The Elephant's Noose by Emelia Rohl - First Pages

THE ELEPHANT'S NOOSE - Prologue & First Chapter 
Prologue: 
 
Survival of the fittest. It’s the law of the land. Or at least the law of America.
 
And Victor Cromwell had come out in the lead.
 
Just beyond his vision, muffled under the weight of velvety stage drapes, he heard the applause. He heard the cheers and the thunderous roar of raw palms stingingly, slapping together.
 
All for him.
 
To Victor, the feeling was like a free fall. He felt weightless and lightheaded. So giddy, the soles of his worn dress shoes could’ve floated on hot air, off into the steepest eaves of the auditorium.
 
But he couldn’t blink away the image of a fraying rope buckling under deadweight and the sound it made when it grated against a wooden beam.
 
Instead, he focused on the adrenaline pulsing through his veins as he prepared to take the stage. Not just take it, seize it.
 
Sure, he wasn’t a politician yet. But as a senior in college, he had already become a regular on every news network, an icon for young conservatives, a talking head.  Victor Cromwell teetered on the cusp of greatness thanks to his undeniable talent. 
 
Television was a breeze at this point, but a live audience? The thought gave him chills.
 
“To announce the final results of tonight’s gubernatorial race, I present to you, National College Republican Chairman, Victor Cromwell!”  
 
Suddenly, Vic’s mouth felt cottony and dry, his tongue sticking to its roof. He swallowed a hard lump of nerves… Or something stronger... guilt.
 
“Victor,” the emcee said again, the applause beginning to fade.
 
Something hot and venomous stung his eyes and blurred his vision.
 
“Stop it,” he gasped in panic. He hadn’t cried in years. “Stop it.”
 
The eerie sensation that he was being watched sent a stake up him. 

From across the room, his best friend, Adaline Fields, stared at him in horror.
 
Addie’s headset dangled in a semicircle around her neck, shepherding her long blonde hair around her like a scarf. When they locked eyes, her hands went slack, sending her clipboard clattering to the floor.
 
Normally, the girl radiated with the glow of a tan, but today she faded into an apparition of herself. Addie looked like she had stumbled headfirst into the icy depths of a ghost. 
 
Victor knew he certainly had.
 
He could predict her reaction. The situation only allowed five seconds to act, or the consequence would be fatal.
 
With the elasticity of a waistband, Victor’s facial features snapped back into place, the tears vacuumed up inside him, all evidence of emotion evaporated. 
 
“Can you believe it?” He turned to Addie with his dazzling smile, doing his best impression of a man who wanted to squeal with girlish excitement, but was refraining. “They’re calling me.”
 
“Victor Cromwell…” the emcee’s voice started to flatten like a balloon losing its air.
 
Something was off about Addie’s eyes. She looked through him, not at him.
 
“Where is Grace?” Addie demanded, verging on hysterics. “She should be here, you know.” 

Not a question, but an accusation. One that warranted violence. 
 
Before Addie could unleash a scream, Victor grabbed her arms and squeezed her into silence. 
 
“Victor,” she gasped. “You’re hurting me!”
 
Beneath the fabric of Addie’s campaign tee, Victor’s fingers left bruised indents on her biceps.
 
“Why can’t you ever just be happy for me?” he hissed, his composure fracturing.
 
“Victor Cromwell,” the announcer said impatiently. Instinctively, Victor released Addie with a shove, ignoring her protests.
 
Before their spat drew attention, he mounted the steps and took his place center stage.
 
Tonight, Victor was announcing the results of a historic recall election, the first in the state’s history. Victor held the honor of informing their governor that he had survived the storm. By tomorrow morning, a snapshot of Governor Scott embracing Victor Cromwell in victory would be front-page news. There was no greater satisfaction.
 
Like the first hit of a drug, it was more than a feeling, it was a moment. A sensation, that no matter how fleeting would live on forever, etched in his mind permanently, and cherished as a relic of his inception. He could feel the momentum deep in his bones. 
 
This was where Victor Cromwell began, and it was where he would end. 
 

“I’m going to call the police,” Addie threatened, but Victor had already taken the stage. 
 
Her self-assuredness coiled in the pit of her stomach like a snake. Like an anchor buried deep inside her, she knew something was terribly and unforgivably wrong. 
 
Like every other desperate, political social climber on the intern team, clinging to the notion that free labor might score a real job, Addie had arrived at Governor Scott’s election night party before sunrise, eager to pass out coffee and donuts to staff. Her election day enthusiasm had quickly deflated, replaced with an unexplainable pit, that originated from Grace William’s absence. 
 
