, and if you want your daughter to remain safe, you’ll make sure it stays that way. As a precaution, you won’t be allowed to speak to her directly. You’ll hear and see Ms. Jones, but one of my associates will repeat anything you say to Ms. Jones on a separate audio channel. Do you understand?”
“Yes, that’s clear enough.”
“Good. You’ll have fifteen minutes to discuss the appeal and ask any questions you might have – no more. And remember, your daughter is counting on you.”
Several minutes later, the sound of a phone ringing brought the Senator’s attention back to the video screen. Chantrel’s face appeared on the screen. From the angle of the video feed, it appeared she must be using her cell phone to make the call. A red brick wall was behind her, and some sort of advertisement was off to the left. He assumed she was probably out behind her workplace on break.
“Hello?” Chantrel asked.
“Hello, Ms. Jones, this is… I’m here to help you with your gun permit appeal,” he said. He heard another man’s voice immediately following his own say, “Hello, Ms. Jones. This is Jeremy Thornson. I’m here to help you with your gun permit appeal.”
“Thanks,” she replied.
“First, have you already filled out the form to request a hearing with the appeal’s board?”
“Yes, I filled out that online form last week.”
“Good. Now, when you get there, you’ll have about ten minutes to present your case to the board.” He waited for the other man to repeat his words to Chantrel before he continued. “I’ve read your file and the denial letter. I think our best strategy is to try and convince them that Mr. Thompson is a credible threat to your safety.”
“Okay.”
“I want you to get a large color copy of that photo showing the bruises on your face from when he beat you before. The one you sent to me.”
“Okay.”
“When your turn comes to present your case, I want you to give them that photo and tell them exactly what happened during that altercation.”
“Okay, I can do that.”
“Good. We want them to feel exactly what you felt that day.”
“Right.”
“I want you to imagine you’re sitting there right now, and it’s your turn to speak to the appeals board. You’ve just handed them the photograph. Now tell them your story.”
“Okay... It was morning-time, just after Keisha had left for school…”
Xavier looked down at the portfolio spread out before him on the table and found the photograph of the cute, cherubic little girl that had been included in the materials he had been given. She appeared to be about five or six years old.
“Brad – my ex – got up late, which was unusual for him. He’d asked me to make him some eggs and toast for breakfast while he took a shower to get ready for work. He came into the kitchen, and I could tell he was on edge. He hated to be late, especially to work. I’d started making his breakfast just after Keisha left, but the eggs still weren’t done.
“When he saw that his breakfast wasn’t ready… he just lost it. He yelled at me, ‘Why can’t you do anything right?! Didn’t I tell you I was late for work?! How long does it take to cook a couple of eggs and some toast?!’ He’d been physical before… grabbing my arm, mostly. But this time was different. He back-handed me across the face. Then he shoved me hard up against the refrigerator.”
Her voice was shaking as she continued. “I was scared, you know? I didn’t know what he was gonna do next.”
She reached up and brushed a tear away before continuing.
“Anyways, he looked at his watch, and I guess he saw he had to leave right then or he’d be late for work. Then he said, ‘You’re good for nothin’, you know that? Good for nothin’…’ And then he left.”
“And that was the day you filed the restraining order against him?”
“Yeah…”
“Do you think he might hurt you and your daughter? Is that why you want a permit to carry a gun?”
“Yeah, it is,” she said, nodding her head. “Every day, I just pray she gets home okay,” she said, her voice shaking. “She stays with a neighbor once she gets off the bus until I get off work. I call every day, holding my breath until my neighbor picks up the phone and tells me she’s there… that she’s safe.
“And I walk to work. It’s not a really bad neighborhood, but after I kicked Brad out, he started following me when I walked home sometimes. He’d yell at me, call me names, that sort of stuff. Once, he even threw a beer bottle at me. I figured he’d get tired of it and stop eventually, but he still does it about once a week. Last week, he drove by when Keisha and I were at the playground near where we stay, and just glared at me as he drove by real slow. The look in his eyes…. I need to be able to protect myself and my daughter. That’s why I want the gun.”
Xavier thought of his own daughter and how he would do anything to protect her, too. He could identify with the woman’s feelings of helplessness and her desire to defend the one she loved. If his abductors wanted to make him empathize with the woman, they had succeeded.
“That’s good, Chantrel. You did well.”