Requiem for a Report (Ch. 1 and unfinished Ch. 2)
Title: Requiem For A Report
Rating: PG-13/ R
Pairing: None
Series: TDS, TCR
Author's Notes: Strange. This is strange. An intern at the Daily Show is ready to start work over at the Colbert Report the next day, but in half a second, Brenna Town and Stephen Colbert are mysteriously killed by a driverless bus. Sam, their guardian and Stephen's driver, tells them that Colbert Nation is in danger of being attacked by the B.E.A.R.s (Brotherhood of Existential Afterlife Recruitment). With Stephen now ready to lead his Nation into battle against these afterlife demons are the E.A.G.L.E.s (Elite American Government League of Enforcement), Americone Dream, and The Word of Truthiness (I Am America (And So Can You!)). Throughout, Brenna and Stephen struggle to leave behind their mortal lives as their families and friends struggle to move on without them, but the focus on the war takes center stage of epic proportions.
Author's Note II: This story would take me forever to write to the point that I would be proud to post it. Lots of errors ensue probably, mainly because I don't feel good about the ammount of research I've done thus far. Anyhoo, it is an amazing story in my head now, but there's too much to work out. It's like a > 100,000 word thing I'll take forever perfecting. But yeah, this was the beginning of it. Enjoy what's here I guess.
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December 17, 2007
11:37 AM
Jon was forgetting something, he just didn’t know what it was. He had the similar feeling repeatedly over the last few days, stumbling through his tightly-laced schedule on little sleep and a formidable amount of caffeine. However, the caffeine was losing its punch faster each time between Christmas shopping for a few hours with Tracey or working on material late-night for the show. His wife insisted that he sleep in Sunday morning (and he had all intentions of doing so), but Maggie had gotten sick in the middle of the night.
He forgot little things at first, like car keys, grabbing Nate’s favorite cereal on the way home, and starting the dishwasher. Soon, it escalated to forgetting his notes and accidently leaving dinner in the oven too long. His head was heavy with exhaustion, but it was only one more week. Just one. Four shows. And then sleep.
Despite this silver lining, his mind remained a horrific mess like the state of his desk. Stacks of papers, soda cans, take-out cartons, and coffee mugs cluttered his workspace, and his concentration ultimately vanished. Disgruntled, Jon sat up and threw his pen at the legal pad lifelessly. It was no use. Nothing was connecting. There just wouldn’t be an opening skit tonight, that’s all. The nagging in the back of his mind was starting to give him a headache. He knew he was forgetting something, whatever the hell it was.
Just as Jon felt he might lose all notion of time and space, his phone sounded somewhere. He grunted in response to the ring tone, shuffling all matter of papers and loose objects around him in search of it. He soon located it amidst a forest of soda cans (of course, right where he did not remember leaving it).
“Mm, yeah?” he murmured, rubbing his eyes.
“Jon, you will never guess who I got for Thursday’s show…”
He suddenly remembered what he had forgotten as Stephen’s voice rambled something excitedly in his ear. He shut his eyes and silently cursed himself as Stephen continued talking.
“I can’t keep it to myself much longer, but I figured I’d keep you in suspense just til about the end of lunch because I have to tell you! I have to! I don’t even-“
Jon sighed. “Stephen… about lunch…”
He heard his friend fall silent on the other end as expected. Stephen’s voice acquired a hint of disappointment. “You forgot?” he asked.
“I-I’m sorry, I did,” he admitted. “I swear I’ll make it up to you. Not just Chinese in the office, either,” he quickly tacked on. “Like a real dinner. How about my place Christmas Eve? You can bring your family and everything. Tracey and I would love to have you.”
“Hmm…” Jon could picture the comically raised eyebrow as Stephen considered briefly. “It still doesn’t satisfy my immediate urge regarding my telling you Thursday’s guest, but I’ll hold you to it.”
“Great,” Jon said.
“One condition,” Stephen continued. “I need a favor A-SAP.”
Jon repositioned himself in his chair, poking at an empty soda can with his pen absentmindedly. “Yeah, sure. What is it?”
