There is a shadow. The shadow is standing…is alive! Aunt Clara? Oh my god. I stop frozen in my tracks. I am making eye contact with Mark. He is as white as ghost heading out of the kitchen door.
“Mark?” I lock on familiar eyes. I shiver as they fade to an unfamiliar shade of blue.
“Get out of here Sari!” Mark hisses.
“What? No, Mark. Where is Aunt Clara?” My right knee bends to step forward to Mark. My arms reach in front of me for him. He shakes his head ‘no’. He doesn’t want me near him. My eyes plead with his to have me.
Screeching sirens pierce my eardrums and snap me back to reality. An invisible hand on my face creates resistance as I try to lower my head…my sight to the ground. I push with all my might through the resistance…I will force my neck to turn…there is something on the floor. I sense it. I must see it. The invisible hand lets go, my head lowers, my hands clinch my stomach as a blood hurling scream escapes my soul.
Brad rapidly drops to the ground and carefully touches Aunt Clara. He searches for a pulse. I cannot move. I stand, hovered over, holding my stomach…afraid to let to the next moment of my life happen. Please be alive Aunt Clara. Please move!
“Mark! Do not leave this room!” Brad points a bloody finger at Mark.
Mark slowly raises his arms. The rest of his body is still.
“What the fuck happened here Mark? What are you doing here?” Brad aggressively questions as he attempts CPR on Aunt Clara.
“Breath! Aunt Clara breath!” I fall to the ground. I take her hand in mind. I kiss it. I rub her hand on my cheek. “It’s me Aunt Clara. It’s Sari. Please wake up.”
Brad repeatedly pumps her chest so hard. I hear her ribs crack. Blood splatters on my face. My tears drop on her antique emerald ring. I stare into the emerald. It was my mom’s ring.
I glance over to Mark. Pure horror is written on his face. I stretch my arm out to him. I pull it back in shock as six armed officers storm in the room. They build a wall between Mark and I. The officers swarm the room and hurriedly begin their investigation. I feel like I am an invisible extra in Law & Order.
“Apprehend him! I’m Detective Callahan and this is part of a Cook County investigation.” Shouts Brad, he shifts the officers attention to Mark. Brad is bent over Aunt Clara trying everything he can to revive.
“No, no. I’m the one who called the police.” Bellows Mark. “I’m a relative.”
“Fuck! Just get them both out of here NOW!” Brad pounds his fist into the ground next to Aunt Clara’s head.
“Brad…what…no” I refuse to let go of Aunt Clara. I refuse to give up. An officer has his hands in my armpits trying to pull me away from Aunt Clara. I press my body into the ground with all of my weight. Dead weight. “No, no.”
“Sari, please. I am so sorry honey. Please step outside.” Mark whispers in my ear and strokes my hair. “Please.”
I sob. I slowly let go of Aunt Clara’s hand. It limply falls to her side. I grab my head with my bloody hands and choke on my tears. Mark lifts me to my feet. He hugs his body to mind and we make our way down the hall full of police officers and ultimately out of my childhood home.
“Mark! Mark!” I cry. “What is happening? Thank god you knew I would be here.”
“Baby, my baby. I’m so sorry.” Mark holds me so tight. I never want to let go. I want to stay safely in these arms forever. “You’re shaking.”
“And Ainslie. Why is this happening to us?” I lay my head on his shoulder.
“Ainslie?” I think I hear him ask.
“Mark.” Brad comes running out of the house at full speed towards us. “We need to talk.”
“Brad. Calm down. I am the one who called the police. I beat you guys here and this is what I found.” Mark says very casually. His composed manner is like osmosis and I become a tiny bit stable. I stand on my own two feet.
“What are you doing!” roars Mark as Brad rummages through Mark's pockets. “This is highly illegal Brad. You know this!”
“What is this?” Brad pays zero attention to Mark’s accusations.
Mark doesn’t answer the question. He just stands there like a deer in headlights.
“Where did you get this?” Brad barks directly into Mark’s face.
My heart races. Brad is holding another picture. Another tattered photograph. Ohmigod, I feel myself sway from my revelation. These crimes are related. They are. They must be. I fear I now know for certain.
“Let me see…” I try to snatch the picture from Brad. He removes if from my reach.
“What is this?!?” Brad shoves Mark backwards. “Answer me.”
“I found it on Clara.” Mark swallows as he catches his stumble.
“Why did you take it?” Brad asks without hesitation.
“I don’t know.” Flails Mark. “I don’t know. I didn’t think it had anything to do with anything.”
“Wrong.” Bullies Brad. “You must think I am one stupid son of a bitch. You are a defense attorney.”
“Brad.” I butt in with obvious concern in my voice. He is treating Mark so unfairly. I put my arm around Mark to show he has my support.
Brad rolls his eyes and steps aside to talk to a group of police officers. Mark and I stand in silence, looking away from each other.
“Sari, you go upstairs to your room.” Orders Brad. These words I once hated to hear blanket me with comfort. “Do not leave or do anything without checking in with me.”
“She’s a grown woman.” Says Mark with a squeeze of my hand.
“She is in danger.” Brad retorts matter of factly. A yelp sneaks out my throat. Danger? “Mark, you come with me.”
I creep past all the officers with my ears closed. I do not want to know what has happened. Not yet. I pray Aunt Clara is alive and will survive. As far as I know she is alive and I want to keep it that way.
I open the door to my childhood bedroom. It is filled with so many memories. I smell my youth, my sisters, my Aunt. Aunt Clara raised me and my sisters. She gave me her love and support. She gave us everything. All of her. She loves in a way I may never understand. She is selfless. Raising her sister’s daughters as her own. There is no way in hell she is responsible for any of this. She gave up her life for us.
I lay on my bed. I cradle my face in my pillow. I wish it was the summer before my junior year. I was laying here with my face in this pillow crying over Drew Milligen breaking up with me. Aunt Clara sat next me, rubbing my back and explaining to me it was his loss. She sat here for 4 hours reciting all of my good qualities and laughing off the questionable ones. I need you now Aunt Clara. So does Lizi.
Lizi! I scramble for my phone. No calls. Lizi has not called me back. I jump off my bed. Shit! My hands violently shudder as I dial Lizi’s number. It’s ringing. Answer! Answer!
Monday, August 31, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
NIP 10
“Good morning Robert and Tonya. I am standing in the Lincoln Park Zoo where a gruesome murder is being investigated. Ainslie Clarke, my beloved younger sister, was murdered here some time last night or this morning in cold blood. This crime is truly horrendous and revolting. We are first on the scene and little is known of how my sister was murdered, who did this to her or why. Please listen to me closely. I am begging every of one you tuning in to please report any suspicious activities you may have witnessed yesterday or leading up to the murder of my sister, Ainslie. Call 911. No, better yet call me directly at 773-870-68…….”
******************************************************************************
“Stop, stop. Stop Sari. They pulled the plug. We’re off the god damn air!” Sam heatedly jerks his camera off of his shoulder. “Shit.”
“What? Why?” I demand. This can’t be good.
“Why do you think Sari?” Brad crossly poses, appearing out of no where. He is staring at me with his arms folded over his chest….obviously annoyed. “What the fuck are you thinking?”
