Chapter Twelve
"Hey, Christine…how are you?"
Christine rubbed her eyes. She wasn't planning on picking up the phone, but the third time Meg called, she knew that it must have been something important.
"Hey Meg," a yawn into the receiver, "Sorry, is everything okay?"
"Um," Her voice sounded strange, "Have you made it to Mrs Valery's house?"
She paused for a moment and slowly replied, "Yeah, uh, yesterday…wait is it Christmas now? What time is it?"
"It's about five AM. Christine, I need you to know that if you need me to make a trip to Baltimore today that I will. Mom will understand. I just don't want you to be alone today."
Christine sat up in her bed, a sick feeling beginning to weave its way into her stomach. It was Christmas. Christmas was no longer a good thing.
"What's going on Meg?" she asked quietly.
"It hasn't been reported yet. I only knew because I was already up late and got a text from someone at the Harold who thought I knew him."
"What is it?" she repeated, her voice trailing away.
"It's Raoul. He's…he's dead."
Her vision began to get foggy, not with tears, but with adrenaline, "What?"
"He drowned, Christine. He was drinking by the ocean and passed out and the tide rose before anyone could find him. Christine, I'm so sorry. I just wanted you to know before it was announced."
"You can't…you can't be serious." Her mouth was drying up and she felt herself begin to choke. "How does that…Does that even really happen?"
"Do you want me to come up there? I'll start driving now, just give me the address."
"No…no, no, no, Meg you can't be…" The voice coming from her lips didn't sound at all like hers, "You can't be…"
"Do you want to wake Mrs Valery? I keep talking for as long as you want, I promise. I just don't want you to be-"
"No, Meg, no, I just, I just need to wrap my head around this. I need to…to think." A lump was growing in her throat. A huge terrible threatening lump, "We'll t-talk later. I just need to think."
"Are you sure-"
"Yes." She said almost through her teeth. "Sorry, I just need to be… I need to think about what I'm going to do."
"We'll figure it out, I promise we'll figure it all out."
"I need to- I need to go."
She didn't remember hanging up the phone. She didn't remember the sound that it made as it fell to the comforter. The world became so heavy that she had to move away from it, had to do something to escape it. Her feet found the floor, but she felt nothing. She needed to feel something. Anything. Wobbling her way to a small window that was near her front door, she put both her hands to it and finally felt the chilling cold. Snow and white covered everything and that same blanket covered her eyes.
Raoul was gone. Her job was gone. Her lover was gone. Everything she worked for would soon be gone. She would be expected to pick up all over again, to start all over again. So much gone in just a few words.
"Damn you." She hissed and finally yelled, "Damn you, you goddamn son of a bitch! You fucking asshole, you-" A scream broke through the air and finally she was on the floor in a mess of sobs. "Not again. Not again. No."
The small tiled entryway was cold and made her feeling return. She embraced the chill of the basement and lay there on the floor, taking in something beyond the emotional hurt that she felt. Hot tears covered her face and landed all around her in a small pool. She stayed this way for far longer than she could conceive and when she became conscious again, the sun was shining brightly through that little window and on to her face and there was knocking at her door.
XII
The knowledge that the idiot Peters drank himself straight into the ocean by accident made Erik beyond enraged.
"What do you mean it was a fucking accident? It would have been far more respectful if he had walked in the water to get run over by a goddam boat and spit out for fucking sharks! What an idiot!"
"He wasn't fit to be trusted," he heard Nadir remark over the phone's speaker, "Not even with his own life. This might be better for us. We are not so far from exposing Phillip and it's amazing he hasn't come onto us as much as we expected him to. With Raoul out of the way, it may help us remove him while he's distracted."
"No, they were never so close emotionally. Still, as neither of us celebrates this holiday and they're mourning we might be able to get ahead on our tasks. Regardless, make an order to send flowers to their residence as we are the first to find out. Leave a nice note as well. Something with the right amount of feeling."
"Right sir, anything else?"
"No, that will be all. Good work on getting this information. I'm going to work."
They ended the conversation there. As Erik did his real work underground and was thankful for days where he was unrestricted by time, he began to set a few larger financial traps for this component. Now that Raoul was out of the way, more things could be made public such as his alcoholism and his unethical spending towards personal pleasures and escorts. Phillip would be exposed for having known all of this and the public would lose trust in their once quiet future Vice President. Erik looked forward to having the otherwise silent man speak.
Eventually, his stomach began to rumble so loudly that it pulled him from his work. He hadn't remembered eating in at least a day and decided to make himself a sandwich from upstairs. The bright light that bounded over of all the snow was almost blinding even with his windows tinted from the inside. It might as well have been a hangover, but instead of letting that distract him, he pulled out a bottle of good brandy and poured a glass over ice before heading for the kitchen.
