The Capitol Subway was one of D.C.’s many secrets that everyone knew about. By strictly limiting subway access to Senate members, staff, and relatives, it made it unknown to the American public. It connected the three buildings around the Capitol, where the Senators’ offices were located, underground.

Professor Wynter was not a member of the Senate, nor was he an employee or relative of a U.S. Senator. He was on this train to the Russell Building because he was the guest of the Honorable Senator Williams of Virginia. Across from him in the cramped cabin was Williams’ aide, a soft-spoken African-American giant with a shaved head. Wynter couldn’t guess the man’s age, which made him uneasy, given that his job was to fight the entropy of the human body. He smiled at the man.

“Can you tell me what this is all about?”

Since his arrival at the airport, the giant had ignored all of his questions. Even now, he looked at him, then replied, to Wynter’s surprise, “Senator Williams has instructed me to bring you to him.”

Wynter nodded. “I see.” He took a Cohiba from the inside pocket of his cashmere coat. The black man looked at him again.

“No smoking in here.” Wynter shrugged and apologized.

“I see,” he replied with a sigh and put the cigar back in his pocket.

***

Senator Williams’ office was a perfect reflection of his lifestyle. It showcased tasteful yet meticulous design elements, presenting both style and power.

“Professor Wynter!” The Senator greeted him.

“Senator,” he replied. The Senator waved him off.

“Call me Dick!”

“Okay, Dick.” Wynter liked him right away.

“What would you like to drink? Bourbon? Scotch?”

“Bourbon’s fine. With a little ice, please.”

“Coming right up.”

The Senator made the drink and handed it to him. They clinked glasses in silence and drank. Williams’ eyes were tired. The bags under them were a darker shade than his otherwise energetic face.

“Listen, Professor,” the senator began. “Let’s get to the point.” He loosened his tie before continuing. “It’s about my daughter, Katherine.”

“I’ve heard about that. I’m sorry.”

“You know, Professor...”

“Erich...”

“What?”

“If you want me to call you Dick, then I’d like you to call me Erich.”

“Very well, then, Erich. I appreciate your compassion, but I’m sick and tired of having well-meaning compassion shoved up my ass from all sides!” He paused.

“Sick of it!” He slammed the empty glass down on his desk so hard that a few ice cubes flew up like rocks from a volcano.
“That wasn’t my intention,” Wynter stated, but the Senator raised his hand.

“I know! I apologize for the outburst. I just want to do something about my daughter’s condition.”

“Of course.”

“You see, that’s why I sent for you.”

Wynter cleared his throat.

He knew what this was about.

“Listen, Dick. I’ll say it again: I told you last time …”

The Senator stepped out from behind his desk, sat down on the desk in front of Wynter, and tilted his head to the side. A wicked smile spread across his face. It was the grin of a man who knew he was about to do something he or others would come to regret. Wynter tasted sweat on his upper lip. The Senator reached behind him.

A cough escaped Wynter. Was the Senator holding him responsible for his daughter’s condition? He shouldn’t be held accountable! The Senator offered something. Wynter shut his eyes. Upon opening his eyes, he let out a breath of relief at the sight of what Williams was holding.

It was a file. The Senator handed it to him without a word. Wynter opened the first page and read. Once, twice, three times.

“Are you serious?” he demanded, looking at the senator in astonishment.

Once again, Williams tilted his head to the side. He returned the sinister grin to his face.

“Am I not to be taken seriously, Erich?” Wynter nodded. He took this man very seriously. Anyone who doesn’t will regret it. Bitter regrets.

“But how do you plan to do it? The consequences will be grave if this information is made public.

“I’ll take care of it, Professor.”

The formal salutation indicated that the confidential conversation was over. The Senator returned to his study, a tasteful yet meticulous space, stylish yet cool. Wynter couldn’t resist admiring him. No. ›Admiration‹  wasn’t the appropriate term. It was fear.

His presence sent shivers down Wynter’s spine.

***

A month earlier, Andy had heard about Katherine’s plane crash while driving his car. As usual, he was listening to WBCM. A commercial aired. Advil enables a stressed-out mom to tolerate her son. He was about to change the station when the announcer read a news item.

We have just learned that billionaire Richard Baxter has died in the crash of his private jet. Besides the crew, his wife, former top model Katherine Williams, and their son, six-year-old Daniel Baxter, were on board. We have no information on whether Katherine Williams and her son survived the crash. We will keep you informed.

Andy reacted at first. He steered the car onto the shoulder, let it roll to a stop, and turned off the engine. Now and then, a car or truck passed him. The wind made the Saab shake. The shock absorbers will need to be replaced soon. He had wanted to take it in for over half a year. But then it happened to Fran. She...

