The Interview

Page pulled up to the large gates. Beyond was a short tree-lined road that turned to the left, the cliffside residence out of view. She leaned out of her car window and pressed the intercom. There was a buzz and a momentary pause before a garbled voice barked out of the speaker.

"State your business," the voice said.

"I'm Page Tallen, I have an appointment to interview Cassandra Kellen."

There was another short pause, then another buzzing sound, and the metal gates opened inward. Page drove through. Moments later the large modern-looking mansion appeared ahead, looking very imposing and very isolated.

Page parked in the driving circle, got out, and approached the large front doors. She rang the doorbell and waited. And waited. And waited some more. She was just about to ring again or pound on the doors when they opened. On the other side of the threshold stood a tall pale woman, small breasted, with short platinum blond hair, and wearing only an ecru bikini that showed off the complete lack of carbs in her diet. She frowned at Page.

"Yes?" said the strange woman.

"I'm Page Tallen, I'm here to interview Ms. Kellen. My editor arranged the appointment."

"Fine," the woman said in a tone that left it clear that it wasn't. "Come in." Once Page had done so, the woman said, "Follow me," and walked down the hallway. Page wondered who the woman was. An assistant? But what assistant dressed like that?

The hallway led to a large room, a living room apparently, but not a cozy one. The décor was almost exclusively white -- tiled floor, walls, furniture -- with only the occasional black object or trim to break the monotony. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows provided an expansive view of the Pacific.

Page only waited a couple of moments before a middle-aged Caucasian woman in a business suit that looked like it cost just slightly less than Page's car strode into the room. "Miss Tallen, is it?" the woman said.

"Ms. Page Tallen, yes. Cassandra Kellen?"

"Yes."

Page awkwardly extended her hand for a handshake. Cassandra ignored it. Instead, she told the other woman, "You can leave us. I'll text you when I'm ready."

The other woman walked away. Page lowered her hand and waited until she was gone before asking, "Interesting apparel for your assistant, Ms. Kellen ... I'm sorry, what was her name?"

"It doesn't matter," Cassandra said.

Page considered the older woman, the secretive backer of so many far-right candidates at state and federal levels. Cassandra Kellen was rarely photographed and never interviewed, at least that Page was able to track down. It had taken weeks for Page to arrange this interview through Cassandra's people.

"Let's walk while we talk," Cassandra said, turning and walking away before she'd even finished speaking and not bothering to see if Page agreed or not. Page hurriedly followed, getting her phone out of her purse as she did so. She realized that no one had offered her a drink or a chair since she'd arrived. Cassandra led her down a small side corridor, out a non-descript back door, and outside. It was a spacious back yard, well-tended, bounded by a low wall, with ample space for the outdoor fundraisers for high class and secretive donors that Page knew Cassandra hosted here. The late afternoon sun hovered just a little bit above the horizon. It would've been a perfectly pleasant day if not for her present company as well as a headache that had just started coming over her. She turned on the record feature on her phone.

"You should feel honored," Cassandra said. She was walking steadily across the lawn, Page keeping pace and holding out her phone to catch the woman's words. "I rarely give interviews, let alone to reporters from the type of biased newspaper that you work for."

"Thank you again for agreeing to this," Page said, ignoring the jibe. "I was surprised that you did. You certainly are a private person, Ms. Kellen. I couldn't find any previous interviews that you've done."

"I don't like to be questioned, regardless of setting or intent. With that said, I do surprise myself on occasion. You know, just a few years ago I agreed to an interview by someone else, but the article never ran. That reporter was an intrepid young woman like yourself. I might have to tell you the story about what happened to her at some point. For now, let's get into it. I presume you want to know why I provide financial backing to so many horrible people."

Page nearly tripped. "You admit that the candidates you support are horrible? You mean that they're horrible candidates?"

"No, I mean they're assholes, one and all. I know it, you know it. They don't know it, they think they're great, but that's because they're assholes. Irredeemably stupid, the lot of them. But they're greedy and easy to manipulate, bless their black little hearts, and thus useful."

