XXII

MONDAY:

There were days, CJ reflected, when it was pretty damn difficult to muster any motivation to go through the morning papers. She envied all those people who read the papers for their own entertainment, and could happily discard them, shred them, or throw them across the room when they read something not to their liking.

Only the third option there was available to her, but she was making good use of it. Of course, having to go and pick them up again spoiled the effect somewhat, but at least it helped break the monotony.

The headlines were all very much the same. 'Senior Staffer Collapses at Charity Benefit' being just about the least sensational. And apparently they'd all snagged the same Congressman to give them an overdramatic description of how Josh had 'slipped into catatonia, eyes darting madly and hands clasped to his chest'. She was very close to attempting suicide by impact with very large pile of newspapers when an article that was different from the rest jumped out at her.

THREE YEARS ON: A SURVIVOR'S TALE

May, 2000; Rosslyn, Virginia. Two young men open fire on a crowd, seeking to perpetrate a hate crime against a young man whose crime was in loving the president's daughter. For most of us, it was a night of confusion and excitement, glued to our TVs as we waited to hear the condition of our country's president. For Joshua Lyman, it was a struggle to survive and a nightmare that will never be over.

A week ago, I could never have understood what he went through.

A week ago, I'd never faced the barrel of a gun.

CJ read the rest of the article in rising delight and disbelief. Then she went across the building and showed it to Leo.

He read through it slowly, a smile beginning to dawn across his face as he progressed. When he looked up, his face was glowing. "This is good, CJ. It's really good."

"It is," she agreed, beaming back. This was what they'd been hoping, praying to put across, the spin they'd needed for the story... the spin they'd certainly never expected a member of the press to come up with on their own.

"Richard R. Maskey," Leo read aloud, and smiled.

"Guess having reporters get shot is better than we thought," CJ observed.

"Altruistic journalism... who'd've guessed?"

"Bet you're not regretting giving him that exclusive now," she smiled.

"Hell, let's give him another one!" Leo grew more serious. "Someone's gonna have to talk to Josh eventually. This is our guy. This is definitely our guy."

"Yeah." CJ frowned. "Where is Josh? Is he here?"

"Nah." Leo didn't sound concerned. "I left a message on his machine, told him to take some time if he needed it."

CJ blinked. "And he listened?"

Leo shrugged and smiled. "Hell, he's probably got Donna on his case again. He's going nowhere until she says so."

"Have you spoken to Josh?"

Donna's demands grew more frantic with every person she asked. He hadn't answered or returned any of her calls since the previous evening; and even then, she'd only got a two line message on her machine which said "Donna, I'm only calling because I know that otherwise you'll call out the National Guard. I'm fine, don't come over."

Of course, her immediate instinct was to head on over. She'd fought it down only with the knowledge that arguing with an irrational Josh would get her nowhere. If he was enough in control of himself to know to send her even such an abrupt message, then he probably wasn't going to do anything too drastic. It was safe to leave him to stew just long enough to realise that he really didn't want to be alone as much as he thought he did.

Or that had been the theory, anyway. Only now it was the following morning, he still wasn't picking up the phone, and she'd just discovered that terse message on her machine was the only communication anybody had got out of him since he'd left the office the previous day.

Sam's calls had gone ignored. CJ's calls had gone ignored. Leo had left a message but received no reply. Toby hadn't called, but had strategically nudged several people into doing it for him, without admitting he was doing so. None of them had achieved any success either.

After a circuit of the office that grew steadily more panic-stricken, she returned to Leo's office. "Leo, nobody's heard from him at all this morning," she said urgently.

Leo gave her an understanding smile. "Donna, he's fine. You know what he's like."

She did, but that didn't help disperse the butterflies that were fluttering in her gut. "Leo-"

"It's really nothing to be concerned about, Donna," he said firmly. Then he grinned. "But yes, you have my permission to go kick him out of bed and bawl him out for not answering his phone when we're all worried about him."

Donna couldn't help smiling back. "Thank you."