“Shut up Brad! Do not yell at me. I am doing the only thing I know…” I immediately jump on the defensive.
“Your phone number.” Brad stares at me blankly. I say nothing. He rubs his forehead. “Stay off the air. Sam go home. Now.”
“No thanks Detective. I don’t take my orders from you.” Sasses Sam. Sam gathers his equipment and steps aside but has no intention of vacating the crime scene.
“I will deal with you later.” Brad dismisses Sam. “Sari, come with me.” I inelegantly follow. Brad leads me around the Command Center bus to a clandestine spot. We are the only 2 people in eyeshot.
“Okay, I know this is extremely painful Sari. I am so sorry for your loss. But please you are not a reporter on this case…you are the victim’s sister. Hughes will lock you up if you impede in any way with this investigation. Okay?” Brad’s eyes beg me to accede. “This photograph was found on Ainslie. Does it mean anything to you?”
Brad hands me a photograph of me, Ainslie and Lizi. I do not recognize the picture. It must have been taken over 20 years ago. Maybe 23 years ago. I look to be about 6. Uncontrollable shivers rattle through me. A big, black ‘X’ covers Ainslie’s face.
“I have never seen this picture before.” My eyelids are heavy as I command utter focus on the tattered photograph of me and my sisters. I want to close my eyes, lose myself to sleep and hope to awake in my childhood bed to the smell of pancakes and syrup and the sound of Ainslie and Lizi arguing over who gets to use the bathroom first. Ainslie always won that battle. She could argue her way out of and into anything…except this time.
“So it means nothing to you?” Brad questions with the tone and body language he has been trained to use.
“No. I think this is….” My phone singing ‘one-eyed, one horn, flying, purple people eater’ alerts me Aunt Clara is calling or texting.
TO: Sari
FROM: AC
MESSAGE: I hope you can forgive me. I did this to you. I deserve what I get.
“Ohmigod!” I shriek. I frantically shake my phone as if it is an etch a sketch and I can change the message. What is this? What is she talking about? My mind races, I cannot decipher one thought from the other. My body reacts on autopilot. I run. I run so fast. I must get to Aunt Clara now. Car. I need a car. I spot a car with the engine running. I jump in and….
“OUT!” Brad shouts as he hurriedly pulls open the car door. He is out of breath from chasing me. How far did I run? I have to get out of here. Damnit Brad!
“No! No! No!” I irately pound the palm of my hands on the steering wheel. I crave the pain. “What is your fucking problem today!”
“Scoot over. It is illegal to drive a police car unless you are on the squad. I am. Move over.” Coolly orders Brad ignoring my violent rant.
I say nothing as I fold my long legs into me and climb over the middle compartment.
“Where to?” Brad winks and turns on the sirens.
“Aunt Clara’s. Deerfield.” I stare out the window. “As fast as you can.”
“Sure.” Brad mirrors my mood and we rapidly weave through traffic in silence. “What happened back there? What did your phone say?” The quiet lasted about 3 minutes total.
“This isn’t random is it?” My voice is monotone.
“What came through on your phone?” He blatantly ignores my question.
“Is this random?!?” I scream and dig my fingernails into the dashboard. I want to rip it off and whip it at someone…any one!
“I don’t think so.” He finally answers with a sigh. Brad never takes his eyes off the road or maybe he never takes his eyes off of his thoughts. “Now tell me why you freaked out. What did your…”
I pass my phone to him too nervous to open my mouth, to think, to read it again, or even look at it.
“Call her.” Is all Brad says after reading Aunt Clara’s message. I do as I am told. Numb and afraid.
“Aunt Clara. It’s me. Please call me back.” I leave the same message on her home phone and cell phone. My eyes sting as they fill with tears.
Brad kindly rubs my shoulder. His compassion is a necessary blanket. Mark! I need to get in touch with Mark.
“You okay?” asks Brad after witnessing me fidgeting in the passenger seat like I am having a seizure.
“I’m calling Mark.” I shush Brad. “Mark. It’s me. I need you. Please please please please call me. Do you know what is happening? Please call me. I love you.”
“No answer.” Brad comments.
“None.” I confirm. “I don’t get any of this. How can this be happening? God Ainslie is dead. Oh my god. And now this cryptic message from Aunt Clara. I just don’t get it. Why is this happening?” Tears roll down my cheeks. They remind me I am not numb. I catch them…I have to stay strong.
“We will sort it out Sari. I promise. This bastard will fry. You have my word.” Brad checks the patrol car Garmin. “What is the exact address?”
“3425 Crab Tree Lane.” I sniffle. What did you mean Aunt Clara? You raised me and cared for me my entire life. What could be your fault? I just don’t get it. I sniffle over and over again.
“Tissue.” Offers Brad. “Listen Sari, I’m sorry I was so gruff with you back there. The call you got just seemed fishy and you know how it is…some reporters pay off dispatch.”
“It’s fine.” I shelve it.
“Understand, I take my work seriously. I am protective of crime scenes…”
“Understood.” I force a smile. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to talk about anything.
We pull up in front of Aunt Clara’s house, my childhood home. I bolt out of the car before it stops moving. I tear through the front lawn. My blonde curls sense Brad running an inch behind me.
“Brad.” I utter in shock. The front door is ajar. I do not move. I do not go inside. I simply stare at it. “Oh no.”
“Me first. You follow.” Brad draws his gun. I follow closely behind as if I am on the back of his motorcycle. My knees are trembling. I want to race through the house screaming for Aunt Clara but I am too afraid. The house is still…as still as death.
We tiptoe past the living room. I see a tiny bit of light coming from the kitchen. I continue following Brad although my eyes are leading the way. I gape over his shoulder, I cannot cover my face. I must be brave.
There is a shadow. The shadow is standing…is alive! Aunt Clara? Oh my god. I stop frozen in my tracks. I am making eye contact with Mark. He is as white as ghost heading out of the kitchen door.
“Mark?”
******************************************************************************
“Stop, stop. Stop Sari. They pulled the plug. We’re off the god damn air!” Sam heatedly jerks his camera off of his shoulder. “Shit.”
“What? Why?” I demand. This can’t be good.
“Why do you think Sari?” Brad crossly poses, appearing out of no where. He is staring at me with his arms folded over his chest….obviously annoyed. “What the fuck are you thinking?”
“Shut up Brad! Do not yell at me. I am doing the only thing I know…” I immediately jump on the defensive.
“Your phone number.” Brad stares at me blankly. I say nothing. He rubs his forehead. “Stay off the air. Sam go home. Now.”
“No thanks Detective. I don’t take my orders from you.” Sasses Sam. Sam gathers his equipment and steps aside but has no intention of vacating the crime scene.
“I will deal with you later.” Brad dismisses Sam. “Sari, come with me.” I inelegantly follow. Brad leads me around the Command Center bus to a clandestine spot. We are the only 2 people in eyeshot.
“Okay, I know this is extremely painful Sari. I am so sorry for your loss. But please you are not a reporter on this case…you are the victim’s sister. Hughes will lock you up if you impede in any way with this investigation. Okay?” Brad’s eyes beg me to accede. “This photograph was found on Ainslie. Does it mean anything to you?”
