Part Five
"Move over, old man," CJ chuckled, pushing Toby's legs aside as she fell against his side on the couch.
"You gotta stop doing things like that CJ, or I swear I'm going to have a broken rib or two as a result," Toby grinned, his words sanctimonious and humor-filled at the same time, causing the other men in the room to grin and his CJ to swat at him with a dangerous look in her eye.
"It's your own fault," she reminded him, then started as the phone rang again. "Dammit."
"What? The phone?" William asked, his lips quirking upward in a grin. "Work interrupts your romantic interludes frequently, I take it?"
Toby grinned and CJ snorted, "This is hardly an interlude, big brother," and her hand closed over the phone as she lifted it from the cradle. "Hello?" she turned away from Toby, who was grinning at her in a manner she found altogether too suspicious, and the tiniest bit arousing. He watched with a grin as her face flushed and then turned to look at her brothers and father, who sat across from them, grinning at their 'little Claudia' and her antics.
"She's cute when she's flustered," Matthew laughed, then leaned forward, hands clasped on his knees as he spoke quietly to Toby. "She's doing okay, right, man?"
Toby sighed and smiled, shaking his head at the familiar mannerism. No wonder CJ had always had a soft spot for Josh, for Toby had a feeling that not only did the younger man worry like the Deputy Chief of Staff, that he played and worked just like him as well. "CJ's doing fine, wonderful even. Last year…" he paused, his voice trailing off, "She's gonna be okay, it's taken me a while to realize that."
Even as he spoke, he could hear CJ sigh into the receiver, "Hello?" and again she received no answer. Her father watched as she rolled her eyes, then raised an eyebrow as she echoed the words again. "Hello? Anyone there?" After another pause, she hung the phone up, stood to her feet, shook her head similarly to her brother, and walked into the kitchen, an odd look plastered upon her face and a hand at the small of her back.
It was a strange feeling - one she'd tried to deny again - but it sort of crept up her spine and made the hairs stand on the back of her neck, as if a slimy creature were moving over her skin at a snail's pace, frightening her slowly, raising her to awareness that nothing she could do could knock the gremlin away. Shaking herself, CJ turned to the refrigerator, removed the jam, then located peanut butter, and began making herself a sandwich. She turned away from the plate before her and held the knife underneath the stream of water flowing from the tap, her eyes and mind getting lost in an undercurrent she'd barely managed to pull herself from months before. And, CJ sighed, she could feel it again. The guilt of letting a man die as she listened to his screams, the fear as he murmured words of a twisted sort of devotion, the cries that echoed Shakespeare and stalker alike. And then came the water, weighing against her clothes as blood seeped from beneath her bindings. A gasp against water that fought to control, the begging for a breath of air, and a sharp cry that echoed through her brain, "Oh God. Oh Toby." CJ shuddered, lost in her own memories, as the Potomac closed around her again, drawing her deeper as she wriggled against death and its tentacles, then throwing her forth against the shore as if it were rejecting her for her lack of taste. Wet and tired and hungry and lost, Toby had found her there, rescued her, and loved her more than she felt she dared to ask for, to deserve. And the water streamed still over the dull blade of the caseknife, splitting the stream as if it were the Tigris and Euphrates, and her reflection rippled against the sterling silver as Toby entered the kitchen.
"CJ?" he whispered, catching the look on her face, the sound of running water washing over both he and her father as they stood in the doorway. And then, Toby stepped forward, and in moments stood directly behind her, and moved to place his hand against her shoulder. Almost touching her, he drew his hand back, his voice rough with worry and a need to reassure and protect her against an enemy he did not know.
Again, his hand moved forward of its own accord, as if a separate entity, and his mother's long forgotten words echoed around the far reaches of his mind. "Better the devil you do, than the devil you don't." It was moments like this, he reasoned, that the words held meaning, though he'd rather they didn't. Easier to fight the devil you know than the devil you don't, and Toby's hand hovered over the cotton material of her sweater as he sighed, knowing from the expression of fear and troublesome intent on her face as she stared at the flow of the water, that the devil, the demon, she was fighting was one he'd met far too many times before, one he still wasn't sure how to fight. "Rather the devil you do, than the devil you don't," he'd always been told, but, Toby wondered, what if the devil you do know, is the same as the devil you don't?
And finally, as if he'd stood there for hours when it had only been minutes, his hand came to rest upon her shoulder and she jumped, her limbs jerking, and the caseknife fell into the sink, splattering against the thin layer of water. Her hands came to rest against the basin's edge, realizing it was Toby, her fiancé, her lover, her savior, behind her, and not a monster that she'd worried wasn't quite hidden away in her closet. CJ sighed, the closet door just didn't seem to close.