She had failed to show for election day preparation. Addie assumed the attention-seeking bitch would make an appearance when the news cameras started rolling, but she was still uncharacteristically absent from the event, even as Victor took the stage.
 
Ever since she started dating Victor, Grace preferred to act like a high-class socialite instead of a senior in college, altogether rejecting her second-class citizenship that all interns begrudgingly fell into.
 
Instead of obliging staff requests, Grace would skirt basic intern duties like assembling and planting yard signs, and phone banking. Hell, she had even refused to shred papers for the Finance Department. Instead, she only offered her assistance on tasks she considered suitable for her stature. Any chance to post on social media or talk to reporters, Grace was suddenly the most attentive and hardworking person on the team.
 
The girl should’ve been soaking up Vic’s spotlight, riding his coattails into the limelight. Grace was Victor’s girlfriend after all.
 
But her unexplained absence prickled like an itch beneath the skin. It felt like awkward dream that Addie needed to be jolted from.
 
Quickly, Addie disappeared beneath the glowing red exit sign backstage, trying to outrun the panic that swelled in her chest. It was overtaking her. She could barely see, barely talk, barely breathe.  Her hearing mute except for the echo of hollow creaking that reverberated in her mind. A pendulum swinging back and forth, warning her that she was running out of time.
 
She thought of all the unanswered messages she had sent to Grace earlier in the day.
 
No response….
 
Addie had always wanted Grace fired. But not like this.
 
The sound of the creaking haunted Addie, a phantom noise that she couldn’t locate. She collapsed into the driver’s seat of her vehicle, the keys jangling in her shaking fingers.
 
How would it look if she abandoned her duties now?
 
Addie knew her envy of Vic was obvious to everyone. Despite being close friends, Addie resented Vic for the opportunities that seemed to be served to him on a silver platter. Vic dreamed of being a lawyer, and Addie a press secretary. Yet Victor was the one who appeared on national television once a month as College Republican Chairman.
 
“Why can’t you ever just be happy for me?” his words rebounded inside her head.
 
“I need to find Grace,” Addie decided unblinkingly, before peeling out of the parking lot and into the night.
 
 
 
 
 
When Addie approached Grace’s apartment door, she felt an inexplicable urge to cry.
 
The door wasn’t completely shut. A sliver of light from the hallway serrated the darkness inside. Suddenly, the haunting creaking that palpitated in Addie’s head became audible.
 
The warm glow of the hall light illuminated the corners of the dim apartment. Dust motes floated in the shadows of the living room. When Addie’s eyes adjusted, her gaze caught on the swinging pendulum that had haunted her mind all afternoon.
 
A long, dark shadow suspended from the ceiling swung back and forth in the living room. The earsplitting, creaking sound was accompanied by a scraping noise.
 
It was Grace’s toes… Grace’s perfectly filed toenails, just barely scraped along the coffee table, leaving remnants of nail polish in their wake. Grating back and forth, back and forth, remarkably never getting jammed against the wood.
 
In horrific fascination, Addie studied Grace, the rest of the world falling mute. Grace wore a neatly, tied rope around her slender neck like a necklace. Her head collapsed at an inhuman angle under the force. The rope’s tendons frayed as it rubbed against the ceiling beam of the loft apartment. Her body swaying like a pendulum with the mysterious momentum of death.  
 
“Grace?” Addie called in disbelief. It felt like an illusion. A practical joke.
 
Skeptically, Addie outstretched a hand, her fingertips brushing along Grace’s cold arm that dangled limply at her side.
 
Addie screamed, recoiling in fear and tripping backwards. She sprinted upstairs to try to locate the base of the knot. To try to undo it.
 
It was a nightmare. The deafening sound of the creaking wood shuddered in Addie’s eardrums.
 
The desertion in Grace’s empty eyes. The dried-up drool that caked around her cracked lips. The metallic aroma of blood that dribbled down her inner thighs and clotted her expensive tracksuit. It reeked of decay.
 
Grace was dead.

When the curtain closed on Victor, he walked off the stage with two competing noises echoing in his head. The very real cheering and applause from the crowd, and the very real creaking of a rope grating against a wooden beam.
 
 

Part I –The Campaign
 
Chapter 1 – The Field(s) Report
 
Erin Reynolds always thought of the White House as a beacon of historical elegance, but in reality it was a jungle where civility had long been abandoned. It existed as an untamed frontier where feral reporters wrestled to ask their questions and mark their territories.

She studied her new boss, Addie, who sat cross-legged on a bench outside the White House briefing room, comfortable in the chaos. Addie scrolled through her phone, her eyes ravenously searching for the one news update she’d been waiting a lifetime to read. 