“One of my stage managers is out until break,” Stephen explained. “Something about dislocating his shoulder when Tad shoved him into a door earlier… Anyways, so he’s going to be out, and I’m short staffed for these last few shows. Think you can spare a Mohican for me?”
Jon furrowed his brow. Mohican?
“Uhh, yeah, I’ll find someone,” he managed, though he wasn’t exactly sure what to do. “Yeah, I’ll get someone over there. When do- do you need them? Tonight?”
“I think we’ll be fine for tonight,” Stephen said. “Everything’s ready to roll, but tomorrow morning would be ideal.”
“You’ll have someone tomorrow,” Jon assured him.
“That’s great, thanks.”
“No problem.”
“Oh! Still wanna take a wrong guess on Thursday’s guest?”
Oh, just humor him.
“Me?”
“Close. We got Oprah!”
Jon laughed this time despite how drained he felt. Stephen joined in, too, but it was short lived and died away quickly.
“You got Oprah?” Jon asked in disbelief. He could picture Stephen smiling ridiculously and shaking his head vigorously.
“I got Oprah, Jon! She’s coming on my show! And I might even put her On Notice while she’s here for not inducting me into her book club yet.”
Jon hated how flat his expression of amusement was at the time. He felt guilty that he couldn’t duplicate the amount of excitement Stephen was emitting through the phone. Hopefully by Thursday he’d be feeling a lot better, but he doubted it.
“That’s incredible. Oprah. Good God. Tell her I want a Magic Bullet.”
“Have to be in the studio audience, Jon,” Stephen told him with a reprimanding tone. Jon nodded with a lopsided grin, something between a sigh and chuckle escaping him.
“Okay, I’ll try. Sorry about lunch again, Stephen.” He picked up an empty take out carton and tossed it across the room to the overflowing trash can, but it just knocked more garbage to the floor. “Christmas Eve, time TBA.”
“Send over a man friend for Bobby and we’ll be there,” Stephen said.
Jon smiled. “You got it.”
“11:28!”
“11:28.”
At that, Stephen hung up. Jon sighed heavily as his arm fell to the desk like a dead weight with a loud thump. A few cans and papers fell from the end of the desk, including his unfinished skit. He moaned and put his head down as Samantha came into his office quickly.
“Sorry Jon, but Rob and I need you to veri… fy…” Her speech slowed at the extreme untidiness of the room as Jon remained motionless over the surface of the desk. “Jon?”
A grunt.
She approached him uncertainly. “Are you alright?”
“Get this to Writing,” - he pointed blindly to the pile of papers on the floor beside him - “and tell them to finish it. Approval granted for whatever bullshit they write.”
“Okay…” She gathered the papers carefully, still casting him a concerned glance. “Anything else?”
“Yeah… Have someone clean up my office.”
Samantha stood with a messy shuffle of papers in her arms, shaking a Post-It note off her shoe.
“Okay.”
She dodged her way around the disheveled office to the door, almost tripping on a crease in the rug. She looked back to say something to him, but his breathing was already deep and steady.
X X X
8:31 PM
The nap was good and bad: much still needed done, but he had least had more focus, energy, and stamina to finish it now. It also got him through the show better than he had imagined, and time wasn’t as sluggish. He felt the headache recurring again though as he took a side path en route to his inevitable desk-load of work to the set where five of his interns were decorating it festively. Not only for the season, mind you, but for tomorrow’s special guest - Santa Claus.
‘That’s right, kids!’ he shouted excitedly at the camera. ‘Santa will be here tomorrow night, so if your parents take you to see him at the mall, he’s either an old guy in a suit with a possible history of child molestation or an imposter. Or, he’s a ‘Secret Santa.’ This means he fills in for the Big Man without fringe benefits like Mrs. Claus’s milk and cookies, not matter how long he listens to how much you want that doll or truck or Nintendo Wii.’
He looked over at another camera and whispered, ‘Only two per Wal-Mart, people! Santa’s got competition.’