She died.

If you can’t say it, at least think it, and do it.

“Don’t call me that,” he whispered to his dead wife.

“Please, not you too...”

(Hey, Shrink...)

Katherine. Katherine had always called him that.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

The last time was fourteen years ago.

***

Andy had heard the music before the elevator doors opened. ABBA’s song blared, filling half the block. He sighed.

Katherine was throwing another one of her parties. He was going to surprise her with his visit in the afternoon. It only took him two hours to get from New Haven to New York. Today, because of a serious accident on Interstate 95, it had taken four hours. They had intended to spend a quiet evening watching TV together. It’s inevitable for plans to alter when you’re with one of the most stunning women in the world.

The loft was lit. Dozens of people were standing around. Some he knew, some he didn’t. Coke was piled on the coffee table like baking flour for a dough. Disgusted, he shoved the mess aside and wiped some of it off the table with the bag he was carrying.

“Watch it, weirdo!” a tall beauty hissed at him.

“This is my place. If that’s okay,” he said, cutting her off.

The beauty noticed him. She stood up and used her finger to massage the rest of her line into her gums.

“You’re Andy, aren’t you?” she declared.

“Yes! And you’re Ella, right?”

He recognized her face from a poster in Times Square. She nodded. A deep sadness radiated from her eyes, contrasting with her pressed lips. “You shouldn’t be here, Andy.” You’d better go.

He looked at her, confused. Had she misunderstood him? After all, he lived here.

Ella held his gaze and placed her long, slender fingers on his shoulder.

“Please, you must leave! Right now! Believe me, it’s better this way.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked, but then stopped.

No way. She wouldn’t do that. She’s talking about...

“Kathy,” he said, pushing Ella’s hand away and standing up.

He strode toward the bedroom at the back of the loft, his and Kathy’s room.

***

This is not fair. After all, it always involves ...

Two, no, three bodies rolled onto the bed.

“Kathy?” he asked into the tangle of bodies.

“Bathroom,” one of the entangled groaned.

He ignored them and went to the bathroom.

***

The glass shattered.

He pushed the chair aside and squeezed through the opening.

A man sat on the edge of the bathtub. Katherine sat astride him, her spread legs pressed against the tiles. She had her back to Andy and couldn’t see him.

That he had broken down the door didn’t seem to bother them.

Andy opened his mouth to say something—maybe a simple “Hey”—but before he could, Kathy, his Kathy, looked at him over her shoulder.

That’s not fair.

Her long hair was covered in sweat.

Her cheeks were flushed. She smiled with rapture.

Not fair.

“Hey, shrink,” she grunted, “what are you doing here?” Fixated on him, her eyes remained locked. He was a pathetic sight.

She enjoyed seeing him react like that.

This is not fair.

He turned on his heel and opened the broken door.

He slammed the shattered door shut with all his might and left without a backward glance.

***

Ella entered and leaned on the bathroom door frame. She held a half-empty glass of champagne and ran her finger along the rim.

“He’s gone,” she said.

“Good,” Katherine replied, without looking at her.

“Hey, baby,” the man beneath her said, “I’m so good, you’re crying with joy already.”

Katherine wiped her face. She was. She cried.

The runny eyelashes gave her eyes the look of a sad raccoon.

She kissed the man she didn’t know an hour ago on the forehead.

“Just get on with it, okay?”

“Did you miss me?” the voice demanded. She smiled.

I wondered where you’d been.

***

The Saab shook again as a truck rumbled by.

The radio brought news: “We have just learned that Katherine Williams survived the crash of her husband Richard Baxter’s private jet with severe burns.”

Katherine. He was certain of it.

She’s alive. She’s alive.

“That’s not fair,” he said out loud.

“Not fair.” He punched the wheel with all his might.

“No fair! This isn’t fair! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Not fair!” He sobbed.

Why had that bitch survived while Fran hadn’t? I want to know why that is. Shouldn’t we uphold justice in this world?

The radio provided the answer: “It has also been confirmed that the son of Richard Baxter and Katherine Williams did not survive the crash.”

Andy paused.

Well, shrink? Happy now? She broke your heart. So what? Maybe you didn’t deserve her.

“No,” he said.

Neither did I, and you should ask yourself that question.

Have you not? You must have wondered why I stayed out in the bay. I’ll tell you why. It’s very simple.

“No! Don’t! Don’t say it!”

You … did … not … deserve … me!

“Oh God, my God!” he declared through his tears.

“God! Oh, God! No, oh God!” He repeated the words with conviction.

It was an unfinished prayer for his demons.