Day 19 continued

8:15 pm

Charlie entered Monroe's office ahead of him, shuffling her feet awkwardly as she looked around the room checking for exits in case things went south. There were no other doors in the room, just windows, two on the far wall and two on the wall to her left. She walked over to the windows, pretending to examine the outside while Monroe ordered the soldiers outside the door not to let anyone else near the office.

As Monroe stepped fully into the room, she watched him slide the sword he had held at Chad's throat back into his belt. She also noticed several other things. He wasn't wearing his uniform jacket and the white t-shirt he was wearing had a stain on the front, it looked like he had spilled tea on himself. His hair, which was usually slicked down on his head, was standing up in odd places, like he had run his fingers through it too many times. But the biggest thing she noticed, was the anger rippling off of him in waves. Tensed shoulders, forehead crinkled, and his lips pulled in a tight line.

Something was wrong.

Nineteen days of observing Monroe, and Charlie knew everything from the way he sipped his morning coffee when he was in a good mood to how he gulped it down when he wasn't. Or the way he bit the inside of his cheek when Madelyn made anything with cabbage in it, but was for some reason to polite to tell her he hated cabbage. Or even the way his jaw ticked when anyone called her by her last name.

Charlie figured that was why he insisted on calling her Charlotte. It meant he didn't have to think about Miles.

Basically, she had become an expert in reading the little things in Monroe's behavior that he liked to try and hide. But these weren't little things.

Something was very wrong.

Charlie watched him go to his desk chair and pick up his jacket, throwing on to try and make himself seem more put together.

She wasn't buying it.

"What's wrong?"

Angry eyes turned her way and she had to take a step back. Up until that moment she had believed that Monroe had been no more than the political figure head of the Republic, while Miles had gone around doing all of the dirty work.

Obviously, she had been wrong.

The look Monroe was giving her was nothing short of 'I'd shoot you, but I'm not done with you yet', and it terrified her. He advanced on her, forcing her to back against the wall next to the window, but he stopped just in front of her, his face a mere two inches from hers.

" 'What's wrong?' " He repeated, "what is wrong, Charlotte, is that I asked not to be disturbed, and yet you decided to come to my office in order to fake your own attack." His breathing was heavy, "now you said you would explain, you have fifteen seconds to convince me not to kill your fat-fuck little friend."

Shit.

Charlie found herself at a complete loss for words. Monroe asked why she was there, but for some reason she couldn't seem to remember.

"Ten seconds."

Kicking her brain into gear, Charlie pushed her fear aside and with fumbling fingers pulled Jason's note out of her pocket. Monroe eyed the scrap of paper warily, but took it none the less when she offered it to him. She watched his eyes scan the short note while he took a step back from her, she stayed where she was, plastered against the wall.

It was a short note, so when nearly a full minute had passed and he still hadn't even looked away from the words, Charlie tentatively opened her mouth. "Please don't hurt Aaron."

Monroe's eyes immediately found hers, ignoring her plea, he advanced on her again. "What is this, is this a joke to you? You think that dead children is funny, so you wrote this and thought you'd show it to me?"

"No, I didn't write that! It was giv-"

"Jason Neville is dead, so he sure as hell didn't write it."

Fuck, he thought she was lying, he thought she made the whole thing up. He was dangerously close now, his body hovering less than an inch away, his blue eyes dark with rage.

Softly, Charlie said, "he's not dead." Silence followed her statement, Monroe's eyes became a blur, tyring to decipher her face and catch her in a lie. Taking advantage of his momentary silence, she whispered, "you said that you would let me explain, just give me two minutes... please."

Something in her voice or her face must have convinced him, because Monroe suddenly backed off, retreating to the other side of the room and standing with his back against the opposite wall, staring at her. If Charlie hadn't been so busy worrying for her life, she might have wondered why he seemed so intent on putting so much distance between them, but she was busy, so...

"I'm listening, Charlotte."

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Charlie realized she had been so worried about when she was going to tell him, that she hadn't even thought about what she would say.

Well, better start from the beginning.

"When Neville's wife came to visit me, she brought me a journal and a pen."

Monroe interrupted, "yes, Charlotte, I'm aware. I am the one that gave her clearance to see you, after all."

His arrogance grated on her nerves and she snapped back, "you said you would let me explain, so why don't you let me." Not waiting for him to reply, she continued, "after she left, I found that note inside the journal."

"You claim that the Neville's son is alive. I don't see how Julia, supposedly, slipping you this note proves that."

Even with so much on the line, Charlie found herself wanting to slap that stupid smirk off of his face. "When did he die?"

Monroe raised his eyebrows at the question. "Excuse me?"

"You claim that Jason is dead. I want you to tell me when he died."

He studied her carefully for a moment before going to his desk and rifling through a stack of papers. Eventually, he found the one he was looking for and read off, "Lieutenant Jason Neville, killed in action on 23 June 2027. What does that have to do with anything?"

