Rumors

by Phil M. Williams

  Gwen shoved her phone in her purse. Rick opened the door, and they left Gwen’s apartment, headed for the truck, and ultimately the football game. Inside his truck, as Rick cranked the engine, Gwen’s phone chimed.

  She removed her phone from her purse and glanced at the number.

  “Who is it?” Rick asked.

  “I don’t know,” Gwen replied. She swiped right. “Hello?”

  “This is Doris Ebersole. Is this Gwen?”

  “Oh, yes. Thank you so much for calling.”

  “I have somethin’ for you. You think you could come by?”

  “Sure. When?”

  “Now. My husband went to the football game, but I don’t know how long he’ll stay. It’s so cold out tonight.”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  Doris disconnected the call.

  Gwen looked at Rick. “We have to go to the Ebersoles.”

  Rick drove across town to the Ebersole farmhouse. The maples along the driveway were mostly barren, leafless monsters in the headlights. They parked close to the farmhouse. Mr. Ebersole’s truck wasn’t here. Neither was Greg’s Nissan 350Z. They exited Rick’s truck and stepped to the front door. A single overhead bulb lit the porch in a whitish glow. Gwen knocked on the door. Mrs. Ebersole answered immediately, stepping onto the porch.

  “Thank you for comin’,” she said.

  “Of course,” Gwen replied.

  Rick nodded.

  “I found this.” Mrs. Ebersole held up a small flash drive. “I searched his room while he was at work today. I think it’s what you’re lookin’ for.” She shook her head, her face blotchy, and her eyes bloodshot. “My niece opened it for me. I won’t tell youse what else we found on it. My son needs God, but …” She paused for a moment. “Well, you can take a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink.” She handed the flash drive to Gwen.

  They decided to forgo the game and to return to Gwen’s apartment to check the contents of the flash drive. On the way to Gwen’s, they passed the high school. West Lake was already up 21–0.

  Rick parked his truck in a visitor spot at her apartment, and they hurried up the stairs to Gwen’s place. They took off their coats and shoes and sat on the couch, Gwen opening her laptop. She slid the flash drive into the USB port. She double-clicked the drive, now looking at various labeled folders: Hard Core, Cum Shots, BBW, Gang Bang, Big Asses, Big Tits, Voyeur, Up Skirt, TNSILF, and School Shooting. “I see why Mrs. Ebersole was upset. What’s a TNSILF?”

  “I have no idea,” Rick replied.

  Gwen clicked on School Shooting, opening the folder. It was a very large video file, patched together from hallway cameras, documenting the chaos. No cameras were inside Gwen’s classroom. Initially, not much happened. Then, as others were alerted by texting hostages, the fear spread like a fever. Students and staff hurried down the hallways, headed for the exits. Some fast-walked, some jogged, and some sprinted as if their lives depended on it. Throughout most of the chaos, Lewis Phelps acted as the doorman to Gwen’s classroom, keeping students away from danger, and instructing them to exit the building.

  Janet Wilcox appeared on-screen, chaos still around her. She said something to Lewis, but there was no audio. Lewis said something. They went back and forth, then Lewis left. Janet took Lewis’s place in front of the classroom.

  “Pause it,” Rick said.

  Gwen paused the video.

  “What’s wrong with her hand? Her right hand.”

  Gwen squinted at the screen. “It looks like her sleeve’s pulled down.”

  “And she’s holding something.”

  “A folded piece of paper.”

  “That’s what it looks like.”

  “Let’s see what she does with it.” Gwen played the video.

  Gwen and Rick watched closely. A large group of students passed, then she didn’t have the paper anymore, and her sleeve was normal.

  “Shit,” Gwen said. “She waited for the kids to block her from the camera.”

  “Rewind it. Play that part again,” Rick replied.

  They watched it ten times, but the video didn’t show Janet slide Caleb’s essay under Gwen’s classroom door. It did show her holding a folded piece of paper, then not.

