Coincidence?

Standard Time: 2060 AD

Location: Washington, D.C.

"The final draft of the fairness for food distribution bill is ready for your signature and the new zoning proposals for the temporary shelters need your authorization."

"Thanks, Merideth," the President said, taking the documents and adding them to an already impressive heap stacked atop his desk. He also noticed a vid-memo displayer in the Vice President's hand but she didn't immediately hand it over. "How many more did we manage to get?"

"Eighteen."

"Only eighteen? That doesn't even cover a quarter of what we need. We have to find places to put these people, Merideth. And fast."

"We are working as quickly as we can, Mr. President. We've just added six more States to the agreement, including New York and Nevada."

"Which we definitely need on board. It just still doesn't feel like enough. If we can't even meet the people's basic needs, how long will it be before we drop back down into the chaos we fought so hard to overcome?"

Neither one would dare hazard a guess because both knew the threads binding the population together were tremendously tenuous at best. Even the slightest hint of discontent could cause it all to unravel.

"Hopefully our new agreement with the movie industry union will help settle people's fears," the President said. "At least they will be able to see we are working toward getting things back to normal again."

Merideth indicated the stack of papers. "Tonight's itinerary is included. But, Mr. President, if I may, I must strongly advise against going ahead with tonight's meeting."

Vice President Merideth Johnson sat forward in her chair and finally put the vid-mem display on the ancient oak desk occupying the center of the Oval Office. After the fire, the desk and a few other relics that had managed to survive the destructive blaze, were restored specifically at the President's request. With all they had endured he believed it important that at least some of the history be preserved in their rebuilding efforts.

"The risk simply isn't worth it, sir." Merideth was just being paranoid, and overly so.

There was absolutely no reason for him to avoid the scheduled meeting. Especially considering its importance. An agreement with the Actors Guild would go a long way to re-establishing a healthy economy and guarantee a major source of funding. As the President he had a responsibility to be there.

He said as much to Ms. Johnson.

"I believe you are mistaken, sir. There is a very good reason for you not to go. Just take a look, will you?" Merideth slid the vid-mem around so that it was facing him. The green glowing letters spread across a black background read;

Presidents Lincoln and Kennedy: Unexplained Mystery or Statistical Coincidence?

The President didn't bother to read any more. He'd heard plenty about the cryptic message currently circulating on the underground messageboards, from colleagues, friends, and from his wife, all with what they believed were genuine, if misplaced, concerns for his well being.

The problem was, following the Great Crash of '56 which had stripped away hundreds of years of the early history of the former United States of America, there was virtually no way to find out the authenticity of the message. At least not without diverting already sparse resources from where they were really needed.

And to think they were supposed to be the victors of the civil war that had tore the country apart. There were definitely days when the President didn't much feel like the winner.

Tonight's meeting was the perfect example. He had already expended too much time and energy personally negotiating the new contract with the Actors' Guild. Though it was important to help kick-start the economy back into gear, he had already spent too many months hammering out an agreement that would most benefit everyone involved. And now Ms. Johnson actually expected him to throw it all away by missing the meeting? Didn't she understand what was at stake, despite the personal risk?

"Maybe you could re-schedule for tomorrow," Merideth suggested hopefully.

"Tomorrow night is the Orphan's Relief banquet," the President replied. Instead of looking at the vid-mem he picked up a speech one of his aides had prepared and skimmed it over, hoping if he appeared busy she would leave him alone.

She didn't exactly take the hint. "The meeting shouldn't take long. You could schedule it for five and be at the dinner for seven-thirty."

"We have to think of convenience, Merideth. If I re-schedule for tomorrow I'll have to rush through the meeting and then get over to the banquet. This week has been hell enough, I want to relax and try to enjoy the dinner."

"You aren't going to get to enjoy yourself much with a gaping hole in the back of your head." Fed up by the President's stubborn refusal to listen to reason and realizing she wasn't about to convince him otherwise, Ms. Johnson lurched up out of her chair and stomped from the room.

She did manage to leave the vid-mem behind.

The President stared down at the glowing screen. He couldn't bring himself to touch it, for fear it might somehow make the curse real.

It had to be a hoax. Some sick and twisted joke.

The President refused to let it spook him or allow it to prevent him from performing his duties. He was going ahead with the meeting, and that was that.