Turning on BBC news, he learned nothing new as he made his plain turkey sandwich on rye bread. There was nothing else in his refrigerator besides the turkey, some milk, yogurt, and a few eggs. He rolled his eyes. Fine food was a waste on him. Everything common and readily available tasted the same.
Flipping to NBC Washington, he began to find out what the rest of the city was just discovering. He watched as a news reporter he had never seen before spoke in an overly professional tone about the situation in Miami and what the family was planning to do with Raoul's estate and the like. The stock footage rolled to a speech Raoul had made during the last year, something about clean water for Pittsburg, and from the corner of the camera's view was a tired looking young blonde, wearing second-hand business attire.
Christine Gallagher.
"Dammit," he cursed under his breath as far too many negative thoughts of her insecurities and possible bursts of female passion came to mind.
Hardly making time to turn off the little television, he was suddenly grabbing a coat and heading out the door. Snow covered his feet and soaked his pant legs. He was not wearing boots. That was stupid. Hardly anyone had been outside around him so there were no footprints in the snow beside bird's feet and filled in prints from owners walking their dogs earlier that morning.
There were hardly any clouds in the sky which made the snow stand out even brighter than before. He didn't recall having grabbed his long fedora that covered his face but was happy for having done so as he pulled it down to shade his mask from any possible onlookers from the windows. Every so often the sound of Christmas music would drift out from the row houses as he trudged by. The noise made him sick. Holiday's were such a waste of time and money.
Sweaty from exertion in the snow, and soaked to the skin from not wearing proper snow attire, he found himself in front of a normal looking pale green two-story row house with a basement apartment door underneath. He trudged a little further, being sure to carefully make it down the few stone steps as the ice cycles that clung to the porch above dripped onto the little area in front of the doormat.
Shaking off the snow from his pants, he took a good peek at the normal looking door that had some paint flaking off from the corners. For a moment he wondered what he was doing there. He cleared his throat. He had to protect his investment, that was why. They still had a lesson lined up that night and her showing up with a sore throat and clogged airways from crying all day would not be acceptable.
With purpose, Underwood knocked on the door.
Nothing.
He knocked again and thought he heard a groan inside.
"Ms Gallagher open the door."
His words were followed by shuffling, finally, the door cracked open, a chain lock still over the opening, just above her dismal blue eyes.
"You look wretched." Erik snapped.
Gallagher's eyes may as well have been swollen shut, she wore a grey hoodie and purple sweat pants with no shoes, instead, thick fluffy red and blue striped socks covered her feet. Her hair was in knots and tangles, and makeup from the day before hadn't been removed before she found out the news because some black was smeared on her cheeks and the back of her hands. In recognizing him and his reaction to her state, she made attempts to remedy this, first brushing under her eyes to remove the makeup, then smoothing her hair as best she could manage. She took a quick breath to try and recover before speaking.
"What are you doing here?" she asked while continuing to do her minor physical alterations.
"I came to check on my investment. Clearly, you are abusing it."
"I'm not-" tears were beginning to form in her eyes and the lump in her throat was almost visible, "I'm not going to-to-"
Erik looked over at the ice build-up above his head as a droplet hit his forehead under the mask. He was no good with women's tears and spoke hastily, "Are you going to leave me out here, Ms Gallagher? What kind of manners are these?"
"I want to be alone." Came her hollow voice.
"Don't you want to find out why I came myself instead of sending someone here to check for me? It's not the best day to be taking walks."
"Our - whatever it is - is a secret. Why would anyone other than yourself need to check on me?"
"Ye of compact faith. And imagination. I decided to come here to distract you from making any more careless decisions. Throwing a political game your way wouldn't seem like a good alternative as it may have been yesterday, therefore, here I am."
"I don't want to talk." She spat.
"I imagine you've never been fond of that. Otherwise, your singing would be better." She was ready to speak, but he put a hand up, "I'm not leaving. Will you let me in? I admit my attire is not appropriate for these conditions."
She looked down to the floor for a second as if deciding. Finally, she looked up, "Will you order me a pizza?"
He laughed at the thought, "As if anywhere is open today!"
"Ch-Chinese then?" She quickly covered, "Will you order me Chinese?"
"You can't order it yourself?" He retorted.
She sighed and narrowed her eyes at him, "I'll let you in if you order me Chinese, deal?"
"We already had a deal-"
"My house. My deal."
"You're a renter."
"Fine!"
