"So you're admitting to murder, you know that right?"
"Well, according to what I heard, it's sad what happened to that poor girl. And I heard she was poisoned before she drowned in the water."
"Where'd you hear that?"
"Don't pretend. I know you heard it too."
"I can print all of this. You know that, right?"
"And who's going to believe you?"
I open my mouth to retort, but I don't have a retort. I'm silent and empty, quiet and still. I don't have anything to say to her because she's right. If this is he said, she said, then she's definitely winning that one.
"You think you're so smart and tough with your reporting, your podcasting skills, the way you survived serial killers. Please, honey. I eat people like you for breakfast. You think you can handle the big leagues? Welcome to Washington FUCKING D.C., the land of the bold, home of the killers. Are you going to come after me? You want to take me down? I'll have you arrested on charges -- obstruction of justice, conspiracy to commit murder, name it -- so quick. And I'll have the media scold you so quickly with your past. You want to hear about your friend Tank and everything that he went through? You want to hear what really happened with your boyfriend Jason? Oh, and let's see, what could I do to your friend Chase? Or Paige? Please. Come after me and I will take you down. I will destroy your entire world and I will ruin you. I will ruin you so fast you won't even have a second to breathe. So what's it going to be? Are you going to fight me? Do you really want to go down this road? What's it going to be?"
I'm dumbfounded, sitting here and hearing her speak so callously, so venomously. Her eyes might as well turn to small sits and a flickering tongue might as well poke out of her mouth. She's such a snake.
It doesn't change the fact that she knows the truth now. She knows that I know what happened the other night. She saw me see her.
My ace card is gone from my hand.
And she's right. She's completely right. No one will believe me over her. She's a presidential candidate with plenty of ties to the Washington elite. Even if a police officer believed in me, or a detective followed my line of thinking and supported me story -- even if I had literally everything I needed to prove what happened ... it wouldn't be enough. She could convince anyone to believe her. She could offer them a job. She could slip them some extra money under the table. She had the strings to pull and manipulate anyone she wanted to control.
So here I am. Stuck in the middle of the road again.
"So let me tell you what's going to happen," she says, dabbing the end of her cigarette into the ash tray. "You're going to break up with your boyfriend. You're going to wait three days from now to do it. I'm going to tell him that I gave you some info about the tech story. And I will have one of our aides leak you information so you can continue to report on what's going on. But you will stop your communication with Ben. Do you understand?"
I don't know how the logic is going to work. If I break up with Ben, there's going to be another aide sending me information and leaks. But ... what will that get me? What narrative will they spin for me? What type of picture will they ask me to paint with the written word?
I really don't like the setup of all of this.
"Now, let's also talk about the bigger matter at hand here," she says, flicking her cigarette again. "Let's talk about what you saw, or what you think you saw, and what you're going to say about it."
"I assume I'm not going to say anything."
"That's right. There's going to be an investigation playing out in the next few days. You'll probably see stuff about it on the news. Don't get involved. Let it be. We'll be done by the end of this week and it'll be over. And after that, once the government is open again, we can go our separate ways and never have to speak about this again."
Her words still don't answer questions for me. Why did she kill Kayleigh? What was the point of killing her? Had she been the one to kill her? After all, she was poisoned before she was attacked in the water.
And, more importantly, why didn't Simmons and her team kill me? Wouldn't this all be a little easier if I was dead? Maybe that would raise too many questions. There'd be even more spotlight on everything.
They couldn't kill me, at least not yet. If Simmons' aide's girlfriend suddenly died, wouldn't that put more police focus on the campaign? And wouldn't that just lead to more digging and discovery?
She needs me to live. She needs me to survive. She can't kill me.
And that gives me all the advantage in the world.
She might be from Washington, D.C. But I'm from New City. I've survived two serial killers.
She doesn't know who she's dealing with.
"Fine," I say, flicking my hair back and extending my hand for a shake. "Should we shake on it?"
"If it'll make you feel better," she says.
When we're finished shaking, I give her one hard glance, right into her eyes. I'm not trying to hide my emotions. I want her to see how much I dislike her. I want her to see how much I want her to hurt.
I want her to see the evil in my eyes.
And as I walk toward the door, I hear her light another cigarette and take a deep breath and puff. I grip the door handle and turn back. She nods, a smile plastered across her face.
And then I leave, a new world waiting for me on the other side of the door.
Chapter 11: The Breakuo
I can't sleep.
I'm sitting here on the couch, a cold cup of coffee on the table. CNN is on, the sound is off. Talking heads are shouting about new laws in Connecticut. Something about how it'll set precedents.
I don't even care.
Ben is due home any minute.
We need to talk. I don't want to talk, but we need to. For the good of his career, for me to survive, and for, unfortunately, the good of the Simmons campaign.
I walked home after I left the senator's hotel room. Ben wasn't anywhere to be found. Not in the lobby, not in the hallways. I texted him but he didn't respond until ten minutes later, saying he was swamped with campaign work. He relayed a story about how someone was trying to post an article about the senator's yearbooks photo, in which she appeared without sleeves and a little drunk. He tried to put out that fire, and it worked. It just took some extra work.