No sooner had he made up his mind when the intercom buzzed to announce his Head of Security had arrived to finalize tonight's schedule.

Just what he needed, someone else to try and talk him out of it.

"Send him in," the President said to his secretary.

A moment later Franklin Keith O'Neil entered the office. The man was a brute, standing just an inch short of seven feet tall and weighing in around the four hundred pounds mark, all of it chiseled into a muscular frame. His hair was cropped short to the scalp and he walked with military precision. The grey suit he wore hugged tightly at his wide shoulders, appearing to make him uncomfortable. The President guessed O'Neil would be more used to army fatigues than the custom made job he was now wearing.

"Security has been beefed up. We'll go in an hour before you're to arrive, set up, and be ready for when you get there," O'Neil said crisply.

"Good. No need to take any chances."

O'Neil shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, not quite able to meet the President's gaze.

"Is there a problem, Keith?"

"Well, sir. It's just that...well..." obviously uneasy about broaching the subject with his Commander in Chief, the Head of Security hesitated.

"Just spit it out, man."

"It just seems to me you are taking a bit of a risk by going out tonight, sir."

"The message has you rattled? Cripes!" The President had almost expected it from Merideth. Frankly, he thought the girl tended toward a tad flaky at times. But to hear the man in charge of protecting him suggest he might be putting himself in unnecessary danger unnerved the President more than just a little bit.

"Sorry sir. Just wanted to make it clear how I felt," O'Neil said. He went to leave but the President stopped him.

"What am I supposed to do, Keith? Cancel all my meetings that fall on a Friday until the year is up?"

"Might not be such a bad idea. Besides, it'd just be public appearances."

"Wouldn't that be great for my reputation? You know as well as I do that the people expect their President to be out there making a difference."

"Not at the risk of his own life," O'Neil said.

"There's no way to prove the message is even true," the President almost bellowed. His face felt hot.

"Or to disprove it," O'Neil countered with a perfectly controlled patience. "That's your call, sir. My people will be ready." O'Neil left.

The President again turned his attention to his speech. Again the buzz of his intercom interrupted him.

"What is it now?" he demanded to know, feeling completely flustered.

"All of your scheduled appointments are finished," Miss Kenny, his personal secretary, said. "I was just wondering if you needed me for anything else."

"No, that'll be fine for today. Enjoy your weekend." He started to hang up, then pressed the receiver back to his ear. "Miss Kenny?"

"Sir?"

"Have you seen the posting about the former Presidents Lincoln and Kennedy?"

"Sure, who hasn't?"

"And if it were you? Would you take the chance tonight?" the President asked hesitantly. He'd avoided breaching the subject with his personal secretary up until this point for fear of what she might say.

"But it's not me, sir."

"If you were in my place," the President insisted.

"Well sir, I don't really know. I've always been a firm believer that when it's your time to go there isn't much you can do to stop it. Death isn't something you can avoid," Miss Johnson said. "At least not yet."

It was the sanest thing he'd heard all day. He thanked her and cut the connection.

With his mind made up, the President dumped the speech into his briefcase and prepared to head home to get ready for the meeting. But at the door he paused. Groaning inwardly, unable to believe that he was actually allowing himself to be so utterly silly and completely foolish, the President returned to his desk, picked up the vid-mem containing the ridiculous message, and stuffed it into the inside jacket of his pocket.

Maybe there was a point for not provoking fate.

O'Neil hadn't exaggerated when he'd said security would be beefed up for the meeting. Eight cars filled with Service Men accompanied the President to the warehouse. An additional four were already waiting when they pulled into the lot.

And the extra security proved a necessary precaution. The lot was cram-packed with bodies, the President's faithful following cheering and waving as he stepped from the limo. Wearing a big screen worthy smile, he greeted as many as he could as his team rushed him inside.

His wife was supposed to be with him but little Nicklaus, the President's pride and joy, had come down with a terrible cough and she'd decided to stay home. Secretly, the decision had caused a relieved sigh from the President.

But now that he was actually here, with so many people around and so many places for ill fortune to hide, the President couldn't stop the nervous trepidation that began to screw into his stomach. "Let's get this over with and get the hell out of here."

