Chapter Ten
Even as time away from Congress would never mean any breaks from work, Erik was grateful that he had space away from his literal office while he found himself distracted by the young Ms Gallagher. How was it possible that there was hardly any damming information on her? He could hire a private investigator, but his trusted connections tended to specialize in the present and he didn't want anyone knowing his interest in Christine outside of Nadir. There was a spark of excitement having to be the seek the information himself as he had become so used to others doing such things for him. Of course, he believed in verifying all intelligence given to him, even keeping one of the smallest cabinets in the capitol. Why have to worry about one person more than what was needed? Finding a single trustworthy person was difficult enough.
The young woman's reservations about the fool Peters were already getting on Erik's nerves. There was no need to be loyal to him any longer. He was weak and pointless in the large scheme of things, only good as a pawn. Though it was becoming clear that his use for Peters would go beyond professional enlightenment and that he would have to show his even truer colors to his young protege. Now that money and safety were no longer an issue, it was only Christine's belief in him that needed to falter. Once that was done, she would be only Erik's.
Taking a step back from such thoughts, Erik couldn't help but marvel as to why such ownership of this woman was so important to him. He had used the word "greatness" on several occasions, but he had seen plenty of people capable of exceeding what life had stuck them with and still never felt the need to reach out to them. To say that Christine was on their caliber would be a lie. There was something within her that enthralled him, something that he craved. Her voice had to be his and if it were up to him he would rip it straight from her throat and keep it with him until he had his fill of it. Time between lessons dragged on so long, he wondered if the lessons would need to be lengthened just so that he could try to get enough each day to continue his other many tasks.
Which was more counterproductive? Congressional attempts of further power or raising this young woman's voice out of the gutter? He wasn't sure which one would prove more difficult.
X
Christine decided to take a long walk before her lesson. She left her basement apartment and headed in the opposite direction of where she would eventually end up. Instead of obeying her new regiment entirely, she decided not to eat anything after she finished a fair amount of cookie dough followed by the baked cookies. The thought of hearing her voice again was scaring the mess out of her, so she attempted to hum single notes on her walk without causing attention to herself.
People were active, even though the snow was a few inches deep from the previous day. She enjoyed walking past parks where kids played and made various snow creations. At one point she was nearly hit straight in the head with a snowball. The kids were so focused on in their game that they hadn't noticed the rogue shot. There wasn't enough snow for the area to be clean and there was plenty of mud mixed with the snow that stuck to everyone. A black puppy scurried around in the snow and Christine had fun watching it have its first snow day. She would have wanted a dog growing up if she could have fit it somewhere in her lifestyle.
Christine winced at the thought. It had been an insane year, one that she was all too willing to forget and move forward from. That was the typical pattern; she would simply keep forgetting years until she had something worth remembering. But what was worth caring about anyway? Maybe a puppy would be a good move. Then it could play with Cloe and Christine would have a jogging partner. The thought of getting in shape was something that she had wanted to do for herself, but now that she was being forced to do it, it would be a different situation. Maybe a dog would be just what she needed to confide in, too.
Her thoughts had taken her too far away from reality when another snowball came flying towards her, she didn't have the thought process to duck as it hit her square in the side of the head.
"Ah!" She yelled as cold snow and dirt ran down her face and into her scarf.
"Sorry, lady!" A boy yelled while he ran off with the others to the far side of the park's playground.
"Damn it," Christine swore as she took her tightly wrapped scarf from her neck to clean out the water and dirt. Just then the wind picked up and further chills hit her cold wet skin making her shiver. Cleaning off her scarf and neck, she put it back on the opposite way hoping it would still keep her warm. This sort of worked and she decided to keep walking to warm up.
Her feet led her around the Capitol Hill area, to Easter Market, and finally out to 12th Street where she would run into Underwood's residence. It had been a few hours since the snowball had hit her, and her skin where the snow had melted stung whenever the breeze picked up. No one was out anymore as night had fully fallen. She walked briskly against the wind and was nearly thankful when she came upon Underwood's house. Hardly taking a second to compose herself, she entered through the gate and was unable to ring the doorbell before the door was opened for her.
