by Paul Sating
"Just tired, that's all," Janis sighed, taking the opportunity the red light provided to rest her forehead against the back of her hands locked on the steering wheel. "Let's get back to the paper. I need to see Monica."
"You're not going to tell me, are you?"
"Tell you what?"
"About this box you were looking for," Angelique slapped her leg and frustration. "You know? The box you almost started a fight with your mother over? A fucking box."
Janis stared straight ahead, not even turning to check traffic as at the cross streets as she took off early through the light. Angelique grabbed the door handle out of instinct. Thankfully, no one decided to t-bone them.
"It's nothing," came the flat response from the driver who apparently hadn't noticed her own dangerous maneuver. "Just something I needed."
"For the story?" Angelique tried to keep the disbelief out of her voice.
"Yeah, for the story."
Angelique slouched now that she wasn't going to die in a traffic accident, pressing her head against the headrest, and looking away to the passing neighborhood, at the small homes where families spent evenings uncomfortably close to one another. But at least they had families. Janis didn't, and refused to understand just how precious it was to have a mother, even one who upset you at every turn. Angelique tried talking sense to her about the way she treated Pam a thousand times if not once without ever making progress. This time, it wasn't worth addressing the imbalanced behaviors, the memory of the argument at the Lamplighter still fresh. Best not to poke the tiger, or whatever the saying was.
Plus, with the way Janis was driving, Angelique would be lucky if she didn't kill her before they got back to The Times. There was no need to rush death along.
***
"Janis, are you getting sleep?"
Angelique groaned. She loved Monica but sometimes she had the subtlety of a razor blade. "Classy, Monica. Real classy."
Awareness registered in Monica's eyes. She blinked, detached. "I'm sorry, so sorry Janis, I didn't mean it like that."
Janis was looking down at her lap, fingering something on her pant leg. "I'm fine," she answered. "A little tired. Been staying late. But what else did you expect when you hired me?"
"Dedication," Monica perked her lips and winked, with a rare glint of personality in her eyes. "Drive. Determination. And a hell of a nose for a story."
Janis coughed a laugh, her head bobbing, still bent foward. "Thanks Monica. I'm fine, really. Just not feeling well today. Don't worry about me, okay? I'm on the story and I just had a great chat with the guy who found body number two."
"You did? Great!" Monica smiled.
Angelique pulled back, pausing a few seconds to gauge whether either woman had the awareness of the problematic comment. When no one said anything she did. "Body number two? See Monica? Everyone is already rubbing off on her."
Monica grimaced, waving away the comment as if she were swatting away an annoying gnat. "Don't get too close to the victims, Angelique. Don't ever get too close. If you do, they become humans and that's why stories like these will break you. Now you understand why I brought Janis in to do it, because it would destroy you."
"Thanks," came the absent reply from Janis.
Angelique's ears burned and she knew the conversation needed to change course before they pissed her off. "Yeah, well, just don't push her into the ground, okay? You don't want me to go mama–bear on your ass, do you?"
Monica's smirk was nearly indecipherable. "No, no. I still remember the last time you did that. I'll pass. Plus, I'm sure Janis knows when she needs to step back and catch her breath. She doesn't need me telling her that. Hey, listen, I almost forgot. Before we get too carried away," Monica rummaged around on her desk. When she didn't find what she was looking for she moved to the longer credenza lining the front wall of the office. "Damn, where did I put it? Hmmm, hang on. I had it right here. Now where ... ah! Here! Here you go. This came in about an hour ago. The mail room brought it up."
Monica held a manila envelope in her hand. It looked firm and clean, like it had been packaged downstairs and brought straight up, avoiding the US postal service altogether. She handed it to Janis.
"What is it?"
Monica shrugged dismissively. "I don't know. Fan mail?"
"Already?" Angelique doubted it, unease creeping in.
Janis flipped the package around in her hands, staring at it as if opening it was the last thing she wanted to do.
Unease became urgent trepidation. "Did you tell anyone you were working here?"
"No." Janis cut the package open, peering inside before reaching inside. Her confused expression turned dark even before she pulled the contents out. In her hand she held a small stack of pictures.
"What is it, honey?" Angelique asked, leaning closer.
Janis' eyes widened as she sat unmoving.
"Janis? Are you okay? Hand it over." Angelique reached across and took the stack of pictures. Janis' grip was weak, offering no resistance.
The pictures didn't make sense. There was no context to what she was looking at and the only thing recognizable in them was her friend. Someone was creeping on Janis? Why? "That's not cool."
Monica raced around her desk. "What is it?"
"Pictures," Angelique answered.
"Pictures?" Monica asked. "Of what?"
Angelique had no idea what the answer was, even though she had a good idea because Janis was dressed in the same outfit in those pictures that she now wore.
"This morning," Janis sat, unblinking. "Me. With Hector Ramirez, the guy who found the body. That's at the site where Margaret Chapman was killed."
Angelique dropped the pictures and crossed the small distance to hug Janis. The return hug was limp.
Someone had been watching Janis this morning.
