❗Hold up… this is Chapter 7.
Unless you’re the kind of thrill-seeker who reads the last page of a mystery first (you monster), you might want to backtrack.
👉 [Click here to start at Chapter 1] — where the real madness begins.
Otherwise, carry on… but don’t say I didn’t warn you when things stop making sense and someone you’ve never met suddenly dies.
Written by Thomas Mai
© Copyright held by Thomas Mai
Chapter 7 – A First For A First Lady
As reports of the President’s plane crash spread fear and shock around the world, it paled in comparison to the overwhelming horror and disbelief experienced by The First Lady of The United States, Jocelyn Harrington.
Jocelyn’s shrill scream echoed through the once bustling and organized executive suite at the White House in Washington, causing everyone to jump.
Jocelyn Harrington was born and raised in Compton, where her family struggled to make ends meet. Her father, Thomas King, worked long night shifts as a taxi driver while her mother, Barbara King, worked as a nurse during the day. Despite their financial struggles, Jocelyn’s parents were always loving and supportive of her and her three sisters. They instilled in Jocelyn the importance of kindness and hard work.
Jocelyn, four years younger than James Harrington, had met him while working at a Diner in Compton. She was studying for her Bachelor’s Degree in Fine Art at El Camino College. James had returned from his tours in Iraq and Afghanistan and caught Jocelyn’s attention with his good looks, charm and an intelligence that she found mesmerising.
It didn’t take long for them to become a couple. James quickly immersed himself in community work in Compton, lending a hand to seniors, students, and anyone else who needed help navigating issues with the police, mayor, or planning department. He made a significant impact on the lives of many, so it was no surprise when he ran for Mayor and won by a landslide.
Despite their numerous attempts, they were unable to conceive a child. Tragically, some pregnancies ended in miscarriage during the first trimester, while one baby passed away from Sudden Infant Death Syndrome and another did not make it through childbirth.
For Jocelyn, the most difficult part was not being able to fulfill her dream of motherhood. Jocelyn never fully recovered from the loss. Now, there was a possibility of losing James as well.
Jocelyn had received the message from James. “Love of my life, I am afraid I have some bad news. We are crash-landing in Somalia. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I WILL come back to you, I promise. Be strong, don’t give up”
She had tried to call him but could not get through to his phone. She did not want to believe the text message but the announcement from Helena Martinez and the cell phone footage had made the crash all too real. But Jocelyn knew that James was alive and that he would come back come hell or high water. Nothing would stop him.
While James was away, her parents had come to visit her and now they were rushing towards her, their faces twisted in an expression of shock and disbelief at seeing their daughter in such a state. They reached out to each other for support, finding solace in their shared distress.
Her father’s voice caught as he spoke her name, trying to stay composed for his daughter.
“Mom, Dad…” It was all Jocelyn managed before her voice broke, the dam of her poise yielding to an outpour of dread. She clutched at her pajama top, the fabric twisted in her grip—every fiber of her being yearning for James, for his reassuring presence, his unyielding resolve.
“Mrs. Harrington,” a White House aide approached, hesitantly. “We should make a statement.”
“No.” Jocelyn’s voice was steel wrapped in velvet, the First Lady emerging from the wife’s shell-shocked exterior. “Not until we know. Not until I hear from James.”
Her resolve steadied the room, if just for a moment. Every eye locked onto hers, finding an ember of determination in the uncertainty. Though her heart was besieged by fear, Jocelyn Harrington still stood as a pillar, a testament to the strength that drew James to her side.
“James,” she whispered, her voice a fractured whisper against the storm of emotions. The memory of his touch, the warmth of his smile, all of it coursed through her, fueling a belief that defied logic and reason. He was out there, somewhere and he had promised to return.
“Be strong,” she reminded herself, clutching the locket that rested against her chest—a trinket from their early days, now a talisman against the terror that sought to engulf her soul. She thought of how James had lifted Compton, one heart at a time, his resolve unshakable, his spirit indomitable. If anyone could survive this, it was him.
Jocelyn paced the length of the executive suite, her bare feet whispering across the plush carpet. The night’s chill seeped in through the windows, but it was the cold knot of uncertainty lodged in her stomach that truly chilled her to the bone. Her parents sat on the couch, their expressions drawn and weary—echoes of countless nights spent worrying about ends meeting, yet always ensuring their children never felt the weight of poverty.
A fragmented laugh escaped Jocelyn. Here. The White House. It had seemed surreal, even before tonight’s nightmare began. She stopped pacing and turned to the window, watching the Washington skyline—a stark contrast to the sun-bleached diners and graffiti-tagged alleys of her youth.
Her mind raced back to the day James Harrington walked into the Diner, his smile cutting through the clatter of dishes and idle chatter. There was a depth in his gaze, an understanding born from battlefields far away. Jocelyn had seen handsome men before, but James—James was different. He carried wisdom and an unspoken promise of change, not just for her, but for everyone whose voices were seldom heard.
“Jocelyn?” Her father’s voice pulled her back to the present, the executive suite now a silent fortress of anticipation.
“Sorry, just… thinking.” She forced a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She thought of James, of the spark that ignited between them over cheap coffee and shared ideals. They had built a life on the belief that tomorrow could be better than today. That hope was their foundation, and now it trembled beneath the specter of tragedy.
“James is strong,” she whispered mostly to herself, a mantra against fear. “He will come back, he promised.”
Her parents shared a glance, their own fears momentarily soothed by the resolve in their daughter’s voice. But as they watched her, the First Lady standing tall amidst the storm, they saw not only the strength they nurtured but also the indomitable spirit that had captured the heart of a nation.
Jocelyn’s fingers trembled as they hovered over the phone, the screen’s glow casting eerie shadows across her taut face. The text message hammered at her senses, a cruel echo of dread: “We are crash-landing in Somalia, Be Strong. I WILL come back to you.” Her thumb pressed the call button with a determination born of desperation, but the line offered only silence—no ring, no connection, just a void where James’ voice should be.
The room swayed around her, a carousel of faces—her parents, staff—all mirroring her own shock and fear, yet none could penetrate the singular focus that hardened within her. James would return. This was not where their story ended.
“James Harrington will come back to me,” Jocelyn declared to the silent witness of the morning sky, her voice carrying the weight of conviction and a love that refused to yield to fear. “He promised!”
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