The five interns were working at a steady pace with Bing Crosby playing in the background and decorations surrounding them. Ian was looping garland around the edge of his desk while Kimberly attached a red bow to the front of it (taking care not to cover the logo). Carter had replaced the customary chairs with what looked like red high back armchairs on wheels.
Jon smirked. Nice.
“Is the… uh, the star ready?”
Jon looked passed his desk and smiled, a gorgeous Christmas tree glowing subtly in the low lighting. Kent was feeding Brenna the last of a string of white lights before retrieving the star beside him, and she stood on her tiptoes carefully, trying to maintain balance on the ladder.
“Are you sure you got it?” Kent asked, handing her the glass star slowly. Brenna made a face as she turned back to the tree on her tiptoes, the ladder wobbling.
“Uh… Ah!”
Kent seized the ladder, and last minute, Jon reached out and caught the other end. Kent let out a sigh of relief.
“Hey, Mr. Stewart. Nice save.”
“Thanks,” he laughed, looking up at Brenna who was doubled over on the top of the ladder. She began to giggle as he asked, “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” she said, dismounting the ladder and handing Kent the star. “I think I’ll let you do that.”
“We need another ladder,” Jon commented as he and Brenna braced it for Kent. “I think it’s been in that back room longer than I’ve been here.”
Brenna laughed. “I wouldn’t doubt it. So, what do you think of the tree?”
It was an awkward question to pose to him, but apparently that was to be most of the humor in tomorrow’s show. She was surprised when he nodded his approval, admiring the towering evergreen. “It’s perfect. Who’s idea to go red, white, and blue?”
“Teri walked by when we were going through the stuff after the show,” Brenna told him. “She said it’s what we had the most of, plus it would complement the set, so we took her advice on it. It’s turned out better than I thought.”
“Okay, the star is on,” Kent announced, climbing down the ladder. “We just need to put a few more bulbs on and it’ll be finished.”
“Can you have Kim or someone help you?” Jon asked Kent as Brenna went to reach for a box of leftover bulbs. He glanced over at Brenna who sported a curious expression. “I need to speak with you for a few minutes.”
She paused momentarily, handing Kent the box of bulbs. “Sure,” she said, starting to follow Jon off set. “I’ll be back,” she told Kent.
“Oh!” Jon and Brenna turned as Kent grabbed something hanging on the ladder and handed it to Brenna. “Don’t forget Tiny Tim.” Brenna smiled at the Mickey Mouse-esque figurine on the end of her necklace and put it on.
“Thanks.”
Jon quirked an eyebrow as they continued walking across the set, and Brenna chuckled. “My dad and I have a Mickey Mouse Christmas Carol thing,” she told him, feeling the need to explain. “When I started collecting snow globes, he found one from the Christmas Carol, but it broke when I moved into college last year. Tiny Tim here broke off the base, so I just keep him with me.”
Jon saw the missing ceramic shoe of the figurine as it fell back to her sweater. “Kudos for the conversation piece,” he said, opening his office door for her. She stepped inside with a smile.
“Thank you.”
Jon came in and closed the door, making her wonder more what this concerned. She had been a good correlate of Jon’s since coming to the show on both professional and casual settings, and she enjoyed that ability to understand and talk with him at ease. But now, something felt different. She tried to shake it off as Jon nodded over to the couch for her to sit.
“Please.”
She obliged, sitting tall on the edge of it as Jon seated himself behind the desk (which was relatively tidier than it had been before the show). The informal setting was somewhat distracting from the businesslike air of the meeting, but Brenna concentrated on giving Jon her undivided attention above all else.
“So getting away from Mickey Mouse,” Jon began after clearing his throat, “I wanted to tell you how impressed we have been with your work around here. Not only am I impressed, but your supervisor’s impressed, and you’ve really assumed the role of a stage manager since joining us.”
Brenna felt her smile rise, but she kept it modest. No big heads. “Thank you.”
“Now, you’ve been here for about… “ - he glanced down at a paper on his desk - “eight weeks now?”
