Desolation, Part III

Disclaimer: If you recognize them, they aren't mine.  If you feel like borrowing Tony, Ben Kaersi, Cassie or Angela, just ask.

Author's Note: Part 4 will see us back in the West Wing, but Part 3 picks up where Part 2 left off – Charlie.  All mistakes are mine.  I've proofread, but may have missed a few.  Enjoy, and please review.

It was almost noon before Charlie left Captain DiMenna's office, knowing all that Tony had seen fit to tell him about Deena's murder.  He was dazed and Tony had wanted to drive him home, but Charlie had refused, citing the need to clear his head, and walked to the neighborhood park.

He sat on a park bench, shivering slightly, but didn't consciously notice the chilled air.  He didn't notice much of anything.  His body may have been in the park, but his mind was still in that morgue, hearing again the words that Tony hadn't wanted to say.

"We haven't figured out why the car was parked where it was, but neither of them were killed in the vehicle."  Charlie barely heard the police captain.  His eyes were on Deena's face – the beginnings of bruises that showed where fists had hit her face, the broken jaw.  Cracked ribs, entry and exit wounds from a 9mm handgun in several places.

"The official cause of death is a gunshot wound to the head," Tony explained, "but our night-shift coroner reported that any number of the shots were in critical areas."

"Was she…?"

"Yeah, Charlie.  Yeah… that first, before the…"

"Execution, Tony.  Say it.  This was planned.  What aren't you telling me?"

He couldn't say the words, and moved the sheet a little so that Charlie could see Deena's arm.  There, carved into his little sister's skin, was a jagged swastika, and the words "Better dead than black."

His breath had caught in his throat, then, and he had to close his eyes.  This was when he'd stumbled against the wall.  This was when he'd wanted Zoey.

Tony's voice called Charlie back from his thoughts, and the older man had escorted the younger one back to his office.  Tony paced, looking like he was going to lose his temper – violently – for the first time in years.  Charlie sat in an office chair, head in his hands, shaking, and fought for what little control he still had.  After a while, the breaths came easier and the knot in his stomach loosened.  I will not think of Deena in there.  Later… I'll do it later, but not now.  And Tony – oh, God – Tony isn't done yet.  "What aren't you telling me, Tony?  There's more, isn't there?"

DiMenna stopped pacing, closed the blinds on his office windows, and sat next to Charlie.  "That message that you saw… it wasn't the only one.  Her killers left another, on her stomach."  He paused, taking a deep breath.  "Charlie, you need to have someone stay with you when you go home, alright?"

"Tony."  The captain had never heard that tone in Charlie's voice before – mixed shock and rage shoved so far down, he wasn't sure that Charlie even knew it was there.  For some reason, it scared him, and when Charlie spoke again, he gave the full answer.  "Tell me what the hell they did to my sister.  What `message' did they think was so important that it needed to be delivered with what was left of her?"

Tony didn't even need to look at the case file for this.  He'd seen it himself, and he would never be able to make the image go away.  "`Boys need to remember their place.  The sister, then her, and then you, Charlie.  Watch it fall apart.'"  The message wouldn't be clear to Charlie until later, and he showed little reaction to it now.

My sister was killed because of me.  My baby sister was killed because of me.  He took the knowledge that Tony had just given him, and pushed it back into the same corner of his mind that housed everything that Tony had told him today.  When he looked up at Tony, his eyes and thoughts were clear.  It hadn't really hit him yet. 

"Did it look like Deena struggled, Tony, or did they tie her up and beat her for the hell of it?"

"She struggled, Charlie.  She definitely struggled."

"Then someone should check the hospitals for people who came in with broken bones last night, who looked like they had been in a fight.  She was trained, Tony."

"Trained how?

"Mixed bag martial arts, with a focus on karate.  Her sensei is in the Service – Cassandra Reinholdt.  After Rosslyn…" Charlie paused and checked Tony's face.  He nodded.  That was one night that he wouldn't forget.  He had stayed in front of the TV for hours waiting for the latest word.  Charlie continued, "After Rosslyn, when I found out that my relationship with Zoey was why they'd been shooting at us, I was afraid for Deena.  Captain Rickarts had taught us a few things before he retired, but it wasn't enough.  I went to Ron Butterfield, the President's AIC… Agent-in-Charge."  He had to explain the abbreviation to Tony, his mind briefly wandering into the realm of "You know you work in the West Wing when…" before he snapped back to the issue at hand.