Underwood said nothing. He merely waved her inside the darkened hall with one smooth sweep of his hand. She followed his hand gratefully and hurried inside only to find that it was nearly as cold in there as it had been outside. Sure, the wind was gone, but she wondered if she would still be able to see her breath.
"You're shivering," He said matter-of-factly, "Is your coat not adequate for this weather?"
"N-no," She didn't mean to stutter, "I've just been walking a while."
He looked up behind her and he could see the snow outside through the solid door, "This weather is not good for your voice."
"I didn't think -"
"Then maybe you should start thinking of my investment here and take better care of it."
Christine looked to him as she realized just what kind of chord she had struck to earn Underwood's mean strict tone. The thought of apologizing crossed her mind, but she felt a little relief in knowing that she still had her real job tucked away and didn't need this kind of treatment to survive.
"Your hair is covered in filth." He spat at her, "Don't tell me you're so destitute that you can't bathe properly."
Immediately her hands went to her hair, but when she felt her gloves instead, she pulled them off hastily. Sure enough, her hair had crusted together with dirt on the side of her head and she sighed, "The Snowball."
"Does your mumbled speech indicate that your first lesson will be in diction?"
Christine looked up to him, her temper getting short as well. This time, her speech was perfectly crafted, "It was a snowball. A kid hit me by accident while I was walking."
"And you felt no need to wash since then?"
"I didn't have the time-"
"By the looks of your frozen hair, you had ample time to do what you should have done, but you didn't. In addition, your face is wind burned. Was I wrong in taking you for someone who could properly care for themselves?"
His words stung as the thoughts of her past she had briefly visited her on her walk resurfaced. She spoke through her teeth, "May I please use your bathroom?"
"And take away from your lesson?"
"Look, I don't care what I look like right now, but you clearly do, so please, may I use your bathroom?"
His eyes turned to slits, "Five minutes. I'll make a fire."
"Where-"
He waved her off, "Under the stairs. Where else?"
Christine all but growled in response as they parted for their separate destinations. At least he was making a fire. That was a welcome action to her. He was acting very different from the previous day. What? Did not following his stupid rules for his stupid investment set him off? …Probably… She never really liked school. There's too much relative conformity to passing tests. He was beginning to remind her just of that, and she was ready to sneak out the door and run. Still, something, she really wasn't sure what exactly, made her sigh and continue to stay.
She found the bathroom easily and turned on a simple light to illuminate a bathroom made of black marble tiles with a matching black marble toilet and sink. The impulse to scoff crossed her at how easily he could throw marble away on something like a bathroom. That was how the wealthy lived. That was a life she wasn't meant to understand. The deal he had made over her hair was not completely unjust. There was plenty of brown muck to scrape out and she wasn't looking forward to touching water again to do it as it only chilled her further.
Once she had finished and attempted to dry what she could of her hair with the hand towel, she met him back in the study where a fire blazed. She embraced the warmth to her face and hands and all but inhaled the smoke in an attempt to heat up faster.
"Are you ready to share an acceptable appearance, Ms Gallagher?"
She turned to where he stood at his desk, his mismatched eyes glittering gold from the firelight. The thought crossed her that he might always behave this way, that she needed to prepare herself for a rude entitled politician every time she came over. She chose to ignore his comment and instead looked past it in a way she could, "Thank you for making a fire."
"You need to warm up. Otherwise, your vocal cords will not work properly."
They don't work properly, to begin with, she thought scornfully.
"Do you have a car?" He asked plainly as he took out his violin.
"No,"
His fingers began to pluck at the strings, tuning them as it was needed, "Then you'll need to find a gym close by. No more of this outdoor activity if it causes you to be so careless. And is that scarf the warmest you own?"
She felt her scarf lightly with a hand. It was a gift from Meg. Meant to look pretty, but not much else, "I think so,"
He crossed the bow over each string quickly unceremoniously before continuing, "Then buy a new one. One that will serve its purpose. Wool would be best for this weather."
While Christine inwardly agreed that it wouldn't hurt to purchase a warmer scarf, she audibly sighed her discontent with his constant hits at her.
"If you don't like this sort of treatment," He said coldly, his eyes piercing, "Then learn to take care of yourself enough for your voice to work. Otherwise, our deal is off. And you won't like that."
