"The Kill…"
Summary: House of Cards tale. Frank takes his final victim and revenge.
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.
Election Eve…Ballroom of the Hotel Compeige, Underwood campaign HQ.
President Underwood and his wife, partner, and Vice Presidential candidate, Claire Underwood, quietly sitting, having requested privacy. A muted television screen displaying election results now starting to come in from across the nation their only witness.
"Yes…" Frank looks at us coolly. "A rather subdued atmosphere which does not suggest a victory in the making. It seems that while the wailing of the thousands of 'average Joes and Janes' about their beloved sons and daughters being compelled to fulfill their obligations went little or unheeded by those who could make a difference, our decision to increase the chaos created by our little Middle East war by calling for a reinstatement of the draft to provide the necessary 'cannon folder' caused those capable of making noise where it can occasionally count to be deflected from their usual bovine pursuits, fearful that their own precious Jimmy or Jill oh so carefully raised, nutured, coddled to carry on their family name and about to enjoy the delights of a plush college education might just possibly be dragged from their charming off campus apartment to a blood-soaked battlefield where hideous and crippling wounds or death awaits them, poor lambs. Strange, you might think…A man like me, who whatever his lack of what some might call a 'moral sense' or basic concern for his fellow human beings, has always had an acute perception of the public's emotion should have agreed to such an idea, even as a part of securing our ability to use maximum force against our enemies abroad and maximum license to abuse our foes at home. Why, given my allowing such a blunder to be made, it could almost be believed that I wasn't wholeheartedly committed to our mutual success. As if I didn't wish for my darling Claire to have her moment of glory and carry on the Underwood…Legacy. After my all too likely and oh, how convenient, demise from my somewhat ineffective new liver's failure, of course…"
Calm nod to Claire who remains grimly calm, watching screen. "It's not over till it's over, my darling."
"If we only still had Doug…" she sighed.
"He betrayed us, rebelled, and lost." Frank shrugged. "He might be of help now if he'd been what he was, the loyal lieutenant who loved me more than life, but he chose his path. Lee Ann's done all he might have…"
"That's quite true and it's unfair to Lee Ann to suggest Doug would have pulled this debacle out…Claire is indulging in bitter regret of what cannot be changed, a foolish waste of breath and energy, beneath her. She's really feeling the harpoon twisting inside her…" smile.
"As for poor ole Doug, I waste no tears. I gave him my confidence if not trust…I give no one trust…And he failed me. That was the cardinal sin. I could easily respect his rebellion, despite its foolish and weak side…A woman's love, regret over his brother's death in my war, jealousy of Claire…But I cannot forgive or condone, failure. He failed to kill that girl, failed to cover his tracks, failed to accomplish his mission. Let him rot, unmourned."
He turns to Claire… "Lee Ann's done well, lets see the outcome."
"Yes. As you say, it's not over." She nods, brittle smile.
"Indeed…" he turns back to us, cold smirk. "But I can assure you…It is over. And yes, I am largely to blame for this debacle…Though my dear wife's arrogant misjudgments and fundamental disdain for all other human beings must be given their due." He rises.
"Drink?" he pauses to ask Claire who gives brief shake of head, continuing fixed on the information onscreen. He goes to a small side table on which is a bottle of fine whiskey.
"You're puzzled, I see." He regards us as he pours. "No, I should not be drinking. But I'm a dead man and may as well enjoy the few pleasures that delight me while I still can. And after all, one must savor this triumph. My last…" he smiles, taking sip.
"You will ask, no doubt…'Why? Why would you, Frank Underwood, after all these years of bitter sacrifice…Of friends, of hard-earned respect, of easy comfort and what the herd take for 'happiness'… And all these years of partnership with the one person on Earth who cares for you and whom you, in your twisted way, always seemed to love, why would you destroy it all. And what of your legacy…?"