Toby reached around her and pushed the lever downward, turning off the water, then manually turned her toward him, her eyes meeting his, a shared trouble passing between them.
"That phone call…" her voice was strained, and her father could barely hear it as he moved to stand at the bar, still hearing his sons arguing lightly in the living room. "He's not dead, Toby."
"CJ…"
"True evil never dies?" she questioned, laughing without mirth, "He's not dead, Toby, and I don't mean figuratively. He was on the phone. I can feel… I can feel it, I'm not crazy and I'm not… it was him, Toby."
His eyes searched hers, finding truth and fear and concern as their hands conjoined over the swell of her stomach, the child moving beneath them, and they promised each other, eyes never leaving the other's, mouths never opening, that the child would be safe.
They'd dragged the river for days, first as rescue then as recovery, as police and diver team procedure mandated. And then, with Presidential power and fear of the monsters beneath the bed and in the closet reigned, they extended the search another 72 hours, and another after that. And the car was removed, driver's side seatbelt slashed at the side, hunting knife carving a pattern into the passenger seat, stabbed into the leather as if it were nothing. A car and a knife and a never-broken-spirit left behind, Bowman's body was never found though the river had been dragged for weeks, and Toby knew then that a watery grave did not suit him, for he was not there.
"I believe you," he whispered, and came to rest his forehead against hers, taming the wildness of her eyes with his words as worry almost consumed him. "Oh God help us, I believe you."
Her father stood fixated, the abandoned sandwich inches away from where his hand came to rest as he pondered over what he should do or say, not understanding the procedures or the problems or exactly what had happened… before. He wanted to say, "It's going to be okay, Claudia Jean, I'll protect you, sweetheart," or "No one's going to hurt my little girl, ever again," but instead, he just sighed, and moved behind Toby, clapping a hand on his shoulder and squeezing CJ's arm so lightly she barely felt it, "Tell me what I can do, sweetheart," he whispered, "Tell me what Daddy can do."
And then, as Toby reached for the phone and the President and the protection that came with it and him, and her father's arms came around her, the tears welled in her eyes and she began to cry. "Not again, please," she wept, "not again."
"Move over, old man," CJ chuckled, pushing Toby's legs aside as she fell against his side on the couch.
"You gotta stop doing things like that CJ, or I swear I'm going to have a broken rib or two as a result," Toby grinned, his words sanctimonious and humor-filled at the same time, causing the other men in the room to grin and his CJ to swat at him with a dangerous look in her eye.
"It's your own fault," she reminded him, then started as the phone rang again. "Dammit."
"What? The phone?" William asked, his lips quirking upward in a grin. "Work interrupts your romantic interludes frequently, I take it?"
Toby grinned and CJ snorted, "This is hardly an interlude, big brother," and her hand closed over the phone as she lifted it from the cradle. "Hello?" she turned away from Toby, who was grinning at her in a manner she found altogether too suspicious, and the tiniest bit arousing. He watched with a grin as her face flushed and then turned to look at her brothers and father, who sat across from them, grinning at their 'little Claudia' and her antics.
"She's cute when she's flustered," Matthew laughed, then leaned forward, hands clasped on his knees as he spoke quietly to Toby. "She's doing okay, right, man?"
Toby sighed and smiled, shaking his head at the familiar mannerism. No wonder CJ had always had a soft spot for Josh, for Toby had a feeling that not only did the younger man worry like the Deputy Chief of Staff, that he played and worked just like him as well. "CJ's doing fine, wonderful even. Last year…" he paused, his voice trailing off, "She's gonna be okay, it's taken me a while to realize that."
Even as he spoke, he could hear CJ sigh into the receiver, "Hello?" and again she received no answer. Her father watched as she rolled her eyes, then raised an eyebrow as she echoed the words again. "Hello? Anyone there?" After another pause, she hung the phone up, stood to her feet, shook her head similarly to her brother, and walked into the kitchen, an odd look plastered upon her face and a hand at the small of her back.