“Nine,” she corrected him, having kept religious count of her time in New York. Jon referred back to the paper again, his eyebrows easing at his error.
“Okay, nine weeks, and that means you have one week left with us until you return… to Connecticut for the holidays… with positive feedback.”
Unable to contain it any longer, Brenna let her smile out in the open. “Thank you very much, Mr. Stewart.”
“And possibly another big name in the fake news realm of television,” Jon added. Brenna looked up at his intent eyes doing a double take. Her eyebrows knitted.
“Another big name?”
Jon leaned forward on the desk more, the pencil in his hand swirling around absentmindedly. “Okay, here’s the deal… Stephen - Colbert? The Colbert Report?” Brenna nodded at the very familiar name somewhat impatiently. Her brief encounters with Colbert weren’t exactly fan girl faint-worthy. She preferred Jon any day. He ‘got’ her.
“Well,” Jon continued, “The Report finds themselves short-staffed for the last few shows before break, and Stephen asked that I get him a replacement for tomorrow morning - if you’re interested.”
Brenna’s breath hitched in her throat as she stared at Jon slowly. She redirected her eyes to the floor.
“They want me to fill in?”
Jon heard the skeptics in her voice, and he suddenly remembered that she didn’t care for Stephen much. He stared at her a moment (angry that he had again forgotten something), but he needed her to do this. He hoped she would still do it and overlook his insensitive memory lapse.
“Well, they asked for one of my stage hands, but I need them,” Jon explained. “I’ve talked to a few people about you throughout the day, and they agree I couldn’t send anyone better. I know you’re only an intern, and yes, I did just remember that you kind of… dislike Stephen…” - Brenna nodded reluctantly - “but I also know you can handle whatever they give you.”
She wasn’t so sure about that. The Report’s boundaries were more vast and unpredictable than The Daily Show’s, and she was quite happy to be part of the latter given her perfectionist itch for professionalism and order.
“Plus it’ll be another reference on your record,” Jon suddenly added amidst her busy thoughts. “He won’t mind that you’re just an intern either, and he might not even really remember you. Christmas gives Stephen a high. Worst comes to worst, he doesn’t show up for dinner at my house Christmas Eve.”
The last bit snagged her train of thought for a moment before discarding it as irrelevant to the offer. True, that it would be a great transcript with both Jon Stewart’s and Stephen Colbert’s names on it. She’d miss out on Jon’s wit for Stephen’s blasphemy, but working another stage would be good experience if anything.
This wasn’t about liking her workplace or her boss. This was about her future career.
So she nodded.
“Sure,” she replied as confidently as possible. The word left taste of slight regret in her mouth as Jon smiled, but she swallowed it. “What time do I need to be there tomorrow?”
“Um, I’d say around ten so you can adjust to anything that might be different over there,” Jon said. “When you go in, just show them your I.D. from over here and tell them that I sent you by request of Stephen. They shouldn’t give you any hassle. And, uh, thanks.” He looked at her pointedly. “A lot. You’re doing us a big favor.”
Brenna nodded solemnly, and Jon couldn’t help but emit a laugh. He hid his smile behind the pencil as she looked at him slowly, her own smile growing.
“What?”
Jon lowered the pencil, leaning towards her. “Give him hell.”
X X X
9:10 PM
“Dad, when are you coming home? You still have to read me a story.”
Stephen shut off his office lights and closed the door. “I’m leaving work now, bud,” he assured his youngest son. “My ride is a little late, but you have that book ready for when I come home.”
“Okay,” John said. “Mom wants to talk to you now.”
“Alright, Put Mom back on for me.”
Sounds rustled over the phone, and John said something to Evelyn as she took the phone from him. “Stephen?”
“Hey, hon.”
“You’re not going to be too much longer, are you?” Evelyn asked as he began to head down the stairs, adjusting his scarf. “I mean, I know you have some extra work keeping you-“
“No, no, my ride’s just running late a few minutes,” he told her. “I got most of my work done. Oprah’s a go for Thursday, I broke the handle on my coffee mug earlier, and my one stage manager dislocated his shoulder today, too. But I called Jon, and he said someone’ll be over in the morning.”