Sneer…
"My….'Legacy'. What, haven't you been paying attention these years? What, 'legacy' does Francis Underwood have or has ever worked to create? Power has been my goal and my dream…The power to control, to curb, to check…To ruin and climb over the ruin that I make, kicking the faces of those I've left behind in those ruins as I clamber and scamper over them to my goal. I did of course hope to destroy the work of Franklin Roosevelt, his tiresome wife, and his descendants, all those weak, soft, usually rich fools who wanted to 'help people'. I, who know what it is to climb out of the gutter, do not wish to 'help' anyone. I wish to leave them in their gutter corner, killing each other over scraps, making use of the few useful to me while they can be such, proving to them and myself that I am the one fit to survive, to triumph. And to dismantle the work of Abraham Lincoln and his descendants who wished to free, include, and ennoble the dispossessed, the enslaved, the powerless. A man like me does not want to free or empower, he simply wants the freedom to seize what he can and climb by any means. He wants the masses to stay where they belong, beneath him, powerless, hopeless, but for the few willing to do my bidding in all things and the very exceptional few willing to do anything to claw their way to power. I failed, partially…It seems the good people of this fair land are too wedded to what they deem 'progress' and 'justice'. But I did great damage and I leave this land which I hate so much weaker."
Eyes us…
"What? Did you think me a patriot, after all, at bottom? My great-grandfather fought to destroy this country, I have used more effective, if not fully successful, means. Believe me, if I could have led Charles Lindburgh's isolationist movement in the 40s, we'd be under the Nazi heel today, with my blessing. Not so much because I adore ole Adolf and his peculiar ways…" smile. "I have, you should understand by now, no 'philosophy' nor any 'vision', however dark and twisted…But because I long to see this land, this fair, rich land, this foolish experiment in allowing the common herd to have some access to control of their destinies, and above all its smirking, fatuously contented people with their vacant minds and their belief that they have a say in their lives, brought low, low as where I climbed from. If I have any guiding principle besides my personal lust for power, it's nihilism. I want to see total destruction, total chaos. And have done my very best to make it so. The suffering boy in me cries out at the lies this country told me and I mean, before I go not so gently into that good night, to show this shambling herd of fools just a bit of the truth. That life is nasty, brutish, and short and belongs only to those willing to kill or be killed. And the only real pleasure to delight in, is to crush the hopes and dreams of those about you, as yours have been crushed."
Another sip…
"The pleasures of life…Pity poor Freddy had to turn on me, I'd enjoy some of his ribs right now. I received a cursing letter from him the other day, you know. I'd been wondering when he might try to get in contact with me, thinking he'd hope to try and use our past association to rescue his grandson from my death grip. But he never made a move to plead with me for the boy, let my war take him. Only in the boy's death did he feel moved to howl his rage at me. I rather enjoyed reading the letter. Picturesque turn of phrase, my friend Freddy." Cold smile. "But the dear little tyke was a volunteer. And I did commend him as a 'hero' in my reply. Perhaps that was a bit much, you think?" sneer.
"We've lost Virginia…" Claire, calmly.
"Too close to call as yet, it's early." Frank replied, glancing at the screen.
"Why not, it's the truth. It is early yet." Smile at us. "But it is over." He resumes his seat.
"Now, you may be wondering…Why is he taking this as if he's triumphed. He's been beaten, at last. He and his dear wife are not only defeated but she will likely face the disgrace, even the prison, he will not live to see. Why should he be so…Tickled pink?...To see all this, his administration, his ambitions swept aside…His name dragged through the mud, likely for all time. Well…As those who care for such things say…Dust, thou art and onto dust those shalt return. And mud is just dust with water added…" sneering smile. Glance to Claire…
"Ah, you are thinking now, for once…" he smiles at us. "It's the affairs…Adam, Tom…He's been raging within and now he's getting back at her." Shakes head.
"How petty. And ungracious, given her willingness to tolerate Zoe and others you know nothing of, other stepping stones on my…our…way to power. Yes, I did resent her unfaithfulness…Not because of some ridiculous sense of betrayal…Claire has never betrayed me with these hollow men…But because she chose to take pleasure in them. It was relaxation for her…Work and nothing but work, for me. Small of me to resent that, I know, but I have gotten so little in life, I resent anyone enjoying it. But, no, not the real or at least, the full reason." He rises again, striding…
"Francis?" Claire eyes him.
"Just need to move a bit…" he notes.
"Like a panther, striding before the kill…Knowing his victim is doomed but savoring its growing anxiety, smelling its bracing stink of fear, even its fading hope of escape." he smiles to us. "And yes, the kill is none other than my dear wife, Claire Underwood, First Lady, would-be Vice President, desperate to be my heir and completely convinced that her position, her birth, her 'breeding' as they used to say, her ambition, her pretty face and elegant poise, entitles her to all that and more.
