Free Scott Free by John Gilstrap

most horrible images lurked just outside the door, waiting for his defenses to weaken.
    Scott’s life was Brandon’s life. They were a pair. Team Bachelor. And while the boy was strong enough and smart enough to plod through life without his old man, Brandon knew with absolute certainty that he himself couldn’t make the trip alone.
    He didn’t possess that kind of strength.

Day Two

7
    S HERRY SAT IN A HARDBACK CHAIR , in front of a six-by-six-foot-square wall emblazoned with the familiar peacock logo. The sign on the door out in the hallway read PRESS ROOM , but the place was really a ballroom that had been hijacked by the press corps for the duration of the president’s visit to SkyTop. A dozen such minisets lined the perimeter of the room, one for each of the networks and cable stations, plus a dozen others from around the world, with logos Sherry didn’t recognize. In the far corner, toward the front, sat a familiar blue lectern with its two microphones. Somebody just needed to add the presidential seal, and the lectern would become the set for a presidential press conference.
    Security had been tight but not impossible as she’d reported in for her interview. When she asked why, she learned that the First Skier, as the press had dubbed the president, had no plans to do anything but ski until the Founder’s Day address later in the week. They assured her, however, that if the time came when POTUS wanted to address the nation, an impenetrable security net would materialize in an instant.
    As it turned out, when Audrey had referred to Molly Bartholomew as a friend, she’d overstated the relationship by about twelve thousand percent. “Sworn enemy who didn’t have the clout to argue” was far more accurate. It turned out that Audrey’s real friend was Molly’s boss in New York, who’d yanked Molly away from a planned day off in order to accommodate this interview. They’d scheduled it for the eight o’clock hour in New York, after they’d discussed all the hard news for the day, but before they’d turned to the latest fashion trends.
    As a camera moved into place in front of her, and two floodlights became supernovas, Sherry tried to sit motionless as Molly threaded a microphone under Sherry’s sweater and another technician jammed an earpiece into her right ear.
    “Here’s the deal,” Molly explained. “They’re trying out a new news anchor this morning. His name is Brock, and try not to laugh when you say it. Anyway, he’s going to be asking you these questions”—she handed Sherry a sheaf of papers—“during the bottom of the hour news break. Look into the camera when you answer and try not to shout.”
    “I’ve done television before,” Sherry said. “Are we going to be live?”
    “Absolutely. And if you do a good job, it’ll probably be broadcast all day at the news breaks and on CNBC.” The producer made a point of looking Sherry squarely in the eye as she added, “This is news, not Frasier, okay? Nobody yells ‘cut’ if you screw up, so try to get it right.”
    Sherry nodded and looked down at her notes. At first glance, she didn’t see anything too difficult. It was mostly about emotion. How was she holding up under the stress? Did she think that the authorities were acting quickly enough? Are there things about her son that the world should know?
    With the microphone finally clipped to the collar of Sherry’s turtleneck, Molly took a call on her cell phone. “Hello? Yeah? Shit.”
    Sherry’s heart rate doubled. “What?”
    Molly held up a finger and listened for a moment more. “Okay, yeah, we can be ready.” To Sherry, she said, “Change in plans. They want to go live in one minute, as soon as they come out of the break.”
    Instantly, Sherry’s mind went blank.
    “Don’t look so scared, Mrs. O’Toole. I wrote the questions and they’re all softballs.”
    “It’s Dr. O’Toole,” Sherry corrected.
    Molly rolled her eyes and smiled. “Quiet on the set,