“Sounds like it’s been a long day,” his wife commented.
He smiled at a security guard going by in the hall. “Nah, just another one,” said Stephen, looking out at the cold street for any sign of the car. “I’ll be home soon.”
“Alright, love you.”
“Love you, too, Evie. Bye.”
“Bye, Ste-“
“BYYYYYE DAAAAAAD!!!”
Stephen laughed. “Bye, John.”
X X X
9:14 PM
“Are you serious?!”
Brenna laughed as she pulled on her gloves and dug in her purse for her hat, her cell phone pinned between her shoulder and ear. “Yeah,” she told her youngest brother, Nick. “It’s true. Calm down.”
“You’re lying!”
“No!” she said, tugging the wool hat over her short light brown locks. “Jon took me in his office and asked me himself. I’m going to be working on the Colbert Report for the next three days.”
Nick let out a laugh of disbelief and excitement. Brenna continued to smile at his ridiculous celebration, but she had to tell him immediately, being the diehard Colbert fan that he was. He always argued that Colbert was better than Jon, but she disagreed every time, especially after being around Jon for the last two months straight.
“Is Rory there?” Brenna asked Nick, getting ready to step out of the building.
“No, he’s at the Strip til closing,” Nick explained quickly. “I had the night off. He wanted me to tell you he got a B on his Business exam. And Tillie says hi and to give her a call sometime. I can’t find Dad! Urgh! Can I have a free ticket to meet Colbert if I drive down there tomorrow?”
Brenna rolled her eyes and chuckled. “I told you that I’m not too crazy about this. I’m only doing it because I could use experience, plus Jon asked me to.”
“Yeah, but I am crazy about it!” Nick said. “Come on! It can be like my early graduation present from you.”
Light snow wisped around in the cold wind, blowing Brenna’s hair against her bare neck. She hissed a little, shoving her free hand deep in her coat pocket as she began walking. “Nicky, I doubt I’ll be buddy-buddy with Stephen Colbert ever, let alone in two days’ time. Maybe I’ll disguise myself and get an autograph somehow.”
“Or I could just drive down there and get it myself.”
“Yeah, and Dad’s just going to let you miss two days of school and cross country to drive his car to New York,” she droned mildly sarcastic, heading up the sidewalk with her face down. “How is Dad?”
Nick shrugged. “Eh, he’s okay, I guess,” he told her. “Doctors lowered two of his meds yesterday, but they said it’ll probably only be temporary.”
Brenna went quiet. “He’s keeping up with them, right? You and Rory still making sure of that?”
“Yeah. Yeah, we’ve got it. He’s doing fine.”
“I wish I could be home sooner than Friday night.”
“Don’t be!” Nick scolded. “I’d give anything to spend three days working for Stephen Colbert!”
She sighed. “I’d rather stay at The Daily Show…”
X
Stephen yawned, still looking out the frosty doors for the car, and he was happily surprised when he saw it pull right on up to the curb and stop. He saw his driver exit the car, and Stephen braced himself, stepping out into the blustery chill of mid December.
“Hey, Sam.”
“Sorry it took so long,” Sam said, immediately launching into an apology. “I had to stop and get gas. Something’s wrong with this gage. I’ll have to take it in for a check before the holidays.”
Stephen made a face, his hair at the mercy of the wind. “Wasn’t it just in the shop last month?”
“Well, yeah, but that was because the squirrels put acorns in the engine,” Sam explained. “That’s not exactly typical maintainance.”
“Eh, true.”
Suddenly, a high-pitched ‘No!’ was screamed nearby, and Stephen and Sam looked up in alarm. Stephen’s panic turned to sour relief at the sight of a girl across the street laughing loudly on her phone. Get him all worked up like that… what a letdown.
“Get me out of here,” he ultimately chuckled at Sam.
X
“No! I don’t care who has better hair,” Brenna laughed. “How is this relevant?!”
“Anchor hair has everything to do with it,” Nick said as Brenna came to the edge of the street and readied to cross. “I’d think you would know that as many times as you’ve read Stewart’s America book.”
