The Lesser of Two Evils: A 2016 Election Story

[Wells]

Chapter One: The 3 AM Call, Part One

I was walking down a crowded street in New York City. My destination was just around the corner, and I needed to get there as quickly as possible. However, everybody seemed to be pushing against me. As I pushed through the crowd, they pushed back. It seemed to take hours to make any progress. When I finally rounded the corner, I fell into a sinkhole and kept falling. My arms flailed as I fell deeper into what seemed like a bottomless pit. There was nothing to grab on to. Suddenly, I hit the bottom. Then I woke up.

It was 1:22 AM on May 1st and the phone was ringing. The landline was ringing. I was confused. Who calls on a landline in the middle of the night in 2016?, I thought to myself. I picked it up anyway, and a vaguely familiar voice answered.

"Hello," I said.

"Is this Michael Wells?" Answered a woman. Her voice sounded odd as if she was pretending to be someone I'd heard of, but I was too tired to figure out who she sounded like.

"Yes," I said groggily.

"Good, because boy have I the biggest news story of your life," She shouted way too enthusiastically for this early in the morning, or this late at night. "It's guaranteed to make all of the front pages."

I should probably mention I'm a young journalist with big dreams and a less than stellar record. I have written good news stories and analytical articles before, but few have been published and fewer are noticed. While I aspire to a top position at a big newspaper company such as the New York Times or the Washington Post, I actually worked for Gawker and felt terrible for a few years, before the laid me off and I felt better. Then I worked for the Huffington Post, which was where I stayed until I got that phone call.

"What is it?" I asked though I knew it was probably fake.

"Meet me in front of Trump Tower at 6:00 AM sharp this morning," Was the reply. "Though you can be a little late."

"Trump Tower?"

"Yes. This news story is a big piece on Donald Trump. I've got some real dirt that Trump tried to bury, but he couldn't hide it well enough."

I was hooked. As a journalist desperate for a story, Donald Trump was the perfect story that could get me the recognition I deserved. "What's the dirt?" I questioned, eager for a story.

"It's best if I don't tell you over the phone." Then she abruptly hung up. This was too good to be true. How could it be? Why would Trump's dirt be near Trump Tower? But then again, Trump had many skeletons in his closet, and besides, I was too tired to think straight. I fell back asleep.

It wasn't even two hours later that my phone rang again.

*** This is in no way anything like real life. My personal life and politicians will not be depicted accurately. Some people will be completely made up. Read with this in mind. ***

[LLR]

I'm very excited. Keep going!

[Wells]

Chapter One: The 3 AM Call, Part One

I had a weird dream that I was hunting moose. Then I was awoken by the phone ringing again.

It was 3:00 AM. I picked up the phone. Was the lady calling me again? It turned out that it was a different person calling me for a similar reason.

"Hello," I began. "This is - "

"Yeah, I know, you're Michael J. Wells," She said quickly. "Listen closely, OK?"

After she rudely interrupted me I didn't feel much like listening, but I did anyway.

"I have some secrets that Hillary Clinton doesn't want you to know. I can't say much over the phone, but meet me at 55 West 125th Street at 7:30 AM. And not a minute too late. I'll tell you more then."

"What's your name?" Was the only thing I could think of.

"Call me JS." Was her reply.

She hung up. This was the break I had been hoping for. The chance to write a major article that would shift the political landscape. I could almost feel myself in a new office at the New York Times building. But this was too good to be true. I had received two phone calls from two people, each claiming to have shocking information about one of the two major candidates running. It was a journalist's dream. And that made me suspicious.

But I figured that since I didn't have anything to write about at that time, I should give it a shot. If the first meeting was a failure, then I could stop for some Dunkin' Donuts on the way to the second one. With my mind made up, I got out of bed and looked up the location of the second meeting on my laptop. 55 West 125th Street in Harlem was where the old headquarters of the Clinton Foundation were located before they were moved in 2011. There was still offices for the Clinton Foundation there, though. It seemed like this person had done their research. So I decided that before I arrived at those meetings, I would do a little research of my own.


Coming next:
Chapter Two: The Meeting

[Wells]

Chapter Two: The Meeting, Part One

I scoured the Internet for the next two hours trying to find anything that might come up during the meeting. However, sifting through millions of online articles, all of which I'd seen or heard of somewhere before quickly proved boring, so I decided to look on some obscure political blogs and forums to see if anyone had conspiracy theories. It was the same result, except one of the blogs told me Trump was actually an alien, Sanders was a murderer, and Clinton was Hitler. People will believe anything. I guess Cruz is also lord of the elves.

I drafted my Clinton article, but had no material yet, so I didn't get anywhere. The Trump article was the same. So, when it became 5:30. I left my tiny apartment and hailed a cab to Trump Tower.

"Where would you like to go?" Asked the driver with a thick accent. He appeared to be Middle Eastern. "I can take you anywhere in the five boroughs."

"I'd like to go to 725 Fifth Avenue," I replied.

He raised his eyebrows. "Why do you want to go to Trump Tower?" He asked.

