September 11th, 2011

Spokane, Washington

Erik woke up in cold sweat. It was another nightmare. His clock radio had saved him just in time. His hand whacked the infernal device and he crawled out of bed. His wife partially awoke as his feet hit the floor with a hard thud.

“Where're you going?” she slurred, in between sleep and awareness.

“Sean is having his party, remember? I got to be there by nine.”

“On a Sunday, geese, that guy's cruel.”

“That guy is also my boss. See you at noon.”

Angela tried to say something more but instead she turned over and passed out. Erik kissed her on the cheek and then started to get dressed. His suits were all exactly identical. The only real choice of dress he had was which tie to put on. He had eight. One for each day of the week and one for special occasions. Erik chose to put on the tie reserved for Sundays, it wasn't quite a special occasion. After the rest of his morning ritual had been completed he swung upon the door and breathed the free air and started on his morning walk. His house was near Riverfront Park and every morning he crossed the bridge into downtown, all the way overshadowed by that great clock in the centre of town. It had originally been designed as a monument to railroad workers, now it stood as a testament to Socialist America. Strong, united, and always punctual. Except for the downtown core made up of mainly historical building, much of the city had been rebuilt after the revolution. Now the surrounding suburbs where filled with rows and rows of identical houses. All grey, all perfectly cubed with a pointed roof, all with two windows in the front and two windows in the back. How beautiful uniformity was.

Often Erik could jog on the main street without ever meeting a car. Most of the people rode bicycles or walked now. The car Erik had been given by the Administrator had sat by his house undisturbed for five years once the Development Council had asked Americans to cut down on their usage of gasoline for the sake of Union. People would do anything for the sake of the Union, it just mattered that much. So Erik jogged unafraid on the cobbled roads once made for those gas guzzling demons.

After nearly half an hour Erik reached Sean's luxury apartment. As the District Attorney he and his family were given one of the best dwellings in the city. It was their right, he was one of the most important officials. Erik was greeted by the kind faced doorman, Jack, and went up the brightly polished brass elevator up to floor seven. He exited and found Sean's door, brightly labelled in gold numerals: 71. Erik built up his courage and knocked twice. Quickly the door opened and Erik was met with Sean O’Neil’s golden smile. His rusty-red hair was streaked with gray, his eyes were blue as the purest ocean, and his toothy smile could melt a bowl of ice cream.

“Hey there, Erik. Glad you could make it.” As if there had been a choice.

Sean shepherded Erik into his apartment and he was met with a wave of partying atmosphere. The place was packed with lawyers of every kind. There were a few from Sean's office, like Erik, but most were acquaintances that Sean had picked up along his career. Some were old war partners who had started their own firms or were DA's themselves and still called Sean “Colonel”. Others were Defence Counsels who had gone toe to toe with Sean over the years. All of them had some sort of alcoholic beverage in their hands. Although technically it was illegal to drink before 5 p.m., separating lawyers from their alcohol had never worked too well for the Advisory Council. Erik was offered a martini, but he declined. Sometimes it was better to lead by example. Plus his wife would get angry if he started drinking again. By quarter to eight the last of the guests had arrived and Sean decided to have a tour of his humble abode.

First to show off was the Statue of Czerno. It was a figure that had now been placed in every home in America. Romanov Czerno had been the leader of the Socialist Revolution in the early days and had been declared Supreme Premier of the People of the United Republic of America on July fourth, 2002. Now his stone impression sat in the living room of every house in the country. His arm was outstretched in a gesture of love and compassion, but everyone saw through that. Czerno was much more than man helping his people. His might was so that he could place his finger on the name of any man and that man's life would be snuffed out as if crushed by the hand of God. Although the statues were all the same, people would compete to see who could dress up the leader in the best costumes. Some people would devote their entire years’ worth of credits to go to making the most brilliant and awe-striking costumes. Sean hadn't had to spend very much of his salary to decorate Czerno, but still it looked magnificent. It was certainly more astounding than Angela's and Erik's statue, dressed an old suit of Erik's that no longer fit.

