The Press Room of the White House was packed with reporters and staffers and anyone who had been able to get a pass that day. Every seat was full, and the air was thick with held breaths and anxious fingers hovering over the "record" button on manual tapes and cell phones alike. It was a far cry from the usual hustle and bustle of a press conference— blue curtains tossed over graphs and maps from the day before, a microphone that whined with feedback because no one had come in early to check that the wires were properly configured. And anyone in the room could have heard a pin drop.
Silena Beauregard, Press Secretary to President Chiron Brunner, stepped up to the stand. She looked perfect, as always: hair neatly curled over her shoulders, minimal makeup expertly blended, dark red lipstick expertly applied. Over any of the many screens that aired the conference, not a single flaw would have been visible. No streaked mascara hidden underneath a layer of smooth pressed powder. No redness under the eyes, covered up by white eyeliner and green color corrector. No hollowness to the cheeks that couldn't be explained away by a particularly sharp contour.
She gripped the podium, sparkling engagement ring still catching the light as she looked down at her talking points. "Early this afternoon, about six hours ago, there was a… violent altercation as the President and his staff departed from a speaking engagement in Rosslyn, Virginia. The event was a discussion of police reforms. The Secret Service…" Silena paused, blue eyes glassy. She swallowed hard and continued. "The Secret Service successfully neutralized two armed shooters. Casualties… no, I'm sorry."
Normally, a murmur would have rippled through the press room. Silena Beauregard wasn't the type to make mistakes. But the room remained silent, save for the sound of her sharp intakes of breath as she pushed on with the statement.
"The Secret Service does not comment on procedure is the line that I've been told to give you, so I can't release to you details on the nature of that neutralization. I can confirm that the President is safe, as is the majority of the senior staff. Chief of Staff Ramirez-Arellano has been cleared to resume her duties as of yesterday, though she will be taking the rest of the day to recover and spend some time with family. She, the Communications Director, and the Deputy Communications Director will be covering Annabeth Chase's desk until Miss Chase is… I'm sorry." Silena held up a finger and clenched her jaws together, almost baring her teeth. It wasn't quite enough to cover up the fact that her chin was wobbling. "Until Miss Chase is able to resume her normal levels of activity. Any questions that you would normally direct to her shall instead go to them. According to the memo I was given, her secretary will forward the emails and calls accordingly." She looked out over the crowd of reporters, somehow looking right at each face she'd known over her years in the job and not at any of them at all. Her gaze was faraway, like she was seeing them but through a mirror or a kaleidoscope, their edges blurring. "Are there any questions?"
The body of reporters all shuffled their notes, each having been ordered to ask the same question and none of them willing to do so out loud. Finally, a reporter from the Post— Lacey, who'd only been promoted to fill up the seat in the press room for the week because the usual Hill reporter was away on assignment— spoke up. "How many casualties, and who were they?"
Silena looked up, eyes watering in a way that might have been the air conditioning or a spec of flaked-off mascara or might have been her whole world ending. "Two. An audience member named Bianca di Angelo was hit twice in the abdomen and once in the shoulder. She… passed, two hours ago at Sibley. The other…" She looked towards the door, looking for someone. For a moment, her expression was almost wild, until the HUD secretary (who was for some reason in the press room) caught her eye and gave her a measured nod. Silena continued. "The other casualty was Charlie— Charles—" her voice cracked, the words barely able to make their way past her trembling chin and shaky breath. "Charles Beckendorf."
The name was a gasp for air, a cry for help from a drowning victim with no one to answer it.
The room was silent.
Silena swallowed, hard, and kept going. Her tears flowed thick and freely now, leaving black stains down her cheeks as she choked the words out. "Former Secret Service agent, he was working independent security for— for the venue. He threw himself in front of the President, saving his former service partner and the President when the bullet hit him." She swiped at the mascara leaking down her face with the back of her hand. "He died a hero. Thank you, that's all."
Normally, the press room would have chattered with reporters leaving their seats, talking amongst themselves, trying to get Silena's attention. Not today. Everyone remained seated as Silena made her way to the door. Clarisse LaRue fell into step beside her, sliding an arm around her friend's waist.
"You're going to be okay," the HUD secretary murmured. "Just have to get to the door and let the vultures be on their way."
"I'm not," Silena protested. "I'm never going to be okay. Not after this."
"You are. Because you're too strong not to be. He loved that about you. Honor it— honor him." Clarisse walked Silena the rest of the way down the hall to her office.
"He made me strong," Silena said, vacant eyes trained on a photo on her desk. In it, she wore a pink dress, off-the-shoulder, and was nestled in Beckendorf's muscled arms, brand-new ring shining on her finger. The joy in her face then had been palpable, radiating out from the frame. "Without him, I'm not… I don't even know what I am now."
"Okay, bitch, no." Clarisse shook her head.
"You're a cabinet member," Silena hiccuped. "You can't say things like that."
"I've been your best friend since before you met him, and I've known you since you had braces. I can say whatever the hell I want." Clarisse crossed her arms. "Don't you dare say that you're not strong without him, or that he made you anything. He made you happy, yes. And I loved him for that. He was my friend, too. But don't you dare say that you're not anything without him. You're passionate and empathetic, and you care, and I know you probably feel like someone's cutting your heart out with a dull spoon. But that does not mean that you get to crumble."
"He was the love of my life." Silena slammed a flat palm down on her desk. "I don't just get to go on with my life. I don't want to just… what's the goddamn point?"
"What's the point?" Clarisse gestured at the office around them. "The point is that you're in the goddamn White House, and you care about policy, and you care about humanity, and you care about media literacy, and you did not get here on the merits of your relationship."
"I know. And I know deep down I still care, but I just… can't. Not right now. He's not even in the ground, and I just had to go out there, and… I can't, Clarisse. I just can't. It feels like it's my fault, and I was there and he's dead, and I— I called his name, when I heard the shots. He looked at me. What if the time he spent when he looked at me, he could have moved faster, he could have been okay? How do I just… go on?" Silena's voice cracked again.
Clarisse didn't hesitate, just folded her into her arms and held her while she cried. Eventually, the sobs gave way to small sniffles and Silena reached for a tissue, shoving her damp hair into a claw clip. She glanced in a mirror, blinked at the raw redness of her face.
"It's not your fault." Clarisse said firmly. "Nothing you could say or do could have made that happen. You said it yourself. He saved a life. Maybe more than one. He was a hero, and he knew what he signed up for when he joined the Service."
"You're wrong." Silena's eyes darkened, a sudden note of clarity forcing its way past the thickness of tears in her throat. "There is something."
"What?" Clarisse shook her head. "No. You couldn't have… what does that look mean?"
Silena already had her phone in her hand, was already dialing a number and holding the phone to her ear. "I'm done," she said, without greeting or preamble. "That was that, and there's no leverage left to keep me on your side. I quit."
On the other side of the desk, Clarisse sank down into a chair. "What," she asked quietly, "the fuck was that about?"
Silena drew in a shaky breath. "There's something I have to tell you."