The sound of her knock echoed hollowly in the empty hallways. The people who lived in this apartment building were not the kind to still be home beyond nine o'clock on a Monday morning. A nest of government wage-slaves, married to their jobs; the perfect place for Joshua Lyman.

Donna knocked again, but there was still no answer.

She hesitated, fingering the key in her pocket. She and Josh had never discussed giving her the spare key. It had just found its way into her purse when she was keeping in an eye on him after the shooting, and when that was no longer necessary it had simply stayed there. Though both of them knew she still had it, she had never made a move to return it, and Josh had never asked for it back.

It was just accepted that she had the key; however, the same token of trust that allowed her to keep it forbade her from using it. It wasn't her place to invade Josh's home without his say-so. If he wasn't answering the door, it probably meant he wasn't home, and she should turn around and go. Except...

It wasn't a mental image that haunted her, just a sound. The sound of shattering glass.

She unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

Should it be any surprise to her that the place smelled musty? Of course not, for it belonged to Josh Lyman, and how often was he home? For all his grandiose claims of being an outdoorsman, she doubted it occurred to him to ever open a window.

The phantom crash of glass sounded once again inside her head, and before her courage could fail her Donna headed into the bedroom.

What she saw came a far and distant second to an unconscious and bleeding Josh Lyman, but it was still pretty troubling. The closet and several drawers stood open and empty. The photographs Josh kept on his bedside table were gone. She ducked to look under the bed.

Yes, his suitcase was gone as well.

"Miss?"

She jumped out of her skin, and whipped around. The nervous-looking little man who'd come up behind her held his hands up apologetically.

"Sorry, Miss, didn't mean to startle you." He cleared his throat hesitantly. "Um, are you Donnatella Moss, by any chance?"

She blinked at him, heart still hammering. "I, uh, yes, I am."

"Thought so. Mr. Lyman gave, um, quite a good description." He offered her a tentative smile, and then fumbled in his jacket pocket. "He said you'd probably be along this morning, and that I should give you this." He proffered a crumpled envelope, and she took it automatically. Her name was written on it in Josh's handwriting.

The super hesitated. "Also he said... could you give me his key?"

"Oh!" She pulled it out of her pocket. "Oh, yes, of course."

But as she passed it over and saw his hand close around it, something in her stomach dropped. She looked down at the envelope she was holding with a sick sense of dread.

Something was very wrong here.

She opened the envelope out in her car. Inside it was another, smaller envelope, and a handwritten letter. The second envelope was addressed to Leo. The letter was addressed to her.

Donna,

I knew you wouldn't go long without checking up on me. I'm sorry to do this through a letter, but I knew you wouldn't let me do it any other way.

I know nobody wants me to resign. It's flattering, but it's a mistake. A big mistake. You think you're being loyal, but in fact you're being blind. I've become a liability to this administration, and no amount of loyalty can cover the fact that it's time to let me go.

But Leo won't do it, and neither will the president. They won't fire me, and they won't let me resign. They care too much, and there's a place for charity, but politics isn't it.

Therefore, in my last act as a policy advisor to the president, I'm making a political decision. I'm removing myself from the equation. If nobody else is prepared to do it, then it's up to me to make the break. So I'm leaving. In fact, if you're reading this letter, then I've already left. And I'm not coming back.

The letter to Leo is my formal resignation. Tell him I apologise for not giving him notice, but this is the best way in everyone's book. I'm going to miss everybody, but this is definitely for the best.

I wanted to leave a goodbye message, but I know you would have tried to talk me out of it. You might even have succeeded, and I couldn't let that happen. So I left.

I promise to get back in contact, but not soon. I know it's going to take some time and some distance before you all come around to my way of thinking. But I know you will eventually, because I know I'm right.

Goodbye,

Josh

Donna reread the letter twice, then let it crumple in her hands as she leaned back into the driver's seat. The small envelope bearing Leo's name sat like a ticking timebomb on the dashboard.

She sat staring at it for a long, long time.

To Be Continued