oh, mr president | H.S.

TWENTY SEVEN: Alibi

"Failure to accord credit to anyone for what he may have done is a great weakness in any man." - William H. Taft

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T W E N T Y S E V E N : Alibi

        The specialized team from the ambulance lifted her body from the tub, and into a cushioned gurney. Blood leaked out at the source, until the medics wrapped the wound up for the hospital to take care of the damage. They raced out of the apartment, leaving Niall to dial Charlotte and tell her the news.

        He heard her calm, unaffected voice answer. "Hey Ni. I'm sorry I'm late, I was trying toー"

        Ophelia's possible death was more important that whatever she was going to say, Niall knew that. He interrupted her, slashing into her reason. "O-Ophelia. . .she tried to kill herself in the t-tub, and and, h-her wrists were c-cut so deep!"

        If a person could hear the insides of a person's heart during heartbreaking news, Charlotte's would sound like a boulder slamming to the bottom of her stomach to cause her mental and metaphorical pain. She nearly dropped the phone from her hand, steadying her body unconsciously unstable to stand. Her best friend could die, and Charlotte played a monumental part in her death. The guilt was drowning her, and throwing her to the piranhas for a fast, and vicious disposal.

        "Where is she now?" Charlotte's knees flattened the carpet's fibers as she was breaking down beside her desk. She sniffled, and wiped moisture off her cheeks.

        "T-the medic said she's on the way to George Washington University Hospital," Niall replied queasily as he remembered Ophelia's split wrist. "I-I am going down there now with my m-men."

        "O-Okay," She hiccuped, "I-I'll tell H-Harry."

        Niall hung up the phone, and allowed the phone to go dead without a goodbye. He gathered his energy, snatching his blazer from the couch to adjust on his shoulders to restore his vice presidential appearance for America's people that had no clue what was transpiring. His men escorted him to the limousine parked in the rear of the building, and to the location of Ophelia's body.

        She could not move any faster than her legs were traveling through the west wing. Her bare feetーafter removing her heels that were a hindranceーstomped over the tile, through small spaces between individuals, and into the Oval Office's facility. The marine officer outside did not stop Charlotte; he recognized her and allowed her to press forward.

        Men of different uniforms and positions surrounded the president's desk in discussion. Some pointed and hovered over documents that were probably above Charlotte's clearance level, but that was not on her mind. Her surprise, and rather dramatic entrance straight out of a film caught their attention. Harry observed her devastating collection of tears and frowns on Charlotte's face and stood.

        "O-Ophelia tried to k-kill herself, Harry. N-Niall tried to go to my apartment to meet me there, and he went into her bedroom instead of mine, a-and found her!" The words could not leave the tip of her dry tongue without signaling her tear glands first. Her eyes leaked, and she became a mess all over again.

        She was a mess? Instantly, Harry collapsed to the hardwood below him, alerting the men around to seek his condition. It was as if a truck, weighing over five hundred tons, slammed into his chest at full speed. Fear was brewing inside, fear that he would lose the one woman he loved, and trusted more than any human being on the planet. His heart was convulsing, limbs shaking as his vision was no better. Two of the generals lifted the man to his feet.