She stroked Janis' hair in the silence, not sure what she could say. There was nothing to say right now.
A sick silence fell over the office as the three women tried to understand what this meant.
13
Night calls filled the world, though the sun would rise in a few hours.
Sleep was difficult.
Adrenaline, the fuel for the conscious.
Itch.
The desire to drive legacy was becoming undeniable, causing the pain again.
Wincing.
Slow breaths, calming the rampage.
Soon.
Very soon.
Tonight was about waiting.
Waiting for the fallout of what one corner of Memphis would discover tomorrow.
14
The world exploded to life with the harsh cackle of the alarm clock. Janis's eyes popped open, and she kicked off the suffocating sheet in a tangle of limbs and blended fabrics. "Let's do this," she moaned to the ceiling fan whoomping above her.
Monica had given her a few days off to process everything from the afternoon she received a mysterious package containing pictures of her and Hector Ramirez. She'd never been stalked before, not in a professional capacity. Almost every woman had the unnerving experience of an attentive creep on some level, whether during high school with a boy who didn't understand personal boundaries or as grown women had the pure displeasure of knowing too many grown men who should know better but didn't care to respect another's autonomy. Stupid men were easily dealt with, but something like this was new. Undefined. Distressful.
Something entirely different.
The mask she tried to wear around the office, the one that conveyed her devoted professionalism to a potential full-time employer, slipped the afternoon she received a package of pictures. She'd worked hard to land this opportunity and the mask had slipped because someone wanted to fuck with her. Regardless of the turmoil boiling inside, she needed to hold herself together.
The purposed behind taking those pictures was a mystery, and receiving them put everything at risk.
But she had to give Monica credit. There were a myriad of ways her boss could have responded.
Being harassed at and ultimately fired by the television station had left an indelible mark on her employment record within Memphis' media circles. It was small enough of a city that outrunning a scarred reputation was impossible. Monica knew of Janis' past and still showed support.
Kindness unlike she'd ever received, Janis spent days facing an internal turmoil completely foreign to her. She would repay Monica by giving her the story of a lifetime.
Angelique came around at least once each day. She played them off as social visits, updating Janis on office happenings, but Janis knew the truth. These were mental health check-ins. Still, it encouraged her to hear Monica was ready for her to come back to work whenever she felt up to it.
Exactly what she needed.
Because she was exhausted.
No matter how hard she tried to hide her quirks, they took their toll. Hiding them required energy she didn't always have to give.
The relief that she hadn't put her job in jeopardy by falling apart allowed Janis to be analytical. Where she met Hector Ramirez was located at the dead end of a gravel road. No through traffic. Anyone moving around the site would have been easily noticed.
Hector hadn't made mention of anyone and the jumpy cop never indicated something was amiss. To pull this off took skill and probably a perturbing level of practice.
From the backdrop of the pictures, whoever took them had been south of where she met Hector, across the railroad tracks. A thick group of trees on that side could easily provide cover, hiding anyone who wanted to remain hidden. And, if they had the right lens, taking discrete pictures wouldn't be a challenge.
But the mystery wasn't how her picture was taken, but why. Her brain played the cruel game of questioning the intended target, rationalizing that just because a package was sent to the paper, addressed to her, didn't mean she was the one being stalked. Self-desire drove her hope that Hector had enemies, but the facts contested that at every angle. A few of the pictures in the set featured her, and her alone. The photographer had zoomed in to capture moments of mid-conversation, with her in center frame.
She was the focus, of that she now had no doubts.
The envelope had no return address.
Someone was trying to make a point. But what?
The game held a twist for everyone, including her.
As she showered, she thought about how the story had developed in her time away, hoping for no progress to preserve any hidden developments she would reveal in time. On one hand, Angelique would have informed her of any changes. The more she thought, the more angles she examined, she wasn't so sure. Was it not possible that Angelique might hide those updates in order to grab the lead? Janis knew it had happened before, with Branson during his earlier days, in fact. Tigers didn't change stripes, especially when they were threatened.
But the package wasn't a threat. It was a message. One to decipher.
And that wasn't going to happen sitting under the shower head waiting for an epiphany. Legends created their own stories.
***
The morning was bright and hotter than hell.
"Jesus," Janis complained, tugging on the armpits of her blouse to pull it away from her skin already wet with perspiration. Immediate. Unrelenting.
Of course, if she'd been disciplined and left the house on time, not getting lost in the rabbit hole of figuring out who sent the package and why, the morning would have still been cool.
That was easier—
A bus pulled out of the stop across the street, briefly drawing her attention. The bus hadn't stopped her in her tracks. Under a green framed Plexiglas bus stop cover, a man sat. At their eye contact, he stood. Staring. Unwavering.
At her.
Janis looked away, the search for her car keys as an excuse to break eye contact. Keys firmly in hand, she glanced back at the bus stop to find him unmoved.
Her stride toward the car became smaller, quicker. Discomfort carried her to the car, but her jittery hand defied her as she attempted to slide the key into the lock. She bounced all around the silver oval, glancing at the man still watching from the bus stop, before finally succeeding in inserting the key. Janis flung her bag into the passenger seat and slammed the door, locking it immediately.