  “She copied it and put it under my door,” Gwen said. “That’s why she was holding it with her sleeve. She didn’t want her fingerprints on it. It would’ve been nice if it showed her sliding it under my door.”

  “This still helps you. What she did is consistent with your story. She’ll have to answer questions about that piece of paper. We need to get this out to the public.”

  “But it’s stolen footage.”

  “We could release it anonymously,” Rick said.

  “How do we do that?” Gwen asked.

  “I don’t know, but we could Google it.”

  “I’d have to edit the video down to the part with Janet. I don’t want Caleb’s death on the internet.”

  “Maybe you could circle the paper and the sleeve with a caption explaining what she’s doing, like John Madden did.”

  “Who’s John Madden?”

  Rick smiled. “He was an NFL broadcaster who died a few years ago. He used to draw on the screen, like a coach on a whiteboard.”

  “That’s a good idea because, if you don’t know what to look for, you probably wouldn’t notice it.”

  Rick’s phone pinged. He removed it from his pocket and glanced at the screen. “I just got a direct message from Shane on Facebook.” Rick tapped on his phone, retrieving the message. “He wants my email address. He says he wants to send me something.”

  “What do you think it is?”

  Rick still tapped on his phone. “I don’t know.” He set his phone on the coffee table. “I guess we’ll find out. I sent him my email.”

  “Do you think he deserves to go to prison?”

  “I don’t know. What he did was awful, but I don’t know. I wouldn’t wanna be the one making that decision.”

  “Me neither.” She stared at the paused video.

  “Did you wanna watch the rest of it?” Rick gestured to the screen.

  “I’d rather not relive it, if that’s okay.”

  “Of course.” Rick placed his hand on top of hers and squeezed.

  Gwen wanted to put the laptop on the coffee table and wrap her arms around him, and she would have, but he removed his hand, the signal now muddled.

  “Can you go back to Greg’s folders?”

  Gwen frowned. “The porn?”

  “Yeah, I wanna see ’em again. He had that weird acronym.”

  Gwen downsized the video and clicked to the folders.

  “TNSILF,” Rick said. “What is that?”

  “Should I open it?”

  “Type it into Google first. We may not wanna see what’s in it.”

  Gwen clicked on Google Chrome and typed TNSILF. The first listing was Tnsilc.org. It was a debt consolidation organization. “There’s nothing that makes sense.”

  “That’s strange. Open the folder.”

  Gwen went back to the folder and opened it. Tons of subfolders appeared. “Oh, my God.”

  Rick shook his head. “This is not good.”

  The folders were labeled with the names of female teachers and female students. Gwen hovered over her own name and clicked. A dozen thumbnail pictures appeared along with a video.

  “That piece of shit,” Rick said, his jaw clenched.

  Gwen held her breath as she clicked the first picture. It showed her backside in a pencil skirt. Gwen clicked through the pictures, feeling relief. They were creepy but nothing pornographic. Greg had taken pictures of her chest, her butt, her legs, her face, and a few whole-body pictures, but she was clothed. Thankfully, her work attire was conservative. The video was from Greg’s office. It showed Gwen walking away from him, then looking over her shoulder.

  “This is so weird,” Gwen said.

  “He’s a creep,” Rick replied.

  Gwen went b
ack to the list of teachers and students. “Janet’s on here.” She clicked her folder, and a deluge of images and videos appeared. There were at least a hundred thumbnails.

  “Jesus.”

  Gwen clicked on a picture and scrolled through. The images were much more inappropriate. Lots of shots of Janet’s large chest and cleavage. Even some under-the-table images that showed her uncrossed legs and her lacy underwear. Gwen put her hand to her chest. “He has students too.” Gwen clicked back to the folders. “There’s Ashlee Miles and Becca Ansel. I’ve had most of these girls in class.”

  “Me too,” Rick replied. “We have to send this to the police.”

  “But we shouldn’t even have this.”

  “We can mail it anonymously to Detective Strickland.”