“Yeah, and that portion was done by Stephen,” Brenna pointed out. “No wonder you remember it.”
X
As Sam went around to get back in the car, Stephen glanced back up at the girl crossing the street on her phone subconsciously, but he abruptly looked back. Bright lights were shining on her (she didn’t look too concerned or aware of them). His eyes darted up the street to the source of light; a bus was turning the corner fast, and it continued to pick up speed.
Alarm gripped him again. He looked over at the girl with wide eyes before pushing off the car in a dead run.
“HEY! MOVE!!!”
X
“Of course I would remember anythi-“
The phone slipped from Brenna’s gloved hand to the street. Annoyed with her clumsy grip, she bent down to pick it up. A bright light flooded over her, and she looked up in horror as a set of blinding headlights bore down on her at an unfathomable speed. She faintly heard someone scream, though she wasn’t sure if it was her or not. Then, in a split second, she was impacted from two sides and lost all sense of being.
X
Sam got out of the car as soon as Stephen began to run, shouting at him in confusion. Then, the bus and girl seemed to appear out of thin air around Stephen. Sam’s mouth fell open at the fantastical scene unfolding - Stephen reached the girl, and Sam swore that the pundit had his arms on her at the same moment the bus sent them both flying off the ground.
A bloody mark instantly appeared on the young woman’s head, and she flew back towards the sidewalk a good five feet off the ground, her hat rolling down the street in the wind. She flew limp into a lamppost, and Sam swore he heard her back break once hitting it. She fell motionless to the sidewalk, taking out a trash can with her. Both of her legs were positioned so that they could only be broken, and her neck was twisted strangely.
The utter sense of helplessness grew from there. Stephen was a blur in the air as the bus came to a screeching halt, his neck having snapped back severely. Sam’s breath caught for what seemed eternity as his boss met the unforgiving pavement hard on his back, bouncing and rolling a time or two like a rag doll before resting spread eagle on his back. A shining pool of dark crimson began to rapidly gather on the pavement around his lower abdomen and head.
The bus remained as still as Stephen and the girl. Passersby had screamed, some now panicking and surrounding the scene and pulling out phones to dial 911. A few people knelt near Brenna as another two ran out to Stephen in the middle of the road shouting.
Sam felt his knees weaken and give as he leaned against the car in shock.
X X X X X X X
Stephen lunged forward. It was all he could think to possibly do.
Brenna ceased to comprehend or function properly at the headlights blinding her. For fraction of a second, she felt ready to be airborne with inexplicable pain and death. But none of that came of it. She didn’t even feel herself move. Her muscles weren’t sore and her head wasn’t spinning. No pain.
Just blinding light.
It was all he could see.
He had reached her, her knew it; he just didn’t know if she had been cleared of the bus.
He must have been okay, for he only fell to the ground shielding his eyes from the brilliant white light. Though, it wasn’t going away. Had the bus stopped in time? Why was he not dead? That bus was doing at least forty-seven around that curb… Had it magically gone through him or something?
“Get up.”
Brenna sat up, still hiding her eyes from the awesome light. Everything was white. The street had become some sort of white surface like nothing she had ever sat on, and endless white air surrounded her. New York was gone.
Stephen lifted his head with difficulty, pinching his eyes shut tightly in search of the voice. A short distance from where he lay, his eyes picked up traces of blurred red and blue amongst the white. He slowly pushed himself off the white ground with little effort, eyes watering.
Brenna covered her face as a glowing being turned in her direction. The light was coming from it, but gave off no heat. It penetrated her hands and eyes with unsurpassable power that she couldn’t comprehend.
“Please,” she finally begged from behind her knees now. I am begging God. I’m going to hell. “I can’t see.”
Stephen’s head perked up at the other voice. The girl?
Then, the male voice spoke again. “Oh. Oh, sorry.”