Brad hands me a photograph of me, Ainslie and Lizi. I do not recognize the picture. It must have been taken over 20 years ago. Maybe 23 years ago. I look to be about 6. Uncontrollable shivers rattle through me. A big, black ‘X’ covers Ainslie’s face.
“I have never seen this picture before.” My eyelids are heavy as I command utter focus on the tattered photograph of me and my sisters. I want to close my eyes, lose myself to sleep and hope to awake in my childhood bed to the smell of pancakes and syrup and the sound of Ainslie and Lizi arguing over who gets to use the bathroom first. Ainslie always won that battle. She could argue her way out of and into anything…except this time.
“So it means nothing to you?” Brad questions with the tone and body language he has been trained to use.
“No. I think this is….” My phone singing ‘one-eyed, one horn, flying, purple people eater’ alerts me Aunt Clara is calling or texting.
TO: Sari
FROM: AC
MESSAGE: I hope you can forgive me. I did this to you. I deserve what I get.
“Ohmigod!” I shriek. I frantically shake my phone as if it is an etch a sketch and I can change the message. What is this? What is she talking about? My mind races, I cannot decipher one thought from the other. My body reacts on autopilot. I run. I run so fast. I must get to Aunt Clara now. Car. I need a car. I spot a car with the engine running. I jump in and….
“OUT!” Brad shouts as he hurriedly pulls open the car door. He is out of breath from chasing me. How far did I run? I have to get out of here. Damnit Brad!
“No! No! No!” I irately pound the palm of my hands on the steering wheel. I crave the pain. “What is your fucking problem today!”
“Scoot over. It is illegal to drive a police car unless you are on the squad. I am. Move over.” Coolly orders Brad ignoring my violent rant.
I say nothing as I fold my long legs into me and climb over the middle compartment.
“Where to?” Brad winks and turns on the sirens.
“Aunt Clara’s. Deerfield.” I stare out the window. “As fast as you can.”
“Sure.” Brad mirrors my mood and we rapidly weave through traffic in silence. “What happened back there? What did your phone say?” The quiet lasted about 3 minutes total.
“This isn’t random is it?” My voice is monotone.
“What came through on your phone?” He blatantly ignores my question.
“Is this random?!?” I scream and dig my fingernails into the dashboard. I want to rip it off and whip it at someone…any one!
“I don’t think so.” He finally answers with a sigh. Brad never takes his eyes off the road or maybe he never takes his eyes off of his thoughts. “Now tell me why you freaked out. What did your…”
I pass my phone to him too nervous to open my mouth, to think, to read it again, or even look at it.
“Call her.” Is all Brad says after reading Aunt Clara’s message. I do as I am told. Numb and afraid.
“Aunt Clara. It’s me. Please call me back.” I leave the same message on her home phone and cell phone. My eyes sting as they fill with tears.
Brad kindly rubs my shoulder. His compassion is a necessary blanket. Mark! I need to get in touch with Mark.
“You okay?” asks Brad after witnessing me fidgeting in the passenger seat like I am having a seizure.
“I’m calling Mark.” I shush Brad. “Mark. It’s me. I need you. Please please please please call me. Do you know what is happening? Please call me. I love you.”
“No answer.” Brad comments.
“None.” I confirm. “I don’t get any of this. How can this be happening? God Ainslie is dead. Oh my god. And now this cryptic message from Aunt Clara. I just don’t get it. Why is this happening?” Tears roll down my cheeks. They remind me I am not numb. I catch them…I have to stay strong.
“We will sort it out Sari. I promise. This bastard will fry. You have my word.” Brad checks the patrol car Garmin. “What is the exact address?”
“3425 Crab Tree Lane.” I sniffle. What did you mean Aunt Clara? You raised me and cared for me my entire life. What could be your fault? I just don’t get it. I sniffle over and over again.
“Tissue.” Offers Brad. “Listen Sari, I’m sorry I was so gruff with you back there. The call you got just seemed fishy and you know how it is…some reporters pay off dispatch.”
“It’s fine.” I shelve it.
“Understand, I take my work seriously. I am protective of crime scenes…”
“Understood.” I force a smile. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to talk about anything.
We pull up in front of Aunt Clara’s house, my childhood home. I bolt out of the car before it stops moving. I tear through the front lawn. My blonde curls sense Brad running an inch behind me.
“Brad.” I utter in shock. The front door is ajar. I do not move. I do not go inside. I simply stare at it. “Oh no.”
“Me first. You follow.” Brad draws his gun. I follow closely behind as if I am on the back of his motorcycle. My knees are trembling. I want to race through the house screaming for Aunt Clara but I am too afraid. The house is still…as still as death.
We tiptoe past the living room. I see a tiny bit of light coming from the kitchen. I continue following Brad although my eyes are leading the way. I gape over his shoulder, I cannot cover my face. I must be brave.
There is a shadow. The shadow is standing…is alive! Aunt Clara? Oh my god. I stop frozen in my tracks. I am making eye contact with Mark. He is as white as ghost heading out of the kitchen door.
“Mark?”
Monday, August 24, 2009
NIP 9
“Hughes…enough. ENOUGH!” Brad grabs Hughes by the arm, impeding his rant to command eye contact. “The victim is Ainslie Clarke. Sari’s sister.”
The ‘ah’ in unison is followed by deafening silence. I collapse to the ground. Brad falls with me, never letting go of his embrace. I wail an empty mind and empty heart. Brad strokes my hair as he places his lips on my forehead.
“Shhhh Sari…shhh...I will not let go.” Brad’s eyes shift to the sky. “Oh Sari…oh Sari…”
*****************************************************************************
“Officer Peabody please escort Miss Clarke to the Command Center bus.” Calmly instructs Detective Hughes. “Callahan, you come with me.”
My face is buried in Brad’s chest. He lifts my head to force eye contact and without a word offers encouragement. The leaves rustle as the crowd begins to disperse.
Officer Peabody hoists me up. I wobble to my feet. My head is so heavy. I am in a daze, a dream, a nightmare.
“Sari! Sari!” Sam sprints towards me. “Hun, you okay?” I can barely shake my head no. I cannot look at him. At any of them. They didn’t know Ainslie. That body is just some ‘vic’ to all of them!
“Sam, call Mark. Head over to the bus with Peabody and make sure she is okay and chills. I’ll be there when I finish up here.” Brad is a purposeful wall between Sari and Ainslie’s body.
“Will do. But Brad, tell me this…what the hell is going on?” Outwardly fishes Sam.
“Go.” Demands Brad before he is engulfed in a private huddle with Detective Hughes.
“Come here babe.” Sam pulls me to his side. He supports my dead weight by wrapping his around me. My body is limp, lifeless and merely hangs in Sam’s clasp.
Ainslie. Tears drip from my eyes. I no longer sob but rather whimper. I am so sad. My sister. My wonderful, beautiful, thoughtful and kind sister was murdered. In cold blood. Why Ainslie? Who could be so cruel? GOD! I cannot believe it! I am so angry. I feel rage boil my blood. From the tips of my toes to prickly hair follicles on my head…a surge charges through me. I grit my teeth daring them to shatter.
