General Fiction posted March 7, 2025 Chapters:  ...12 13 -14- 15... 


Excellent
Not yet exceptional. When the exceptional rating is reached this is highlighted
I woke up this mornin' feelin' fine...
A chapter in the book No - Say It Ain't So!

No! Say It Ain't So!, Ch. 19

by Wayne Fowler


In the last chapter Tom went to the White House after receiving Phil’s call that he was Trump and had returned from Mar-a-Lago. They discussed the status of the government and Phil’s progress. They also made plans for Tom to deliver another package to the safe house – rope and a lock pick.

Phil woke in the safe house with rope and a lock pick kit. He managed to fashion an escape route, but rigged a hideout in the attic with a plan to hide in plain sight. Phil then overly thought his situation, casting his trust mechanism into doubt.
This is a shorter chapter. Unfortunately, the next isn’t.
 
Chapter Nineteen
 Trump
(White House)
(3rd person, omniscient)
 
    “Paté! You have to come up here! Don’t hang up. No! I was not at Mar-a-Lago. And I did not leave before you got there. Listen to me. I was not sick. That…. That… You have to come up here! I’m… I’m afraid to leave my room! Do you understand me?” Trump’s call to his third daughter was crazed.

    “Daddy, I’m coming, okay? I’m coming. Make sure you’re eating well. And drink lots of water, okay. The doctor is in the White House. He’s in a room in the residence. Okay. Call for him if you need him. Okay?”

    “Just come now!” Trump repeated.

    “I’m sending the doctor in, Daddy. He’ll give you something.”

    “I’m telling you. I’m not taking anything he gives me.”

    “I’m on my way, Daddy. I’m hanging up and leaving now. Okay?

    “Okay.”

    “Who is it?” Trump asked who was knocking on his door. “Doctor Thorne?”

    “No. That’s the nurse,” the doctor said through the closed door, nearly shouting. “I’m Doctor Schweitz. I saw you before. You weren’t feeling well. You had slightly elevated blood pressure. Remember? I understand you were ill while you were down in Florida.”

    “No. I wasn’t. You can send Thorny in. He was nice.”

    “Yes, sir. I’ll send for him. But it might take a while. He might be off duty. Can I help you feel better until he gets here?”

    “NO! I’m fine,” the President said.

    “Mr. President? Do you have pain? Are you nauseous?”

    “No. I’m fine. I’m done talking now.”

    Trump thought he had dozed off, but when he looked around, he saw three people in his bedroom. The doctor that he didn’t trust, a Secret Service agent who was looking around, and Thorne, who was reaching for his hand. Thorne was talking, but Trump didn’t catch what he was saying. He was taking Trump’s pulse. 68, he told the doctor.

    “Hello, President Trump,” Thorne said.

Trump thought that he’d called him Thorny, but he was Thorne. He knew that.

    “How are you feeling right now?”

    He was preparing to put a blood pressure cuff on Trump’s arm.

    Trump looked from him and then to the silent doctor.

    “All right if I take your blood pressure?” Thorne asked.

    Trump gave him his arm.

    “Where’s Paté?” Trump asked.

    “She’s still in the air, sir.”

    It was the Secret Service agent. Trump supposed he thought neither the doctor nor the nurse knew the answer to the question.

    “132 over 86,” Thorne told the doctor. Temp 99.1” Thorne very lightly pinched the skin on my arm. Moderate dehydration,” he said.

    “I told you I was fine,” Trump spat.

    “May I listen to your chest?” the doctor asked.

    “No needles. And no pills,” Trump insisted.

    He was still lying in bed. The doctor unfastened one button and slid his stethoscope over his heart. After a bit, he moved it and asked Trump to take a breath. He did the same to the other side. “Still not nauseous?” he asked.

    Trump shook his head. “Here’s a Sprite, Mr. President,” Thorne said, handing me a can.     “We out of Diet Coke?” he asked.

    “There is Diet Coke, but Sprite always does a better job at settling stomachs and relieving blo… pent up gas. Can we help you sit up?”

    Trump struggled some, but Thorne helped him like he was nothing. Trump thanked him and took a drink. Trump squinched his face as if it tasted weird, but it had been a long time since he’d had a Sprite.

    “Can I take your shoes off for you, Mr. President?” He already was. Thorne was unlacing Trump’s shoes. His suitcoat and tie were already off or he might have done all that, too. Trump took another drink and leaned to set it down. One more good swig? How about it, Mr. President? For the dehydration.”