I, however, think differently."
He regards the silent Claire, eyes fixed on screen, hands on cell phone, waiting for any chance to try and make a difference by reaching out by said phone, but increasingly aware that nothing is to be done.
"The realization of defeat is something that takes time, even if intellectually, in such a brilliant and well-informed woman as Claire it is seen almost immediately. She still hopes, the wheels still turn…And she prays…To God? To me? Yes, oddly enough, I think to me, for a miracle. Which will not come, the Underwood Age of Brutally Accomplished, Blood-soaked 'Miracles' being, sadly, over."
He pauses, regarding us…
"Now you've gone and made the equally foolish assumption that I just didn't want her to take the reins and abandon me. Perish the thought. I've no such pettiness in me. If I had no personal desire to prevent Claire from reaching her promised land of glory and power, I'd welcome her as my successor. Not exactly the one I'd've chosen, she still has ambitions of leaving something creative behind, not out of any vague desire to benefit, but to reflect and enshrine her name in His-or if you like, Her-story, but nearly as defiled and degraded as myself…" smile.
"Now you think…Ah…He thinks she'll become a 'good person' in his office, do good in his name and so revive the spirit of caring and concern that our government should stand for, which he can not tolerate. Please. You grossly underestimate me and my desires and overestimate my fair lady's. When has she ever shown concern or caring for others except as a mask to win them over? Oh, she has always been better than me at masking her ruthlessness, though I would argue mainly because she had little power outside her family's money. No, Claire might 'do some good' to advance herself in history, like some past leaders, pandering to the crowd and Posterity, but in her heart of hearts she is utter ice and complete indifference. In that she lacks even my hate-fueled rage…There is nothing in there, apart from a deep and undying self adoration. And I love it." He eyes her calmly. "I do, truly. And how often do we destroy the very things we love, for reasons that may seem to others, trivial."
"It's confirmed." Claire, calmly. "Virginia's gone. New York as well…"
"That's bad but there's still hope…" Frank nods calmly.
"Any point in…?" she asks, tensely… Knowing there is none…
"No…Nothing to be done now but await the counts, Claire. But perhaps you should go down, mingle a bit…" gently solicitious tone. "Be good for you to get out of here for a while…"
"No…No, I couldn't just now, Francis. Perhaps later…"
"Yes…" nod.
"Yes, indeed…" he eyes us. " A corpse is always necessary for the funeral to begin. I destroyed Claire, knowingly, because I could, fundamentally. And because, for all the time I have known her, she has regarded me as a useful tool, a lever, a stepladder , if you will, to her rightful place. Oh, she displayed affection for me, even comradery and to some extent, sincerely…Even as my love is sincere. But Iike all her family, that privileged clan of well-polished, would-be aristocrats, convinced that the money in their banks and the lands under their feet, stolen from the backs of slaves, from poor farmers like my incompetent father, from cracker workers paid pennies to labor to death, made them a 'God-blessed elite', and that a few years of finishing school, sojourning among the 'right people', an expensive regimen of health or beauty treatments, and a raft of trainers and endless opportunities to perfect themselves and a few rather useless skills made them a master race. Claire, despite her differences with her dear mother, that sack of manure in a silk dress pontificating on her inborn right to disdain all outside her circle, particularly me, is fundamentally her mother's daughter. It has always amused me to to think that I could have had her mother had she appealed to me by using much the same tactics as I used with Claire. They would have won her, appealing as I did, to that natural sense of superiority and entitlement, offering a completely practical path to what either mother or daughter would consider her right and due. President of the United States without the blood, sweat, and tears I have endured? Or course…Why should such people have to dirty their hands? Field hand Frank is there to smooth their road and carry them over the mire. Well, dear heart…" glance to Claire. "I respectfully tender my resignation…We may both roast in Hell, should there be the cosmic joke of one existing, but I will request my own room, thank you. Though perhaps every seven years we can come together to fornicate, if the Devil will allow. I'm sure he'd find it entertaining."
"California's gone. Already…" Claire, hands clenched.
"C'est la vie…" Frank smiles at us. "I began with nothing. I leave with nothing, except the head of my final kill. I am content."