Bad News

by Amy Cross

  Chapter Thirty

  “What?”

  Startled, I open my eyes and sit up straight, and I'm shocked to find myself in complete darkness. For a few seconds, I have no idea where I am, but then I spot a Fire Exit sign and I realize I'm still in the observation room. I look straight forward, and I can just about make out my own reflection in the glass, but it's clear that the interview with Esmee is over.

  Right, of course.

  I remember her being led out of the room. Doctor Sutter popped his head through the door to tell me that he'll be back tomorrow, and then I decided to rest my eyes for a few minutes while I got my head together. My thoughts were swirling around and I needed to let them settle, but evidently I nodded off and took a nap.

  Checking my phone, I find that it's almost midnight, which means I must have slept for about two and a half hours.

  So much for resting my eyes. Two and a half hours is a full-blown sleep. Everyone knows that a nap can only last for a maximum of two hours.

  Getting to my feet, I feel stiff and sore, and the pain in my leg is persistent. I'm pretty annoyed with myself, for falling asleep for so long, but I guess this has been a pretty long day. I need to get back to the motel and try to sleep properly, and in the morning I need to finally make a decision about leaving Ridge Falls. With Roper no longer around, and Esmee about to be reunited with her family, there's not much else to do except figure out my next move.

  Stepping out into the corridor, I find that the ward is much less busy than before. I glance along toward Esmee's room and see that the police officer is still on duty, sitting on a chair next to Esmee's door and making sure that nobody gets through unless they're authorized. At first, Malone felt that such a move wasn't necessary, but I quickly persuaded him that news reporters will soon be crawling all over the place.

  “Night,” I say to the officer as I wander past, and he gives me a faint nod.

  Shuffling along the corridor that leads to the stairs, I start imagining different futures. I'm really not sure that I'm cut out for the media business, but until now that's been my whole life. I guess I'm not too old to make a drastic career change, but it needs to be something I can get into without too much outlay. I never exactly built up a nest-egg in case of a rainy day.

  I reach for my keys, before suddenly realizing that I left them in the observation room.

  Sighing, I turn to go back. At that moment, however, I spot a nurse heading past the far end of the corridor. Except, I can't help furrowing my brow as I realize that I recognize this nurse, and I'm pretty sure that she's not a nurse at all. Still, I tell myself that I have to be wrong, that it can't be her.

  Can it?

  I hesitate for a moment, trying to figure out what's going on, and then I make my way back along the corridor. Reaching the end, I look to the right, just in time to spot the 'nurse' heading into one of the storerooms.

  “Rolinda Derringham,” I whisper. “I should have guessed you'd show up sooner rather than later.”

  For a moment, I'm not quite sure how to react. Rolinda has always had a tendency to employ dubious methods in her hunt for a story, and I have no doubt that she must have raced here to Ridge Falls in an attempt to get an exclusive story about Esmee's return. Her methods might not be very ethical, but they've helped her score plenty of awards, and she has a glowing reputation. She's the golden child of the local industry, and everyone knows that she's poised to become a breakout star on the national stage.

  Heading along the corridor, I stop outside the storeroom as I realize I can hear Rolinda speaking to someone.

  “Just give me a few more minutes,” she says as I lean closer to the door. “I have to look the part before I can get into the room. Even a dumb little moron like Esmee Waters might get suspicious if I don't look right.”

  Reaching for my phone, I quickly switch on the recorder so that I can capture Rolinda's words for posterity.

  “I know,” she continues with a sigh, “but that doesn't matter right now. I'll get what I can from the bitch, and it'll just have to be enough. Give it a few days, and no-one'll remember the name Esmee Waters. I need to get the bitch's photo tonight, or there's no point doing it at all.”