Sounds like that's what this team is all about. Putting out the fires with a little extra work, like blackmail, extortion, threats, promises. Whatever will move the needle.
I was so distraught with what happened that I walked all the way back to our apartment. No Uber, no Lyft, not a taxi, or an e-scooter. Just walked along the dusty streets of Washington, D.C., almost completely alone. Thank god I carry pepper spray wherever I go.
The entire walk home my brain wouldn't stop thinking about what I about to do now. I could only think about Ben and how we were going to have to end our relationship.
I can't express how much I hate Senator Simmons for what she's making me do, and how she's manipulating everything.
As I sit here now on the couch, scrolling through my phone, waiting for Ben to get home, I can't help but think about how the senator admitted to being there the night of Kayleigh's murder. She admitted that she was there choking her in the national pool water. Right to my face. Like it was nothing. Like she was admitting to visiting the grocery store.
How horrible it is to know that one of the country's senators is also a murder.
Well, can I say she really murdered anyone? Thoughts about what she said to me wash up like waves against the sand. I can see her telling me with a smirk on her face that she was there that night, but also that Kayleigh had been poisoned before she died. The doctor at the morgue had told me the exact same thing. She had been poisoned before she died in the water.
So did someone else kill Kayleigh before the senator? No, there's no way. It had to be the senator.
But I still don't know why it was happening. I still don't know why the senator, regardless if she poisoned Kayleigh or not, decided to drown her in the wa
ter.
Why was Kayleigh so important? Did she know something that no one else did? Did she say something to someone who made her a threat?
I hurry off the couch and grab my bag, which is leaning against the couch. I grab my notepad and a pen and begin to write down my most recent thoughts -- that Kayleigh was more important to this than I initially thought. That maybe she was seen as a threat. That maybe someone was after her for a reason pertaining to the New Surge Senate hearings.
I set my bag and pen down on the coffee table. My heart won't stop racing. My mind starts to build and race whenever I have a sudden thought that's pertained to the story I'm writing. It's like I can't get it out of my head.
Kayleigh. She's the missing link. Maybe there's this Minny character who might know some more details about New Surge. But Kayleigh, and what she means to the case means a lot to all of this. She is the key to this case.
The senator doesn't want me and Ben staying together. She's going to be monitoring all the stories I write and all the work I do. It's easy to follow someone around when you're in Washington, D.C., so I wouldn't surprised if she hunts me down and monitors my every move.
But that just means I have to be a little more careful. I have to watch out for everything coming my way. And I have to seek out Kayleigh.
Thank god the person I need to learn about is a dead girl. It'll make it easier to connect dots and building connections.
If I can figure out a way to learn more about her, then maybe I can solve this thing without the senator knowing. And then things would really get interesting.
The door to the apartments and opens and snags my attention away. Ben walks through the door holding a black felt briefcase. He sets it down on the island counter at the center of the kitchen. He leans against the counter and sighs so heavy I think for a second that he's going to caught up a lung.
He turns his head toward me and says, "Hey."
His voice sounds so sweet and genuine. It the sort of voice you use when you finally see someone days after not seeing them. His features show a rheumy smile. Bags hang under his eyes. He's tied beyond belief from all of these hours, and he already knows that they're just getting started.
But just look at him there. Looks at him there looking at me. He's been my boyfriend for a few months now. We've spent so much time together. We've done so much work together.
And now ... now it has to end.
I didn't even think about how I was going to break up with him until now. I didn't let my mind spin with ideas about how to handle the end of relationships. I just figured the right words would come to me.
But here I am, staring across the room at him, seeing him for who eh truly is.
And I have no idea how I want to handle this moment. I have no idea what I'm going to say to him.
"How was your conversation with the senator? Was it everything you thought it would be?"
I shake my head. "No, she's a little meaner than I thought."
"Really? She's so nice to me. I guess it's probably because I work with her and have to see her every day."
"Yeah, I can usually tell when politicians are just being politicians, you know. I thought she'd be a little nicer when I first met her but right from the beginning she was just a little rude to me."
"I'm sorry that happened," he says as he walks away from the island counter. He unbuttons his tie from his neck as he strolls away toward the bedroom. He's going to change.
And that makes another terrifying idea strike my mind. I feel a lead balloon fall into my gut. The nerves are electric and strong.
I haven't even thought about what this means for our living arrangement and how we're going to handle everything. There's nothing we can do to stop the worst from happening now. I hate the senator did this to me. I hate that she put me in this scenario.
She was right about one thing. I may have faced off with psychotic serial killers and bailed murderers. But that doesn't mean I've ever had to face off with people who will stab you in the gut, right to your face. Killers wear masks and hide their identities. She was being upfront and personal bout all of this.
"Ben," I say, trying to soak up his attention because some thoughts have begun filtering into my brain. "I need to talk to you about something."