  “But we have to get Greg out of school immediately,” Gwen said. “He’s around kids.”

  “What about his cell phone? I bet he’s using the one given to him by the school. All they have to do is confiscate it and search it. Then he’s done.”

  “Do you really think he leaves those images on his phone?”

  “Maybe the recent ones. Greg takes a lot of pictures, and, from the looks of it, he’s been doing it a long time. I can’t imagine he downloads and deletes those images every day.”

  “Maybe he uses his personal phone.”

  “Maybe, but he strikes me as a cheap guy,” Rick said. “Think about it. He has a decent job, but he still lives at home.”

  “If he notices that the flash drive’s gone, he’ll delete everything from his phone.”

  “We need to call someone immediately. The question is, who do we contact? Who can we trust?”

  “I’ll call Pruitt,” Gwen said. “I know he’s retired, but I trust him, and maybe he’ll contact Dr. Matthews.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  Gwen tapped the Principal Pruitt contact on her cell phone.

  “Hello?” Pruitt answered.

  “Principal Pruitt, this is Gwen Townsend.”

  “Please, Gwen, call me Don.”

  “Of course, … sorry.”

  “What can I do for you?” He sounded beaten and weary.

  “I was wondering if you could get a message to Dr. Matthews.”

  “I still have his number, but I doubt I have much influence, if this is about your situation.”

  “This isn’t about me. Greg Ebersole has been taking inappropriate pictures of female teachers and students in school.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Gwen paused. “I can’t say exactly, but I know for a fact that it’s true, and I think he’s using his school phone to take the pictures. Someone needs to take his phone and check it.”

  Pruitt sighed. “That place has turned into a three-ring circus. What the heck happened?”

  “I’m sorry that they pushed you out.”

  “Thanks, Gwen, but at least I have a pension. You need to worry about yourself. I’ll call Matthews and let him know.”

  “Thank you, Don.”

  “Take care of yourself, Gwen.” Pruitt disconnected the call.

  Gwen set her phone on the coffee table and breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s done.”

  “I think I figured out what TNSILF stands for,” Rick said. “Teachers and students I’d like to …”

  CHAPTER 109

  Rick and the Real Deal

  Gwen had stayed up late last night, editing the video and providing captions. Rick had fallen asleep on the couch. On Saturday morning, he let Gwen sleep in, while he mailed the flash drive to Detective Strickland. He’d left her a note, so she wouldn’t worry. He wiped off the flash drive with a cloth and a little glass cleaner, just enough to get rid of any fingerprints. He wore gloves throughout the process, never touching the flash drive, the envelope, or the stamps. He dropped the envelope into a blue mailbox near the grocery store.

  On the way back to Gwen’s, he had stopped off at his house and grabbed some clothes. They’d been practically living together for nearly a month, holding on to each other like human life rafts, figuratively of course. Literally, they’d barely touched each other, their relationship stuck in an odd limbo. When he returned to Gwen’s apartment, she was awake, sitting on her couch, her laptop on her thighs.

  “Good morning,” he said, putting his coat on the rack.

  “How’d it go?” she asked, still wearing her flannel pajamas.

  “Fine. I went by my house to get some clothes.” He held up his duffel bag, set it on the floor, and sat next to her on the couch.

  “You must be sick of sleeping on my couch.”

  “Do you want me to go home? Now that you have the video, you’re gonna get your job back. It’s just a matter of time.”

  “What about you?”

  He shrugged. “If you wanted me here because you needed someone, and I just happened to be the only one, I understand. I get it.” Rick looked away for a moment.

  Gwen put her laptop on the coffee table and turned her body toward Rick. “I thought we were friends.”

  “We are, … but we were thrown together by circumstances, and the circumstances might be changing for you.”

  “I don’t care about the circumstances. I care about you.” She reached out and touched his forearm. “We’re in this together, no matter what. Okay?”

  He nodded.

  She removed her hand.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, glancing at her laptop.