  She speaks for a moment longer, and in the process she uses several colorful words that would make any self-respecting news viewer blush. She even throws in some decidedly unwise comments about our home city, which apparently is a 'shit-hole' that she can't wait to leave as soon as she secures a job in Washington or New York. Add in some rather unwise political comments and a few pronouncements that are downright slanderous, and – impressively – she's pretty much covered the entire gamut of offensive statements in under three minutes.

  Nice.

  I'm sure our viewers would love to hear all of this.

  “I'm going now,” she says finally. “Don't call me! I'll be out soon!”

  I pull back, around the corner, just as she comes out of the room, and then I peer around just in time to see her carrying a tray along the corridor. I raise my phone so that I can film her, and then I hurry along and watch as she mutters something to the police officer and then goes into Esmee's room.

  The officer, fooled by the uniform, doesn't even bother to check her badge. Score another point for the local cops, I guess.

  I keep my phone raised as I head toward the door. The officer turns to me and furrows his brow, but I put a finger to my lips and – fortunately – I've met this guy before. He at least doesn't say anything, and finally I stop in the doorway and film Rolinda as she approaches the sleeping Esmee Waters.

  Not noticing me, Rolinda slips her own phone from her pocket and starts taking photos. She briefly stops to get some shots of Esmee's medical charts, and then she creeps closer and closer to her face.

  “You're breaking some laws there,” I say, with a faint smile on my lips.

  Startled, she drops her phone as she turns and looks at me.

  The officer gets to his feet.

  Esmee gasps and tries to sit up.

  “Oh Rolinda,” I continue, “it's so nice to see you again. And to think, you came all the way out here to Ridge Falls. I didn't realize this place was even on your radar.”

  She mutters a few curses as she puts her hands over her face, and then she grabs her phone before trying to rush out of the room.

  “Not so fast,” the officer says, placing a hand on her arm. “M'am, are you a nurse or not?”

  “Get out of my way!” she snaps, shoving past him.

  “M'am -”

  “No!”

  When the officer grabs her again, she turns and shoves her elbow into his face, knocking him back against the wall. He lets out a pained gasp, and then I manage to catch everything with my phone as he storms after Rolinda. She's broken into a run now, but the officer catches up with her at the end of the corridor, and I can't help but grin as I watch – and film – the resulting arrest. It's fair to say that Rolinda Derringham isn't keen on going without a fight. In fact, she struggles quite firmly before finally getting cuffed. Of course, I have no choice but to take several photos of the entire process.

  Glancing into the room, I see that Esmee looks totally shocked by the kerfuffle.

  “Nothing to worry about,” I tell her, as Rolinda squeals in the distance. “Just the long arm of the law finally catching up with someone.”

  ***

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Daryl asks, as I sit at the table in the corner of the bar. “Maggie? Seriously?”

  “Hey, guys,” I reply, grinning first at Daryl and then at Terrance. “I had a funny feeling that you'd be here. I know you're probably expecting Rolinda, but I have some bad news for you. She's unavoidably detained.”

  “Where is she?” Terrance asks.

  “I don't have a cell number to give you,” I explain, “but I'm pretty sure that right about now she's having her prints taken. Something about trespassing and theft, not to mention breaking into a hospital storeroom. Oh, and resisting arrest
and assaulting a police officer as well. Something tells me, she's in for a long night.”

  Daryl stares at me, as if he still can't quite believe that I'm here, and then he turns to Terrance, who looks equally shocked.

  “So here's the deal,” I continue, setting my phone on the table. “I'm going to give the pair of you a break, because for some reason I actually like you. There's a video winging its way to Culhoun's office, and shortly after that it'll be going to several other media outlets. When that happens, I have a feeling that things will get messy. By my reckoning, you probably have about six hours to come up with a cover story so that you're not implicated in what Rolinda was doing.”

  “But -”

  “Because, let's face it, you both knew exactly where she went tonight.”

  “She went to the -”

  “Shut up!” Terrance hisses, nudging Daryl's arm. “We are not going down for this. That Derringham bitch can take a hike.” He turns to me. “We always liked you better, Maggie,” he continues. “We were only talking this morning about how much we missed you.”