Entering the massive meeting area, he took note of more of his men strategically spread throughout the room, watching entrances or blocking potential escape routes and keeping an eye on suspicious guests. They were good, going about their business without intruding on the festivities.

"Mr. President, it is an absolute pleasure and honor to have you here," Grant Bushak, the Actors' union rep said, shaking hands with a firm grip. "We can't tell you what it means that you were able to personally attend this evening."

"This is an important step in the process of rebuilding the country for all of us, Mr. Bushak."

"Please, Mr. President, people around here already think my head's bloated enough. If you are referring to me as Mister then they are going to think they have to do the same. It's Grant."

The President had held audience with some of the most powerful, influential, and even the most dangerous men in the world so he wasn't easily impressed. Considering his own status and position, he really shouldn't have experienced the childish excitement that bubbled in his chest at being invited to call one of their generations most talented and accomplished actors by his first name.

But, he couldn't help himself. It was Grant Bushak, after all.

None of the other industry reps or agents he was introduced to even came close to Bushak's fame or notoriety and he was quickly lost in a sea of names he likely wouldn't remember by tomorrow morning.

"And finally, last but certainly not least, this is Mary-Lynne Stuart, head of our public relations department."

"Very nice to meet you," the woman said, though she seemed a little shy and ordinary to be in the industry. A thin face matched a thin frame.

She moved away a little too quickly so others could be introduced. As she slipped into the crowd the President had a brief moment of recognition but she disappeared before he could place her face.

It took another fifteen minutes before they got everyone introduced and seated. Mr. Bushak went to the podium at the head of the table and began to speak.

"Welcome friends and thank you all for joining us this evening. Your continued support and belief that the entertainment industry can play an integral role in helping to rebuild a solid economic foundation for the future of our great country is a true testament and inspiration."

The President scanned the faces of the assembled celebrities and power players. They beamed with an unashamed pride and unshakable hope for the future. Most had built their careers on nothing but a dream and a prayer and so they knew what it meant to find the light when all else seemed so bleak. Beautiful faces. Influential people. And if they believed they could lead the way out of the economic crisis that had pretty much crippled the country, then the President was happy to be on board.

"Tonight marks the beginning of a new era, not only for our fellow craftsmen, but for the fellowship of mankind." Bushak proved to be a powerful speaker with an excellent command for mesmerizing his audience. All seemed to hang on his words as if he were delivering a spiritually fulfilling sermon from behind the pulpit.

All, that was, except for the Stuart lady. She sat rigidly in her chair, her gaze intently locked on the President. Something about her stare spooked him and made him uneasy, but again he managed only a fleeting look before he was introduced and his attention was forced to the head of the table.

"...ladies and gentlemen, we cannot possibly hope to properly express our appreciation and gratitude for the support his administration has granted the Entertainer's Guild or repay him for his conviction and leadership in overcoming one of the darkest periods in our great nation's history. Truly his vision and courage must be considered an example to all of us as we move forward, together, toward a better and brighter future. It is my absolute privilege and pleasure to introduce to you our President, Andrew Lashill."

The introduction was a little more gracious than the President would have preferred or was prepared for and the rousing ovation that followed continued on long enough that he began to feel a little uncomfortable and exposed standing behind the podium with his most winsome and charming smile plastered across his face. He did his best to endure the applause but it was actually getting to the point where he thought if the clapping didn't soon stop his cheeks would actually split.

Despite a growing embarrassment over the excessive ovation, President Lashill let them enjoy their moment. These were superstars, after all, accustomed to the glitz and glamour of their extravagant ceremonies, and much more prone to get up caught up in the heightened emotions of their celebration. They were very proud of themselves for being able to revitalize their own industry and excited about the role they would play in helping to rebuild other parts of the country and so deserved a special moment to congratulate each other and pat themselves on the back for the incredible feat they had accomplished. Finding financial backing in the new Americas was no easy task by any stretch and yet they had somehow managed to secure a reliable source of funding that would guarantee their particular brand of magic would continue to live on. And having that outlet, the great escape from the harsh realities of their everyday lives could prove crucial to maintaining peace and order and keeping the people content as they continued to rebuild.

When the last of the lingering applause finally died down, Bushak moved aside so the President could step up to the microphone.

