| Subject: Chapter 257 - Part 2 (end of chapter 257) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Wednesday, October 18, 07:13:37am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark" on Monday, May 01, 06:55:47am
It was because of this utter lack of focus that he didn't notice the man walking toward him, didn't hear or see him, until it was nearly too late; the snow which had fallen back in the previously-cleared pathways didn't account for his distraction. He spun around, as the last footstep approached behind him, was relieved to see his trainer instead of Ackerman. But that was before he saw the look on the man's face. Wherever this was going, it clearly wasn't going to be good.
He moved with his trainer, at the man's silent request, over into the deeper shadows of the building, near where the piles of snow had been pushed to clear the recruits' path--the barrack's overhang now blocking out much of the base's light; they weren't exactly hiding, anyone passing seeing a conference between a trainer and student. But they clearly didn't wish to be remembered.
Simmons' eyes were serious, as he handed an envelope over, his voice quite low. "Let's get two things clear, Samuelle." Michael nodded formally, waiting to see where this went. "I don't know how the hell this letter made its way to me, and I don't know why it needed to be so secretive. All I care about is that you keep it hidden and that you don't use me like this again." His gaze made the rest of his point clear. Simply because of age, status, and family background, Michael had already been given a great many privileges just to be here and not be in far greater trouble. His colonel would only back him so far. For some things, he was clearly on his own.
The actor nodded at all this, giving only a soft, "Thank you, sir," in response. One of Simmons' eyebrows rose, questioning the title, when this moment was so obviously off-the-record, but Michael's gaze was level. Whatever the man had been roped into, he had done him a favor. He would respect him for having gone so far.
The moment broke after this, Michael moving inside the barracks, while Simmons walked off into the night. While they were not friends, mutual respect had made them allies. But such respect would not cover for the actor again.
This fact was settled, Michael's heart thumping heavily, as he went into the bathroom, taking out the envelope. In here, he could remain undetected, would hear any of his comrades before they saw him, were they to return--whereas, sitting on his cot, he would be an open target. It was clearly necessary. Any letter which was delivered to him like this wasn't meant for public knowledge.
There was no hint on the envelope of who had sent the message; even his name wasn't on it, its method of delivery quite secretive. He opened it up, taking out its contents cautiously--only one detail certain. Nothing which arrived like this would contain anything like good news.
He was right, Adrian's stationery--the kind he had received his last letter from his wife on, as well as more than one letter, back in the brief time when he and Nikita had been exchanging supposedly secret messages at the studio--greeting him. Its contents only confirmed his theory--but he barely needed to see it to be sure. Of all the people he knew, only Adrian and Mr. Jones could manage this; even Helmut would probably have left more trace--and Madeline wouldn't have bothered, could find other ways to torment him. He was just glad that his grandmother-in-law was, generally, on their side. Otherwise . . .
It wouldn't do to think into this now. The letter read:
Michael,
I'm sure you understand why this letter is being sent to you this way; you're bright enough to know who it's from, as well. I won't try your patience. There are events happening here which you need to know about. N. has already made it clear that she hasn't told you everything.
M.'s attack today wasn't the first. There have been a thousand different attempts. The fact that she tried the sandbag today only shows how desperate she's becoming. With every passing day, your child becomes a bit more obvious to the world around us. She clearly wants to be certain that it's destroyed, before there's no way to hide it anymore. Anything else would only bring N. more sympathy, if she succeeded.
N. is now eating only what I bring her to the studio; I've recruited my driver as a guard over its contents. Anything N. has on set, otherwise, isn't safe. M. has proved this more often than I can remember.
I know that the fact that she's becoming so obvious in her attempts is worrying, but the fact that this latest one has failed should be mildly encouraging. She can't try such a thing too often without drawing unwanted outside attention and support for N. What we have to be concerned with now is getting her ankle healed quickly enough to avoid any further attempts to channel her over to C.
I'll be handling this, so try not to worry about it; just give N. your usual support. The only problem is that M. has now put her on a much more grueling schedule in hopes of taxing her ankle so much that it has no time to heal, thereby trying to force her over to C. You should be thankful to Shears. It's only through a thousand different machinations he's put together that she's managed to make it through this far.
Still, as serious as all of this is, none of it's where my real concerns lie. N. didn't tell you the real reason she's staying with me. There's a fear that she's being watched, that someone was outside your house the other night. Until she has some method of protection there, she can't go home. That's why I needed to contact you this way.
I'm sure you understand the situation. Not only is this about N.'s comfort, but the public will soon start to wonder what's happening--M. will make sure of it--if she spends too many nights away from home. The columns alone would kill her. A pregnant war wife is always at her most endangered.
As much as part of me would like N. here to look after her, we have to get her home--and fast. By the time you receive this, there may already be rumors in the press. You can't write back to her quickly enough to help her out.
I have connections to some people who can look after her--one in particular who I think will be acceptable. He's a good man, whatever his family connections. His name is Fredericks. If you encourage her, N. will hire him. It won't go the same way as last time.
I know that, in some ways, this is a risky path--and I understand that it goes against the grain to have another man protecting her, while you're gone. But without that protection, N. is in grave danger--from M., the public, and all the other forces in her life. Fredericks isn't married yet, but it can be arranged, to keep up appearances. He's willing to go through with it--to move into your house as a couple to look after her--in order to protect N. His family owes me a favor.
You have to encourage her to do this, Michael. I can't stress that enough. Without someone there to watch over her, someone who hopefully won't be questioned too thoroughly by the public, she's in more danger than either of us could ever hope to protect her from. You have to encourage her *now*. There's no more time to waste.
Look after yourself. With your encouragement to her, we'll watch over N.
A.
Jesus. Michael's heart was pounding by the time he finished reading, his mind racing over how quickly he could write back to his wife. As little as he liked the idea of a new guardian, he was forced to trust Adrian. Only she had the connections they needed in order to get them out of this.
He heard some of the others arriving back from supper, put the letter away quickly. Once he had the opportunity, he would slip away for a quiet smoke, would burn the message, mixing its ashes into a snow pile to hopefully be lost for good. While he never usually smoked--the habit less than interesting to him, given the fact that most of his youthful tormentors tended to reek of the stuff--he hoped to be able to do so unquestioned soon; keeping warm in this weather would have to be reason enough. This was definitely a letter he never wanted the world to be able to see.
This plan was for the future, however; for now, he moved out to his cot, gathering his supplies to begin to write. Adrian was right; almost an entire week had passed since Nikita had sent her last letter to him--the probable time of this missive, as well. If the gossips weren't already making unpleasant hints about his wife's time away from home, they would be soon. As little as he liked it, she would need someone there to look after her.
He put away his own needs just now, wouldn't think about the torment this letter had brought him--about all the terrible emotions it had stirred. That his wife was suffering so much more than he had suspected was appalling; his head shook slightly. But there was nothing for him to do about this now. He had to protect her, in the only way he currently could. Unlikely as it seemed, maybe if he knew that *someone* was looking after her, he could rest more easily tonight.
[End of Part 257]
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