The Veritas Deception

by Lynne Constantine

  “I don’t know.”

  “How can this be? How did he get through the background checks?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Whoever he works for is powerful enough to build him a bulletproof identity.”

  The voice on the television got their attention.

  “US Senator Malcolm Phillips was found dead in his room while vacationing in Truk Lagoon, a small island in Micronesia, yesterday afternoon. The senator apparently died of anaphylactic shock from a seafood allergy. In a bizarre twist, his wife, Taylor Parks Phillips, is missing. Funeral services are on hold until Mrs. Phillips is located.”

  Jack changed the channel again. Fox News was discussing the implications of Phillips’s death.

  “On a more personal note Bill, what do you make of the wife’s disappearance? Seems a little strange, don’t you think?” A picture of Taylor flashed across the screen.

  The news anchor’s eyes widened and he turned to his co-anchor.

  “It seems there is a new development in the disappearance of Taylor Phillips. She may have been abducted. Look at this. A man was captured on video by the security camera.”

  The footage showed Jack holding a gun as Taylor was rushed into the front seat of his car.

  Jack cursed and turned the television off. “How did they get that?”

  “We’ve got cameras everywhere.”

  “Everyone will be looking for us. We’ve got to get moving, and we’ve got to dump my car.”

  “What about my shots? We need to go back.”

  She didn’t get it. “We can’t go back. I’ll figure something out. Trust me.”

  As soon as the words left his lips, he regretted them. Her expression said it all—trust was the last thing she would bestow on him. He would earn it back. Somehow. He would figure out a way to make things right.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The sliver of light through the motel curtains woke Jack, and he stretched, trying to work out the kink in his neck from sleeping in the stiff chair. He glanced over at the bed and saw that Taylor was still asleep. He watched her and smiled when he saw that she still favored lying on her side with a pillow clutched tightly to her chest. It was hard to believe he hadn’t seen her in almost fifteen years. They had been good to her, and if it was possible, she was more beautiful now than she was back then. He knew he should wake her, that she’d be furious to know he was sitting here, staring at her, but he wanted a few minutes more to really look at her without her looking back at him with accusation in her eyes.

  Beau sprang off the bed, nudged Jack with his nose and barked, letting Jack know he wanted to go out.

  “Beau.” Taylor sat up, a look of confusion flickering across her face, as if she was trying to remember where she was. She slid from the bed in a single motion and put her feet into the loafers waiting on the floor.

  “He needs to go out. I’ll take him.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “Honestly, Jack, I don’t need a bodyguard. If you don’t give me some breathing room, this is never going to work.”

  He put his hands up and backed away. “Okay, okay. Just let me do some quick surveillance to make sure no one found us.”

  “By then we’ll have a puddle to clean up. Excuse me.” She pushed past him, grabbed Beau’s leash and opened the door. “I won’t be long.”

  Jack followed immediately behind her. He didn’t care if she got annoyed.

  They returned to the room without incident. Jack was mentally assessing what he needed to accomplish before they hit the road again. He pulled out his laptop, wanting to see how many outlets had picked up his story. He typed Manchester v Omega into Google and his name. This was interesting. Not many papers had run the story. He typed in Teenage Wasted to see if others had covered the ruling on the show. The page was full of links—mostly to YouTube. He scrolled down, clicked the first link, and was taken to a video.

  It had an adult content warning and he clicked it and waited. Jack watched in horror as a young man demonstrated the most efficient way to set up an autoerotic asphyxiation room. He gave a tour of his room, a list of supplies, suggestions on where to hide them, where to set them up, and promises of a live demonstration to come.

  “What are you watching?”

  He paused it.

  “I did a story on Manchester v Omega Entertainment. You know the case I mean? The class action suit about the kids’ reality show that went to the Supreme Court.”

  “Of course. It’s been all over the news. Disgusting. I can’t believe Omega won.”

  “Take a look at this. There are hundreds of them.”

  He hit play again, and they continued watching the video until it ended with the noose around the boy’s neck and him winking. Then the screen went black.

  Taylor shook her head. “Unbelievable. I wish Omega had lost.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “A surprising stance coming from a journalist.”

  She looked at him. “It’s not so black and white, Jack. There was an analogous case out of California a few years back, Brown v EMA. The state banned certain violent video games from being sold, and the gaming company fought back claiming protection under free speech. The gaming company won, but only because there wasn’t enough proof that the games incited violence.” She raised her eyebrows and gave Jack a long look. “I think we can safely say that’s not the case with this show.”

  “Listen, Taylor. It wasn’t an easy call. On a personal level, I would like nothing more than to shut that show down. I’ve talked to those parents; they’re heartbroken. But I gotta say, it worries me when we start fooling around with constitutional liberties. This case was a slippery slope, dangerously close to censorship. But on an emotional level, I agree with you.”

  Jack thought about the woman from his last interview. He’d seen a lot of grief, but the abject agony in her eyes haunted him. What could he say to this woman who had saved her daughter from the grips of death years earlier only to have her succumb to it in a misguided attempt to get high? Her words echoed in his mind.