Did she even officially agree to this? Were they ever going to discuss that much? She wasn't sure if she would mind that so much at that point and stuck to staring into the flames, willing them to increase her warmth enough to the point where she would no longer shiver and be nervous around this man. There was a pause until he asked casually, "Have you put in your two-week notice?"
"You don't let up, do you?" She sighed painfully.
He looked towards her and she suddenly felt penetrated, "I have no reason to." Just as quickly as the stare came, it faded and lackadaisically moved back to the violin, "And I hate having days off. Too much to think about."
Christine tried to shrug, "I've hardly had time to think and it's not very professional to put in a notice over a holiday. The polite thing to do is deliver it in person."
"Would you rather me speak for you? I don't believe in holidays and Peters is afraid to question me, especially if I feel the need to spread private information on the two of you around the office. If you do not bend a bit to what I'm offering you, I doubt you will find a respectable job in Congress again."
"Such a politician," she sneered through her teeth, "Always looking to hold things against others for your own selfish gain."
"Secrets hold ultimate power, Ms Gallagher."
Christine looked to him and how casually he let himself lean on the desk while she stood so tense in the center of the room near the armchair. His eyes seemed to smile at her in a menacing way. She could not let herself appear cornered. The door was close by, that was all she needed to know and being prey to him was not an option. Her existence had to stay intact.
An attempt at a nonchalant sigh fell from her as she shifted the conversation, "Can we not talk about this, please?"
Underwood was clearly not going to be unheard and he clipped back, "If you had taken care of your voice we wouldn't be, but there you stand like a shivering dog in my study, trying to waste my time. I chose to handle business first, was all."
"Fine." She spat, "Anything else you'd like to know? Any more questions you're dying to ask, Dr Underwood? I think I prefer taking your insults compared to trying to make my voice work again. At least that would remind me a little more what it's like to work for Congress."
There was hardly a moment before he followed, "Why is that?"
"What?" She was off guard.
"Why is it that you are so pained to sing?"
Her eyes narrowed, "I thought this was a singing lesson, not a visit to the shrink."
"Breath connection will open up many things." He replied almost mystically, "It is better to lay them out now so I know what to expect."
"Don't expect anything, then. I told you. I don't work anymore."
"Your well versed public panic attack from the other day would say otherwise."
She spoke smugly, finally looking towards him, "That's proof enough that I don't work! Do you often take up lost causes? That must lose popularity in your field."
"Do you speak so forwardly with your current employer, Ms Gallagher? If so, you must be accustomed to him not listening and if that is the case, I trust you will not to take it personally when I do the same on this subject." Her eyes grew wide with the insult, but he continued before she could leave, "Now I believe you are warm enough having monologued these boring excuses." He looked at her for a strange second, then put his violin back in the open case, "We'll start with breathing exercises and sticking to one pitch at a time. You don't even have to believe you're singing. Simply breathe on-pitch. Fair?"
"Fair," she said through gritted teeth.
And that was their first night of lessons. Erik would tap a long finger on his desk to mark time as Christine said "ooh" on a singular easy to find the note. She remembered this kind of training from another life and how it used to be effortless to carry the note fully to the end of a thirty-second bit where now she was lucky to hit twenty. Breathing fully into her ribs was something she found no comfort in doing as it seemed to wrestle with emotional scar tissue somewhere near her heart and stomach. When she finally reached thirty ticks she exhaled immediately after and the feeling of accomplishment, even letting a hint of a smile escape. It was short lived.
"Were you counting?" He spat so loud and she nearly jumped.
"Yeah, why-"
"No! There was a reason I wasn't counting out loud. Music is not to be counted it is to be felt. Your job is not to count the beats. Your job is to breathe. Now inhale! One, two, three, exhale."
Her startled feelings hurt her breath support when he did this and without thinking she started counting in her head. Only a few seconds in he stopped her.
"Stop counting, dammit. Again! Inhale. One, two, three, exhale."
This time she was able to keep up a little more, but the quick change over left her winded. He stopped her early again. This time when he spoke, his breath was gentler, "Let your breath out. All of it. Leave nothing inside."
