Rip

by Paul Sating

  Marshall, for his part, appeared confused. "Why? Just tell me."

  "Branson's little secret, for some reason," Angelique said, putting on her best mocking tone.

  "I'm trying to not upset people!"

  "Why? Because we are too much estrogen to operate the Internet?" Angelique snapped. There was a point of disrespect Angelique would tolerate, she had to as a gay, black woman in the deep South. But like everything, a line had to be drawn. Three dead women usurped Branson's determination to play his power game. "You don't think we can figure it out for ourselves?"

  "Don't be an ass," Branson retorted, and then softened his tone, turning to Marshall. "Just, please, Marshall, can we step outside?"

  Janis' knees resumed their bouncing. The air was thick with anxiety and tension.

  "For the love of God, just tell us the names of the last two victims," Monica snapped in a rare moment of leadership.

  All eyes in the room turned toward Branson. He glanced away, scratching his forehead and then slowly set his notebook on the table. All so dramatic. "Fine," he started in a dead voice, "the fourth was Eddowes."

  Marshall snagged a pen from his pocket, scribbled a note on the inside of his palm and, without looking up, asked, "Okay. And the last one?"

  "Um ... it's...," Branson stammered. Angelique caught him looking her way from the corner of his eye. Time slowed, ceased. "It's ..."

  "Come on," Marshall bit.

  "It's Kelly," Branson blurted.

  And the world spun.

  Somewhere in the fog of confusion and panic, Angelique heard Monica's reply. "Oh my God!"

  Marshall's jaw jutted out. He gave a single, stiff nod in silence. Across the room, Janis sat staring at her, those knees bouncing up and down rapidly. Her expression was unreadable.

  "My last name?" Angelique moaned, holding tightly to the credenza while the rest of the world unraveled.

  34

  Janis slammed the stall door, filling the bathroom with a metallic cacophony. As the door rattled open, she glanced underneath the other two stalls. No feet. Good. The racket could have served to instigate a heart attack for any occupant, but right now she didn't care about anyone else's feelings and she definitely wasn't concerned about scaring an unsuspecting toilet squatter. More than that, though, she was grateful no one would intrude on her pain.

  She slammed the door again. "That motherfucker!"

  Slam.

  "I cannot believe him!"

  This time, she slammed it so hard that it almost bounced back against her palm before she pulled it away.

  "I cannot believe he did that!"

  Again.

  Watching the cheap beige door bounce off the locking latch, vibrating as it wobbled back towards her, was cathartic.

  "He totally fucked me!"

  Slam!

  "He fucking fucked me!"

  One last slam. Something started on the opposite side of the thin stall wall.

  The restroom was confined only giving her a few feet between the stalls and the sink counter. Janis paced the area quickly. The floor was disgusting. Scraps of toilet paper, strands of black hair, bobby pins dotted the tiles, the grout, blackened by years of neglect. Back and forth, Janis moved rapidly as she collected her thoughts, staring down at the vile remnants of humanity's shared relief space. Someone grunted. It sounded like an animal.

  Not me, Janis thought.

  A slight thump caught her ear as the vacuum between the two restroom doors pulled on the inner door. Someone was violating her space. Janis ran her palm down the length of her face, forcing herself to erase the pained expression she didn't want anyone to see.

  I can't even get five goddamn seconds of quiet in this place.

  She leaned on the counter before turning on the water, hoping whoever was walking in would give her the peace to finish her business.

  The inner door opened and Angelique stepped in. "Janis?" Angelique locked eyes with her in the mirror, "Janis, are you okay?"

  No, I'm not fucking okay! Instead of putting voice to her thoughts, Janis cupped her hands underneath the water and brought them up to her face without waiting for it to warm. She needed a delay, to calm down before she said something she would regret, something that would change the course of everything.

  Angelique slowly made her way across the restroom, leaning her hip against the counter while facing Janis. She didn't reach out and touch Janis though like she normally would, something to be grateful for, but also something to register. Janis didn't break away from her task while stealing glances at Angelique from her periphery.

  "Hey girl, are you okay?" Angelique repeated, her tone turning firm. "Listen, you need to calm down."

  Janis continued rubbing her face, wishing Angelique would leave her the fuck alone. "Don't tell me what I need to do."

  Angelique pulled back. "Whoa, I'm just trying to help. People can hear you. Out there, in the cubicles. You're scaring everyone. What's going on?"

  Angelique wouldn't understand. None of them could, so why even pry open that door? Better to just avoid it altogether instead of trying to explain the inexplicable.

  "What are you talking about? I'm fine," Janis asserted. But Angelique only leaned against the counter, arms crossed, examining her, stubborn as ever. Right when she needed to be alone, Angelique refused to give her space. So typical, consistently the opposite of what Janis required. This required a new tactic. "It's just, that asshole moving in on my story. This isn't a big deal. Please stop making it out like it is. I'm just frustrated."

