Amnesia by Rick Simnitt Read Free Book Online Page B

listened politely, nodding in all the right places, but knowing that no one was willing to turn over the control of peoples’ lives entirely to a single entity, let alone a single man. He had thanked Stanton for offering his concern, and said, as all good politicians do, that he would look into it and get back to him.
    Only Ralph Stanton was not willing to be dismissed so easily. He had called in several of his political allies, put down a great deal of “campaign contributions” and had pushed Windham as far as he legitimately could. Then he had suggested that there were a few illegitimate ways. Windham finally agreed, under duress, that there was nothing too wrong with the plan, but that there was nothing he could do about it. To which Stanton simply laughed and said that a man who sat with the Senate Finance Committee and had the president’s ear, could accomplish a lot more than he may at first believe. Then he slapped him on the shoulder and walked out of his office, but never quite out of his life.
    Senator Windham turned to view his inner sanctum and resisted the temptation to run to his washroom upstairs and scrub at his skin. He felt as if he couldn’t take any of this anymore. Looking around the room he saw the beautiful and expensive curio cabinet, filled with gifts from visiting dignitaries, including a genuine Native American peace pipe from his fact finding trip to see if Death Valley, Arizona was the best place to store spent nuclear fuel rods. “The General,” a hand carved elephant from his trip to Hong Kong, hung above the cabinet on the right.  An ancient and real samurai sword from the visit from the Japanese trade ambassador, searching for Idaho potatoes, hung above the cabinet on the left. So many trinkets to boast about; too many to count.
    At first he was thrilled at what was given to him, but now he knew that it was all just part of the game, everyone wanting something from “The Senator from Idaho.” At one time even the game was thrilling to him, seeing how a single discussion could overthrow an entire year’s worth of talks. But now he knew it was all little more than junk and posturing.
    Today as he looked around the cluttered room it felt oppressive and claustrophobic. He wished it would all go away, the games, the clutter, and the shallow power. He’d give it all up in a heartbeat, he thought, just to have peace of mind and a safe family. Yet even with all he had been through, and was still going through, he knew he was addicted to it and would never be free of the allure.
    He went back over to the massive desk that sat in the middle of the room, the most intimidating piece of furniture he had ever seen. It was a deep brown polished to a high sheen he could have used as a mirror to shave with. There was no mark anywhere on it, and it was his personal pride and joy, the first thing he had bought when he had won his first election. He was so proud that day, and so anxious to save the world. Yet at this moment he wanted nothing more than to save the one thing that his office couldn’t control.
    His stomach churned again, as it had often of late, and he reached into the bottom right drawer and pulled out a bottle of Mylanta. He realized that he had been through many such bottles recently, probably an ulcer gleaned from years of high-pressure politics. He also realized that politics wasn’t the only part of his life that had acids eating at his stomach lining. He sighed, put the chalky medicine back, and closed the drawer wishing that he could close away the stress as easily. When this was all over, he vowed, he would take his whole family on a nice European vacation. Perhaps that could help with other problems as well, he thought optimistically.
    He looked over to the right side of his desk and gazed at the only thing that really mattered to him; the beautiful face of his only daughter smiling back at him. It wasn’t the typical school portrait that was in the hand carved wood frame,