Suddenly, the intensity of the light dropped drastically. Puzzled, Brenna slowly lifted her head out of her knees as Stephen stood, wiping the tears from his eyes. He blinked the rest of them away as he tried to get a better look at the man in the patriotic top hat before him. His breath caught as the person turned towards him.
“S-Sam?”
“Technically, no,” the man in the faux white beard said. Brenna got to her feet wide-eyed and afraid as Sam turned back to her. “See, I’m Sam’s ‘alter ego of a character’ if you will, and I can assure you that your driver is fine, Stephen.”
At this, Brenna peered around the costumed man and saw none other than Colbert standing equidistant from her. Stephen bent his brow at the young woman’s reappearance, staring at her in shock. She was totally fine. He was totally fine (which Brenna was still trying to consume logically). And Sam was claiming that he wasn’t Sam.
Stephen looked between the vaguely familiar girl and Sam, holding his breath.
“Sam,” he almost whispered fearfully, “what are you talking about?”
Sam shook his head and removed his hat, dusting the top of it off. “I am truly sorry to have to do this to both of you,” he said, glancing over at Brenna as well, “but I wouldn’t have if it wasn’t so urgent,” Sam said. “Besides, it wasn’t just my decision. All of the E.A.G.L.E.s couldn’t endanger Colbert Nation further-“
Stephen suddenly laughed. Brenna and Sam looked at him incredulously as he bit his lip, looking up at Sam with a skeptical look. “Okay, okay… What is really going on here?”His humor quickly turned to true annoyance as he approached the costumed man he still believed to be his driver. “What are you talking about?” Stephen pressed. “The eagles said that Colbert Nation was in danger? What have you been drinking?”
“Stephen-“
“It’s Mr. Colbert to you, Sam,” he said, pointing at him with a warning in his eye.
“Okay,” Sam said calmly. “Stephen,” - the pundit’s face became angry - “I have already apologized for what had to be done, but it was going to happen in three years anyway-“
“Whoa, what was going to happen?” Brenna asked in confusion. “In… In three years?”
“Your death.”
X
Stephen watched Brenna’s face fall into stunned silence when his heart leapt with a terrible sensation.
“What do you mean?” Stephen asked in panic. “I’m going to die in three years?! We both are?!”
“You were,” Sam told him. “But the threat on the Nation became too serious faster than we predicted, so we had to get you now instead of later.”
The words may have been indirect, but Stephen felt a huge blow erase his mind, stop his heart, and steal his air. For a brief moment, it actually made sense, but his mind denied it defensively. Brenna’s eyes were wide and on Sam, hoping she was misinterpreting his words. However, Stephen’s reaction was enough to assure her that she hadn’t.
This was all a bad dream. Perhaps she had fallen asleep decorating the set…
Emotion caught in Stephen’s throat, and he could only swallow it a fraction of the way as he stared at Sam. He finally straggled out some words. “That’s not funny, Sam.”
“I would not joke about such a thing, Stephen.”
Brenna now felt winded. She saw Colbert shut his eyes before she sank back to the ground. The bus was going too fast to stop, yet she was fine. She still had her other scars - like the bruise from hitting her arm off a camera the other day - but there wasn’t anything that indicated she was hit by a bus. She decided not to even question it. There were too many unanswered questions as it was.
Her father, her brothers, heaven? Hell? Her mom? Wings, powers, God?
She looked up at Sam cautiously.
No. Sam was not God.
Because she was not dead.
Stephen shook his head repeatedly. No. There was just no way. Sam had kidnapped him and he was I Iraq or something. They liked kidnapping journalists- Oh, stop! You’re dead! his strange logic kept saying. He kept denying it, and the more he did, the more it actually made sense. Chest heaving unevenly, Stephen opened his eyes and looked back at Sam.
“So… I’m… dead now?”
“You both are,” Sam said. “And we need your help.”
Brenna’s head was heavy with so much to take in, what to believe, what not to believe. Her eyes began to turn red and puffy as she silently cried. Wasn’t the afterlife supposed to be painless in every way?
“What help?!” Stephen suddenly shouted. “What are you talking about?! I’m dead! My family and my show and my… oh ho…”