  It was easy enough of a lie. Too easy. Every twitch of the lips or squint of the eye Angelique gave indicated she wasn't buying it. "The entire damn office is staring at the bathroom door in fear, like some goddamn beast is going to burst out of here any moment, so don't tell me to not make a big deal out of this when it's you creating the drama. Okay?" Angelique huffed. She took a few seconds to draw a deeper breath before speaking again. "Hi. A friend. Right here. Trying to help you from yourself. I'm not your enemy, Janis."

  "I don't need your help," Janis snapped. "And fuck those people out there. I don't give a shit about what they think." And she didn't. What were they doing for her? What could they do for her? No one in those cubicles was worth their weight. They wouldn't stand up for her if she needed it. They wouldn't stick their necks out, putting their careers on the line if she asked for their support. These people did what they always would; they would hide in the kingdom of cubicles and try to survive until the next paycheck. None of them would appreciate what Monica was doing or that that Branson had just undercut her, because they were too busy caring about themselves.

  Angelique crossed her arms and hitched her jaw, pursing her lips and nodding slowly. "Wow. I stuck my neck out for you. Did you know that? When Monica was being questioned by the board about hiring you, she started hemming and hawing and it was me who pushed her across to your side. She liked what you had to offer, but she also knew the risks. This may come as a surprise, but you don't exactly have an untarnished image. Shocker," Angelique continued, her voice rising. "So how about giving me a little respect for standing up for you when no one else would if you can't appreciate me checking on you? And if you can't show me some fucking respect for this, how about for the times I stood by you, stood up for you, with Branson or the assholes you constantly take home who end up treating you like shit. Or your mother? How about all those times I defended you?" Angelique stopped and Janis could see her chest rising and falling with adrenaline.

  Angelique was in pain, but Janis couldn't, wouldn't rescue her.

  Angelique snorted, her lips quivering. "You got nothing? That's cool." Angelique turned just before Janis thought she saw the beginning signs of tears.

  And Janis let her go.

  There was nothing to do about Angelique for now. First and foremost, she had to take care of herself. And if her supposedly best friend refused to understand and appreciate that, well, fuck her too.

  Angelique paused at the door
. Cocking her head to the side as she examined Janis. "Keep it up girl, and you're going to run out of allies."

  Without another word, she yanked the door open and left.

  Janis didn't move or say anything until she heard the second thump of the exterior door. "Shit!" She spun, grabbing the top edge of the stall door and slamming it closed one more time. The locking mechanism broke and tumbled to the filthy tiles.

  35

  Leaving the bathroom reminded her of times in college when she'd faced, and completed, the famed walk of shame. It was a ridiculous philosophy, a remnant of a male–dominated society, but it was one that shaped who she was today.

  One that armed her, to always be ready.

  Janis knew what to expect when she finally left the restroom. There was no way to hide all day, doing so would only ramp up the drama and focus. The bathroom rage hadn't been premeditated; instead, it was a reaction to the chaos burning her world. But it served as her only escape after the meeting. Branson dropping that bombshell into Marshall's lap wasn't what she expected. It threw her, confused her, caused her to not think through what she was doing. She just wanted out, to put distance between them so she didn't strangle him. Exploding as she had wasn't on the agenda, but neither was tolerating Angelique playing referee. Janis knew her reaction was over the top and uncalled for and regretted it in double measure. But it was what it was, and it was done. What point was there to dwelling on it now. Best to emerge from this protective cocoon and become the center of attention of sidelong glances.

  One thing the agenda did include was seeing Monica. The consequences needed to be managed before her delicate boss had too much time to think.

  Janis wrapped a hand around the bathroom door handle, drew one deep breath with her eyes closed, picturing peace and serenity, and stepped out into the icy storm.

  To an outside observer the work going on around the floor would have appeared normal, with reporters and administrative staff typing away at their desks, a few on telephones, fact-checking and chasing stories across the city. To the neophyte, this was a typical newsroom day. But to Janis, the subtle tonal differences were broadcast via satellite, announced to the world. Muted conversations murmured from corners, and she was more than slightly aware of the occasional head popping up over cubicles as she made the excruciating trek toward Monica's office. Being observed by dozens of guileful eyes, she was the animal in captivity, broken free and recaptured. Janis swallowed back the urge to scream, to snap at the dirty self-centered bastards who took a perverse joy in her humiliation. But she didn't. She couldn't.

  Not now.

  Things needed to change, so many things. This was her bed, and she'd made it, now it was time to lie down to satiate the punisher.

  Janis's heart thumped louder than her palm when she knocked on Monica's door. Her boss called her in. Clinging to the hope that this wasn't the termination conversation, Janis stepped in and sighed when she saw Branson alongside Angelique. All three of them turned to look at her as she entered. Monica wore the expression of a lamb about to be slaughtered. Lines arched across Branson's brow. Angelique only glanced at her before staring out the large windows.

  With as much humility as she could muster, Janis slid into the chair, gave a quick nod to Monica, and sat. Her freckled cheeks burned. "Thanks. Sorry about all that."

  Branson nodded swiftly and Angelique refused to acknowledge her. A lot of effort and fake tears were required now to repair this, Janis feared.