Underwood caught the door before it shut, "Let me in and I'll order whatever the hell you want."
Gallagher made a passively pleased sound, shut the door long enough to undo the chain and let him in. He passed by the mess of an apartment with clothing scattered in very specific piles across the room. Organized chaos, as one might call it. She looked around at everything as his eyes made a circle around the room. In haste, she grabbed a few select items and placed them behind her back. Despite the redness growing in her cheeks, she held her head high and defiant.
"I was in between folding laundry yesterday. I'm not normally like this." She pointed out with a dry mouth.
"You need to drink water."
"You need to order me Chinese."
They were at a standstill for hardly a moment when he finally pulled out his phone.
"Do you have a place of preference, Ms Gallagher?" he asked professionally, "I am unaccustomed to having to do such tasks myself."
"No. Just get me fried rice and orange chicken." He was ready to type in nearby delivery places when she added, "And sweet and sour soup." Readying to type he heard, "And a Sprite. Two Sprites and an egg roll. That's it."
"Are you certain?" He asked annoyed.
"A… an extra fortune cookie. In case the first one is bad."
Without words he looked her, daring for her to say something more, but when she didn't, he went to make the call the closest place he could find that was open on Christmas. He didn't understand a thing the woman said on the other line and switched to speaking Mandarin. When he was finished, she was sipping on water from a plastic cup that sported Teal colored polka dots. There was a part of him that wanted her to comment on the fact that he just ordered Chinese in a native Chinese language, but she did not.
"Where did you call to?"
"Some place called Good Danny's. It was the only place open willing to deliver in all of this."
She snorted into the cup, "I try to avoid that one. Raoul got a bloody chicken one time."
Her smile faded quickly and she set the cup down lightly on the small kitchen counter she had behind her. Her lip trembled and her eyes became teary. A painful broken inhale shook the air around her.
"Tell me the truth: Why did you come?" She asked keeping her eyes to the floor as her weight shifted to the countertop.
"I wanted to make sure you weren't making terrible decisions that would lead to following you ex-employer."
"You could have called." She whispered.
"I can't imagine you would have picked up."
Her eyes went up to his as he stood in the middle of her one-bedroom apartment, "What does it matter?"
"You matter. Why would you question one of the few people to say that so bluntly?"
She laughed cruelly, "Like you mean it. I'm just another investment. And I can't imagine how that's ever going to be any payback for you."
He half-heartedly laughed, "I think I prefer you when you're like this. You aren't so afraid and half-assed. Bound to make a good lesson later."
She pointed to herself, "I can't sing like this!"
"Not your decision."
She sighed and her voice tremored again, "Okay, look I'm not dead and I'm not doing anything stupid. I'm fine. So give me some space and I'll do my best to show up tonight."
"Is this you going back on your own bargain? I'm here until the Chinese comes."
They stood there for a few moments, none of them willing to let down until she sighed again.
"Fine. Fine! Okay, you win, again. Happy?"
"I have no feelings on the matter." He stated plainly, "Good business leaves out any and all emotion."
"Whatever. I'm going to watch something that doesn't ask me to think. You can stay here, but I don't want to talk."
He shrugged, "Save your voice. I will not push you."
"Good." She moved to the old torn couch and sat down with her computer, "Sit or something."
Underwood shrugged again and moved towards a two-chair corner table near the door that screamed aged second hand Ikea. Taking a seat in the uncomfortable plastic chair, he kept his phone out to keep reading news reports. Still, nothing new that he didn't already know. Many things were annoying based on the holiday and family and feeding people. How mundane.
Gallagher's headphones simi-noise cancelling were on, but every now and then, her eyes flickered up to meet his. As this happened often, she would immediately look back down to her screen with a huff. This young woman was incredibly distracting. She had so many emotions pulsing through her all at once and he was enjoying the show as it was much more interesting than the same dribble that happened every year on that day.
Eventually, she seemed to focus in on whatever was on her laptop and her eyes softened and relaxed. The glazed-lover look didn't last long and tears began to form, creating a glossy look to her blue eyes. Erik looked back at his phone when That started. The Chinese was sure to take a long time, but they had to come as he would be paying in cash and they wouldn't be getting anything without them showing. There was too much snow and as far as he knew they would be walking from where ever the hell they were located.
Quick movements from the corner of his eye caught him. She was wiping away tears now, and occasionally her nose. She was then leaving the computer and gaudy headphones behind to go to the kitchen for something to take the excess water away. She was somewhat out of sight as there was a little jut out of the wall that must have served as shelving space for the other side. The sound of a sniffle was heard and Erik couldn't help tensing up.
