The Governor’s Ball

37 dead, and many others were clinging to life in comas or permanently blinded.

They named the program Barn Owl because it was stealthy and brilliant. A software virus so frightening it did what parents, teachers, and mental health professionals tried to accomplish for decades -- keep us away from our electronics.

Barn Owl was the epitome of modern warfare. The gist was simple -- something that happens to each of us, dozens of times per day.

The unsuspecting victim receives a text message, opens an email, or checks a social media notification. Then, like a Star Wars lightsaber, a bright laser-like beam shoots from their screen, microwaving their brain through their eyes.

Sometimes, it’s instant, like a windowless room where somebody suddenly turns off the lights. Most times, the unstoppable destruction happens within minutes to an hour, so the damage can multiply in the form of freeway pileups, babies deserted alone in filling bathtubs, or dinners left to burn on stoves.

I was looking forward to the soiree because my sources told me the culprit (and possible associates) would be there, and drinking isn’t good for secrets. Plus, I couldn’t remember the last night I got to pretty myself up since getting my promotion to head of intelligence.

So there I sat, people-watching from my table with seven other strangers, getting scratched by the sequins on my dress. "Were clothes always this uncomfortable?" I said to the waiter refilling my wine glass.

And although this event was the epitome of high society, I realized, somehow, someway, these four duds seem to make their way into every party.

The Nosey Parker

The buzzard who asks too many questions, most of them personal. They’re doing it for one of two reasons. 1) They’re extracting as much information as possible to see how you can be most useful to them. 2) They read somewhere that this was a genius social technique to make them likable. “How to Succeed at Parties 101.” I can see the TED Talk now, “People love to talk about themselves, so ask them lots of questions, and you’ll be popular.”

The zero-value added blowup sex doll.

Usually, a solo person or a couple (because birds of a feather…) just sitting there, observing all evening, and never have anything to contribute to the table conversation. Most often, these oafs shamelessly coasted on their looks their entire small-minded lives. They watch, listen, and chew, and could easily be replaced by some first aid CPR dummy or department store manikin.

The lightweight.

On any given night, this is the type of person who’s quiet, polite, and reserved; they wouldn’t say boo to a goose. But not tonight. Nooo, TONIGHT, liquid courage brings out their flashy, moronic alter-ego. And a loud, obnoxious, exuberant, giggling, oversharing social butterfly emerges (to the universal dismay of the other sober guests). Sure, at first people think it’s endearing, but quickly, the side-eye comes out.

The condescending, chauvinist sleaze bucket.

A not-so-rare trifecta at any large gathering. Only this time, inescapably so, the bozo was the host.

“The Barn Owl. The Barn Owl. Is that all anyone wants to talk to me about tonight?” His stare locked on me.

Also unquestionably the best-looking man in every room, Governor Charlie Dillan would’ve been called a “stud.” Back before such talk got you slimed by the woke.

He was tall and built somewhere between a swimmer and a bulldog; classically handsome in a sturdy, rugged way. A former rancher who platformed on the principles behind “the cowboy way.” Governor Dillan was unapologetically old-school, and his mission was to convince anyone who’d listen that this was the secret to how the West was won.

With perpetual bedroom eyes, I think he’s incapable of looking at a woman without it feeling suggestive.

“They’ve got a real ace on the case. Isn’t that right?” He said, sliding his hands out of his pockets and extending his right arm towards me. “If memory serves, Agent Reeves, you sure could cut a rug. Shall we discuss the matter over a dance?”

I waited until I saw the glint of unfamiliar rejection flicker in his gaze and grabbed his hand because I knew it wasn’t really a question. Governor Dillan was the type you’d nowadays describe as toxic masculinity. You didn’t know if you wanted to screw him or pepper spray him.

The dense crowd parted as we made our way into the center. Fittingly, he smelled like Texas; a mixture of musky cologne, cigars, gun powder, and irreverence. Governor Dillan still swayed when he walked, like a cowboy that just climbed off a disobedient horse.

“Delilah, we’ve known each other a long time. Don’t piss on my shoe and tell me it’s raining. I want you to be straight with me, so get to it.” Impatience tainting his Southern drawl.

“Governor, I’m here because my sources indicated the mass murderer we’ve been tracking will be in attendance tonight. Sir, they’re on your invite list, possibly dancing amongst us right now.”

“Wow. They told me, but I didn’t believe them. A domestic threat. Are you sure?” Governor Dillan whispered.

“Yes,” I said, nodding and fake-smiling for the photographer that suddenly was beside us.

“Say CHEESE!” The flash went off, he checked his camera-viewer, thanked us, and was off.

“Intelligence indicates its homegrown, so please treat everyone as hostile.”

“Sheesh. It reminds me of one of those horror movies we used to watch, remember? When the call comes from inside the house.”

“I remember,” I said, hoping the chandelier glow was dim enough to conceal my flushing face.

“You want my advice, Delilah?” I didn’t, but I knew it was a rhetorical question. “Find the red thread. You know what I mean? The common ‘why’ and that’ll lead you to the perpetrator.”

I bit my tongue, also remembering the relief from no longer having to hear his mansplaining after we graduated from the academy and broke up.

“That’s good advice, Charlie. Thanks for that,” I said through pursed lips.

The music stopped, and his handlers pulled him away to the lineup of guests waiting in the wings to kiss his ass.

"To be continued. I'll come find you soon, Delilah."

"Sure," I replied.

I didn’t know if it was being so close to Charlie again, or the buzz from the wine, but I felt dizzy and needed some air. I wandered outside and began to walk around the mansion.

The air was thick with summer moisture. I looked up to the twinkling stars and full moon and realized it was getting blurrier by the second as the vision drained from my eyes.

I fell to my knees just as shrieks began to spill out from inside the ballroom.

“It was the photographer!” I said, and the world went dark.