“AAAAAHHHHHH!!!!” I scream. I scream from the bottom of my heart, the depths of my soul, the root of my being. “SHIT!”
Sam lets go of me. I stand stiff with clinched fists roaring at the sky. “NO!” Come back Ainslie, please give her back.
I crumple to my knees. I fall forward, my hands catch my fall. I hover in a plank, searching for my breath as I bleed out tears of sorrow.
“Keep going.” Sam whispers in my ear. “Let it out.”
I hear his words but I do not listen. I am frozen. As if time is standing still. I swallow my anguish. I digest my grief. I absorb my duty. I literally rise to the occasion.
“Sam, phone the studio. Tell them we will be ready to go live in 5 minutes.” I fight to control my facial muscles. I will not flinch, I will not cry, I will do this.
“Um, don’t think so.” Sam’s expression clearly illustrates he thinks I am crazy.
Officer Peabody grabs my arm. I yank it away from him.
“Miss Clarke, please come with me.” Politely orders Officer Peabody.
“No.” I say flatly. “Whoever did this to my sister is going to run for his goddamn life. I will go on the air, I will face this fucker and he will pay.”
“Sari…come on. You can’t be serious. Holy jesus, you are serious.” I tilt my head in confusion and glare at Sam. This is not the time for him to get soft. Of all people.
“Oh please, you….Sam. YOU! This is hot shit, remember? This is career changing. This is what we live for. Now you get cold feet? Drop the school boy act. We are doing this.”
With trembling fingers I fumble in search of my phone. I have to call my youngest sister. My heart cracks knowing I have to break this horrific news to Lizi over the phone. But I have no choice. All I want is to hold Lizi and cry for hours. I want to look into her eyes and see Ainslie. They share bright, blue sky colored eyes outlined with a dark rim. My lips quiver as I sigh. I cannot be with her right now. I simply cannot. I need to hunt this bastard down. I have the advantage of a captive audience. The entire city of Chicago will be on this case in about 4 minutes.
“Lizi, this is Sari. Please, please, please call me back immediately. This is an emergency. Hurry up and get this message!” I have no idea what to say on her voicemail. I hate this. I’m so tense. Who in the world knows how to handle this! I have to call Aunt Clara too. I stare at my phone. I wish I knew what to say, how to say it. Damnit. Damn this.
“Aunt Clara. Please call me back. It’s an emergency. It’s Ainslie. She’s been…she is…oh god. Please call me back.” I hang up. Well, that was even worse.
My fingers automatically dial Mark’s phone number. I memorized it the moment he gave it to me. I never put him on speed dial. I never wanted to lose the feeling of knowing his number by heart or the building anticipation with each number dialed. Especially right now, I need to hear his voice on the line more than ever before. My family has always been my rock, but he is my cushion.
“Sari, we are in 2 minutes.” Sam cues.
Crap. I press the end button just as it was about to ring Mark. I’ll have to wait. ‘I love you Mark. I need you!’ I trust the wind to instantly deliver my message.
“Thanks.” I take the mic he is holding out to me. I firmly grip it. I close my eyes. The mic is my weapon. I am prepared to use it. My heart is threatening to pound of my chest. Inhale slow, slower, hold it, deeper, release.
“On the count of three. One, two, there.” Sam points at me and the camera is rolling.
“Good morning Robert and Tonya. I am standing in the Lincoln Park Zoo where a gruesome murder is being investigated. Ainslie Clarke, my beloved younger sister, was murdered here some time last night or this morning in cold blood. This crime is truly horrendous and revolting. We are first on the scene and little is known of how my sister was murdered, who did this to her or why. Please listen to me closely. I am begging every of one you tuning in to please report any suspicious activities you may have witnessed yesterday or leading up to the murder of my sister, Ainslie. Call 911. No, better yet call me directly at 773-870-68…….”
*******************************************************************************
The ‘ah’ in unison is followed by deafening silence. I collapse to the ground. Brad falls with me, never letting go of his embrace. I wail an empty mind and empty heart. Brad strokes my hair as he places his lips on my forehead.
“Shhhh Sari…shhh...I will not let go.” Brad’s eyes shift to the sky. “Oh Sari…oh Sari…”
*****************************************************************************
“Officer Peabody please escort Miss Clarke to the Command Center bus.” Calmly instructs Detective Hughes. “Callahan, you come with me.”
My face is buried in Brad’s chest. He lifts my head to force eye contact and without a word offers encouragement. The leaves rustle as the crowd begins to disperse.
Officer Peabody hoists me up. I wobble to my feet. My head is so heavy. I am in a daze, a dream, a nightmare.
“Sari! Sari!” Sam sprints towards me. “Hun, you okay?” I can barely shake my head no. I cannot look at him. At any of them. They didn’t know Ainslie. That body is just some ‘vic’ to all of them!
“Sam, call Mark. Head over to the bus with Peabody and make sure she is okay and chills. I’ll be there when I finish up here.” Brad is a purposeful wall between Sari and Ainslie’s body.
“Will do. But Brad, tell me this…what the hell is going on?” Outwardly fishes Sam.
“Go.” Demands Brad before he is engulfed in a private huddle with Detective Hughes.
“Come here babe.” Sam pulls me to his side. He supports my dead weight by wrapping his around me. My body is limp, lifeless and merely hangs in Sam’s clasp.
Ainslie. Tears drip from my eyes. I no longer sob but rather whimper. I am so sad. My sister. My wonderful, beautiful, thoughtful and kind sister was murdered. In cold blood. Why Ainslie? Who could be so cruel? GOD! I cannot believe it! I am so angry. I feel rage boil my blood. From the tips of my toes to prickly hair follicles on my head…a surge charges through me. I grit my teeth daring them to shatter.
“AAAAAHHHHHH!!!!” I scream. I scream from the bottom of my heart, the depths of my soul, the root of my being. “SHIT!”
Sam lets go of me. I stand stiff with clinched fists roaring at the sky. “NO!” Come back Ainslie, please give her back.
I crumple to my knees. I fall forward, my hands catch my fall. I hover in a plank, searching for my breath as I bleed out tears of sorrow.
“Keep going.” Sam whispers in my ear. “Let it out.”
I hear his words but I do not listen. I am frozen. As if time is standing still. I swallow my anguish. I digest my grief. I absorb my duty. I literally rise to the occasion.
“Sam, phone the studio. Tell them we will be ready to go live in 5 minutes.” I fight to control my facial muscles. I will not flinch, I will not cry, I will do this.
“Um, don’t think so.” Sam’s expression clearly illustrates he thinks I am crazy.
Officer Peabody grabs my arm. I yank it away from him.
“Miss Clarke, please come with me.” Politely orders Officer Peabody.
“No.” I say flatly. “Whoever did this to my sister is going to run for his goddamn life. I will go on the air, I will face this fucker and he will pay.”
“Sari…come on. You can’t be serious. Holy jesus, you are serious.” I tilt my head in confusion and glare at Sam. This is not the time for him to get soft. Of all people.
“Oh please, you….Sam. YOU! This is hot shit, remember? This is career changing. This is what we live for. Now you get cold feet? Drop the school boy act. We are doing this.”
