Chase Hatter's Origin of Pangaea

Chapter One

All it takes to have an epiphany - or something very much like it - is a subject of interest and the ticking of a clock in a silent room. Mrs. Sharon Cassidy had both. She stood in the frame of an open doorway and was given these epiphany inducing tools. With them, she recalled milestones in her life that seemed eerily relevant to her current situation.

The first milestone set for recollection was a moment in ninth grade. It was her first year in school without a mandatory dress code and it excited her so much that she spent more time showing off her outfits than doing her schoolwork. As a last minute attempt to pass her History class, she scrounged up a poorly organized paper on Robert Kennedy's time as an Attorney General. It turned out that the details of the information she tossed into her essay did not stick with her because she wrote the research paper three hours before it was due. Riveting.

The second milestone up for recollection was the final political science class she had to take in college to graduate. She didn't want to major in Political Science. She was far more interested in fashion, but her father wasted no time expressing to her how her dreams would cause her serious money issues, the likes of which he refused to bail her out of. She wrote her last paper on Robert Kennedy's time as a Senator. Not because she found him particularly fascinating, but because a documentary on the exact subject would be on just a few days before the paper was due. All of the necessary research packed into an hour and a half long film. Tremendous.

The third, final, and most recent milestone up for recollection took place just a few months prior to her current space in time. A game night hosted by her husband every month had rolled around to a night of trivia. He invited all of their neighbors as usual. Sharon had a bit of a rivalry with one of the women that came. Her name was Anna. Anna's husband was a restaurant owner and she never missed an opportunity to remind everyone. She was also very good at Game Night and that alone made Sharon's blood boil. So, one can only imagine her excitement when Sharon won the game for herself and her husband by answering the tie-breaking question; the date of Robert Kennedy's assassination.

So now, back in her current space in time as a personal assistant to the President of the United States, she returned to the frame of the doorway in the quiet room with the ticking clock. She returned from her epiphany and she was almost brought to tears by what she was seeing.

Sharon let her eyes slowly fall to the left to catch the sight again. Sitting on the couch in the West Sitting Hall of the White House were two men. One of them didn't belong here, or at least he didn't seem like he did. He was poorly groomed and underdressed. He had dark, messy hair with bits of grey and his eyes were a cold blue. His jeans were worn out and his work books were dirty. He reminded Sharon of a union man, just like her own father. This man stared off to the far end of the room, expressionless as he sat with his arms crossed impatiently. To the left of this ill-groomed man sat Robert Kennedy.

Sharon felt another tingle of fear run up her spine, reminding her again that she was afraid.

This was not a miracle.

This was not an impossibly amazing feat.

This was illogical. A man was back from the dead.

Sharon stared at Robert Kennedy. Could she even be sure it was him? And even if it was, how was she the first to notice? As she stared at Robert Kennedy her eyes began to fall further to her left and she locked eyes with the stone faced union man by mistake. Just as this happened, the president arrived.

President Shore, accompanied by the U.S. Treasurer, set his hand on Sharon Cassidy's shoulder. "We can take it from here." He said. "If you could escort Mr. Richards out, that would be lovely. Thank you, Mrs. Cassidy."

At that moment, the union man on the couch stood. Mr. Richards. His name was Mr. Richards. She nodded to the president and turned on her heels to follow him out. As she went to close the door behind her, she caught Mr. Richards and Robert Kennedy making eye contact for the first time since they had arrived.

When Sharon Cassidy closed the door behind her, the president turned to Mr. Richard's associate who had stood up from his seat to shake the president's hand.

"Mr. DeWitt." The president greeted.

"President Shore."

The three men sat down around an ottoman. "Now, Mr. DeWitt, can we just get right to it? My treasurer tells me that you had an offer I should hear?"

"I do." Said Mr. DeWitt. "I was hired by a very special group of people who heard about Waylon Brose, the man who bought California, and they were very excited. They didn't know that the land was up for sale. They are now interested in buying Maine from you. I have with me a briefcase full of cashier's checks that total out to almost six times as much as Mr. Brose paid for California. With that, my employers are buying the land and their peaceful independence from the United States."

The president chuckled and looked to his treasurer with a bit of bewilderment. "You told me that this was serious."

"It is." Said Mr. DeWitt.

"I'm not selling off pieces of my country, Mr. DeWitt."

"You're sure?"

"Very." The president assured him. "Waylon Brose's purchase of California was made to protect the country's welfare. If I start selling off pieces of the U.S. to a group of strangers who pay enough money, then it would seem like I've lost control. Don't you agree?"

"Well, that's no good." Mr. DeWitt said. "I'd agree, you haven't lost control yet. However, your refusal to sell puts me in a compromising position. Here's the issue: this country hasn't gone to Hell yet, but you should know that my employers are in possession of flamethrowers and will do their absolute best to create a pleasant simulation of it."

The president smiled. "I hope that's not a threat. I want no more talk of it, Mr. DeWitt. Tell your employers that I'm sorry. The country isn't for sale."

"...You're sure?"

"I'm very sure, Mr. DeWitt."

The three men stood and shook hands.

Sharon Cassidy and Mr. Richards sat outside of the West Sitting Hall door with their backs against the wall. She wanted to take him to an appropriate waiting room, but he simply told her, "This won't take long." So, they waited outside, and he was right. It was quick.

The president and Mr. DeWitt - Robert Kennedy to Sharon - walked out side by side. Mr. DeWitt caught Mr. Richards's eyes and sighed.

"Now," Mr. DeWitt began, "I don't want to hear you pouting because I told you before, you don't always get what you want just because you ask."

As the president walked out, Sharon noticed lint on his lapel. Terrible. She couldn't have him walking around like that for the rest of the day. She began towards him with the intentions of patting it off, but she felt her feet lift from the floor as an arm wrapped around her throat and pulled her back. Before Mrs. Sharon Cassidy could scream, she felt a sharp object penetrate her abdomen. She never quite figured out exactly what it was. She turned her head and found that Mr. Richards was the perpetrator of the sharp object. As he dragged it from her abdomen to the center of her chest, she caught a glimpse of Mr. DeWitt - Robert Kennedy to her. He was smiling brightly. Not menacingly. Not mischievously. Just brightly.

She was dying. This was true. She knew this. She felt her consciousness slip for the last time, but before this final rest came final words from Mr. Richards.

"Shhh," he hushed, "don't panic. You're making history."