Ignoring his question, Charlie thought for a moment and then asked him another one of her own. "So that was what, twenty-two days ago?"

"Yes Charlotte, I'm glad you know how to count, but-"

"How long have I been here?"

Now she could tell that Monroe was getting irritated. "What? Why does that even matter?"

Rolling her eyes, Charlie challenged him. "Do you even know how long you've had me here?"

Monroe glared at her. "You've been here for eighteen days, unless you count the day that you arrived, which was technically only half a day, which would make it a total of nineteen."

"Then it's settled, Jason isn't dead."

Monroe sighed and ran a hand through his hair, walking over to his chair and plopping down in it, he gave her a tired look. "Charlotte, that doesn't-"

"Will you shut the hell up! You said I could explain, but you keep interrupting me." Annoyed, desperate, and verging on hysterical, Charlie couldn't imagine that she was making a very good case for herself. Monroe frowned at her like she was a particularly difficult puzzle that he couldn't figure out before coming to some kind of conclusion and sitting back in his chair, gesturing for her to continue.

Reminding herself of the fact that she had yelled at him, and was still breathing, was probably a good sign, she took a deep breath. "The day of the attack on the rebel base, the day that I was brought here, me and Miles helped the rebels prepare. Didn't you ever wonder why we were waiting for you? Or why we knew which way you were coming from, or where you were going to hit first?" Not waiting for an answer, Charlie hurried on. "Early that morning I went out to get some water and ran into Jason. He had come to find me so that he could warn us. His face was covered in cuts and bruises, he didn't say where he had gotten them and I didn't ask, but we both knew that they were from his dad. That was nineteen days ago. Three days after Jason supposedly died. So unless he rose from the dead, whoever wrote that report lied, and I'm going to guess that it was Neville."

They sat in silence for a while, Charlie still standing against the wall and Monroe sitting at his desk, chin in his hand, staring at her. Finally, he asked, "why are you telling me this, Charlotte? You could have waited for your rescue to come and gone free, so why tell me?"

Seriously? What an asshole.

Suddenly feeling very tired, Charlie rubbed her eyes. "Don't pretend like you don't know," she said tiredly, "if I tried to leave, you would kill Aaron. That's the reason you're keeping him in the first place, remember?"

Monroe gave her a wry smile, but didn't say anything, deciding again to sit in silence and stare. Charlie scanned the room just for something to do, anything to keep her from having to watch him stare. It was a large room, his desk was big and imposing, and the chairs for guests looked very uncomfortable. The clock sitting on the mantle of the large fireplace read 8:45.

Thirty minutes. If it wasn't for Aaron's imprisonment, she could have been free in thirty minutes. But he was a prisoner just like her, and she loved him too much to risk it.

Monroe appeared to be thinking, playing with the small scrap of paper that was still in his hand. Eventually, he looked up at her and asked, "what the hell does 'don't forget your pen' mean?"

"The pen that she gave me. If you unscrew the part where the ink should be, there's a dagger in it." Charlie tired to keep her voice nonchalant, as if her having a weapon really wasn't that bad.

It didn't work.

Monroe's back stiffened and he jumped up from his seat. "Where is it?"

Sensing that she'd once again entered a danger zone, Charlie answered promptly, "I left it sitting on the vanity in my bedroom. I didn't want you to think I was planning on using it."

Another round of him searching her face trying to catch her in a lie later, and Monroe was at his office door, barking orders for the pen to be retrieved and brought directly to him. He paced the room while they waited for the pen to arrive. Charlie didn't bother speaking or trying to interrupt him, she knew he was thinking, she could tell by the way his jaw worked from side to side and his fingers twitched into fists every few seconds.

When the pen was finally brought to him, he all but snapped it in half while he removed the casing, revealing the small, pointy dagger. Just like she said it would.

Apparently, that wasn't necessarily a good thing though. Monroe's nostrils flared and he shouted angrily at no one in particular before throwing the dagger across the room. It stuck neatly in the wall, just above the clock that now read 8:55.

"Why didn't you tell me about this sooner?" He yelled. "What are you expecting here? That I just let it go and there's no punishment?"

"It's not like I planned it! I had nothing to do with it, I didn't ask to be rescued. I wanted to show it to you so that you could understand-"

Monroe interrupted her, moving to stand in front of her again. "No, you waited until the last second because you were going to go, but then you chickened out, and now you're here trying to cover it up!"

SMACK!

Oh. Shit.

Nice job, Charlie. Slap the President.

Yeah, 'cause that's not punishable by death or anything.

Fucking moron.

Charlie stood completely shell shocked by her own actions, Monroe's face an equal mixture of shock and confusion. He raised a hand slowly to his cheek, she could see the red imprint of her hand already forming on his face. The angry growl rumbling in his chest sent her already chaotic emotions into total overdrive and she slumped against the wall, sliding down it and letting out a wail of epic proportions.