With trembling fingers I fumble in search of my phone. I have to call my youngest sister. My heart cracks knowing I have to break this horrific news to Lizi over the phone. But I have no choice. All I want is to hold Lizi and cry for hours. I want to look into her eyes and see Ainslie. They share bright, blue sky colored eyes outlined with a dark rim. My lips quiver as I sigh. I cannot be with her right now. I simply cannot. I need to hunt this bastard down. I have the advantage of a captive audience. The entire city of Chicago will be on this case in about 4 minutes.
“Lizi, this is Sari. Please, please, please call me back immediately. This is an emergency. Hurry up and get this message!” I have no idea what to say on her voicemail. I hate this. I’m so tense. Who in the world knows how to handle this! I have to call Aunt Clara too. I stare at my phone. I wish I knew what to say, how to say it. Damnit. Damn this.
“Aunt Clara. Please call me back. It’s an emergency. It’s Ainslie. She’s been…she is…oh god. Please call me back.” I hang up. Well, that was even worse.
My fingers automatically dial Mark’s phone number. I memorized it the moment he gave it to me. I never put him on speed dial. I never wanted to lose the feeling of knowing his number by heart or the building anticipation with each number dialed. Especially right now, I need to hear his voice on the line more than ever before. My family has always been my rock, but he is my cushion.
“Sari, we are in 2 minutes.” Sam cues.
Crap. I press the end button just as it was about to ring Mark. I’ll have to wait. ‘I love you Mark. I need you!’ I trust the wind to instantly deliver my message.
“Thanks.” I take the mic he is holding out to me. I firmly grip it. I close my eyes. The mic is my weapon. I am prepared to use it. My heart is threatening to pound of my chest. Inhale slow, slower, hold it, deeper, release.
“On the count of three. One, two, there.” Sam points at me and the camera is rolling.
“Good morning Robert and Tonya. I am standing in the Lincoln Park Zoo where a gruesome murder is being investigated. Ainslie Clarke, my beloved younger sister, was murdered here some time last night or this morning in cold blood. This crime is truly horrendous and revolting. We are first on the scene and little is known of how my sister was murdered, who did this to her or why. Please listen to me closely. I am begging every of one you tuning in to please report any suspicious activities you may have witnessed yesterday or leading up to the murder of my sister, Ainslie. Call 911. No, better yet call me directly at 773-870-68…….”
*******************************************************************************
Thursday, August 20, 2009
NIP 8
“A caller? To you?” A puzzled expression replaces his stone cold glare as he rubs his forehead. “Attention seeking prep…” He is thinking out loud...his habit.
“And brutal.” I interject his thoughts.
“Huh.” His brow furrows as he snaps back to reality. He pauses, then points at me, exhales and with immaculate articulation asks, “You have seen the body?”
“Oh no…” I stutter. “No, no not yet.”
“Not ever.” He retorts.
I, once again, feel nauseous. This crime scene and Brad’s behavior is making me very uncomfortable.
“Right.” I blankly say to my shoes.
All the while, I keep thinking, a good reporter keeps her cool but when this is all over I am going to slug him for being such a jerk. A bad friend even. This is not an easy situation for any of us but at least this isn’t Brad’s first murder investigation. He could cut me some slack.
“The caller said,” It’s my nervous jitter...motor mouth. “The caller said it’s a rape, a murder and the girl is hanging from the monkey cage. Brutal.”
Brad glares at me. I have zero sixth sense and cannot pick up what he is thinking. So, without further ado, I decide to use the reporter card I have practiced over and over for fun in the mirror never really believing I would actually say it.
“I am going on the air with this information with or without your…”
“Watch your step Sari. This is not a game, this is not you playing reporter…this is 100% serious shit. This caller told you all of this? He called your direct line?” Brad could have asked these questions without throwing jabs at me.
“Yes Brad, how many times do we have to go over this. He called my line. Why would I make this up?” My eyes are begging him to believe in me.
“Okay then.” Brad sighs and his body releases some of its tension. “When you spoke to this person…”
“Um, it was Sam who spoke to this person. Sam dragged me here the minute I came into work.” It is obvious Brad stopped listening to me after I said ‘Sam’.
“But why would…the caller…” He has broken into his trademark out loud thought process. “he calls you…gives all the details…if they are in fact…”
My lips have formed an ‘O’ from concentrating so hard on piecing Brad’s thoughts together.
“could be a fake…attention…maybe he saw it…attention…could be the perp? But calls Sari directly. Something is not adding up.” Silence. Brad is silent. Could this mean a break through?
“Huh, like what?” I probe.
“Detective Callahan, it’s about fucking time! Stop chatting up the press broad and get the fuck over here!” Brad waves me off and heads over to the burly Detective Hughes. “You are not going to believe the whack job we have on our hands Callahan. It’s been 7 minutes and this investigation is already an ugly son-of-bitchin’ blackhole. And goddamnit it is only six weeks until my retirement.”
I stand mouth agape. Detective Hughes is the crudest man I have ever met. Yet, Brad is an attentive pup hanging on every word.
“The initial walk through reveals who we are dealing with.” They pace circles around each other as the conversation intensifies. I linger behind as they head in the direction of the monkey cages. This I know for a fact. I have been to this zoo a zillion times since birth. Crap…I cannot eavesdrop any longer, they are too far ahead.
I glance over my shoulder to Sam, who is fiddling with his equipment. We share a wavelength with a nod and I fall in line in the wake of the detectives. ‘Okay Sari, just act like you know exactly where you are going…no one will notice…head high…you belong here…this is fine…you are fine…” I do my best to exude confidence as I continue to encourage myself. After all, perception is reality.
I trail the detectives as they cross the bridge over the pond and wind left past the pavilion. As we make our way closer to the monkey cages an eerie sensation of calm penetrates the air…each footstep is vociferous as voices fade to stillness.
The sign pointing the route to the monkey cages comes into view. My head steers my body left. I step forward…I swallow my breath…as I am about to come face to face with the most horrific site of my life.
Blink. It can’t be. BLINK. Blink. I am blinking, blinking repeatedly…more, faster, BLINK! No. I cannot believe it. I will not. My mind is spinning…I am so dizzy. No, oh god no…this can’t be…the whole of my being immobilizes. I have no breath, no voice, no thought. I see my arms thrashing out in front me. I am trying to speak…to yell, to shriek. The body hanging from the cage is dismembered, bloody, stabbed, carved…my eyes are physically in pain taking in the scene. Her scar! The scar…her right knee is scarred from the airborne sledding accident when we were kids. We giggle every time we tell the tale. Her scar. I have to touch her scar. Maybe it’s not her! I have to see the scar. My legs take off. Tracers of color, images, noises float by me in slow motion.
“aaaarrrgggghhhhh!” Something rammed in my waist, knocking the wind out of me and capturing me. ‘Let me go!’ my mind screams. The sky is spinning…I want it to all stop. My neck can no longer bare the burden of my volatile head, it snaps and bobs downward...it’s an arm clutching my waist. Wha?...Who??..oh, Brad. I hunt for his face, his eyes.
“OHMIGOD!!!! OHMIGOD!! Brad…Brad...Ainslie…Ainslie! Oh god.” I begin to sob uncontrollably as I shrill in disbelief and rage. My body lifeless, my eyes open to nothingness.