    He did. And then someone, maybe the doctor, propped pillows around him. The next Trump knew, light was coming through the windows.
 
+++
 
    “Good morning, Daddy. Are you ready for breakfast? They have a lovely quiche or eggs benedict casserole downstairs. Or the cook can fix you something here.” Paté was at her motherly best.

    “Here is fine. Maybe poached eggs and an English muffin with honey?”  Trump answered.

    “I’ll tell him. Diet Coke?”

    “Yes, please.”

    Paté spoke of the weather. When he was finished she suggested they go into the residence office. Trump only used it for official phone calls.

    “Okay, Daddy. What had you so upset yesterday?” Paté asked.

    “I wasn’t upset. I was just angry. Very angry.”

    “What made you so angry? Were you thinking about the felony convictions or the indictments? Or the rape business. Because that used to make you pretty angry.”

    Trump began to get fumed at the memory of the witchhunts and even more angry that Paté broke the rule of not saying the word felon. “No. I can’t trust anyone. And I can’t trust the food. I’m sure it’s fine when you’re here. But…”
    “Daddy, I told you I don’t want to be in politics.” Paté pursed her lips.

    “I know, you said that before. But these people around me, and I get sent… I don’t trust. I think I’m getting, I don’t know. Look in my eyes. Do you see anything wrong?” Trump leaned toward her.

    “I don’t see anything, Daddy. Do you trust Betty? She seems nice. But you could replace her. Is Elon Musk around very much? Because he’s…”

    “Don’t say anything about Elon. He’s a genius. You know that, right? Somebody made him mad, is all. It wasn’t me. I can tell you that much. It’s just that I’m away a lot, a lot. In a ...”

    “In a what Daddy. Where are you away to. Do you mean when you went to Hawaii and Alaska? That was just a few days.’

    “I didn’t go… that wasn’t… Are you in on it? Paté?”

    “Daddy, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Do you want me to call the doctor? He’s right down the hall. Maybe if you got more rest. You know you stay up too late. You’ve said you have trouble falling asleep.”

    “Yeah. I think too much. Always thinking,” Trump said. “My father was always thinking. And my brother. Do you remember him, Robert?”

    “Yes, Daddy. I remember Uncle Robert. Do feel all right? Maybe you should take a vacation. You campaigned very hard. And these past few weeks… Maybe… did you enjoy Hawaii, Daddy?”

    “I didn’t go to Hawaii. That’s what I keep trying to tell you.”

    “Daddy, I saw the video on the news.”

    “That wasn’t me!”

    “All right, Daddy. All right.”

    Trump’s imagination went berserk – It was obvious that Paté didn’t believe him. He felt like he couldn’t talk to her. That left no one. They’re probably all together talking about him, he thought. Why doesn’t anyone say anything about what goes on when I’m gone to that shack for a week? About when the police arrested me? Who made Elon mad? It wasn’t me? And I don’t have anyone I can ask. I can’t trust anyone. They’ll have me committed and I won’t be President anymore. I’m not talking to any doctor.

    “Where’s Schlape? I forgot about him. He should have found that shack and that guy Jansen by now,” Trump said to himslef, feeling himself become dizzy.

    “Hello, Betty. Get a hold of Robert Schlape. I need to see him,” Trump demanded into the phone.
 




photo from FanArtReview: FamousHouse!20 by nikman

Phil Jansen: woke up one day as Donald Trump
Donald Trump: woke up one day as Phil
Tom McQuin: White House butler
Betty Goodman: White House Chief of Staff
Dr. Schweitz: White House doctor
Hakeem Jeffries: as himself, House minority leader
Kirsten: Trump press secretary
Pate': 3rd daughter of the President
Robert Schlape: fixit man for Trump (using his real name, even here in FanStory, could be fatal)
Elon Musk: rich immigrant from South Africa
Jeffrey McKnight: Mar-a-Lago member who owns a yacht
Sarah Huckabee Sanders: Governor of Arkansas
Tom Cotton: Senator from Arkansas
Pays one point and 2 member cents.

Artwork by nikman at FanArtReview.com

Save to Bookcase Promote This Share or Bookmark
Print It Print It View Reviews

You need to login or register to write reviews. It's quick! We only ask four questions to new members.


© Copyright 2025. Wayne Fowler All rights reserved.
Wayne Fowler has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.