Chance's Cruelty

Gretchen twisted the glinting silver knob, watching a rush of steaming water sputter and flow into the deep, porcelain tub. Taking a bath seemed much too normal for the situation, but they were safe in Fort Brydon, she had three hundred dollars, and, according to Evelyn, the world was ending. O'Connell had assured her that they would be getting out of Cairo, and so she trusted that they would--but she wasn't going anywhere until she had washed the desert dust from every crevice of her being. Waiting for the water to fill the tub, she glanced into the mirror and almost startled.

She looked like a mess, sure. She'd barely slept since the night before last. But...her face looked fuller. She unbuttoned her blouse in interest, tearing the grimy fabric away to notice her middle. She breathed a sigh of disappointment. Her ribs were still much too prominent, and her breasts were pathetically small. But she couldn't help thinking she looked...healthier. That would figure. A trip into the desert would leave most people worse for ware, but she looked better--or at least imagined she did. Gretchen supposed three meals a day steadily was bound to have that effect.

She glanced at the assortment of bath salts and oils on the counter, and turned her attention to them instead. Who knew bathing was such an art?

Pouring the perfumed bottles into the tub, Gretchen absently considered the professor. Chamberlain had paid her, as promised, and said he was going to his office to try and sort out the present situation. He had been agitated, tense--but he had paid her, and so he wasn't her problem anymore. She had politely kissed him goodbye and he had looked off towards the door, jingling the change in his pocket. She'd told him to stop by and see her anytime, and he had said he doubted that would ever happen.

Gretchen twisted the knob again, turning off the water. She slipped off the remainder of her clothing and eased into the tub, her skin crying out against the steaming pool. She gritted her teeth and sunk to the bottom, the water lapping against her collarbone lavishly. Just as she sunk her head under the water, her door burst open.

"There you are!"

Gretchen gasped, rubbing the water from her eyes to squint at Jonathan. She met his wide eyes for a split second before he glanced away, his face flushing in embarrassment.

"Sorry, love," he muttered. She snorted, reaching for a bottle labeled "shampoo."

"It's alright," she retorted through gritted teeth, hoping he would get the hint and leave. When he made no move to do so, she sighed, turning her attention to washing her hair. "So what's your problem?"

Jonathan scratched the back of his neck in agitation. "With all of this happening...with this...this mummy and all--where are you going to go?"

Gretchen's brow furrowed. That wasn't the usual, aimless kind of Jonathan question. "I don't know. Back to the States, I guess. Why?"

He shrugged, leaning stiffly against the sink. "It's just...well, it happens I just had a drink with your American friends, and they said no boats leave until tomorrow, but, love, that's not the half of it--"

She sat up, curiosity pricking her senses. "What's the matter, Jon?"

"It's here, love. The mummy. I saw it."

Gretchen met his eyes, and noticed a fearful desperation that seemed so foreign in his usually carefree depths. She swallowed uneasily, her fingers pausing in the sudsy tangles of her hair.

"It killed Mr. Burns, it--Gretchen, it sucked him dry. Just as the curse said."

She breathed a heavy sigh. Everything seemed so very...surreal. And, while Gretchen wasn't about to think that every other person on this damned trip was crazy, she was having trouble conceptualizing what they had told her. A part of her just couldn't quite believe all of this was true because she hadn't personally witnessed any of it. And, while she didn't really want to see the horrors of this...risen mummy, she couldn't help the skeptical persistence of her mind.

"I just...I wanted to make sure you were alright," he swallowed, his cheeks a little brighter for his words. "I'm sorry. None of this seems to phase O'Connell or the other men. I must just be a coward, I suppose. But I had to be sure we'd lost no one else to it." He glanced away, back towards the main room. "Where's the good professor, by the way?"

Gretchen shrugged. "He left. Said he was going to his office or something. He paid."

Jonathan's eyebrows jerked up suddenly. His previous anxiety seemed to melt into dirtier concerns. "Oh, did he?"

She held back a smile. "Yes, he did."

A slow, devilish smirk began to tug up the corner of his lips. "You know, love, what with it being the end of the world and all--"

Gretchen sighed, holding up her pointer finger and slipping beneath the surface of the water. When she sat up again, the foam was rinsed out of her locks. Smiling, she motioned him closer. Jonathan grinned, slipping off his dress coat and leaning over the tub. He leaned his forehead against hers, staring thoughtfully into her eyes.

"I want you to know, love, that I don't think of this as a sort of business exchange."

She frowned, glancing away from him. "You're broke."

He sighed, his breath hot like the steam of the bath on her face. "No, Gretchen. I-I rather...fancy you."

