The Link
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I stroked my daughter’s hair and kissed her forehead.
“This is for you Jennie,” I whispered.
With one final glance, I snapped out the lights and left for the studio.
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“Hello and welcome to Cash Call-Out, live from Frankfort, Kentucky. Tonight’s contestant is 33-year-old Susanne Michaels from Louisville. Come on out Susanne!”
 
The light was blinding, and I almost had to shield my eyes. Remembering that this was live across the US, I hastily plastered a smile over my pencil-thin lips and strode confidently to the contestant’s chair.
 
“Now, for our viewers at home, this is how the game works. Susanne will be given a series of questions where all the correct answers have one thing in common. The more answers she has, the easier it will be to find a pattern in the Cash-Out question.”
 
“However, with every wrong answer, Susanne loses a vital clue, making it much harder to solve in the 30 seconds.”
 
The audience oohed.
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“So, let's play Cash Call-Out!”
 
I flew through the ‘Flags’ round with no errors. But when Lawrence announced the next category was ‘Sports’, I tensed all over. This was where I’d have to rely on backup, meaning my sister, Frankie. The programme cut to a break, and I thought of Jennie, at home, hopefully still sound asleep. I thought about the trial, and how much it would do for us. Finding a cure would change everything. Sanfilippo Syndrome had stolen the most important person in my life, and this medical trial could give her back to me. I knew how unlikely success was, but it was my only source of hope.
 
When a woman dressed in black came bustling through the doors, I let out a deep breath I hadn’t known I was holding. She hurried to Lawrence first to straighten his shirt. Then she came to me and leaned over to fix my make-up. At least that’s what the cameras saw. As she stooped over, her lanyard dangled before my face. I searched the small rectangle hungrily until I saw the jumble of letters that I needed. It was the answer to all my problems and the answer to the next question.
 
“So, what are you going for?” Lawrence prompted when the show recommenced.
 
I thought hard, trying to remember the letters I’d memorised.
 
“A- Tennis, please,” I answered.
 
Everyone waited in anticipation as the studio flashed a rainbow of colours. If I heard a buzzer, all my chances would be crumpled. But there was no buzzer, instead a rapid pinging telling me the answer was perfectly correct.
 
The rest of the round went smoothly. I was unbeatable. I was flying. I was superhuman. Nobody could touch me from how high I was. After two more breaks and answer refills, there was only one round left. My sister and I had agreed that she wouldn’t show me the solutions for this round. I’d got everything right throughout the game, and it would arouse suspicion if I never faltered.
 
“How are you at general knowledge, Susanne?” The host nattered friendlily.
 
“I couldn’t tell you. It’s such a broad subject, I’m a bit worried.” I admitted, and for once it wasn’t a lie.
 
“Perhaps we'll find a chink in your quizzing armour!” Lawrence joked.
 
The round was full of ups and downs. I managed to get most of the questions right through elimination and pure guessing, but it was inevitable that I’d get something wrong. When it came to the final question, I was trembling like a leaf, and I felt like I was on the brink of fainting. So much rested on my shoulders and the pressure was almost crushing me. The whole show had been given to me on a plate, but even my sister didn’t have access to the Cash-Out Question. It was down to me, and me only.
 
“Are you ready for the Cash-Out Question?” Lawrence bellowed, but I hardly heard over the sounds of my own heartbeat hammering against my chest.
 
I thought I nodded, but I was so disconnected I couldn't tell.
 
“As a reminder, you will be given one of the rounds that you have previously answered. Then, you must pick out the answers from that round on your screen and find the connection between them. However, all the answers from other rounds are going to be there to throw you off. So, Susanne, anything besides general knowledge would be ideal, seeing as you are missing some answers there.”
 
Inside, I was hoping and praying for anything, anything other than general knowledge.
 
“And your mystery round is…” he began as he pressed a button on his podium.
 
The audience started a drumroll.
 
“General knowledge! That will be a struggle for you without every clue.”
 
I gritted my teeth in disappointment. Any other round and I would’ve been fine, but now I was missing half of the hints.
 
“Your time… starts… NOW!” Lawrence hollered.
 
The screen before me lit up to show all the correct answers I’d given throughout the show. Like I’d been electrocuted, my brain began whirring at
speeds it had never reached before.
 
I sifted through the words trying to remember last round’s questions. I found ‘Mali’ on the board. Then I remembered ‘Chad Smith’, and I found his name. ‘A guinea’ was another. And ‘car’ was the final one. I ran the words through my head over and over again, but I was clueless. Mali was a country. Chad was a musician. Guinea was a currency, and a car was obvious enough. Country, musician, currency, transport. Mali, Chad, guinea, car. I wracked my brain as the time trickled away. 10 seconds left. 5 seconds. The penny dropped in the last few seconds I had. They were countries. But to be more specific, African countries. I wanted to jump with joy, but I kept my composition as the timer went, knowing there was still a tremendous chance I’d get it wrong.
 
“Any ideas?’ Lawrence probed.
 
“African countries. They are all African countries. Guinea, Chad, Mali, and CAR, Central African Republic,” I said.
 
The silence was deafening. The room lit up in a spectrum of colours I stared at the floor, not wanting to see the incorrect cross. But there was no red cross. Instead, there was the pinging of me winning $300,000.
 
I leaped to my feet, unable to contain myself. I squealed with joy and didn’t even attempt to stop tears spilling from my eyes. I never thought it would work. I wanted to kiss Lawrence. The host said goodbye to the cameras, and I was escorted away. I felt dizzy like it was all a dream. On the way out, I passed Frankie, who gave my hand an excited squeeze.
 
I was soon brought to the front of the building, flanked by two security guards who warned me of the press. Slowly, the doors opened, and I shut my eyes, scrunching my face. Maybe if I looked horrible the press wouldn’t take photos. Instantly, cold hands placed a firm grip on my arms, dragging me forward through a thick crowd of bodies. I didn’t dare look, but I heard shouts and clicks from dozens of cameras.
 
“Open your eyes!” Someone shouted aggressively.
 
I shook my head determinedly. I shook my arms too, trying to loosen the people’s grips, but they only held on harder, pressing them behind my back. The clamour was so loud that I wanted to cover my ears.
 
“Stop!” I yelled. “No press.”
 
The cameras ceased momentarily, and the place fell silent.
 
“Ma’am I need you to open your eyes,” a journalist insisted.
 
“No, I’m going home,” I said.
 
“Susanne, you are under arrest on suspicion of attempted heist.”
 
My eyes opened not to see the journalist I was expecting but a police officer. In fact, the whole area was crammed with police. My entire body
slacked, and the click of handcuffs confirmed just how real this was. The world swam before me. The officer was talking, but I heard none of it. It was as though time had stopped as I was pressed into the car, followed by Frankie, looking bleary-eyed. A man came over to address us.
 
“We suspect that between the two of you, you managed to defraud the show. We are aware that you have a special needs child, Susanne. If you do go to prison, I must warn you that social services would have to get involved.”
 
I stammered in shock as tears began to fall thick and fast at the mention of social services. There wasn’t anywhere else for Jennie to go. Nobody could take care of her as well as me. I was her mother. The thought of other people feeding her, bathing her, and caring for her was crushing. But the worst thought of all was unbearable. Her being 14 years old, I had become accustomed to the dread that Jennie’s life was near ending.
 
Going into prison, I wondered if I would ever see my daughter again.