Why was he there? He didn't remember the trek from his house to this basement. He didn't even remember making any sort of conscious or logical decision to leave his home at all. And now she was crying with only a thin wall to separate him from her. He didn't deal well with any kind of human emotion, especially what resulted in women crying. There was no point to this. As honest as his claims had been, it wasn't like she was suicidal like her idiot ex-whatever. Raoul Peters, what an imbecile. What a goddam fucking idiot. And that was saying it nicely! He was given everything and he was the best at practically throwing it away to waste. He was born into luxury, hardly had to worry about gaining donors for his campaigns having grown up around free unjustified inherited wealth, was elected and did nothing of value, had whatever women he wanted, including a naive Christine, and he was so lacking in appreciation that he threw it all away to the damn ocean! Literally!
Knowing what he knew of the girl, whose cheap, but a one bedroom basement apartment of relative safe location, he sat in, it didn't click with him why in the world she would want a man like Peters. Despite his original ideas of her sleeping her way to the top of the office, she now appeared to truly care about him, whether that be lover or employer. He had been nothing like her, even cheating on her and drinking himself away from her and everyone else, but here she was mourning over him.
Underwood stood suddenly then took a few steps to the kitchen, still unable to see Gallagher.
"Why does Peters matter so much to you?" He asked through his teeth, the thought that she would throw everything away on a boring entitled frat boy who knew nothing of music brought him to stilled anger.
"You think you know everything, don't you?" she whispered and he took a silent step closer to catch whatever she said, to hear her breathe as an answer if necessary.
"I've told you not to underestimate me in that respect."
"That doesn't mean you understand, though. I worked so hard. I improved the entire office and that cleaned up his image." She laughed and the sound was dreadful, "The state of Pennsylvania should give me an award! You must know how much of a feat that was! I was going to set myself up with a good and respectable job that would last for at least another three years. And now- and now like everything else…" She finally yelled, "It's gone!"
Erik chose not to mention that she had just improperly used her voice. He was too interested in sucking out more information on what she was thinking. His follow up to her was quiet but clear, "You financial situation is secured with your employment to me. Nothing is gone." His visible eyebrow raised in retrospect, "Except for Peters, of course."
Gallagher's head poked around the wall. She looked awful. Red eyes. Red nose. Pale complexion. Blackness under her eyes. Her efforts at hiding this were failing, despite the tissue, she held in her hand to keep cleaning her face up.
"Are you so shallow to not understand what he meant to me? I was finally succeeding in something. I was finally doing well for me in something more than just-just general survival."
"Now you will succeed in something else." He noted casually as he crossed his arms.
"No, you'll succeed in something else if this whole stupid thing even works. It'll be for you, not me! Don't come here and act like you can fix someone like me. You have no idea! No idea about anything about me except that I'm fucking broken!"
Underwood's eyes narrowed in interest; not because she was shouting at him, but because she was speaking all of this properly and her voice flew and bounced all around the room with its power. While this was impressive, it occurred to him the reason for her being able to support the statement so well was that she completely believed it. As this was depressing, he did not believe in pity and therefore was unable to relate to her emotional self deprecation. He chose a different route to combat the situation. It would make the outcome he wanted harder to achieve, but he already knew he needed full quality from her, nothing but honest feeling through music. Her success was turning into a drug. He needed it and he couldn't figure out why.
"If you're so convinced that it's only for me, make it for you. You chose to be a god forsaken aid to the former Representative Peters, choose to do something for yourself besides long hours and hardly any real gain. If you want Pennsylvania to praise you do something they can never forget. Peters was a worthless task, you on the other hand can be far from words. If anything, this ought to make my offer more appealing. He'll never have to know, and you'll never have to know how your two week notice would have affected your shortfall of a relationship."
Immediately and as if she were twice herself, Gallagher snapped back, "How often are you in relationships Dr. Underwood? You think you know so much! As far as anyone knows, you've been a bachelor forever! Mask aside, I feel your wealth and power ought to be enough to draw in someone. So there must be some other issue that stands between you ever understanding how I could feel right now!"
Underwood must have growled or made some kind of unpleasant noise, because she shuttered as if struck with a cold wind and took a half step back into the kitchen, fear grew behind her tear-glossed eyes. He had seen this reaction before on others. She had made the mistake this time and when he took even the slightest step forward, it was obvious who was the real rival in the room.
"Want to know a secret, Ms. Gallagher? Are you prepared? I doubt you could be."
Oh, Good Danny's Chinese. That place was uh...yeah... but they were always open no matter what XD
Thoughts on the chapter? Review!