Page was aghast. In the days leading up to the interview she'd spent a lot of time imagining how it was going to go, how it would start. This particular opening wasn't one that had ever crossed her mind. "Why do you support them, then?"

"That's obvious. Because they advance my goals."

"You admit to supporting the far right, then?"

"It's not really about the left or the right. It's about which candidates will be most willing, and able, to enact policies that benefit me."

"That's very self-serving."

"Should I try to pretend otherwise, come up with some story that makes it sound as if I'm being beneficent? You wouldn't believe me, and I don't wish to dissemble."

Page decided to move onto the next question. "You've most recently supported Harriman in the gubernatorial election, despite the numerous fraud allegations surrounding him."

"Harriman? That sodomite?"

"Excuse me?"

"Harriman likes to take it up the ass from young twinks," Cassandra said, laughing without mirth. "Can you imagine, a man of his age, still acting as a butt boy?"

"Are...are you implying that you have blackmail on Harriman?"

"Don't be silly, Harriman will do what I tell him because I pay him. I just like to know all there is about the people I give money to."

"Why are you saying all this?"

"Where's the fun in having gossip if you can't share it from time to time? Besides, it's not all that interesting or special. Everyone's a pervert behind closed doors."

"Ms. Kellen, I have to remind you this interview is on the record."

"I know and I don't care. Exposure can be good for the soul. Or someone's soul at any rate."

By this point their walk had taken them to the wall at the edge of the lawn. Page took in the ocean view, looked down to see the waves crashing onto the rocks at the bottom of the cliff. There was a light, cold breeze. She rubbed her temple with her free hand; the headache was getting worse.

Cassandra walked slowly along the wall, trailing her fingers over the top of the stone. "I do love this view," she said.

"Can you elaborate on what specific goals you're seeking to have enacted?" Page asked, trying to get the interview back on track.

"I'm looking for a realignment of this country's laws to support a new ethos, one that I think will be far better than the current one."

"You're supporting these candidates because you think that they'll help America?"

"Oh, God no. Fuck this country."

"What?"

"Fuck this country. Fuck its whimpering masses, fuck its degenerates who feel that they should have any say whatsoever in its management, fuck their bleeding-heart enablers, and fuck the media who criticize people like me for trying to do anything about it."

Page resisted the urge to slap her. "If you hate this country, what are you trying to do with your political involvement? Ruin it?"

"Improve it. Reshape it into something better, stronger, firmer."

"And what does a better version look like to you?"

"One where the elites, chosen for their superior qualities, are established as the ruling class. Where petty divisions and spats are discarded, and energy and resources are instead focused on grand-scale endeavors. Of course, some low levels of conflict will still need to be employed, both as a release valve and for entertainment, but only then under strict supervision and scripting. Where everyone has a place and knows their place. Where there is order."

"You make it sound like 1984."

"Let's not be hyperbolic."

"What about freedom?"

"What about it?"

"You're talking about taking people's freedoms away from them."

"What if I am? People don't want freedom."

"They don't?"

"No, they don't. They say they do, and they may even think they do, but they don't. They want to be protected, they want to be safe, they want to be led. The one freedom that they do absolutely want is the freedom from thinking, from responsibility. Thinking leads to wrong decisions and ramifications and guilt. Having someone make all the decisions for you means never having to be wrong or suffer consequences. There is comfort in being sheep."

Page sighed. She'd had no idea how far off the deep end Cassandra was when she'd arranged this interview. Still, with the material she was getting she'd be able to craft an exposé to end all exposés when she was through. She just wished she'd felt better. She didn't know how it had managed to come over her so quickly, but she was suffering one of the worst headaches she could recall having. "You're talking about autocracy," Page said.

"Autocracy was the earliest form of government," Cassandra said. "It's basic, primal, closer to actual human nature than any other form of government. Democracy is a failed experiment, a blind alley that we have wasted our time with. And while autocracy is personally appealing, what I'm discussing is oligarchy, rule by the elite."

"And just who are the elite?"

"Those such as myself and the few rare others on this earth like myself."

"The rich."