But before he had a chance to begin, the President noticed an empty place about half way down the table. The Stuart lady no longer seemed to be in her seat.

What was her name?

Marsha?

Melinda?

Mary-Lynne...

That was it! Mary-Lynne Stuart. Just as he remembered, she bobbed back up from beneath the table. The President couldn't tell what she'd been doing but when he caught sight of the gleaming object in her hand his reaction was instantaneous.

Somewhere in the deep recess of his mind an elusive connection meshed together, the pieces of a frustrating puzzle falling into perfect place.

"It's her!" The President shouted. "She's the one!"

One of his bodyguards was instantly beside him, weapon already drawn and aimed in the direction the President was pointing.

All hell broke loose at the sight of the gun. Members of the Actors' Guild went scattering for cover as more guards fought their way to the podium to protect the President. In the ensuing pandemonium he was rather unceremoniously shoved to the floor and covered by a swarm of human shields as a shot rang out.

"Get him outta here, now!" came the muffled command from somewhere above the stifling bodies pressing over him.

With blinding efficiency the President was hauled up off the floor and whisked out of the theatre meeting room and out a back exit that had already been cleared of any crowds. Once outside President Lashill was given a moment to catch his breath. Plopping down on the cold concrete step, he was still gasping for air and trying to recover from the unpleasant ordeal when Bushak angrily stormed out after them. .

"What the hell just happened in there?" Bushak seethed when he'd gotten as close as the guards would allow.

The President wiped at his brow with a moisture absorber. "My men were only trying to protect me."

"Protect you?" Bushak stammered. "From what?" Bushiak pushed his way through the crowd of security men and tossed the shiny object the woman had hidden beneath the table onto the Presiden't lap.

President Lashill stared down at it with a dawning horror. What had he done?

In his hands was a wood-backed, gold-plated plaque. The inscription read,

In Honour of President Lashill
Elected to Congress in 2046
Elected President in 2060

The Actors Guild would like to thank you for support

The President groaned, a pitiful sound from the pit of his stomach.

A black limo glided up to the curb. Instead of it being the President's escape, his wife, tears staining her face, her hair wildly splattered across her forehead, barely managed to climb out before falling against him, sobbing hard.

"He's gone, Lennie," she said between desperate sobs. "I can't believe it...oh, he was so little!"

"Who's gone, baby. What are you talking about?"

"Nicklaus... It happened so suddenly. There wasn't anything we could do."

"Not my boy?" the President asked, fighting back a staggering sorrow that threatened to completely consume him. His wife nodded against his chest. "No. Please, no!"

He clung tightly to her, loss fighting with terror inside.

It was true. His destiny had long since been decided for him.

A shot rang out in the night.

The cold green letters of the digital readout reflected the message against the wet pavement in the dead President's hand;

'Lincoln and Kennedy, Unexplainably Connected or Victims of a Statistical Coincidence?'

-Abe Lincoln was elected to congress in 1846
John F. Kennedy was elected to congress in 1946
-Abe Lincoln became president in 1860
JFK became president in 1960
-both last names contained seven letters
-both were heavily for civil rights.
-both their wives lost their children while in the White House.
-both Presidents were assassinated on a Friday.
-both were shot in the head.
-both were in the presence of their wives.
-both were advised not to go out that day by their secretaries.
-Abe's secretary was named Kennedy.
JFK's was named Lincoln.
-both were assassinated by Southerners.
-both were succeeded by Southerners named Johnson.
-Andrew Johnson (succeeded Lincoln) was born in 1808
Lyndon Johnson (succeeded JFK) was born in 1908
-the man that assassinated Lincoln, John Wilkes Booth, was born in 1839.
Lee Harvey Oswald, the man who assassinated Kennedy, was born in 1939.
-both assassins known by their three names.
-both had fifteen letters.
-Booth ran from a theatre and was captured in a warehouse.
-Oswald ran from a warehouse and was captured in a theatre.
-both assassins were eliminated before the trial.

END OF MESSAGE

THE END

Bio: Mr. McFarlane's work has appeared in Fantasyreaders.com, HorrorMasters.com, The Harrow, and All Hallows. Links to these stories, as well as others, can be found at his website, Dark Fiction by Kevin McFarlane.

E-mail: Kevin McFarlane

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