It was a strange feeling - one she'd tried to deny again - but it sort of crept up her spine and made the hairs stand on the back of her neck, as if a slimy creature were moving over her skin at a snail's pace, frightening her slowly, raising her to awareness that nothing she could do could knock the gremlin away. Shaking herself, CJ turned to the refrigerator, removed the jam, then located peanut butter, and began making herself a sandwich. She turned away from the plate before her and held the knife underneath the stream of water flowing from the tap, her eyes and mind getting lost in an undercurrent she'd barely managed to pull herself from months before. And, CJ sighed, she could feel it again. The guilt of letting a man die as she listened to his screams, the fear as he murmured words of a twisted sort of devotion, the cries that echoed Shakespeare and stalker alike. And then came the water, weighing against her clothes as blood seeped from beneath her bindings. A gasp against water that fought to control, the begging for a breath of air, and a sharp cry that echoed through her brain, "Oh God. Oh Toby." CJ shuddered, lost in her own memories, as the Potomac closed around her again, drawing her deeper as she wriggled against death and its tentacles, then throwing her forth against the shore as if it were rejecting her for her lack of taste. Wet and tired and hungry and lost, Toby had found her there, rescued her, and loved her more than she felt she dared to ask for, to deserve. And the water streamed still over the dull blade of the caseknife, splitting the stream as if it were the Tigris and Euphrates, and her reflection rippled against the sterling silver as Toby entered the kitchen.
"CJ?" he whispered, catching the look on her face, the sound of running water washing over both he and her father as they stood in the doorway. And then, Toby stepped forward, and in moments stood directly behind her, and moved to place his hand against her shoulder. Almost touching her, he drew his hand back, his voice rough with worry and a need to reassure and protect her against an enemy he did not know.
Again, his hand moved forward of its own accord, as if a separate entity, and his mother's long forgotten words echoed around the far reaches of his mind. "Better the devil you do, than the devil you don't." It was moments like this, he reasoned, that the words held meaning, though he'd rather they didn't. Easier to fight the devil you know than the devil you don't, and Toby's hand hovered over the cotton material of her sweater as he sighed, knowing from the expression of fear and troublesome intent on her face as she stared at the flow of the water, that the devil, the demon, she was fighting was one he'd met far too many times before, one he still wasn't sure how to fight. "Rather the devil you do, than the devil you don't," he'd always been told, but, Toby wondered, what if the devil you do know, is the same as the devil you don't?
And finally, as if he'd stood there for hours when it had only been minutes, his hand came to rest upon her shoulder and she jumped, her limbs jerking, and the caseknife fell into the sink, splattering against the thin layer of water. Her hands came to rest against the basin's edge, realizing it was Toby, her fiancé, her lover, her savior, behind her, and not a monster that she'd worried wasn't quite hidden away in her closet. CJ sighed, the closet door just didn't seem to close.
Toby reached around her and pushed the lever downward, turning off the water, then manually turned her toward him, her eyes meeting his, a shared trouble passing between them.
"That phone call…" her voice was strained, and her father could barely hear it as he moved to stand at the bar, still hearing his sons arguing lightly in the living room. "He's not dead, Toby."
"CJ…"
"True evil never dies?" she questioned, laughing without mirth, "He's not dead, Toby, and I don't mean figuratively. He was on the phone. I can feel… I can feel it, I'm not crazy and I'm not… it was him, Toby."
His eyes searched hers, finding truth and fear and concern as their hands conjoined over the swell of her stomach, the child moving beneath them, and they promised each other, eyes never leaving the other's, mouths never opening, that the child would be safe.
They'd dragged the river for days, first as rescue then as recovery, as police and diver team procedure mandated. And then, with Presidential power and fear of the monsters beneath the bed and in the closet reigned, they extended the search another 72 hours, and another after that. And the car was removed, driver's side seatbelt slashed at the side, hunting knife carving a pattern into the passenger seat, stabbed into the leather as if it were nothing. A car and a knife and a never-broken-spirit left behind, Bowman's body was never found though the river had been dragged for weeks, and Toby knew then that a watery grave did not suit him, for he was not there.
"I believe you," he whispered, and came to rest his forehead against hers, taming the wildness of her eyes with his words as worry almost consumed him. "Oh God help us, I believe you."
Her father stood fixated, the abandoned sandwich inches away from where his hand came to rest as he pondered over what he should do or say, not understanding the procedures or the problems or exactly what had happened… before. He wanted to say, "It's going to be okay, Claudia Jean, I'll protect you, sweetheart," or "No one's going to hurt my little girl, ever again," but instead, he just sighed, and moved behind Toby, clapping a hand on his shoulder and squeezing CJ's arm so lightly she barely felt it, "Tell me what I can do, sweetheart," he whispered, "Tell me what Daddy can do."
And then, as Toby reached for the phone and the President and the protection that came with it and him, and her father's arms came around her, the tears welled in her eyes and she began to cry. "Not again, please," she wept, "not again."