  Daryl turns to him. “When did -”

  “Just this morning!” Terrance says firmly, as Daryl winces from what I can only assume was a kick under the table. “Things haven't been the same without you, Maggie. You're looking really well. How are things going, anyway?”

  “Just peachy,” I reply, and I have to admit that I'm touched by this bad attempt at flattery. “Actually, I've been -”

  “Gotta go!” Daryl blurts out, suddenly getting up and rushing away from the table, probably so he can get started on the job of keeping his name clean.

  “He's right,” I tell Terrance. “You guys do not want to be implicated in all of this.”

  “I know,” he replies, and he sounds a little cautious now. “It's just...”

  I wait, but I think he might actually be looking pale.

  “Just what?” I ask, tilting my head slightly. “You're not going to faint on me, are you? I don't want to have to check to make sure you're not swallowing your own tongue.”

  “It's that Roper guy,” he continues. “How did he get away with it for so long? How can a monster like that exist without making a mistake?” He pauses. “I guess I just thought we were making a difference. That maybe we were, like, detectives. In a way.”

  “I think we should leave the detective work to the police,” I tell him.

  “Then what's the point of what we do?” he asks. “Are we just vultures?”

  “No,” I reply, “we're more than that. At least, we can be. We just have to make sure we don't end up like Rolinda. We have to be the best version of ourselves. And, come on, that's the same for any job. We're not so special. We're like everyone else. We just have to remember to not be assholes.” I pause, as I realize that I know what I have to do next. “Now if you'll excuse me,” I add finally, “I have to go pack.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Early the next day, I shove my bag into the trunk of my car and then step back. I still haven't quite worked out the details of my plan, but the outline is clear. I can't continue to work in journalism, not if I want to be a good human being. I'm going to find some other line of work, and I'm going to start being a better person.

  “Heading off?”

  Startled, I turn and see that Malone is standing in the doorway of his motel room.

  “I was just about to knock and say bye,” I tell him. “I just...”

  My voice trails off.

  “I guess the big city's calling, huh?” he continues, stepping toward me. “I can understand that. Small-town life isn't for everyone. I'm actually amazed you stuck it out this long. I'm guessing our local shops don't offer premium-grade coffee. And we only have regular salt, none of that pink Himalayan stuff I see online. And the cellphone coverage out here is totally patchy.”

  “Ridge Falls isn't so bad,” I reply. “To be honest, I kinda like it here.”

  “Admit it. You'd go crazy if you had to actually live in a place like this.”

  “Maybe,” I say, “but it's fun to visit. And I might pop back some time.”

  “I'll believe that when I see it,” he says with a smile. “Actually, I was going to ask you whether you want to ride out with me to visit the Waters house. I have some questions I need to run past Esmee's parents, and now seems to be as good a time as any. Once they get Esmee home in a day or two, they're going to be busy.”

  “I...”

  For a moment, I consider accepting his offer. After all, an exclusive chat with the parents of Esmee Waters would be worth a lot of money. I could score a front page in one of the national papers, and this time I could actually tell them what I want and give them the chance to work with me voluntarily. Damn it, that actually sounds pretty ethical. Finally, however, I realize that I need to stay well away from temptation. This new, 100% decent approach to life and work isn't going to be easy. If I'm going to make it work, I have to give myself a fighting chance.

  “I think I should hit the road,” I tell Malone, even though part of me really does want to stay. And not just for the story, either. “There's going to be traffic.”

  “Sure.”

  He hesitates, before stepping forward and reaching out to shake my hand.

  “And if you do ever come back to Ridge Falls,” he adds, “then I hope you'll look me up. I mean, technically, I still owe you a dessert. Seriously, you might think you're not a dessert person, but I will make you a dessert person.” He pauses. “Wait, that sounded weird, didn't it? And a little threatening. I'm sorry, I -”

  “It's fine,” I tell him, with a faint smile. “And you know what? I'll keep you to that promise some day.”