  “Trying to figure out how to post the video anonymously. I think if we use a VPN and post to a site that allows anonymous posts, we’ll be fine.”

  “What’s a VPN?”

  “A virtual private network. Basically, you sign on to the VPN, and it looks like you’re posting from another place. I was thinking we should leave the house and post in a public place as an added layer of anonymity.”

  “That’d be easy enough to do.”

  “Have you checked your email today?”

  “No, I left my phone when I went out. I know it’s probably crazy, but I didn’t want my phone giving away my location while I mailed the flash drive.”

  “I was just wondering if you received anything from Shane.”

  “Let’s see.” Rick stood from the couch and walked to the kitchen, where his phone charged on the counter. He returned to the couch, his phone in hand. He tapped his Gmail account and looked at Gwen, his expression serious as cancer. “I got something.” Rick opened an anonymous email, moving his phone toward Gwen, so she could get a better look. “This has to be from Shane.”

  From: Flavorflav13596@hotmail.com

  To: RickBarnett1212@gmail.com

  Subject: The Real Deal

  I posted these pictures on the West Lake Watchdog. You should put them on your page to. The Watchdog will delete them. I won’t tell you where I got them.

  Six images were attached. Rick clicked on the first image. It was the one that got him into hot water, the one with Ashlee kissing him in his doorway. Rick clicked on the next image. This one showed Rick pulling back from the kiss and pushing her away. The next two showed, just split seconds afterward, Rick’s arms fully extended, Ashlee on the porch now. The last two showed Rick slamming the door in Ashlee’s face.

  CHAPTER 110

  Janet and #BringBarnettBack

  Janet carried shopping bags from her car into her home. She took the bags upstairs. The door to Shane’s room was still shut. It was shut when she’d left this morning, and it was still shut at nearly one in the afternoon. They hadn’t spoken in four days, not since Shane had signed the plea deal. She went to her bedroom, placed her purse on her dresser and her shopping bags in her walk-in closet. As she hung up her new clothes, her phone chimed. She stepped to her purse, retrieved her phone, and swiped right.

  “Hello, Rachel,” Janet said.

  “Have you looked on Facebook today?” Rachel asked.

  “No, I was shopping at the Hershey Outlets.”

  “Someone posted pictures of Rick pushing awa
y Ashlee Miles, just like he said he did. Whoever posted it was obviously using a fake account.”

  Janet’s heart pounded; her stomach tumbled. “That’s impossible.”

  “It was on the Watchdog, but Heather deleted it.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Heather’s furious that everyone knows it’s Ashlee now. I’m sure Ashlee’s mortified.”

  Janet took a deep, cleansing breath. “That’s Rick’s fault.”

  “Heather thinks it’s your fault.”

  “My fault?” Janet’s voice went up an octave.

  “She thinks you took the pictures.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “That’s what I told her,” Rachel replied.

  “Well, I hope you set her straight.”

  “I tried, but she’s still upset. The pictures are still out there.”

  “I thought she deleted them?”

  “Now they’re on the Truth about West Lake.”

  “Did you file an abuse report?” Janet said.

  “I did, and I told everyone else to file reports too, but the pictures are still up. A few people didn’t even respond when I texted them about filing an abuse report. Facebook probably won’t do anything until Monday anyway.” Rachel sighed. “Most of the comments are still on our side, but some are against us now.”

  Janet shook her head. “Hold on. I’m going to my laptop to take a look.”

  She went downstairs to her home office, her cell phone in hand. Janet sat at her desk and powered on her laptop. She entered the password, Shane12. She needed to change that password. Twelve was his jersey number, but football was over for Shane. Unceremoniously over. Janet navigated to the Facebook page. She slammed the sides of her fists on her desktop, rattling the laptop. Shane. Why the fuck would he use his last few days to do this?

  “Are you okay?” Rachel asked, audible even though Janet’s cell sat on the desktop.

  The pictures were there, and they were authentic. Janet picked up her cell phone and said through gritted teeth, “I’m fine. I’m reading.”