“Goddamn reporters! This is a closed scene! Shut her the fuck up and get her the hell out of here. Goddamnit Callahan! This is a fucking murder scene. Get the damn priss out of my sight NOW!” Detective Hughes stomps in place screaming as personnel turn their attention on him. The crowd stands motionless.
“Hughes…enough. ENOUGH!” Brad grabs Hughes by the arm, impeding his rant to command eye contact. “The victim is Ainslie Clarke. Sari’s sister.”
The ‘ah’ in unison is followed by deafening silence. I collapse to the ground. Brad falls with me, never letting go of his embrace. I wail an empty mind and empty heart. Brad strokes my hair as he places his lips on my forehead.
“Shhhh Sari…shhh...I will not let go.” Brad’s eyes shift to the sky. “Oh Sari…oh..."
*************************************************************************
“And brutal.” I interject his thoughts.
“Huh.” His brow furrows as he snaps back to reality. He pauses, then points at me, exhales and with immaculate articulation asks, “You have seen the body?”
“Oh no…” I stutter. “No, no not yet.”
“Not ever.” He retorts.
I, once again, feel nauseous. This crime scene and Brad’s behavior is making me very uncomfortable.
“Right.” I blankly say to my shoes.
All the while, I keep thinking, a good reporter keeps her cool but when this is all over I am going to slug him for being such a jerk. A bad friend even. This is not an easy situation for any of us but at least this isn’t Brad’s first murder investigation. He could cut me some slack.
“The caller said,” It’s my nervous jitter...motor mouth. “The caller said it’s a rape, a murder and the girl is hanging from the monkey cage. Brutal.”
Brad glares at me. I have zero sixth sense and cannot pick up what he is thinking. So, without further ado, I decide to use the reporter card I have practiced over and over for fun in the mirror never really believing I would actually say it.
“I am going on the air with this information with or without your…”
“Watch your step Sari. This is not a game, this is not you playing reporter…this is 100% serious shit. This caller told you all of this? He called your direct line?” Brad could have asked these questions without throwing jabs at me.
“Yes Brad, how many times do we have to go over this. He called my line. Why would I make this up?” My eyes are begging him to believe in me.
“Okay then.” Brad sighs and his body releases some of its tension. “When you spoke to this person…”
“Um, it was Sam who spoke to this person. Sam dragged me here the minute I came into work.” It is obvious Brad stopped listening to me after I said ‘Sam’.
“But why would…the caller…” He has broken into his trademark out loud thought process. “he calls you…gives all the details…if they are in fact…”
My lips have formed an ‘O’ from concentrating so hard on piecing Brad’s thoughts together.
“could be a fake…attention…maybe he saw it…attention…could be the perp? But calls Sari directly. Something is not adding up.” Silence. Brad is silent. Could this mean a break through?
“Huh, like what?” I probe.
“Detective Callahan, it’s about fucking time! Stop chatting up the press broad and get the fuck over here!” Brad waves me off and heads over to the burly Detective Hughes. “You are not going to believe the whack job we have on our hands Callahan. It’s been 7 minutes and this investigation is already an ugly son-of-bitchin’ blackhole. And goddamnit it is only six weeks until my retirement.”
I stand mouth agape. Detective Hughes is the crudest man I have ever met. Yet, Brad is an attentive pup hanging on every word.
“The initial walk through reveals who we are dealing with.” They pace circles around each other as the conversation intensifies. I linger behind as they head in the direction of the monkey cages. This I know for a fact. I have been to this zoo a zillion times since birth. Crap…I cannot eavesdrop any longer, they are too far ahead.
I glance over my shoulder to Sam, who is fiddling with his equipment. We share a wavelength with a nod and I fall in line in the wake of the detectives. ‘Okay Sari, just act like you know exactly where you are going…no one will notice…head high…you belong here…this is fine…you are fine…” I do my best to exude confidence as I continue to encourage myself. After all, perception is reality.
I trail the detectives as they cross the bridge over the pond and wind left past the pavilion. As we make our way closer to the monkey cages an eerie sensation of calm penetrates the air…each footstep is vociferous as voices fade to stillness.
The sign pointing the route to the monkey cages comes into view. My head steers my body left. I step forward…I swallow my breath…as I am about to come face to face with the most horrific site of my life.
Blink. It can’t be. BLINK. Blink. I am blinking, blinking repeatedly…more, faster, BLINK! No. I cannot believe it. I will not. My mind is spinning…I am so dizzy. No, oh god no…this can’t be…the whole of my being immobilizes. I have no breath, no voice, no thought. I see my arms thrashing out in front me. I am trying to speak…to yell, to shriek. The body hanging from the cage is dismembered, bloody, stabbed, carved…my eyes are physically in pain taking in the scene. Her scar! The scar…her right knee is scarred from the airborne sledding accident when we were kids. We giggle every time we tell the tale. Her scar. I have to touch her scar. Maybe it’s not her! I have to see the scar. My legs take off. Tracers of color, images, noises float by me in slow motion.
“aaaarrrgggghhhhh!” Something rammed in my waist, knocking the wind out of me and capturing me. ‘Let me go!’ my mind screams. The sky is spinning…I want it to all stop. My neck can no longer bare the burden of my volatile head, it snaps and bobs downward...it’s an arm clutching my waist. Wha?...Who??..oh, Brad. I hunt for his face, his eyes.
“OHMIGOD!!!! OHMIGOD!! Brad…Brad...Ainslie…Ainslie! Oh god.” I begin to sob uncontrollably as I shrill in disbelief and rage. My body lifeless, my eyes open to nothingness.
“Goddamn reporters! This is a closed scene! Shut her the fuck up and get her the hell out of here. Goddamnit Callahan! This is a fucking murder scene. Get the damn priss out of my sight NOW!” Detective Hughes stomps in place screaming as personnel turn their attention on him. The crowd stands motionless.
“Hughes…enough. ENOUGH!” Brad grabs Hughes by the arm, impeding his rant to command eye contact. “The victim is Ainslie Clarke. Sari’s sister.”
The ‘ah’ in unison is followed by deafening silence. I collapse to the ground. Brad falls with me, never letting go of his embrace. I wail an empty mind and empty heart. Brad strokes my hair as he places his lips on my forehead.
“Shhhh Sari…shhh...I will not let go.” Brad’s eyes shift to the sky. “Oh Sari…oh..."
*************************************************************************
Monday, August 17, 2009
NIP 7
Mark reaches for the phone. His fingers quiver on the dial pad. He should have been informed of Ed Hayes’ release. Due to this heinous negligence Ed Hayes is on the street without supervision.
“Aunt Clara, it’s Mark. Call me as soon as you can. Ed Hayes has been released.”
*****************************************************************************
Sam’s driving is so incredibly erratic I am beyond nauseous as we pull up to the Lincoln Park Zoo.
I close my eyes and take a deep, meditative breathe in hopes of regaining my barrings. I am so off today. I am a reporter, I have taken an unspoken oath to get aroused by all of this unreal chaos. Sam is quite colorful, but he is right about one thing, this is my first big murder case. My first scoop…a real scoop. Deep breath out.
