Once the bleeding stopped, I excused myself to go upstairs and clean up. I stood in the shower, letting the water rinse the blood off my face. Even the light stream of water left my face hot and throbbing. There was a bar of soap in the green, somewhat mildewy shower, and a bottle of shampoo that had been filled with water to get the remnants of soap from the sides. I reached for the watery, shampoo when my world went from dizzy to black in an instant. I looked around. My hands were very clear despite being outlined by black. I felt nothing, which was strangely normal contrasted to the pain that had been throbbing across my face just moments ago.

“Let me go!”

Pathos? The name I had thought echoed around me. I was in my own mind again.

Suddenly, the two siblings stood in front of me, brother and sister. Logos let go of his sister’s wrist. Pathos collapsed onto her knees, and I saw tears hit the blackness and disappear. I could feel the hurt in her heart, as if it were my own.

“Look at the girl,” Logos said calmly standing beside his grief stricken sister. “She is nothing like him, or any of the others.”

“Like who?” I asked.

Pathos stood up and swept over to me. It was as if her feet floated above the black ground. Her white cloaked hand reached toward my face and she brushed my cheek. She turned my chin toward her gaze. Her gray, purple eyes met mine examiningly. I watched them change back to their normal blue. “I don’t know if any human should have our full power again, but maybe you-”

“Cora!” The shout was followed by the sound of a breaking door handle.

I’m naked. Was my first thought.

“I’m okay,” I shouted from the floor of the bathtub.

The yellowed shower curtain moved a centimeter when it stopped at the sound of my voice. I could see the shadow of Sam’s hand hovering.

Holy shit, I’m freezing. was my second thought. The water streaming down on me was ice cold.

How did I end up on the floor? was my third thought. She’s nothing like him floated through my mind, and I remembered the brief meeting in my head.

“It’s been almost an hour, what happened?” Sam asked. His hand shadow still hovered over the curtain ready to pull it back if I didn’t respond.

“I must have passed out,” I managed to get out. My teeth were chattering. I pulled my body to a seated position, but instantly felt nauseous. I became aware of the pounding in my nose again, and a new pain on the side of my head. I must have hit it when Logos pulled me into my mind.

“For God’s sake, Cora, turn off the water.”

I reached forward, slowly, every movement made me feel like I was about to vomit. I was too slow, I saw his hand reach in and turn the handle for me. Then his hand reappeared with a towel. I took it and shakily wrapped it around myself.

“Decent?” Sam asked nervously.

“Yes,” I managed to chatter out.

The curtain was flung back. Sam reached down and lifted me off the bottom of the shower floor.

I spent the rest of the day in a darkened bedroom under piles of blankets. As I lay shivering, I replayed the conversation between Pathos and Logos. But what? What was she going to say? Do they not trust me? Who was the ‘him’ last time? I asked these over and over again, but neither would answer me. Maybe I’m going nuts.

No, you’re not going nuts.

Shut up, Logos. You’re making it worse, I thought back. Trying to put as much of a snarky tone as I could into my thought.

By the evening I was feeling well enough to make my way into the kitchen. A man I had never seen before was sitting at the kitchen table with parts of a gun laid out to be cleaned. He gave me a mere glance before turning away from me. Nathan was leaning against the counter drinking coffee from a chipped, blue mug.

“If you’re going to keep doing this,” he said after a long sip, “you can’t have this as your headquarters.”

“Well, what do you suggest? The Palace is gone, and I have no money for rent.”

“My Aunt Sarah Gene saw your video. She believes in your message, Cora You can stay with her.”

Move now, the man is right, Logos voiced commanded in my head. Ethos’ roots are only growing deeper. If this sort of place were to be discovered as your residence it would take a great amount of our persuasion to convince more people to trust you. Something my sister and I might not be able to do without Ethos.

I spoke with confidence, “I will move in tonight, and I will release a message. I am sure President Persim has already shown a skewed version of what took place yesterday.”

And I was right. I packed my one alternate outfit and the suit Boss had bought me for the rally. It had blood stains on it, but Boss said he had a dry cleaner he used for that exact stain. As I waited for Boss to come back, I didn’t dare ask from where, with a car to take me to Aunt Sarah Gene’s, I watched the news from Robert’s computer.

“As President Persim spoke a message of peace,” there was a cutaway to Persim’s sound bite, “‘You want to undo what we have worked so hard for,’ the woman identified as Cora Carpenter sparked animosity, “There has not been a protest in this country in years.’” The camera cut to the drone shot above my head. There I was standing alone on the stage with the raging violence below me. Sam slid down the couch and put an arm around me to squeeze my shoulder. He looked down at me as I looked up at him. He smiled sympathetically, and I let his warmth get me through the rest of the news that night.

I heard the gravel in the driveway crunch, and I stood up to collect my things. I pulled the curtain back to see who I could only assume was Mom handing over the keys of the Land Rover to Boss. Mom’s huge frame made Boss look like a little kid.

Sam wouldn’t be joining us on the drive, but he promised to come over tomorrow. He walked me out to the SUV.

Aunt Sarah Gene (as she had instructed me to call her) had a lovely home. It was miles away from the Disciples’ house, but it was also nowhere near the “nice” side of town. I couldn’t even see Persim Tower from her yard. She was smack dab in the middle of the lower middle class. When Robert had the tech set up to film, the sun was going down. The yellow paint on the wooden slats of Aunt Sarah Gene’s home were chipping with an almost rustic quality to them. Her yard was a small lot, but she maintained it well for a woman of her years. The grass was clear of debris, and an old tire swing hung from a leafless oak behind the porch where I sat. It was by no means safe to sit on anymore, but I knew Pathos approved of it being in the shot.

As if by magic, when the light turned red to film, a few late winter snowflakes began to fall. I felt as if Ethos and Pathos were sitting beside me on the bench, whispering the right words into my ears. I smiled and began, “I speak to those that are intelligent enough not to be fooled by the cut and paste propaganda of President Persim. I had no cameras there at my disposal. I have no bank accounts streamlined to the media. I was there at the request of a community need. The violence was started by a few rabble rousers,” and I spoke the next words louder and clearer, “who were placed among the crowd by President Persim.”

I felt great confidence in that statement. Persim was manipulating them, the public. I remembered the blue eyes of the police officer. I knew somehow it was all connected to the speed at which Persim’s words worked fast to counteract both Pathos and Logos.

My pause was not as long as I wanted. I felt an energy, a burst of butterflies in my stomach and my mouth was moving before I could put thought to the words. “I am demanding on behalf of the people of the United States that President Persim meet me in a public debate in one month at Persim Tower. To answer for all that she has done against the public.”

The light went off, the livestream was over. Robert peered at me over the screen, “Want to tell us beforehand next time you plan a public debate against the President?”

“I, uh, it was a last second decision. Heat of the moment, you know?”

That wasn’t my intention. I felt a nervous clench in my gut, but it was soon replaced with confidence.

Clap, clap, clap. A lone man with his dog stood applauding on the sidewalk.

Go speak with him, urged Pathos’ voice.

I stood up and walked across the frozen lawn to the edge of the fence. I shook hands with the man, who beamed at me in return. He told me he was about to lose his job. He was a middle school teacher in a school downtown. Due to low attendance, this would be the building’s last operational year.

“The Speakeasies have reached our youth,” he spoke with fervor. “I attended 33 funerals last school year.” Eventually, the school will be shut down. The school board said the remaining students should be redistributed to “better rated schools, where morale is high.”

I stared at him, shocked by this revelation.

“If what you claim is true, about the government being behind some of the Speakeasies, then I want to see our great leader tried for treason and murder.”