She complied with the instruction until her body began to plead to have some air back. She made a start to inhale and was stopped.
"No. Leave it. You inhale when I say. Hold it!"
She held out a bit longer until finally her eyes shot straight up to his, and requested his permission without meaning to. His eyes answered her and he called to her soothingly, "Easy now, inhale: one, two, three, exhale."
There was ticking in the back of her head, but she didn't quite hear it in her ears. All that was heard was the solitary pitch that slipped through the room like a smooth knife against warm butter. All the while, her eyes never fell away from his, they seemed to hold each other somewhere within the note, and when the only sound drifted out there was emotion stirring hungrily in the pit of her stomach. It was the same she had hidden away so long ago, behind the hunger, the nervous pits of insecurity, and yet there it was again. Impulse struck and her arm wrapped around her waist to try and keep the feeling from spilling out somehow.
She was breathing normally when the sight of his polished black shoes came into her vision over the slick wood floor.
"You held your voice out for over a minute that time. Did you feel it?"
"No," came her quick reply
"You're lying. You're not holding yourself like that because of physical pain. You protecting something that if let go, nothing out here would stop you." His voice was above her head and she stilled at realizing just how close he was. "Prepare yourself to be limitless, Ms Gallagher," he whispered just above her ear.
The close proximity troubled her enough to take a step backwards. To this, his visible eyebrow rose. "You are dismissed. Be sure to hold up to my terms tomorrow. I will not have my time wasted again."
X
When Erik took a moment to review the evening's events, he came to the somewhat painful conclusion that he hadn't meant to be so cruel to her. That wasn't the real intention. It just so happened that the more research he did on her, the phycology books that he reached for to see if he could diagnose her with anything, and seeing the difference between very old photographs of her singing as a child and her standing behind Peters as an adult, made him angry. He had to ask himself, again and again, why was it that he found her so interesting? Why should he not give up on her as she has so clearly given up on herself?
Christine Gallagher was not dead yet, not completely. She believed in things, spoke forwardly for herself despite her lower rank when compared to him. It seemed that long disagreeable years had taught her not to feel for it would get in the way, but there was the time that very evening when the surprise in herself lit something painful for her, but she pushed forward through it rather than sideswiping it away. There was something in her that wanted to continue, that wanted to connect to what she was and that light flickered dully behind her eyes.
It was true, Erik had a sort of attachment to things that were stripped of their worth and were fighting to get it back. So often he found people in Congress who had to do nothing to obtain their first million. Many of them, upon graduating from disastrously expensive universities were given the present of debt-free living, a new car, a house, and on top of that, a starting one to five million dollar investment towards there future. Erik had none of this and yet obtained his first million in trading highly detailed secrets between oil waring parties in the Middle East. While this was not always considered the most respectable occupation to have taken up, his reputation of power and self-made connections had been protected seeing as American and other Western powerhouses were just as involved in them as those living in the region.
Christine Gallagher was not destined to be a millionaire. That was not what she wanted. It appeared that her interests lied with quiet survival. A warm place to sleep, a few people to talk to, and a meager savings account. Erik briefly wondered how different things would be if he had been granted a face that matched hers. Still, he noted that on some standpoints it was just as difficult for a woman in politics as it was for him. It was remarkable that such educated people could be just as stubborn and blind as the lower class of trash that worked for them. Some humans, despite their stations, were all the same in the end.
Perhaps it was Ms Gallagher's voice that struck him so heavily. It was that within her that drew him to such possessiveness. He had heard the very thing he never realized he had been craving to obtain the night of the ceremony. Her honest tones that did not show corruption from teachings or falseness through terrible acting and a need to be seen. It was such a paradox to hear, a woman who absolutely did not want to be there, but sang as if it was her only way to breathe. The training was there, the ability regain it wouldn't take long, he just needed to draw it out…by not being a complete asshat.
Erik sighed as he drank another sip of bourbon. The footsteps she had left in the snow from earlier were blown over from the rough wind and he was caught staring out of the dimmed window without real reason. She didn't seem so afraid of him as he was used to from others in her station. If anything, she really just seemed annoyed. That was…interesting to him. She was interesting to him.
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