I open my eyes. Goosebumps crawl up my body. On any day this zoo is nestled on the city’s lakefront and desolate at this hour, even the animals are hidden inside. Not this day.
It is surreal, like a splash painting come life. The canvas is the grey-blue sky sprinkled with a dozen white cars and swiveling red and blue gumdrop lights, men hovering with glowing flash lights and EMT’s passing out shiny, metallic medical equipment. And one stretcher.
My eyes absorb this spectacle. Every hair on my body is standing straight up. As I step out of the van all I hear is a hum of voices. An ugly and eerie sensation rattles my bones.
“Here.” Sam shoves my mic in my hands. I mindlessly take hold of it, my eyes remain glued to the unfolding scene.
Sam saunters directly in front of me. Our eyes lock and I actually see a friend or maybe I am only searching for one.
“Sari, keep looking at me.” Sam says kindly. “This will surely be the most gruesome and fucked up thing you have and may ever see. But stay with me…you can do this. You Sari, the rookie, are getting the exclusive. No one else is here. This is your job, your biggest job yet.”
“Okay.” I nod.
“Show your compassion, cause I know you can’t hide it. But do not let your compassion own you. You will crumble if you do.” Sam’s pep talk continues. “You are a reporter of facts. Even fucked up facts. You are in the big leagues now. Got it. Let’s go.” Sam slaps my ass like we are about run out of a dugout. With ease, Sam throws his camera over his shoulder and casually walks the plank to the crime scene.
“Right Sam, you are absolutely right. We have a job to do.” It is taking every muscle in my throat to keep my voice from shaking. I chase after Sam, trailing him like a 4 year old. “Do you really think she is hanging from the monkey cage?”
“That’s what the guy said.”
“What guy?”
“The guy that called you line this morning dingbat. The reason we are scooping this story.” Sam’s face mocks me.
“I know but why did this ‘guy’ call me? Who is he?”
“Darlin’, I got the facts and location. That’s my program. I’m not looking to date the guy.” Sam chuckles. “My guess, you, good lookin’, have a secret admirer at dispatch. Nice work.”
“Really? But why would…”
“Great, just what we need. The bottom feeders. Christ. What the fuck are these idiots doing here!” Flails balding and beer bellied Detective Hughes in purposeful disdain.
“Be careful Detective. For being such idiots it is remarkable how hot on your tail we are.” I jab back. Old, stoggy detectives are the only part of this gig that doesn’t intimidate me. Out of the corner of my eye I see Sam smile as wide as Texas.
“Precisely my point Miss Clarke. Mark my words, after we secure this crime scene I will find a way to throw your ass in jail for illegally intercepting confidential police information.” Detective Hughes smugly turns on his heals.
Oh I don’t think so Detective Dick. I play fair.
“Actually Dic…Detective, I received a tip on my direct line explaining there is a woman hanging from the monkey cage.” I tilt my head making my perfected adolescent sneer and to my amazement Detective Hughes stops in his tracks.
Detective Hughes’ head flinches, his neck cracks. He slowly pivots in my direction. “Sari, say again.”
Our exchange is interrupted as a determined young officer approaches Detective Hughes with some type of paper…or is it a photograph? It is definitely a photograph.
“Christ!” Detective Hughes shouts. His hands quickly rummage in his coat pockets. “Do not leave this exact spot Sari until you speak with me.”
“It’s Miss Clarke.” I correct him with a straight face.
“You love to rile him up, don’tcha?” A friendly voice emerges out of the commotion. I turn to face a smirking Detective Callahan.
“Ah no. But I will continue to defend myself to that nasty, old fart.” On cue, I stick out my lower lip to pout.
“Well so be it. That nasty, old fart gets the job done.” Oddly Brad does not encourage my banter. “What are you doing here?” I am unfamiliar with this stern tone of his.
“What?” My god, what is with all the inquisitions today. Number one, I am a reporter and we are required to report live on location. And two, we are friends. “Brad…we work together.?.” He doesn’t even blink. “Who pissed in your Wheaties?”
“WE, the police ‘we’, Sari, got the call literally 5 minutes ago and yet you managed to beat me here. Hughes makes a point…how is that possible?” With obvious exaggeration, I look around to show a lot of people beat Brad here.
“What is with the accusatory tone Detective!?! A tip came through on my line. I am on TV…the news…it is not a stretch to think whoever called you guys, and by you guys I mean police, called me too. My name and place of employment are not hard to find.” I am really heating up now. “God, Hughes’ ego seems to be rubbing off on you.”
This exchange is terribly uncomfortable. Brad and I grab a drink at least once a week for crying out loud. He knows everything about me. I cannot even fathom Brad thinking I am in any way unethical. He is down right hurting my feelings. My face reveals my feelings while his stays stone cold.
Brad and I buddied up and became fast friends the day we met each other. It was six months ago, my first day on the job. I raced to the South Side after getting word of a stray bullet from a drive-by killing a 5 year old little girl. I was bound and determined to be an instant broadcasting success. I showed up with bossy Sam in tow, his camera, my mic, lights and was all set to go for my first assignment. I immediately interviewed the girl’s distraught mother. As she spoke my heart broke little by little. I managed to hold my composure by convincing myself I was playing a role in a movie. But behind my words I was crushed. My heart ached for this poor woman.
I finished my last report on the ten o’clock news. With a hanging head I gathered my things and sulked off to the van. Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to find a tall, ruggedly handsome, dark-haired man. Although I was engaged there was plenty there to get my attention. Detective Brad Callahan introduced himself to me as a rookie detective with 10 years as Chicago cop under his belt. A nice man with true intentions. He explained he had been observing me all night, studying me and my compassion for the ‘vic’ and her family. He said he couldn’t ever remember a reporter who actually cared about what or who they were reporting on. Which is why friction exists between reporters and law enforcement, he said. At the time I thought that was nonsense. And even to this day I refuse to believe when the camera stops rolling the reporter drops the mic and demands to be fanned with fig leaves. He presented his card saying ‘we are about to get to know each other real well.’ I had no idea how right his was.
“A caller? To you?” A puzzled expression replaces his stone cold glare as he rubs his forehead. “Attention seeking prep…” He is thinking out loud...his habit.
“And brutal.” I interject his thoughts.
“Huh.” His brow furrows as he snaps back to reality. He pauses, then points at me, exhales and with immaculate articulation asks, “You have seen the body?”
“Oh no…” I stutter. “No, no not yet.”
“Not ever.” He retorts.
“Aunt Clara, it’s Mark. Call me as soon as you can. Ed Hayes has been released.”
*****************************************************************************
Sam’s driving is so incredibly erratic I am beyond nauseous as we pull up to the Lincoln Park Zoo.
I close my eyes and take a deep, meditative breathe in hopes of regaining my barrings. I am so off today. I am a reporter, I have taken an unspoken oath to get aroused by all of this unreal chaos. Sam is quite colorful, but he is right about one thing, this is my first big murder case. My first scoop…a real scoop. Deep breath out.
I open my eyes. Goosebumps crawl up my body. On any day this zoo is nestled on the city’s lakefront and desolate at this hour, even the animals are hidden inside. Not this day.