  “She spent years working with therapists. She was throwing up every day to look like those airbrushed models on the magazines. Finally gotten the bulimia under control. Was happy. And then…gone. Copying those foolish kids. Gone in seconds.”

  How do you comfort someone like that? Did he want Omega to pay? Absolutely—but not if it meant screwing with the First Amendment.

  “I read your articles.” She pursed her lips. “Your follow-up did a good job giving the parents a voice. It’s just that Omega’s behavior gives all us journalists a bad name.”

  “Agreed.” He stood. “I’m going to run out and get some provisions before we hit the road later. Why don’t you start digging and see what you can find out about the bill and the rider? I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Hold on. You can fill my prescription for progesterone.” She took the wallet from her purse and began looking through it. “Oh, no.”

  “What is it?”

  “I must have left it in my other bag. Jack, I need it. After everything I’ve been through, I’m not about to take any chances with this pregnancy. Get me a name of a pharmacy and I’ll call my doctor and have a new prescription called in.”

  “We can’t do that, Taylor. It would lead them right to us.” Jack was quiet for a moment as he thought. “I have an idea.” He didn’t know why he didn’t think of it before.

  “What?”

  “My sister’s a nurse. I’ll see if she can get it.”

  “Where does she live?”

  “Boston. We’re headed there anyway.”

  Relief filled her face. “That would be great. Here, let me write down the dosage.”

  “You actually remember it?”

  “Yeah, I could probably run my own fertility clinic at this point. Get fifty milligrams in oil. Enough for two weeks. Syringes too.”

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Lock the doo
r behind me and don’t go anywhere.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Crosby Wheeler, CEO of Omega Entertainment looked at the men gathered around the table. He was in a good mood, pleased by his recent win in court. It was unfortunate that the parents of the kids who had died had gotten together so quickly and organized the class action suit. It was ridiculous to pin the blame on his show. That was the problem with society these days—no one wanted to take responsibility for their own actions. Instead of trying to make him take Teenage Wasted off the air, they should have been more involved with their kids, known what they were doing, maybe look in a closet or check their cell phone texts. His job wasn’t to parent America’s children. His job was to entertain.

  He had jumped on the streaming bandwagon early. Omega had started small but was now the uncontested leader, made popular by his original programming. He made shows that no one else dared make. He was criticized widely by some, adored by others.

  He’d never had any doubt that they would prevail, but it had been an inconvenience having to put a hold on the show until it became official. Luckily, the forced hiatus had only increased interest in it, and he was certain that the losses incurred over the past several months would be made up in no time. He looked at his executive producer.

  “Ratings are continuing to climb?”

  The man nodded. “Yes, I just got the latest figures.”

  “Any fallout?” he asked.

  “Parents are outraged. They can’t accept that they’ve lost. The other networks are using it to their advantage, hosting parent interviews. We’ve lost a handful of sponsors.”

  His new executive in charge of advertising, Adrian Winters, cleared his throat and spoke. “But we’ve got a long line of others waiting to take their place. I’ve replaced them at double the price.”

  Crosby looked at him with interest. He took a sip from his bottle of mineral water. “Do tell.”

  Winters picked up a mint from the crystal bowl in front of him and unwrapped it. “The media frenzy has caused the ratings to skyrocket. Internet channels are jamming from the traffic. It’s an advertiser’s dream.” He popped the mint in his mouth.

  Crosby spoke. “Good work. Email me the list and the new production schedule.” He addressed his producer again.

  “The kids on the show okay?”

  “Mostly. They were pretty upset, but the counselors talked them down, gave out some anti-anxiety meds. They’ve been compensated.”

  Crosby nodded. “Good. They need to understand that they are not responsible for the deaths of those kids who imitated them. Make sure their contracts are all up-to-date. We don’t need any more lawsuits.” He stood and left without another word.

  Back in his office, he reviewed the newest script. It was going to make the other episodes look tame.

  He opened his email and input the addresses of his top ten YouTubers. He wrote a short note, letting them know what he had planned for the next show and telling them to be ready to imitate it on camera, then post their videos after the show aired.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Taylor had been reading the bill for over an hour, and her eyes were starting to blur. It must be the pregnancy. She moved over to the bed, stretched out, and patted the space next her. Beau jumped up and nestled against her legs. His warm body was comforting, and she stroked his head.

  “You’re wondering what in the world we’re doing here, aren’t you, baby?” She sighed.

  The enticement of sleep became stronger, but she had to think. Oh, Malcolm, what did you do? How could it be that she would never again hear his soothing voice or feel his strong arms around her? That he wouldn’t be there with her to raise the child they’d worked so hard to conceive? He’d been her best friend these past few years, the one she’d confided everything in. She still had a hard time believing that his whole identity had been faked. Hot tears wet her cheeks, and she hugged Beau closer to her. The familiar ache returned. Being with Jack after all this time brought it back: the heartache, the betrayal. She needed to clear her head.

  “Come on, boy. Let’s take a walk.” She got up and attached his leash, grabbed her purse, and left the room. Her father would be beside himself with worry after the news report. She had to let him know she was okay. She pulled out her phone and dialed the number to his cell phone.

