Chapter Thirteen

"Want to know a secret, Ms Gallagher? Are you prepared? I doubt you could be." She stood motionless, deaf of sound, like a deer before a sported hunter just short of a shot, "You know as well as I that marketing ploys are only so true, that what people need to believe for the greater good is not always what they choose to believe. Well here is a tip to my acting abilities as a politician. You see, Ms Gallagher, to say that I am so healed, so much that my past scars are simply blemishes to conceal, is all a political ploy for my image of hope and justice, but now that we are alone, I'll tell you an even deeper truth: there is a specific reason why no one in office mentions my mask, for if they do, their days on the hill will be shortly numbered. If you so much as dare to utter a single syllable that brings attention to this again, you will see the streets as a residence faster than you could even blink."

Sun shined through the gated back door that led out from her kitchen and made Christine Gallagher's golden hair shine brighter from behind. Almost like a halo…almost. It was hard to see her face as it was in shadow, but he had no doubt that his message had been understood in full. She had backed up into the sink behind her, her arms stretched out to keep her standing and it was evident that they held much of her weight. Breath flowed in and out of her mouth until she shook her head stiffly, wiping her eyes hastily with her hands.

"I…I didn't think."

"Irrefutably."

A long pause stood between them as if it were a being itself.

"I guess my track record is so much better." She said to the floor, "I dated Raoul Peters. It's not like that says anything. He dated-or something- everyone. I am not innocent of this. I feel like…I feel like if I had stayed completely single that I wouldn't be nearly as upset right now. I mean…I would still be…I am…I don't know.

"You would be a fool to deny it," He agreed coldly making her noticeably shiver and wince as the weight of his words struck.

"Right." A frustrated laugh came from her, "Where is that Chinese?" She tried to breathe through her nose and had to turn around for a way to wipe up what happened after. Erik took this opportunity to move back into the living room, even back to the window to look outside.

No one was outside, everyone was inside making their evening Christmas feasts or whatever people did on Christmas. Growing up, Erik experienced a lot of different Christmas's, even one misplaced attempt at Chanukah. No traditions would stick with him. His mind drifted and wondered what Ms Gallagher had grown up around. Did her father do anything? What was that like? Was she ever wealthy enough to actually receive anything?

Light steps padded hesitantly onto the carpeted floor from the kitchen. Erik kept his eyes to the little window, waiting to hear the sound of her taking her place on the couch again. When that didn't happen he turned around to see what Gallagher was doing. Nothing. She was just standing there, staring at the floor just in front of him. He knew nothing was there. What was she thinking?

Too many stupid questions. Time for a well-assumed assessment.

"You don't celebrate Christmas, Ms Gallagher."

"No," she replied quietly.

"I suppose most people who grow up in a single family have customs that they relate to. I never had that. Too many 'families,' too many cracked traditions."

"Both my mother and father died on Christmas…different years." The young woman replied evenly as if the thought never left her mind, "Mom had been working at a soup kitchen and was hit on the way home. So, we never celebrated, well, maybe we did, but I don't remember that far back. I only remember her not being there one morning. Then Dad not being there and a nurse trying to hand me some bear with a silly red hat on its head. Christmas can rot. Everyone celebrates some birth and all I get to think about is death. Now I have someone else I can add to that list. This date is cursed."

"I see." He chose not to go into that matter, to not encourage it, as he was not the soothing type of person for anyone, "I suppose eating cheap rotting Chinese food is as good as any holiday. But only once a year in order to avoid health problems."

She laughed half-heartedly, "You don't eat Chinese much, do you? It tastes good even if it's terrible."

"Correction: I do not eat Chinese food with less than five stars attached to the rating. I prefer to keep tabs on what I ingest. That bloody chicken might have been a cat. Or an opossum."

"Poor cat. Or opossum."

Erik looked at her further. She stood tall, but not straight. There was still a great burden on her shoulders. Still, there was a light that shined in from the sun to the snow that burst through the window and landed lightly on her face. A simple smile lay there, just simple enough that it lightly reached her eyes just enough to be genuine. There was hope there, most importantly, there was perseverance. Suddenly, Erik realized exactly why he was there, why he had felt such a need to see her so early in the day. He had found just what he needed in her right there as she stood with one hand clasp lightly just above her hanging opposite arm.

They were survivors. She didn't need him there, she would have discovered this revelation without him, but he wanted to see it happen, he needed to see the exact realistic transition from turmoil to triumph. She had what he needed from her, she had exactly what needed to happen to go beyond anything she ever stepped on when her family died, and there was something about the light glow that lay on her that settled his own inner mixed workings. She wouldn't see it, maybe not for a long time, but they would be good for each other. In some way or another, they would work out just fine.

