AN: First of all, this story is finished in a notebook, so you don't need to worry about me dropping it off halfway through or whatever. Secondly, any present tense is eight years after the blackout. So here it is, Chapter One!
I walk into the bar, my mission clear in mind. Trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible, I close in on my target. This is it, my moment to prove myself. My fingers clutch my most powerful weapon-a bag of the diamonds we use as currency.
Okay, so this isn't the kind of mission you thought it was; I'm buying single malt whiskey.
I pay for the bottle and exit the bar. As much as I'd like to stay in the heart of the city for awhile, I'm on a time crunch, so I keep walking. No stops, no lolly-gagging, until I get to Monroe's mansion, where I work.
The militiamen at the gate are so accustomed to my comings and goings that they don't even acknowledge my presence anymore. Running errands isn't technically part of my job, but I volunteer when everyone else seems busy. Bill, the old grandpa of a butler, gives me a smile but doesn't say anything. Nobody here is dumb enough to get between Monroe and his booze.
When I finally get up the staircases and arrive at the general's suite, I stop and listen very carefully after knocking to ensure there is no reply. No one answers me, so I sneak in and set the alcohol on his desk. While I'm doing this, I hear the door open behind me. I jump so hard in surprise that I hit a framed picture of a couple who I assume are Monroe's parents. It shatters as it collides with the polished wood floor.
Instantly I'm on the ground, stuttering apologies as I sweep up glass shards into my hands. Someone gently grabs my wrists, causing me to stop, and I realize that I never bothered looking to see if the person who came in was a soldier or a maid or what.
"It's alright," he says. "No use cutting yourself. There's a dustpan in the closet."
I nod, finally looking at the man's face. I have to blink rapidly a few times in surprise before I can even acknowledge him.
"Oh, I-I'm so s-sorry, General. I j-just slipped, and-"
"Don't worry about it," says Monroe as he stands and goes to the closet for that dustpan. "I have other picture frames."
Momentarily mute, I can only nod. I take the cleaning supplies from him and try to sweep it up as quickly as possible. I've met Monroe a number of times in the year I've worked here, but never outside of work, and especially never under such embarrassing circumstances.
"There you are, sir. I'll have someone bring up a new frame immediately. I'm so sorry, General."
"Like I said," he replies, "it isn't a problem. Oh, and Kate?"
"Y-yes?" I ask, my brain rescrambled by his casual use of my nickname.
"You can call me Sebastian."
"Yes, sir. Of course, sir."
As I hurry out, I can hear him chuckle at my jumpiness.
"What happened to you?" asks my friend Anna as I dump the glass into the garbage can in the hallway.
"I, uh, what do you mean?"
She snorts. Stupid best friends and their ability to see right through lies.
"Well," Anna giggles. "You're walking around red as a cherry with a bunch of broken glass. Whatever happened, it must have been hilarious."
I mumble out the details of my "exciting" afternoon adventure, and my friend can't stop laughing. She was one of the first maids hired here, so she's no longer at all intimidated by the higher-ups. Sure, she's afraid of punishment as much as anyone, but she also knows who will let what slide.
"It's not funny," I growl. "I'm going to have to play for him tonight, too."
"Oh, you poor baby!" Anna mocks.
"You're no help!"
"Sorry," she says, although her malevolent grin says otherwise. "Too bad, sweet cheeks. I guess you'll just have to face him. Seriously, though, I don't know what you're so worried about. I could understand your spazz attack if it had been Matheson, but-"
"Was that my name I heard?"
Anna's chipper mood dies instantly as General Miles Matheson steps casually out of a doorway. My heart pounds out a tribal war dance as he leans against the wall with a lazily raised eyebrow.
"Well, ladies?" he asks, fingering a knife on his belt. Though he never loses that calm demeanor, Anna and I know enough stories to keep us a safe distance away.
Matheson takes a few steps closer, closing in the gap, and every fiber of my being wants to run, but I'm frozen in fear. The man sizes us up and takes a step toward me, apparently thinking I look scared or guilty or something. He holds his knife under my chin, and I'm so terrified that I start seeing spots.
"C'mon, sweetheart." His breath reeks of alcohol as he whispers into my face. "Tell me what you were saying about me."
"Hey, Miles!" calls out a voice from down the corridor.
"Yeah, Bass?"
General Matheson sheaths his knife, and I turn around to see General Monroe right in front of me, shaking his head but looking amused all the same.
"You've had your fun, Miles. Now would you please let my employees get back to work? Besides-" He puts a hand on my shoulder. "Kate here has had a pretty rough day. Haven't you, Kate?"