“I said, you’re on in five!” Harris barked, peering over the top of his clipboard to shoot a disapproving look at Addie.  Harris was FNN’s top news producer, notorious for his bitchy attitude, his impeccable taste, his propensity for theatrics and his mysterious heterosexuality.
 
At FNN, he wasn’t just a legend, he was an enigma.
 
Today was just another day covering the chaos at the White House. Harris often had to manhandle his talent, Adaline Fields, the starlet whose news coverage shot them both to nationwide fame. Together, the crafty duo had become the most trusted names in American news.
 
“Chickadee, please get Addie’s ass up and fix those flyaways,” Harris launched orders at Erin like darts.
 
“I did my hair this morning,” Addie protested, eyes still glued to her newsfeed.
 
Harris groaned, unpleased, “Get your ass up and let Erin powder your face. You go on camera with bags under your eyes, and someone will think you’re hungover or worse…. That you’re in your thirties.”
 
Addie shot Harris a death stare, still cemented to her seat, “I am thirty-five, Harris.”
 
“Not on TV, darling,” he chided, as they engaged in their usual tug-of-war. “Erin, please get her cleaned up.”
 
Despite their banter, Addie and Harris lived and breathed the same stories, the same scripts. Together they were one brain, one voice, one obstinate force in American democracy. The two of them were either Republican candidates’ most coveted weapon or their greatest nightmare. Addie the mouthpiece, Harris the puppeteer.
 
The two had recently developed a fascination for testing their new production assistant. 
 
Whenever kids interviewed for the job at FNN, they usually came in with sharp outfits, dazzling resumes, silver-spooned pedigrees, and a heavy dose of blinding ambition. Some impressed with their work ethic, while others lived under a false pretense instated by their parents, that they were special. But rarely did any of these young applicants ever exhibit the audacity it took to really amount to anything more than a production assistant.
 
Erin proved to be no exception.
 
The only thing that really set Erin apart from the other applicants was her background. Her family ties had really piqued Addie’s interest, being in that Erin had none. Unlike most of the spoiled brats who filled up the entry-level positions in DC, Erin did not have wealthy familial ties to serve as her career springboard. She was a big ol’ nobody, plucked out of the abyss that was middle America. And in contrast to the rest of the power players in DC, personal merit was Addie’s only requirement.
 
It was Erin’s first few days on the job and little did she know, every interaction with Harris and Addie was a test that would shape the trajectory of her future. Being the production assistant for Adaline Fields’ show had a reputation for landing aspiring news anchors with TV opportunities of their own. She just had to impress her bosses first.
 
“Come with me,” Erin sheepishly kneaded her hands, one of her many nervous tics, along with continuously rearranging her dark hair, as if it would abate her anxiety.
 
Outside on the lawn, Addie took her place under the camera lights. Erin handled her as delicately as a glass doll, gingerly coating the top of her head in a light mist of hair spray and lightly powdering the shiny ridge of her nose. Each time she’d lean in, Erin held her breath, as if her breathing would knock Addie off balance.
 
Harris and Erin traded approving nods while the camera crew fluttered around Addie, creating a halo of light that illuminated her blonde locks. Cameras started rolling in three… two….one.
 
“Thank you, Dana. Today the White House held a press conference following the passage of the Forward Act,” Addie launched into her report on how the new healthcare reform package had caused an upset in the White House.
 
On the other side of the cameras, Harris engaged in his typical routine of biting his nails and mouthing Addie’s lines to himself as he followed along. In an effort to look busy as well, Erin created her own filming ritual, pacing just outside the shot, eyes locked on her boss, monitoring Addie for slip-ups.
 
“Yes, we can be optimistic that this legislation will provide consumers with more transparency in healthcare costs,” Addie stared challengingly into the camera. “Too bad voters can’t expect the same transparency from their elected officials,” she joked, before turning it back over to the anchor at headquarters.
 
There were very few people in the industry as biting as Adaline Fields. She knew her way around the most serious policy issues; she interjected the perfect amount of empathy and emotion where appropriate, but what really kept the audience gripped was her flair for flirting with the camera. Addie turned reporting into a game. A game that made the news easier for every American to stomach.
 
“Hey!” Addie called across the grass, breaking Erin’s trance. Around her, the crew neatly folded and zipped equipment into waterproof bags. “Do you know where I set my phone?”
 
“Yes, sorry,” Erin withdrew it from her pocket.
 
Before surrendering Addie’s cellphone, she couldn’t resist staring at the unlocked screen. 
 
The center headline glowed on the newsfeed read:
 
“Senator Victor Cromwell to announce GOP presidential run.”
 