"Anyway, I asked Ron if he had any suggestions in the way of teachers for Deena… and me.  He recommended Cass for her, an agent who had stepped down from fieldwork and held an Instructor position.  She came in when everyone else felt the need for some advanced hand-to-hand training… or refresher courses.  She still does.  Ron said something about the job being difficult for anyone with kids, and mentioned that since she spent a lot of her time working with the Kick Drugs program, she'd know how to deal with…"

"Teenagers?"

"Civilians.  Deena was good, Tony.  If she put up a fight, there is no way that they – he? - could have gotten away without some serious injuries."

Tony heard the question, and answered it for Charlie.  "There was definitely more than one, Charlie.  We just haven't managed to figure out how many more."  He paused.  "You said that you spoke to the agent about training for Deena and yourself.  Did Reinholdt teach you, too?"

"No.  Ron talked his former teacher into taking me on as a student – when I'm not running around the country, doing my job.  My sensei is a seventy-something retired Navy Seal who worked his way through the ranks until he hit Admiral.  He can still kick ass – very, very well.  He doesn't look anywhere near his age, either."

"What's his name?"

"Kaersi, Benjamin Kaersi."

"C-A-I-R-S-H?"

"K-A-E-R-S-I, but it's pronounced like you spelled it."

Charlie's eyes had drifted to the floor, and he couldn't see Tony jotting down notes, but he heard the pen scratching across the paper, the shouts in the bullpen, the clink of handcuffs and the ringing phones outside the office.  He kept his head in his hands.

"Mister.  Hey, mister."  Charlie's head snapped up and his eyes met those of the little girl in front of him.  "Are you alright, mister?  You look kinda sad."

His voice was gentle as he replied, "Well, I am kinda sad.  See, I'm remembering my sister, who, a long time ago, was a lot like you.  I miss her."

"Where did she go?"

Charlie struggled against the tears in his eyes.  How do I explain this to someone so young?  Where's her mother, anyway?

"Well, not too long ago, some people hurt her… so bad that she can never come home.  She's…" Not sure what to say now, Charlie's eyes looked at the winter sky.

"She's an angel, isn't she?"

Charlie nodded.  "Yeah… she's an angel."

The little girl stepped up to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.  "I have a sister who's an angel, too.  She saved me when I was little."

In the distance, Charlie heard someone repeating a name.  "Angela!  Angela, where'd you go?"

"That you?" he asked the girl.

"Yep, that's me… should probably get back to my mom.  Bye, Charlie."  Angela released him and raced off to the other side of the park before Charlie had time to wonder how she knew his name. 

Thoughts of the little one were pushed away as Charlie looked at his watch… and realized that he had been lost in the memory far longer than he'd thought.  It was nearly 3pm already, and he had things to do.  Charlie pushed the memory of the morgue to the same corner of his mind that held everything else he'd seen today and tried to build a wall around it; he'd deal with it later.  After his hands had stopped shaking, he moved across the street to a payphone and called for a taxi.  He had a funeral to plan – again.

It took another three hours to get through the details with the funeral director, working out everything except when and where the funeral would be.  Charlie would call the Reverend after he was informed as to what date the morgue would release his sister's body.  So… the timing had to wait, but everything else… he could do that now.  He had to; there wasn't anyone else.  He arranged to have Deena buried next to their mother, morbidly wondering if he shouldn't just buy a plot for himself while he was at it.  Then, he shook off the thought, finalized the plans and left, not bothering to answer the cell phone clipped to his belt – which, while in vibrate mode, had been ringing almost constantly for the past hour.

Stopping by a gas station a short walk later, Charlie bought a small tablet of writing paper, a pen and a few envelopes, a plan already forming in his mind.  There was only one thing he could do now to keep his friends safe.  He walked a few more blocks to the nearest library branch, walked inside and found a desk.  Sitting, he removed one of the envelopes from the grocery bag and on it, wrote two simple words: "President Bartlet."