Sean led his guests around to all the rooms and his office, but Erik stayed behind. He had seen it all many times before. This time he stayed in the family's living room and stared at all the memorabilia. There were pictures up on the wall of Sean, his wife and two kids. Two was standard for family modules. Any more children and the Advisory Council would split up the family and send the third child to another family with only one child. There was one bookcase on the wall behind a leather loveseat. On the top shelf was Sean's legal and historical fiction as well a collection of the Hardy Boys books from his youth. Shamus and Kyle's books competed for attention on the bottom shelf. Shamus' science fiction and Kyle's fantasy novels squished against each, both competing for space. Sean had told his boys that if room ran out on the bottom shelf they would both have to donate some of their books to the Arab Penal Colony.

Erik looked at the shelf and thought that that time had already come. However both boys were unwilling to admit defeat, so they crammed their books in every way imaginable. Sharing was not their speciality, especially when they knew Arabs would be on the receiving line.

Erik had always wanted children himself, and it after years of trying his wife had only recently told him she was pregnant. In the meantime, he loved Sean's boys almost as much as he would have loved his own and they had adopted him as an uncle of sorts over the years. Their rooms where adorned much like his had been. He wondered if Shamus still kept flags of all the different states on his wall or if Kyle still had pictures of famous Socialist leaders at his bedside. The pictures had been collector's items, there was one in each issue of National Geographic. Reading informational magazines and studying Socialist history had always been recommended by the Advisory Council. Erik was about to go over to meet of with the rest of the guests when tripped over Shamus' trumpet case. Every member of family played one instrument, the Administrators provided one instrument to every citizen who asked, two for those with talent. Music was encouraged by the Advisory Council. Erik moved the trumpet case to its appropriate shelf on the wall. Every household in America was designed with shelves and cupboards that were made for storing specific objects. Organization was encouraged by the Advisory Council. Erik always thought well of the Advisory Council. Without them each household would be so different, unique. It was a scary thing to consider. Wasn't it Leo Tolstoy who had said: “Every happy family is the same, but every unhappy family is miserable in their own way.”

The party thundered into the living room. Erik checked the grand-father clock, it was nearly 9:03 a.m. Everyone crowded into the room again and Sean stood at the centre, ready to make a speech.

“My friends. I can remember exactly where I was ten years ago. I was getting ready for work, just having been given the job of Assistant DA, when I turned on the radio and heard the news. Fifty thousand dead. Still the number seems so high it is hard to grasp. It is as if a quarter of this lovely city had been destroyed. But even though the cost was so great, let us not forget all that we have achieved since then! Since that fateful day let us not squander the great victory bestowed on us, the loyal citizens of America. Today we are freed. Though it took such a deadly day in history, one that will be etched into our hearts for eternity, lest we forget that finally we are not blind. Finally we can see with our own eyes a world without fear, greed, or inequality. Salute, if you will, to a decade of the Great Revolution!”

The lawyers cheered to that and drank their fair share as well. There were also a few hearty cries of “Long live Czerno!” and the party cheered again. After that there were a few more drinks and some more toasts, but the party spirit was snuffed out. It was Sunday, but work-a-holics are work-a-holics. Soon everyone had shuffled out except for Erik and Sean. When he was certain they were alone, Sean beckoned Erik to his granite kitchen table.

“I haven't seen Lucille or the boys here?” Erik asked.

“Aye, she and the kids went up to see her mother. She wouldn't have let me have the party so early with the kiddies trying to get some sleep.”

“I see.”

“You know, Erik, I got something I want tell you.”

“What?”

“Those undercover cops that were killed last week, you know 'em, right?” Erik nodded. “It seems our boys finally caught the suspect trying to flee the state. The tests the gun found at scene came back with his fingerprints all over and we rounded up a couple of witnesses willing to testify that they heard two shots and saw him running out.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Don't you want the case, there son?”

“What?”

“C'mon, you're my Assistant DA, can't you do a murder file once in a while.”

“There are less than half a dozen murders a year. I simply assume that you would want to prosecute all of them considering you are the District Attorney, sir.”

“Stop calling me sir, we aren't in the army any more, Erik.”

“It just doesn't make any sense. I specialize in fraud, Sean.”

“It's time to step out of your niche, Erik. You'll need to replace me in a few years. I can't have a guy who has never prosecuted any murders.”

“I have prosecuted some murders-.”

“Not important ones, though. A couple of cops aren't popped every day, Erik.”

“I have a bad feeling about this, Sean.”

“I don’t pay you for queasiness.”

“You don’t pay me at all, we’re socialists remember.” Sean frowned. “Okay, okay, fine I’ll do it. I’ll take the case.”

Then that smile returned.