He comes out of the room, shirtless and in sweatpants.
"Yeah, what's up?"
I finally have the right excuse to use. He's going to hate it. He's going to demand that I take it back and that we figure out a better solution.
But I have to convince him.
"I'm sorry," I say. "I just, I was talking to the senator and she told me about your upcoming schedule and how busy things are going to get for you, and I just ... I just can't."
"Can't what?" The concern in his voice is palpable.
"I can't be with you. She told me all about your schedule and how many dates you'll be gone and how long you'll be away from D.C., and I just don't know if I can handle all of this, you know?"
It's a lie. I know I can handle all of this and I know I could be with him for a long time. I know I could enjoy the breaks from each other, and I know I could miss him dearly on the day he's gone. But I know I could endure these things and wait for him to come home. That's what I believe.
But the senator wants other plans. The senator has other ideas in mind.
And I have to follow her lead.
For now.
Until I catch her, right?
If I can ever catch her. If I can ever nail down the story that will send her away for good for what she did to Kayleigh.
"Hey, hey, hey," he says, whispering quickly as he sits down beside me now. I can smell the sweat and worry lingering off of him. "You're okay. Don't worry. We'll be fine. We'll be okay. Annette, we can survive this easily."
I shake my head. He has to know the truth. He has to know that we can't stay together forever.
"I know, I know, but I can't. At least for now. For now, I can't do thiS. I have to think through all of this and see where it leaves us," I say.
"Where is this coming from?"
"Your senator was telling me about your schedule and everything and--"
"Did she tell you something? Did she tell you to end this with me?"
"No. God, no. Not at all. I just, you know how it goes, she told me about your schedule and how much you'll be gone, and I just couldn't handle it. I was walking home and I was thinking through everything and I couldn't handle it."
"Hey, hey," he reaches out toward my hand.
And now I have to make the decisive move. I have to make the one move that'll silence him.
I slap away at his hand and shove him away. I stand up from the couch and cross my arms over my chest, shaking my head quickly and baking away against one of the walls. I can't. I can't do this.
"No, no, no," I say, shaking my head. "Ben, seriously. I just need some time to think through all of this."
"Well what the hell am I supposed to do? What are we supposed to do with our place?"
"I'll move out," I say. "I'll pack some things and I'll go stay somewhere else for a bit. This is your place so it only makes sense for you to stay here."
He puts his hand on his hips and shakes his head, bites his bottom lip. He just can't believe it. He can't accept it.
"Please, Ben. For me. Please. Just do this for me. Give me the space I need. It's what I need right now."
He shakes his head. He has more pride than I do. He wants to stay together and he'll do anything to stop this breakup from happening.
So I have to do the next move that I can do. I walk way from the couch and head into my bedroom, leaving him alone in the living room. I don't say another word to him. I can't bring myself to do so.
And so I begin packing my bags, ready to leave this place, ready to leave him behind.
When I finally walk out the door, hours after our fight, without real direction of where I'm going except that I am going somewhere I am not coming back for a short while, I give him one
last, longing look. It's long because I want him to see what I'm thinking. I want him to see that I am not doing this for my own reasons. I am doing this because someone else wants me to.
But he doesn't see that and he doesn't understand it. He can't yet.
So I leave the apartment, closing the door behind me, heading into an unknown future.
Chapter 12: Update
The only way for me to get over my breakups is work. Working helps me relieve stress, as strange as that might sound. I know work can be stressful, sure. But when I have drive for something other than understanding heartbreak, that's when I know it's time to get moving.
So that's what I do in the immediate aftermath of the break. I spend the first two days of the breakup locked up at a hotel in the middle of city. The Hotel Washington, or something like that. Finding an apartment is my secondary priority. Now it's just a matter of having a place to sleep at night. Shoutout to the book deal that gave me enough cash to spend on these places.
When I'm finally read to work, I set up my laptop on the hotel room desk with a note pad at its side. I place a blue ballpoint pen next to the notepad. I tap on the desk light and switch on the TV to CNN. More talking heads talking about the president and his plans for the state of the union. It's still unclear if he plans to give one. That'll be interesting.
I open up my laptop and my fingers hover over the keyboard. I think about where I'm going to go on this world wide web. There has to be something to search for in there. I have to search for something to get moving and working. I have to make sure that I don't think about all of that other stuff, all the drama.
Kayleigh is the starting spot. I made the decision a few days ago that I would look into her and figure out why she was so important. Because that's undeniably true -- Kayleigh is overwhelmingly important to this entire mess. She was killed for a reason.
Senator Simmons wouldn't risk her entire reputation on the death of one random girl. It had to be a reason. It had to be for a purpose.
I do a simple Google search. There are a ton of listings so I weave through them, trying to find the right picture and profiles for her. I spend about a half-hour weeding through all of the pages. When I finally have them all open in separate tags, I begin to write down all the account names with descriptions of what appear on each of the profiles. Then, I roll through each of the social media profile feeds and establish a timeline.
Into the Night Page 9