XIII

Erik followed through with his word and stayed with Christine until the Chinese arrived. Granted, it took over two hours for it to finally get there and of course she had to make a plate to put into the microwave to force it to be anywhere close to redeemable Chinese. For a while, the two of them didn't say much. She had told him that she needed to start answering emails and he mused over needing to do the same thing. As he sat at the corner table and her on the far end of the sofa, Christine found the silence between them was not as uncomfortable as she thought it would be. Eventually, kids were heard playing on the snow outside and the sounds covered the previous noise of tapping on a keyboard.

It was easy enough to simply paste one canned email from one field to the next. People were contacting her from the office, asking what they would do, sending each other condolences. She made sure to send an email out explaining all she knew what was happening and that it was possible for them to keep their positions for the next Congressman who would rise to take Raoul's space. Everyone was being very kind and respectful on the matter and she was amazed at the outpour from other aids who reached out to her on their holiday. She had never imagined she would ever possibly have so many people who cared about her or Raoul before this. It became easy to handle the situation without feelings as if it were simply another office email.

At one point she looked up from her screen and turned her eyes over to the man sitting on the far side of the little living space. She still couldn't believe that Erik Underwood was there. Was this really all about her voice? She thought about the strange unfortunate hard life he must have had, how it was so far away from what Raoul had and yet Raoul with all of his privilege was now dead.

Dead. What a solid, specific, and relentless word that she knew all too well. How many close people around her had died? She wondered who was next. Who was going to catch the Christine Gallagher disease next? Meg flashed into her mind and the thought chilled her core. She needed to talk to Meg again. Meg would surely be worrying about her and what in the world would she think if she ever found out that her only company that day would be from Erik Underwood.

Making a quick visual sweep of the room, she saw her phone dropped near the doorway of her bedroom. Once making it over to see the screen, she found five texts from Meg, one call, and a voicemail. She sighed thinking how thoughtless of a friend she had been to the only person who cared to connect with her beyond email.

Looking up, she found Underwood staring at her. His eyes must have held many thoughts behind them that she couldn't reach. Straightening up from the floor she asked, "I need to call someone. I haven't talked to her since five and she's probably worried."

He waved his hand in dismissal and it bothered her that it looked as if he were giving her permission even as she was simply trying to be polite. She imagined that he was used to having to give or take permission from others. The thought of being his aid made her cringe and she felt a special kind of sympathy for the man she had met the other day.

After closing the door to her room, she swiped her phone to call Meg. It only rang once.

"Christine, hon are you alright? I've been worried sick!"

"I know Meg, I'm sorry. I laid my phone down and didn't think to pick it back up."

There was a slight pause.

"Wow, you uh…" Meg sounded a bit off, "You sound a lot better. Are you feeling better?"

She was right. Her voice had cleared up and she was breathing steadily again.

"Considering everything, yeah, yeah I guess I am. I'm getting Chinese."

"Oh…Did Mrs Valery not cook anything?"

Christine realized her slip too late and bit her lip.

"Uh, no she is, I was just got hungry first and Chinese was faster."

A long sigh met her ears, "You're not really in Baltimore are you?"

She didn't answer immediately, the truth would be painful, but she knew better than to lie to Meg, "No Meg, I'm not."

"I was worried you were lying but I didn't want to believe it. And of all days to be alone!" Meg was yelling now, "When you didn't pick up or answer back I didn't know what to think!"

"Please don't be angry," She answered quietly, "I'm fine really."

"But you shouldn't be alone. Shit, I should have made you come with me!"

"But Meg, Meg I don't do Christmas. I just don't celebrate. I don't have family or anything or whatever so-"

"Christine, I am your family now, okay? God, what do I have to do to make you believe that?"

"I…" Her words cut her to her heart and the realization made her drop to her bed and put her elbows to her knees. She had forgotten what family was. "Thanks, Meg." Was all she managed to say.

"I just wish you would believe it." Her voice was low and hallow, "After everything and this past year…I thought you knew that."

"I'm sorry, I…it's just hard for me to think and…" She sighed, "I'm sorry. I suck at this."

"It's okay, just, just try not to act so strong around me. It's one thing on the hill and that's good, but it's just me, remember?"

"Yeah… Yeah, you're right." She said sadly, "I think I need a vacation. Or something. I don't know what I'm thinking anymore."

"You and me both. And coming to Annapolis with my mom isn't exactly a vacation. We should plan something nice and get away. A cruise or something where we don't get cell phone reception. That way no one can hold us responsible for not getting back to them in two hours."

"I can't even think of what that would be like."

"Me neither!"

The women laughed and it felt so good for Christine to have a simple positive release. Meg was right, they were family. She was all Christine knew now and the only person in the world she could ever really trust since her father died. Meg had been there all along and Christine could be such a bad friend sometimes.

"Meg, I'm going to try to be a better friend, okay?"

"Christine, you don't have to-"

"I mean it though. Seriously, you're the only person I have left. I'm not going to screw this up, I mean it."

"Well…" Meg laughed somewhat nervously, "Well, we'll take that vacation and be fine."

"Good. Good, I would like that a lot."