I realize he's expecting a response, so I squeak out a quick, "Yes, sir." Matheson laughs and walks over to his friend.
"Alright, Bass. You win," he says.
"Come have some single malt, then. I just got a new bottle."
The two friends walk away, joking and being obnoxious like nothing happened at all. Anna turns to me as soon as we're alone, her eyes wide.
"Dang, Kate!" she says.
"What?"
"Since when are you and Monroe so buddy-buddy?"
"We're not!"
She gives me a look like she doesn't believe me and retorts, "I've been working here much longer than you, and he still calls me Ms. Archer. And there is definitely no shoulder-touching between us. Since when dose he call you by your nickname?"
"Um, since today, I guess. He called me Kate after I broke the picture. Then he asked me to call him Sebastian."
Anna's jaw drops open.
"What?" I ask. "I mean, I know it's weird, but-"
"Weird!?" she explodes in a burst of some undefinable emotion. "Girl, this is way beyond weird!"
Frustrated, I say, "Well, then what does it mean?"
She hesitates, trying to think of a good answer.
"I don't know. But you'd better be careful. He's a dangerous man."
...
I adjust my necklace and try to breathe normally. Performing always makes me nervous, and the confusing events of this afternoon sure aren't helping.
Shaking away all thoughts of nicknames and broken frames, I smooth my skirt and walk downstairs with my flute in hand; I am to provide background music for the general's date tonight. My service are utilized during the many suppers which proceed one-nighters, as well as anytime Monroe is drawing out plans or checking taxes and misses his Ipod.
I warm up my instrument quick in the kitchen, then set up my music stand in the dining room. The scantily clad woman setting next to the general hardly notices me as the two eat and make small talk. I pull a soft, simple piece from my binder, not in the mood to impress a pair of legs in a cocktail dress.
Practically lulling myself to sleep with a Mozart piece which is probably most commonly used to help babies nap, I have such an easy time playing this song which I've never played before that I can afford to pay attention to the people in front of me rather than the unfamiliar notes. When I glance upward from my music in front of me, the pair looks like they're sucking each other's faces off. The sight causes my fingers to freeze and my jaw to drop. They don't even notice the faux pa, and I gather my things and leave the room without drawing attention to myself.
I can't fathom why that bothered me so much. I know that this night will lead to something a bit less fun to watch, and that sort of thing has been going on for years now. So why did a little kiss bother me so dang much?
I decide to brush it off as simply feeling awkward actually seeing it happen. That taken care of, I can have some fun since I'm officially off of work. Since it's early summer, even though it's getting on the late side, it will still be light long enough for a quick shopping trip.
Grab a bit of money-check. Get rid of the fancy outfit for something normal-check. This all in order, I run down the cracked Philadelphia streets to the only bookstore in the city. Henry, the owner, just got back from his trip to scavenge abandoned buildings for new reading material, and he promised to look for new sheet music for me before he left.
"Katherine!" beams Henry's wife, Abby, as I come inside. She's much thinner than the last time I saw her a month ago, so I assume the squealing newborn in her arms is the baby she and her husband have been expecting.
"Hey, Abby!" I respond. "Is it a boy or a girl?"
"A boy. His name's Ben."
"That's great. Did Henry get back in time to help out?"
"Yes, I did!" calls a baritone voice from within the maze of shelves. Henry's unkempt hair and skewed glasses peek out from around a corner. "The little guy tried to pop out early, but I beat him to it!"
Abby and I laugh as Henry comes up to where we are. He's holding a big portfolio with separate papers shoved in haphazardly, and I childish excitement overtakes me as I begin to jump up and down at the thought of new music. I open the portfolio as soon as Henry hands it to me, leafing through the various parts. Bach, Harry Potter soundtracks, Green Day, and Disney-what more could a girl need?
"I love you guys!" I squeal, unable to care about how much of an idiot I look like in my sporadic excitement. I throw my money bag at Henry and hug the folder in delight. He laughs.
"Quite the tip, isn't it?"
"Oh, it's only a few ounces," I say. "Consider it a baby shower present or something. It's not like I spend it on anything other than this anyway."
Abby breaks into our conversation. "Okay, you two. I don't mean to rain on your nerdy little parade, but shouldn't you be getting back, Katherine? The sun is setting."
"Oh, yeah. Crap. Bye!"
I run out with a final wave and speed down the street. I'll never make it home by nightfall, but I'm too nappy to care. All is right with the world when I have my music.