"The elite tend to be in possession of vast resources, yes, but you misunderstand. Wealth doesn't make the elite. The elite come into possession of resources through their intrinsic talents. We are not all created equal, Miss Tallen. That is one of the greatest extant fictions today. The exceptional rise to the top in any society. It's lunacy to think that the best of us should somehow scrape and bow along with everyone else simply to perpetuate that fiction."

The two had reached the far end of the wall and began walking back across the lawn towards the mansion. "So," Page said, "trust fund babies who inherit all their wealth are naturally superior?"

"Those who do not deserve their resources are soon divested of them. The unworthy fail. The worthy succeed."

"And just what will the elite do once you're in control?"

"Create wonders. The ancient pharaohs built the pyramids and all they had were stones. Imagine the type of pyramids we could build today, metaphorical if not literal. We could transform the world."

"So," Page said, "you believe in replacing government with one where you and your fellow misanthropes rule over the rest of us."

"Despite your snide tone, that's roughly the idea, yes," Cassandra said.

"You're not just after power, you want control."

"Power and control, they're the same thing. You can't have one without the other."

"And you don't think that people won't stand up to you and yours to prevent your ambition."

"Everyone kneels eventually," Cassandra said. Page simply shook her head and then winced from the resulting stab of pain in her skull.

They were nearly back to the mansion. "Ms. Kellen," Page said, "exactly what is the source of your wealth, anyway? Given your assets and your constant level of maximum donations to multiple candidates, it's clear that you're wealthy. But there are no records giving any indication as to the source of that wealth. How did you come by it?

"Let's continue this in my office," Cassandra said, leading Page back inside the sterile air-conditioned domicile. Page followed Cassandra down the hallway to a small room. Cassandra walked on in, but Page stopped short at the threshold, mouth agape. Hanging on the far wall of the office was a portrait of a nude woman. She was on her knees, her back to the viewer, turned just enough for her to look back over her shoulder. But where the face should be was simply a smear of paint. The rest of the painting was immaculate, so the marring had to be intentional.

"Sit," Cassandra said, taking a seat behind her desk, just under the disturbing painting. Page broke out of her stare and sat down in one of the two guest chairs. Her head by this point was pounding and she was starting to wonder if she'd make it through the rest of the interview.

"All right," Cassandra said, "do you really want to know the secret of my success?"

"Yes," Page said, placing her phone on the desk in front of her.

"Positive? You're not just humoring little old me?"

Page was certain then that she was being jerked around but at that point she just wanted to get what she could, leave, and go crawl under the sheets in a very dark room, not moving an inch until her head stopped hurting. "I'm sure," she said.

"Very well. The truth is this. I can both read and alter minds."

Page paused momentarily. "Alter minds," she said, wondering what part of that she'd misheard.

"Yes, that's what I said."

Page couldn't believe she was still putting up with this. "Please go on," she said but she didn't even look at Cassandra when she spoke. She had closed her eyes and was rubbing her forehead. She decided to let her phone get the quotes and she'd sort through it later.

"It started when I was very young," Cassandra went on, seemingly oblivious to Page's condition. "As a small child I knew I had a lot of influence over my parents, but I never thought twice about it. Why wouldn't my parents give me everything I wanted and do everything that I wanted them to? They loved me, after all. Or at least I thought they did. I later realized that while they did love me, they were also frequently frightened of me. Once I figured that out, I was able to soothe them a little bit, while also firmly establishing that they were to continue obeying. I loved my parents, I truly did, but even at that young age I realized that I was special and that they were not and that it was right that I led the way. Anyway, once I entered school, I started to realize just how different I was from others. My teachers didn't obey me the way my parents did, at least at first, but I was very good at guessing what they were going to do or what they were feeling. Over time, they eventually started doing as I wished, as did my fellow classmates."

Page just nodded, eyes still closed, wondering how much longer she had to humor the crazy woman.