The sound of her doorbell made Christine turn around.

"Finally! The Chinese is here! I've got to go!"

Meg laughed, "Okay, well, call back if you need to. And you'd better answer every one of my texts today! Mom is already wound up and I need someone to vent to."

"Okay, I will, I promise. Bye Meg!"

"Take care, hon."

On her way out of the bedroom, her doorbell rang again. Erik was now on the opposite corner where he would be hidden from the man at the door once it was opened. He held out a fifty dollar bill to her as she came near.

"He can keep the change." He muttered.

The young man at the door gave her a filled bag of food and was all too excited over the big tip that was left. Christine noted that he may have walked ten blocks or more because of the snow and was grateful that Erik understood the value of tipping well. When she was back inside she looked back at Erik, wondering why he hadn't paid himself.

"No one needs to know I was here, do they?" he asked with crossed arms.

"I guess not." She looked at the plastic bag tied over the paper one inside then back at him, "Thanks for the Chinese. I think I'll have to reheat it though."

"More than likely. And now that you have it, I believe I shall depart. Our deal has been seen through."

"Right," he made no move to the door as she set the bag down on the table. They stood in awkward silence for a little while as each of them waiting on what the next one was going to do first. "Well, um," she started slowly, "Yeah, I'm going to eat now."

"Of course."

He still didn't move.

"Okay," she followed slowly, "So…"

Suddenly he was all business again, "Settle what you need to settle this afternoon, but our business for tonight remains the same. It that understood?"

"But-" the coldness in his eyes cut her off and she complied, "Okay. I'm going to sound-"

"I'll be the judge of that!" He snapped. For a moment he stood his ground but calmed his demeanor after that to say, "You should rest before then. Save the more strenuous duties for tomorrow."

"Thanks," she remarked dryly.

Underwood walked to the door and just before opening it he quietly noted, "You may want to consider being kinder to me now that I am your only source of income."

As soon as he said it, he was out of her door. Stunned, Christine stood in the middle of her living room. What weight those simple words had. He was right. He was so very, very right. Sure, she could get another job, live off of unemployment until that happened, but was that what she really wanted? At the same time, what if Underwood suddenly grew smart with this charade and did away with everything? If that was the case, she would simply have to save her funds. Collecting unemployment would be the first step as it would only require the paperwork. Then, she would save the money from Underwood, pack it away in case she ever needed to start over. Again.

Starting over…how many times would that need to happen? And Raoul, poor doting yet carefree Raoul was dead. Two of the men she ever truly wanted to be around in the future were gone. The tears started to swell in her eyes, but instead of letting them affect her further, she tore open the plastic and paper bags until she found the fried rice. Opening the paper box she plunged a plastic fork into the cold food and forced the fear away with each bite.

This would not be the end of anything. She wasn't willing to go back to living in an old musty car and showering at the YWCA for months as she went in and out of fruitless interviews. That was done. There was only forward from here.

XIII

"I've done what you've asked. I have more information that has been covered up in addition to information that has already been released. From here, all we need is for it to be released without us being attached to it."

Erik flipped through picture after picture of former Representative Peters as he had his arms around a new woman in each one. There were documents of bills that had gone sour, written complaints on his behavior and decisions all around his political career. Even a few pictures of him smoking and drinking by a beach with what looked like fraternity brothers and prostitutes. There were numbers, names, all of them women from the DC, New York, Pennsylvania, and a few other places. The final picture was of Tusk with him when he appeared to be younger than college, walking into a Parisian strip club.

"That one was when Raoul was seventeen." Doug said pointing at the photo, "It's an enlarged photo from a private investigator who was looking for someone else. They may not have been close, but this is very suspicious, if not disgraceful for the image he's set up. Secretary Peters has a very private life, this might be a reason why or at least a reason we could push."

"Well done Doug. Very well done." Erik looked up to his aid, "But you're right. We need to figure out a way to leak it."

The men were quiet for a moment as they thought.

"I know what to do." Erik finally said, "It will be leaked through Meg Barnes."

There was a slight pause.

"She's a young journalist for the Harold right? She was at the Kennedy Center."

"She's the one."

"How? Do you have a connection there?"

"We will build one. She is very young to be where she is, but her stories are not being taken seriously. For her to have such inside knowledge would allow her to move forward. She should not decline such an offer of information. If this works out as we intend, I foresee a good relationship with her in the future."

"And she will get this information how, exactly?"

Erik thought for a moment, finally cocking his head to the side and letting a sideways smile cross the visible side of his face.

"You will give her a copy of this folder."

"As in…she will meet with me?"

"Yes. You will call her tonight and will meet in the Anacostia Metro Station in an hour. Make it happen. Wear the typical garb."

"Understood. I will relay the message through the Source Two. Do you need anything else from me?"

"No, that will be all." Doug began to make his way out the door on his own before Erik added slyly, "Merry Christmas indeed, old friend."

Erik sneered and hung up the phone.