When Addie saw the headline, she immediately frowned. Before Erin could ask more, Harris and Addie linked arms and set off briskly down the winding pavement that snaked through the White House lawn. Erin followed behind, struggling to keep up.
 
“Lunch?” Addie singsonged with renewed enthusiasm, the headline seemingly forgotten. “I will order us a ride.”
 
“It’s 10 am,” Harris feigned exasperation. “You still have a meeting with the News Director back at headquarters in thirty.”
 
Addie brightly suggested that they cancel it.
 
“Please…You don’t get everything you want,” Harris teased, flagging down their driver.
 
“I’m starving though,” Addie grumbled, glancing behind her and gesturing for Erin to keep up.
 
“Just how we like you,” Harris slid into the back of a shiny black SUV. “Thin and feisty.” 
 
 
 
 
 
A few days later, Erin anxiously paced inside Addie’s office, staring at the empty desk chair where Addie was supposed to be.
 
Addie suffered from being chronically late, no matter the consequence. It was Erin’s job to keep her on schedule.
 
In her first few weeks at FNN news network, Erin had tried to navigate the new skills, new stories, and the larger-than-life personalities of her executive producer and her news anchor.
 
But in all honesty, Erin was a little afraid to be alone with Addie. Her eyes lacked any softness. She always looked at Erin like an animal ready to tear into its prey.
 
“I just had to wait in the longest line, I’m so sorry!” Addie seemed to bumper-car into the office, almost spilling the coffee cups that were balanced in her cardboard carrier.
 
“You went to get coffee by yourself? I could do it for you next time,” Erin offered, feeling embarrassed to already come up short in her new role.
 
“Why?” Addie waved her away. “You’re here to learn how to produce a nightly newscast, not fetch my snacks,” she shrugged, propping herself up on her messy desk.
 
Addie didn’t look like she enjoyed many snacks.
 
Erin wondered if Addie sincerely believed that a production assistant shouldn’t retrieve coffee or dry cleaning. A completely unconventional notion by all of DC’s standards. 

There was also a high likelihood that she just loved the attention. That she loved the feeling of hungry eyes on her as she waited in line for coffee. That she loved to stand out in a crowd.
 
“You don’t believe me, do you?” It was as if she had read Erin’s mind. 
 
This job was fabled for being a revolving door, and Erin couldn’t tell if she was on her way in or out. 
 
“You’re not going to be fired, silly!” Addie intercepted Erin’s intrusive thoughts. “No, no. This will actually be fun.”
 
Earlier that morning, Addie had a meeting with Chuck, the News Director, about her onerous workload.
 
Erin was certain that voluntarily opting to pick up coffee for the newsroom was not the testament to Addie’s limited free time that Chuck was looking for.
 
“Anyways, Chuck agreed that we could bring you on as an assistant producer to help with the GOP election coverage,” Addie stared at Erin expectantly, blinding her with those large white teeth.
 
“You want me to help with election coverage?” Erin’s eyelids fluttered in disbelief.
 
“Yeah,” Addie laughed at the obvious. “It’s going to be a big year and I’m going to need a lot of help on the ground covering the race.”
 
“I just started,” Erin couldn’t even believe the sounds of her own protests.
 
“I’ve seen your previous work. I’ve watched your reel,” Addie bent her head towards Erin as if whispering a secret from across the room. “You’re really good. You should be helping direct what’s on camera, not doing the bitch work behind it.”
 
The disbelief that coursed through Erin’s face numbed her cheeks. She barely realized she was grinning from ear to ear.
 
“Besides, you weren’t very good at hair and makeup touch-ups,” Addie chuckled to herself. “But I’m happy to give you a helping hand in that department. So, what do you say?”
 
Erin’s heartbeat flooded her eardrums. She had waited her whole life for an opportunity like this.  Addie was offering her the world and she could almost feel herself panting in anticipation.
 
“Yes,” Erin sputtered. “Absolutely! Thank you so much.”
 
“You’re a smart girl. I’m going to need a lot of brains for this one,” Addie’s blue eyes glittered upon her new protégé. 
 
Tomorrow they would board a flight to Addie’s home state of Wisconsin for Victor Cromwell’s presidential announcement. Erin’s only homework was updating her wardrobe before the morning. 
 
“Pack something a little more flattering,” Addie wrinkled her nose in Erin’s direction. In her distraction, Erin was completely immune to the insult.
 
Erin hailed from Missouri. She supposed Wisconsin wouldn’t be much different. The people from the Midwest had a reputation for being so nice.
 
“Thank you! Thank you so much, you won’t be disappointed!”
 
“Don’t be so quick to thank me,” Addie warned.