Gretchen pressed her lips into a tight line, snorting tersely. "Then fancy me enough to pay me."

"God, Gretchen," Jonathan breathed, his tone tight with frustration. "Can't you simply make love to me and let it be all?"

She opened her mouth to respond, but a heavy knock on the door interceded. Jonathan straightened, taking a few steps away from the tub as the door swung open. O'Connell's wide eyes glanced between them before he turned to the side awkwardly.

"Jeeze, sorry," he mumbled, staring stubbornly at the floor. "I didn't-- Evelyn wants everyone in her, uh, uh, hotel room to talk all this over. So, get there when you're...dressed and, uh, satisfied..."

He strode quickly out of the doorway. Gretchen cautiously looked up at Jonathan.

"I'll meet you there."

He bobbled his head difficultly, turning to leave. He glanced back at her, once, "You don't have to be for sale all the time." His gaze slipped to the floor, and he took a breath before looking at her again. "You're a person, you know...a person. And I...I see it, even if you'd rather not."

She sighed, closing her eyes against his words. She heard his hurried footsteps, and the door close. Gretchen rubbed her temple, her mind tangled up in confusion. She should have never went to the bar that afternoon. This whole thing could have been avoided--or, at the very least, she wouldn't have to be mixed up in it.

Pulling herself out of the tub, she forcibly rolled her eyes at Jonathan Carnahan's antics. He "fancied" her--sure. And she was supposed to believe that now. Jonathan was just a hound--he wanted a good time however he could get it. And, generally speaking, that was fine with Gretchen. He'd been trying to sneak in his time with her since he'd seen her on the boat because he was horny--and that was perfect for her, any other time. But this now--pretending to care, invoking the precarious situation they were in--this was just...annoying. Deceptive. Unfair. She didn't need this. Because when everything was over--whatever was about to happen--and they were left, or one or both of them was dead, it would just be empty, like everything else. And she didn't need him making her think she did matter to him when the simple, disappointing truth was, they were in danger and he needed some way to feel like a man, in control. He didn't have the balls to be like O'Connell, so he needed her to scream his name and make him think he was up to snuff.

Gretchen tried to shake the thoughts from her head, examining her clothes in disgust. Now that she was clean, the sweaty, dusty fabric seemed especially unappealing. Running her tongue over her lips, she scanned the bathroom hopelessly. A fluffly, white robe hanging on the door caught her interest. With a shrug, she put it on, grabbing a comb from the array on the sink. She raked it through her hair impatiently, figuring that she should probably be at this "meeting" in Evelyn's room.

She examined herself a final time in the mirror before reluctantly grabbing her grimy sandals and rushing out of her room. Down the hall, raised voices echoed from the door. Gretchen knocked, and Jonathan let her in without looking at her.

"Why aren't you dressed?" Daniels' demanded, leaning back in his chair. She blinked.

"I don't have anything--"

Evelyn grabbed her hand. "You can borrow something of mine. But we've got to hurry."

Gretchen allowed herself to be dragged to the bedroom, confused. "What are we doing?"

The opposite woman shut the doors primly behind her, opening one of her dresser drawers. "We're going to the Museum of Antiquities. My employer knows everything about ancient Egypt, and I'm hoping he will have some answers."

She pulled out a thin, white blouse, holding it up thoughtfully. "Hm. I think you're a little smaller than me."

"That'll work," Gretchen responded readily, reaching for the clothing article. She untied her robe, slipping the blouse over her body. Evelyn cleared her throat quietly.

"Wouldn't you like some, uh, personals, perhaps?"

For the first time in a while, Gretchen felt her face flush. "Yeah, I guess that would be good."

Evelyn dug through the drawer, handing her a slip. Her eyes stayed intently focused on finding more clothing as Gretchen got dressed.

"Here."

She held a small, black skirt at arm's length, still consumed with her rummaging. "I don't know if it will fit, but it has a belt on it--"

"It's fine," Gretchen reassured her, pulling it on. "We should go."

Evelyn sighed, her head declining in a quick little nod. "Yes."

Her eyes seemed to be expecting something, and the prostitute swallowed uneasily. It seemed ironic, considering the fact that the Englishwoman's curiosity had just released the killing force of an ancient curse. But, all things aside, she figured it was still appropriate:

"Thank you."

Evelyn swallowed, looking down at the floor. Lines of worry strained her pretty face. "You're quite welcome."

Gretchen ran her tongue over her lips, touching her damp hair thoughtfully. "Yeah."

Before another odd moment could pass, Evelyn opened the doors and prodded her out of the room. The museum, she assured her, was only a ten minute walk away.