  He hesitates, and then he takes a small card from his pocket and hands it to me.

  “My number,” he explains. “And my e-mail address, actually. I wrote them on there, in case you ever need them. Not that I expect you would, but I guess it's always good to have the possibility.”

  “I'll see you around,” I tell him, before turning to walk away.

  At that moment, I spot a rolled-up newspaper in his hand, and I can just about make out part of Thomas Roper's face on the cover.

  Realizing that I'm looking at the paper, Malone unfolds it and turns it around so that I can see the huge, garish headline that accompanies Roper's features:

  CRAZED MONSTER

  CAGED GIRL

  FOR ELEVEN YEARS!!!

  “Did they alter his face for that?” I ask, as I realize that the photo seems familiar, but that something seems to have been done to his forehead and mouth. I step closer and see that I was right. “They've made it look like he's snarling.”

  “Poetic license, I guess,” Malone says.

  “They've literally changed reality,” I point out, taking the paper so that I can get a closer look. “You can see the distortions if you look closely.”

  “Most people won't notice that,” he replies.

  “They've made him look evil,” I continue, as a shudder passes through my chest. “I'm surprised they didn't go all the way and add a little pair of devil horns.”

  “Everyone loves a good villain,” Malone points out. “And a lonely guy who kidnaps one girl and murders another? Thomas Roper set himself up to be hated all across the country. It's pretty difficult to feel any sympathy for him. I just wish we'd captured the bastard alive. I want to know what was going on in his head.”

  As I stare at the picture for a moment longer, I can't help but feel faintly nauseous. This isn't Thomas Roper. I know what he did, but this photo is a distortion of the truth. Roper wasn't a snarling monster. He was something else. Something darker. And it looks like we'll never truly know why he did all those awful things.

  ***

  Rain is tapping against the windshield as I drive out of town, heading along the winding road the twists and turns through the heart of the forest. The sky ahead is gray and foreboding, and something tells me that the journey home is going to be a messy affair. Still, I n
eed to get back to my apartment, so that I can figure out how to relaunch my career. I have a job to do.

  Hearing a pinging sound from my phone, I reach over to the dashboard. At the last moment, however, I somehow manage to drop the phone, sending it slithering down to my feet.

  “Damn it,” I mutter, reaching down but not quite getting far enough.

  I glance down and see the phone, and then I look at the road again. I pause, before reaching a little further, and this time my fingertips just about manage to touch the phone's edge.

  Close, but not close enough.

  I watch the road for a moment longer, and then I decide to take a risk. I lean right down and grab my phone, and then I sit back up.

  “What the -”

  Suddenly seeing a human figure straight ahead, I frantically turn the wheel and slam my foot on the brake pedal. The car rushes past the figure, missing it by just a few inches, and then the entire vehicle comes thudding to a halt as I'm sent forward until my chest presses against the belt.

  Turning, I see that the person has stopped.

  I hesitate for a few seconds, before opening the door and stepping out. Sure enough, my initial suspicion was correct, and as the rain begins to fall a little harder I find myself face-to-face with none other than Esmee Waters.

  “Hey,” I say cautiously. “What are you doing out here?”

  I wait, but she simply stares at me, almost as if she's in a daze. I look around, in case there's anyone else nearby, but it seems that we're all alone here.

  “I almost hit you,” I continue. “I'm sorry, I didn't see you until the last second.”

  Again I wait, but I'm not even sure that she heard me.

  “I'm pretty sure that you're not supposed to be out here like this,” I tell her. “You're all alone. Do the people at the hospital know that you're here? And the police?”

  I wait a moment longer, before stepping over to her and putting a hand on the side of her arm. The fabric of her hospital gown is already damp, and I'm struck now by the paleness of her skin. I guess living underground in a bunker for a decade isn't exactly conducive to the development of a tan.