  "All right," Monica started, "I know everyone is stressed and things are a little tense, but I expect everyone to work together. Like professionals. Got it? Branson? Janis?" Janis hadn't expected Monica to move on so quickly without addressing the incident. Then again, was it all that surprising? Either way, it sounded like she was still earning a paycheck. When no one replied, Monica continued. "Okay, good. Now, I want us to explore this angle. Janis, this is still your story. I'm not un-assigning you, but I would like you to partner with Branson from now on."

  Remaining employed was great, the prospect of having to work with Branson, of having him so close constantly, sharing information and leads, was not. Was she willing to allow him to steal more from her, especially with everything still so raw. Too raw. "I'd rather be able to focus and not spread my attention."

  Avoiding joint efforts apparently wasn't repugnant to her alone. Branson spoke up immediately as well. "Wouldn't it be better if we did our own thing?"

  Monica cut both of them off. "That wasn't a proposal. Everyone understand?"

  Careful, Janis careful.

  "Janis?" Monica pushed. "Understand?"

  "Yeah," Janis replied, "I got it."

  Monica placed both her hands on the tabletop in a meticulously perfected manner, looking like the schoolteacher about to start sessions and demanding everyone's attention. "Okay then, so we're all on the same page. Working together. Branson, keep looking into this theory you've got. Find any commonalities and get a list together so we can see the possible story angles there. This is good, real good. It could make a huge difference. Hell, it could be the story. I need you to become an expert on everything about Jack the Ripper. Where he lived. How he lived. Every detail about every possible victim he had. Social and personal issues too? Who did they suspect of being the Ripper? Why? Was he English? Immigrant? Employed, unemployed? Give me all the who, what, and whens. I want it all. Every dirty detail you can dig up."

  "I'm on it."

  "If Branson is doing all of that, what do you need from us?" Angelique asked. Janis was touched by the plural nature of Angelique's question. Angelique wasn't abandoning her after all.

  "Janis will work on the story as she can," Monica said carefully.

  Janis was about to ask her what that meant when Angelique followed up with her own question. "And me?"

  Monica looked less sure of herself now, searching her notes as if she was going to find the answer there. "When you were indisposed with the, uh, situation, I spoke with Marshall. He asked if you were available. He wants to talk to you. Today."

  "Why?"

  "Because, you know, the—the case. With the names."

  Angelique sat up straight. "He thinks I'm at risk, doesn't he?"

  The urge to say something was nearly undeniable. There was internal strength, and then there was fortitude, and Janis was feeling neither attribute at the moment. Patience was also becoming a precious commodity as more people were getting into her business. Monica wasn't going to let this go and Angelique would only temporarily be tied up with Marshall. The pair being that close to him was not a good thing, for any of them. The thought of Angelique and Marshall talking without her around to keep tabs made Janis squirm in her seat. In a way, that could be worse than Angelique returning to this upstart team when Marshall was finished with her. Even until then, it still left Branson and his expanding role in the story. But if she said something it would blow up in her face and all control of the situation would be lost for good.

  "If Branson is right about this theory of his, we need to proceed carefully," Monica said through tight lips.

  "The final Canonical Five victim's last name was Kelly," Branson reminded them, displaying the emotional range of a sloth. Monica and Angelique shared an unreadable look. A twinge of jealousy shot through her.

  "I'm sure he's just being cautious," Janis' soft comment might as well fell short of Angelique for the lack of a reaction it elicited.

  Angelique didn't even turn her away as she said, "Oh my God. This can't be real."

  "He wants to go over a few things and asked you to call him as soon as you are free," Monica said. "Like Janis said, I'm sure he's just being cautious and—and wants to keep you safe."

  Angelique put a hand to her mouth at Monica's awkward attempt to de-escalate the situation. It was shaking. "Can I be excused?"

  Angelique was already on her feet heading toward the door as Monica said, "Of course."

  "Call me?" Janis called to her.

  "If I can," Angelique
answered, yanking open the door and ran from the office.

  A respectful silence fell between the remaining three. Janis pondered going after Angelique, but if she did, that would give Branson even more opportunity to get deeper into Monica's head and the story. The last place he needed to be. Angelique would be fine after a few minutes of good crying. Janis kept the thought to herself.

  "That's gotta be tough," Monica shook her head. "I feel for her."

  "Why didn't you tell her immediately?" Janis asked, careful to not be too harsh. "Why did you make her sit through a meeting before you said anything? If you'd said something right away, she could have headed down to the police station instead of hearing everything we discussed and upsetting her even more." The precipice drew near.

  "Because she's—she's not in immediate danger," Monica stuttered. "Marshall said so. If Branson is right, the killer will remain faithful to the order of the original five victims. And we don't even know for sure if that's what is happening, so Marshall said it was important for her to keep her routine and stay engaged. It'll help keep things normal for her. And she's still part of the cadre working the story, so she needs to stay involved."

  Janis locked her eyes on Monica to stop from shaking her head. "Don't you think she should have a say in that?"

  Monica didn't answer, instead turning to Branson who was busy doodling on his notepad, trying to pretend that he wasn't listening to every word that was being spoken and not fooling anyone. "Branson," Monica drew his attention, "would you excuse us?"

  He nodded, quickly closed his notebook, and got up. "Yeah, sure. I'll start working on this."