"As I got older," Cassandra continued, "I had an increasing sense of just how rare and unique I was in the world. I often wonder if there were people like me previously in the world. I must think there were, I'm not so conceited as to think I'm the first. But how many of us had there been? Hundreds? Dozens? Less than ten? And what would they have been seen as? Were they considered prophets? Monsters? Both? I'm fascinated by the possibilities. At any rate ... as I got older my desires changed and I used my abilities to feed those desires ...."

"Desires?" Page asked. As soon as she asked the question, she silently berated herself. She didn't know why she was egging this lunatic on. The whole thing was the craziest drivel she'd ever had to listen to. And the whole time her head was still throbbing. She seriously wondered if she'd end up being sick in the house of a crazy lady.

"No, people," Cassandra answered. "That was as close as I've ever been to being caught and uncovered, in those early years of adulthood when my hungers started to overwhelm me. I got sloppy about covering my tracks. Luckily, I recognized the peril and course corrected. After that I was much more careful about keeping my dalliances discreet while I worked on advancing my personal status. Over time I built up my fortune. Being able to manipulate people, it's easy to amass what you need, particularly if you're careful as you do so. A little here, a little there. Once you reach a certain threshold, it grows sufficiently on its own. People see how successful you are and are only too happy to give you more, to think themselves part of your success. You asked earlier what the source of my wealth is and there you have it. I make people give me what I want. Once I'd accumulated a sufficient amount, it was time to decide what to do with it. I decided that I didn't like the world I saw around me and wanted a different one. I wanted a world with less pretension and more focus. A world where I wouldn't have to hide who I was. A world that I could lead."

Cassandra sighed. "You know," she said, "I must admit it feels good to talk openly about this. You don't know how annoying it is to never have any opportunity to relax and discuss things freely. For that alone I must thank you for coming here today.

Page reached out and turned off the recorder app. "Thank you," Page said, pocketing her phone, "but I need to go now. Thank you for your time today."

"Of course." The two woman rose and Cassandra led Page into the hallway. After a few steps, she stopped and turned to Page. "So, what do you think?" Cassandra asked.

"Honestly?"

"Yes."

Page thought for a moment about lying, just so she could leave as quickly as possible, but then decided to go for it. "I think you're certifiably insane and I can't wait to write up my article to tell everyone about it. Seriously, what were you thinking having me over today? How did you think this was going to go? Did you think I was going to swallow any of your bullshit about 'mind powers' or whatever the fuck that was? You're delusional and you need to be exposed and you need help. Really, what were you thinking?"

"For starters," Cassandra said, "I'm not worried about what's going to be in your article because there will be no article. Before you leave, you'll delete your recording and even leave your phone here for destruction."

"Is that so?" Page said, heavy with sarcasm.

Cassandra smiled at her. It was the first time that she'd smiled since Page had met her. It was not a friendly smile. "Your editor won't like it, of course, and he may fire you, but that's for you to deal with," Cassandra said. "As for what I was thinking, well, I had my people investigate who you were once you started trying to get in touch with me. They showed me pictures of you, and I thought you looked hot. I wanted to fuck you."

"What?"

"How's your headache?"

Page paused. She hadn't said anything to Cassandra about it. She also hadn't even realized until that moment that the pain had suddenly stopped. "It's gone."

"I know. That's because I'm done."

"I'm sorry?"

"I've been tooling around in there since you arrived, remapping, rearranging." She shrugged, still smiling. "As I was saying, it's my gift. Now, then, hand me your phone."

Page immediately obeyed. She handed her phone to Cassandra who promptly tossed it onto the floor behind without even glancing at it. It landed with a thud.

"Strip," Cassandra said.

Page took off her socks and shoes, followed by her blouse, then her jeans. She didn't protest, she didn't hesitate, she didn't say a word. She didn't question what she was doing or object to Cassandra watching her. She unclasped her bra and let it drop to the floor. A moment later her panties joined it.

Cassandra looked her up and down. "Yes, you'll do," she said. "How do you feel?"

Page hesitated. She felt no shame standing there naked in front of an insane stranger. She felt no fear over how easily and readily she did what the woman told her to do. She felt no concern over what might happen next. She thought she could hear something just barely, like a voice shouting from off the distance, but she ignored it.