  He answered on the first ring.

  “Taylor?” The deep voice of Warwick Parks came over the line.

  “Dad?” Her voice broke with emotion.

  “Taylor! Thank God. I’ve been out of my mind. Where are you?”

  “Oh, Dad. I don’t know where to begin. Jack showed up at my house last night. He said Malcolm told him to come and get me, to keep me safe. It’s all so mixed up; I don’t know what to believe.”

  “Listen to me, Taylor. I don’t know what in the world he’s thinking—whisking you off like that, but the police think he kidnapped you. He’s in a lot of trouble.”

  “He didn’t kidnap me. Some men came to the house, and we had to leave. Malcolm went to see him. I can’t explain it all now. I just wanted you to know I’m okay. We’re trying to figure it out.” She heard a long sigh.

  “Taylor, you need to come home. You haven’t seen Jack in years. You have a funeral to plan. Everyone’s looking for you. You can’t just run off…I don’t trust Jack.”

  “Dad. Stop. You have to trust me. I have to see where this leads. Jack is not going to hurt me.” What did she expect? The bad blood between her father and Jack to just disappear?

  “Tell me where you are.”

  “At a motel somewhere. I don’t know exactly.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “We’re following clues Malcolm left in a letter to me, trying to find someone named Jeremy.”

  “Are you crazy? This makes no sense. Come home!”

  She had to hang up. “I love you. I don’t know when I can call again, but I will as soon as I can. Try not to worry.” She pressed End.

  Beau sensed her mood and jumped, putting a paw on each shoulder, and gave her face three quick licks. Laughing, she rubbed his head.

  “No matter what happens, I’ve always got you to cheer me up.” She took a seat on the bench by the motel’s front office and lifted her face to the sun. Beau curled up on the ground and rested his head on her foot.

  The first time she had seen Beau, he had been a mess. Abandoned on the side of the road, his coat mangy, and with sores all over his legs, it was impossible to see what a beautiful dog he was. Taylor had loved him from the instant his soulful eyes locked upon hers. After a visit to the vet, he began to look better. But Malcolm had been less than thrilled. She recalled their conversation.

  “How do you know where he came from? He could be rabid for all we know.”

  Taylor had been floored. “The vet’s checked him out, and he’s fine,” she’d said fiercely. “All he needs is a little TLC. Please, Malcolm. He needs me.” Her voice broke. “And I need him.”

  He’d softened. “All right, but, at the first sign of any aggression, that dog goes.”

  She had cupped Beau’s head in her hands and lowered her face to his.

  “No one will ever hurt you again. I promise,” she’d whispered and kissed him on the nose.

  Beau had turned out to be a loving, gentle, and loyal companion. It was his calm and nurturing presence that had gotten her through all her days of disappointment and devastation month after month, year after year, when it looked as though she would never achieve her dream of becoming a mother. Despite his teddy-bear nature, he had also turned out to be a fierce guard dog and was particularly protective of Taylor. She had discovered this one day when the cable repairman had shown up at her door. Before she could let him in, Beau had gotten between her and the door, a deep growl rising from his throat. She had tried to calm him, but he’d been immovable. He began to bark ferociously, and, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t pull him away from the door. Finally, she
had to call through the intercom and ask the man to come back later. When she’d phoned her cable company to reschedule, she had been shocked to discover that the man they were to send wasn’t due to arrive for another two hours. She had wondered then, who had raised Beau the first few years of his life, and after that she’d never doubted his instincts again.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Institute, 1975

  May

  I look straight ahead as the sedan climbs the long hill, and the stone building comes into sight. It is immense and imposing and makes me think of knights and maidens from a long time ago. A chill runs through me, and I have the urge to scream: Go back! Let me out! Get a grip, I think. My overactive imagination is at it again. I was chosen out of thousands for this elite, post-graduate fellowship program in medical research. We will be here for three months during which we will be closed off from the outside world. This is necessary, we are told, to help us to focus on the reason for being here—to get into the top 20% of the program and prove we are worthy of the one-year fellowship, all tuition paid. There is no time for distractions from family, friends, or lovers. I said my good-byes to my parents and my dear sister with the assurance that the months would fly, and before we knew it, we’d be celebrating my elevation into the full-year program. Because, of course, I intend to win. It’s my only chance to work under Dr. Strombill, the bioethicist I’ve admired for years. Now that I am actually going to meet him, to have the opportunity to impress him, I am feeling awestruck and giddy, and I’m never awestruck and giddy.

  The car comes to a stop, and the driver walks around and opens my door. I smile at him, and he looks right through me.

  “Please proceed to the front steps.”

  I grab my backpack, throw it over one shoulder, and walk the cobblestone path to the immense structure. I wait for the others to fall in line, and while I do, I study the ornate carving on the door. I’ve never seen anything like it before; it’s a crest and a dragon-like creature. The beast is otherworldly and grotesque but beautiful at the same time. I am oddly drawn to it and reach out to trace the lines of its head when a voice behind me makes me snatch my hand back.