From the side mirror, she could see the stop, and noted the man hadn't moved. Still standing in the same spot, both hands shoved deep into his pants pockets, he watched her unabashedly. He wore a baseball cap pulled down, covering most of his features. His head, the portions she could see, were shaven. Even on this warm morning, his windbreaker disguised his frame. Just over his right breast, a tear in the jacket exposed a white liner inside.
Janis started the car and grabbed the recorder to make sure she didn't miss any of her thoughts while her mind buzzed at feeling visually invaded.
But something bothered her as she put the car in gear. Something familiar. She pressed RECORD. Her voice shook. "Okay, I swear to God I know him. There's a man across the street, at the bus stop. He watched me the entire time I walked to the car. I'm not crazy. He was watching me! He. Fucking. Watched. Me."
She quickly backed out of the driveway, pretending not to notice the creep. As she pulled away, her gaze lingering now thanks to the advantage of the rearview mirror, the man made no move beyond adjusting his stance in her direction.
"The bus, it came as I walked to my car. I didn't pay attention. Someone was there, but who fucking pays any attention to people at a bus stop. As the bus pulled away, he stood there, watching me. Didn't even try to hide it! He watched me the entire fucking time!"
Her heart pounded, quickened. Sweat beads slowly rose on her forehead, feeling their familiar warmth just at the edge of her hairline. In a panicked rush, Janis cranked up the air-conditioning and fan speed, trying to delay going into a meltdown.
Just then, her cell phone rang. "Dammit," Janis jumped, fumbling with her Bluetooth earpiece. "Hello?"
Angelique's breathing hinted that something was wrong. "Are you on your way in?"
Janis took a deep breath, needing to calm down before dealing with her friend. The creep at the bus stop was consuming her energy, leaving no room for any of Angelique's bullshit. "Yes, why?"
Angelique didn't wait. "Get here quickly! Don't park in the front lot. Go around to Beale Street and walk up the backside. You'll find us."
"What? Why?"
"Don't know," Angelique's racing response provided no insight beyond another peek into Angelique's paranoia. "Something's happened. The police have the front of the building cordoned off. Get in here fast!"
And then she was gone, hung up. Janis sped the rest of the way to the office. She was not about to miss out on whatever was happening.
The entry to the parking lot was blocked with a police cruiser, two barricades, and an officer who lazily waived her down the street. Janis pulled up alongside him and rolled down the passenger window. "What's going on?"
He leaned over, looking every bit annoyed by a nosy motorist who couldn't follow his simple directions. "Keep moving. You're blocking traffic." And with that, he straightened again and made the same lazy waving gesture, directing cars behind her.
Janis raced around the block, not worried about a speeding ticket since it was apparent the Memphis PD had more important things to deal with. Parking in an open lot that once housed a building, she collected her things and strode toward the building. It was quiet on this side, almost foreboding.
When she rounded the corner a subdued buzz of electricity hit her. Pockets of employees were gathered alongside the yellow police tape cordon that squared off the entire plaza way into the front doors. Some held hands to mouths, a few cried, and most talked excitedly in smaller clumps.
A tight circle of cops hung around the front doors, a sprinkling of suit-wearers among them. She pushed to her tip-toes to see if Marshall was among them, and was disappointed to find that the wasn't. Off to the side, on the edge of a sloped mound of hedges, Angelique paced back and forth.
"Finally!" she excla
imed, seeing Janis.
"I don't live around the block." Janis looked toward the police who stood near the front of the building. "What's going on?"
"Some fucked up shit, that's what!"
"What are you talking about?"
Angelique leaned in and whispered, "There's a fucking severed finger taped to the front door."
15
Angelique bounced her knee, not caring if the gesture annoyed everyone else. It made her feel better, and right now that was the only thing she could focus on. Everyone else could cope in any way that was good for them. Monica bit her fingernails. Branson walked around bitching about everything. Janis slept with any faceless man Memphis' bars offered up. They all had coping mechanisms. Knee bouncing was harmless as they came, and it was all hers. Still, Janis shot her annoyed glances from time to time.
"So I want you to be very careful, Janis," Marshall leaned back in the chair, his hands forming finger steeples. A notebook, flipped open, lay in his lap, a pen clipped to the side. From her vantage point, Angelique could almost make out his notes. "Until we know what's going on, we're proceeding with caution, every single one of us. But, sorry, especially you."
Janis nodded. "I will."
Angelique was surprised by how composed her friend was under the circumstances. Janis got wound around the axle over a damn missing box but now appeared as calm as someone having the best dinner of their lives just hours after a human finger was found tacked to the front door of the newspaper in an obvious message.
"Are you sure you want to keep her on the story?" Marshall asked Monica.
Her chin flattened against her throat as she shrugged away the question. "Of course."
"Why wouldn't she?" It was the first time Angelique had spoken during the impromptu meeting, the compulsion to defend Janis undeniable.