"I have an important meeting," I said. It wasn't a lie.

He looked at my slightly worn suit and laughed. "I expect a generous tip," He said.

In fifteen minutes we arrived at Trump Tower. I paid the man and go out of the cab. I looked at the sign above the entrance. For some reason, I couldn't quite make out the "T" in Trump. I chuckled at what it seemed to say and didn't wonder why I couldn't see it. I saw a group of young people smoking something illegal, but their pressed clothing showed that they had rich parents. Then I saw somebody who looked a lot like Sarah Palin standing there as if she were waiting for someone.

To be continued. . .

[tmthforu94]

Please continue! Very intrigued.

[Wells]

Chapter Two: The Meeting, Part Two

"Hi," shouted the woman who looked like Sarah Palin. "Are you Michael Wells?"

"Yes," I said slowly. "But that's just a pseudonym. My real name is - "

"Wonderful!" She said too loudly. "I know just what you're lookin' for."

"Are you Sarah Palin?" I asked.

She lowered her voice. "Why, yes, that's me. And I'm here to tell you what you've been too deaf to see."

"Didn't you endorse Donald Trump?" I asked. I had a suspicion that this woman was only pretending to be Sarah Palin.

"That was only because he promised me the VP spot and gave me a small loan." She smiled.

"Are you really Sarah Palin?" I inquired.

"Do you think I'm Sarah Palin?"

"No."

She fell silent for a minute. "You're right," She began. The woman who wasn't Sarah Palin had a British accent. "I'm Susan Smith, a lawyer from London with a few friends in high places. Such as Sarah Palin."

"You're friends with Sarah Palin?"

"Why do you ask so many questions?"

"I'm a reporter."

Susan sighed. "We met five years ago. I convinced her that I was her twin, separated at birth. It was pretty easy since I spent the first fifteen years of my life in a London orphanage and supposedly have American parents. I also convinced her to keep our 'reuniting' secret, though I'm surprised she hasn't revealed it yet considering how much she runs her mouth."

"You look like her."

"When she first appeared on television I dyed my hair and started wearing contacts. However, I've found it useful under these circumstances to look as much like her as I can."

"Do you think that you might actually be Palin's twin?"

"I've never even entertained the notion," She said as if she were offended. "We're completely different. Now, what I'm going to show you is inside this building. And I know exactly how to get it." She took a card out of her purse. It looked like an ID with Sarah Palin's name on it.

"It's a Trump Card," Susan said. I noticed then that it had the word "Trump" on it. "It allows special conservatives access to Trump's secrets, like any would dare go snooping. Sarah Palin gave me her spare." She then turned and walked into Trump Tower. I decided to follow her.

Coming next:
Chapter Three: Trump Tower

[Wells]

Chapter Three: Trump Tower, Part One

We were in the Atrium of Trump Tower. There was nobody there.

"The entrance is somewhere around here," Susan said. "I've never been to this specific location before." She looked around the Atrium and started walking toward a receptionist's desk. She walked behind it and looked under it. "Not here," she said.

"What are you looking for?" I asked her.

"There's going to be a trapdoor somewhere," She told me. "It's going to lead to an underground base where Trump hides his biggest secrets and most extreme supporters."

"Underground? What about the subway?"

"He built around it," She said. "Now, he'd obviously hide it somewhere nobody would expect. . . such as. . . " Something caught her eye.

I wasn't paying attention. I was thinking about the great story I could get. Huge secrets! Extreme supporters! This story might even make a small dent in Trump's support. Then Susan grabbed my arm and pulled me to the escalator.

"I think it's in the Starbucks." She said quickly.

"How could there be a trap door under there?" I asked as we went up the escalator. "We went underneath it on our way here."

"I have an idea."

We reached the Starbucks and looked around. There was nobody there. Susan walked behind the counter and to the "Staff Only" door.* It needed a card in order for entrance. That's when I realized something.

"Why isn't anybody here?" I wondered.

"Yeah, that's funny." Replied Susan. She slid her Trump Card^TM and immediately a door automatically opened. But it wasn't the "Staff Only" door. It was a part of the wall that I realized was painted over and out of the way so nobody noticed it.

"There it is," Susan said happily. She went in without another word.

That's when I had some misgivings. I was about to go through a door which was supposed to lead me to some of Trump's most extreme supporters. If the crazy ones I'd heard about on the news weren't the extreme ones, then what were these? No sane person would walk through this doorway.

I walked through. The door closed behind me.

I was in a dark corridor. The darkness seemed to invade my personal space. It was pressing in on me. I took a deep breath and a step forward. I started walking and followed the corridor. It began to slope downwards and then I walked into a wall. It hurt my face. I felt it and found I should turn left.

"By the way, you should probably turn left about now," Said Susan. "I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."

"Thanks," I said sarcastically. I don't think she detected the sarcasm.

To be continued. . . **


*I've never been to Trump Tower and I'm taking some liberties with its layout.
**Because I don't feel like writing anymore.