If the I-just-got-bitch-slapped look on Monroe's face had been kinda funny, then his holy-shit-why-the-fuck-is-Charlotte-crying face, must have been freaking hilarious. His eyes were wide and round as he stared down at her, shaking uncontrollably, rocking back and forth in the fetal position.

"P-p-please don't kill Aaron! I-I'm sorry, I j-just don't know what to d-do." Charlie continued to sob in earnest, not daring to look up at Monroe for fear of the repercussions. She was totally content to sit on his office floor and stare at his shiny, black boots for the rest of her life if it kept her family safe.

After what seemed like an eternity, Charlie saw Monroe's boots retreat towards the door through the gap in her legs. Listening in, she heard him giving orders to the men outside the door. "Lieutenant Johnson, find Major Neville and his wife. Bring them both here, don't let them stop for anything, just bring them straight here. Private Riley, I'd like you to take Charlotte back to the other side of the house, but put her in a different room. The rest of you need to discreetly lock down the building, I'm expecting a visitor, and I don't want to miss him."

Visitor?

Oh God, he meant Jason.

Charlie watched Monroe move back into the room with Chad at his heels looking confused, but determined. "It's time to go, Miss Matheson." Chad gave her an imploring look with his back to Monroe, but she ignored Chad in order to ask Monroe yet another question.

"What's going to happen to Jason?" She sniffed.

Coolly, Monroe replied, "Jason Neville is a traitor and a rebel. He will receive the same punishment as all of the others before him."

Scrambling up from the floor, Charlie tried to plead with him, "no, you can't. Jason didn't-"

"I am the President, Charlotte, I can do whatever I want. Now I'm being very lenient with you, so go, before I change my mind." He was using his icy cold President voice again, and Charlie knew she shouldn't press her luck, but she couldn't help it. She didn't want Jason to die because of her.

"But he's not coming here to hurt you, or attack anyone, he's just coming to rescue me. If it wasn't for that he wouldn't even come near this place. Can't you just... just let him go."

Monroe laughed, but this one didn't vibrate happily through his chest like the one at breakfast had. It was cold, and cruel, and it made Charlie's stomach churn. "He's planning on storming my home in order to break you out of here. I consider that an attack. Now go, I'll see you at breakfast, Charlotte."

He turned to his desk, the obvious dismissal making tears sting at her eyes again. Punishments be damned, she wasn't about to sit by and let him kill another one of her friends. "He's just trying to help me," she grasped at what little traction she had left, "haven't you ever done something you knew you shouldn't have for someone you cared about?"

What a stupid question, Charlie.

Scathingly, she corrected herself, "oh, my mistake. That would require you actually caring about someone other than yourself." Finally giving him up as a lost cause, she fled the room, tears pooling in her eyes and blurring her vision. She wasn't paying attention as Chad led her through the halls with a gentle hand on her lower back. He offered her a handkerchief and she took it gladly, attempting to stem the flow of snot running from her nose.

He eventually stopped them outside of a room that Charlie recognized wasn't her own, but she didn't care. Fleeing inside, she slammed the door shut and collapsed in a heap on the bed, curling into a ball on the dusty mattress. She lay there crying for what seemed like hours, until the unmistakable sounds of gunfire pulled her from her bed and toward the single, small window in the room.

But it wasn't gunfire. Brightly colored sparks were exploding in the sky, followed by claps of thunder that rattled the glass. It must be 9:15 now, and this must have been Jason's plan. To use the fireworks as a distraction so he could get into the building. That realization made watching the display nearly impossible, so with her stomach weighted down with guilt, Charlie climbed back onto the bed and attempted to block out noise from outside. When the noise finally stopped, she wiped away some more tears and let the loud silence fill the room.

There was nothing she could do now. And it was all her fault. Why hadn't she thought about what would happen to Jason sooner? She had been so intent on getting back at Neville that she had let Jason become collateral damage. More tears swam in her eyes and she squeezed them shut, trying to block out the images of what Monroe could be doing to Jason right that second.

9:22 pm

BANG, BANG, BANG.

Three shots in quick succession, much closer than the fireworks had been, and Charlie knew without a doubt that those had been real gunshots.

One for Neville.

One for his wife.

One for Jason.

Charlie laid on the uncomfortable mattress and cried herself to sleep.


A/N I didn't really want to end it here, but there is sooo much dialogue in this chapter that I needed a good place to cut it off. Also, because of the amount of dialogue I apologize if it gets really repetitive, I tried my best to keep it interesting. Up until now, I've kept the story from Charlie's perspective, but I realized that for what I have planned that isn't going to work, so we will be delving into Bass' mind soon. Just a heads up. Thanks for reading and I would love it if you left a review, I like knowing what you guys think!