It is surreal, like a splash painting come life. The canvas is the grey-blue sky sprinkled with a dozen white cars and swiveling red and blue gumdrop lights, men hovering with glowing flash lights and EMT’s passing out shiny, metallic medical equipment. And one stretcher.
My eyes absorb this spectacle. Every hair on my body is standing straight up. As I step out of the van all I hear is a hum of voices. An ugly and eerie sensation rattles my bones.
“Here.” Sam shoves my mic in my hands. I mindlessly take hold of it, my eyes remain glued to the unfolding scene.
Sam saunters directly in front of me. Our eyes lock and I actually see a friend or maybe I am only searching for one.
“Sari, keep looking at me.” Sam says kindly. “This will surely be the most gruesome and fucked up thing you have and may ever see. But stay with me…you can do this. You Sari, the rookie, are getting the exclusive. No one else is here. This is your job, your biggest job yet.”
“Okay.” I nod.
“Show your compassion, cause I know you can’t hide it. But do not let your compassion own you. You will crumble if you do.” Sam’s pep talk continues. “You are a reporter of facts. Even fucked up facts. You are in the big leagues now. Got it. Let’s go.” Sam slaps my ass like we are about run out of a dugout. With ease, Sam throws his camera over his shoulder and casually walks the plank to the crime scene.
“Right Sam, you are absolutely right. We have a job to do.” It is taking every muscle in my throat to keep my voice from shaking. I chase after Sam, trailing him like a 4 year old. “Do you really think she is hanging from the monkey cage?”
“That’s what the guy said.”
“What guy?”
“The guy that called you line this morning dingbat. The reason we are scooping this story.” Sam’s face mocks me.
“I know but why did this ‘guy’ call me? Who is he?”
“Darlin’, I got the facts and location. That’s my program. I’m not looking to date the guy.” Sam chuckles. “My guess, you, good lookin’, have a secret admirer at dispatch. Nice work.”
“Really? But why would…”
“Great, just what we need. The bottom feeders. Christ. What the fuck are these idiots doing here!” Flails balding and beer bellied Detective Hughes in purposeful disdain.
“Be careful Detective. For being such idiots it is remarkable how hot on your tail we are.” I jab back. Old, stoggy detectives are the only part of this gig that doesn’t intimidate me. Out of the corner of my eye I see Sam smile as wide as Texas.
“Precisely my point Miss Clarke. Mark my words, after we secure this crime scene I will find a way to throw your ass in jail for illegally intercepting confidential police information.” Detective Hughes smugly turns on his heals.
Oh I don’t think so Detective Dick. I play fair.
“Actually Dic…Detective, I received a tip on my direct line explaining there is a woman hanging from the monkey cage.” I tilt my head making my perfected adolescent sneer and to my amazement Detective Hughes stops in his tracks.
Detective Hughes’ head flinches, his neck cracks. He slowly pivots in my direction. “Sari, say again.”
Our exchange is interrupted as a determined young officer approaches Detective Hughes with some type of paper…or is it a photograph? It is definitely a photograph.
“Christ!” Detective Hughes shouts. His hands quickly rummage in his coat pockets. “Do not leave this exact spot Sari until you speak with me.”
“It’s Miss Clarke.” I correct him with a straight face.
“You love to rile him up, don’tcha?” A friendly voice emerges out of the commotion. I turn to face a smirking Detective Callahan.
“Ah no. But I will continue to defend myself to that nasty, old fart.” On cue, I stick out my lower lip to pout.
“Well so be it. That nasty, old fart gets the job done.” Oddly Brad does not encourage my banter. “What are you doing here?” I am unfamiliar with this stern tone of his.
“What?” My god, what is with all the inquisitions today. Number one, I am a reporter and we are required to report live on location. And two, we are friends. “Brad…we work together.?.” He doesn’t even blink. “Who pissed in your Wheaties?”
“WE, the police ‘we’, Sari, got the call literally 5 minutes ago and yet you managed to beat me here. Hughes makes a point…how is that possible?” With obvious exaggeration, I look around to show a lot of people beat Brad here.
“What is with the accusatory tone Detective!?! A tip came through on my line. I am on TV…the news…it is not a stretch to think whoever called you guys, and by you guys I mean police, called me too. My name and place of employment are not hard to find.” I am really heating up now. “God, Hughes’ ego seems to be rubbing off on you.”
This exchange is terribly uncomfortable. Brad and I grab a drink at least once a week for crying out loud. He knows everything about me. I cannot even fathom Brad thinking I am in any way unethical. He is down right hurting my feelings. My face reveals my feelings while his stays stone cold.
Brad and I buddied up and became fast friends the day we met each other. It was six months ago, my first day on the job. I raced to the South Side after getting word of a stray bullet from a drive-by killing a 5 year old little girl. I was bound and determined to be an instant broadcasting success. I showed up with bossy Sam in tow, his camera, my mic, lights and was all set to go for my first assignment. I immediately interviewed the girl’s distraught mother. As she spoke my heart broke little by little. I managed to hold my composure by convincing myself I was playing a role in a movie. But behind my words I was crushed. My heart ached for this poor woman.
I finished my last report on the ten o’clock news. With a hanging head I gathered my things and sulked off to the van. Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to find a tall, ruggedly handsome, dark-haired man. Although I was engaged there was plenty there to get my attention. Detective Brad Callahan introduced himself to me as a rookie detective with 10 years as Chicago cop under his belt. A nice man with true intentions. He explained he had been observing me all night, studying me and my compassion for the ‘vic’ and her family. He said he couldn’t ever remember a reporter who actually cared about what or who they were reporting on. Which is why friction exists between reporters and law enforcement, he said. At the time I thought that was nonsense. And even to this day I refuse to believe when the camera stops rolling the reporter drops the mic and demands to be fanned with fig leaves. He presented his card saying ‘we are about to get to know each other real well.’ I had no idea how right his was.
“A caller? To you?” A puzzled expression replaces his stone cold glare as he rubs his forehead. “Attention seeking prep…” He is thinking out loud...his habit.
“And brutal.” I interject his thoughts.
“Huh.” His brow furrows as he snaps back to reality. He pauses, then points at me, exhales and with immaculate articulation asks, “You have seen the body?”
“Oh no…” I stutter. “No, no not yet.”
“Not ever.” He retorts.
Monday, August 10, 2009
NIP 6
“I have the fire inside. Big story Sari. You need to toughen up otherwise all the other reporters in this city and those clamoring to get to this city are going to eat you alive. You’ll be back taking calls at the desk! Or better yet…selling newspaper subscriptions over the phone!” Sam laughs hysterically at his own joke.
In the few months I have been working with Sam all I know is he’s in his mid-40s and a sour crab by nature which I usually chalk up as comical but today none of this is remotely funny.
What a jerk. I meet Sam’s gaze with a blank pout.
****************************************************************************
“Good morning Mark. Can I get you anything?” Rapidly inquires Mark’s irksome secretary upon his first step in the door.
Before he knew Marcy he was sure this brand of character was fictitious. Only to be found in movies, books, exaggerated stories, etc. Wrong. Marcy is a south side Chicago bred trans-generational city worker. A 40 year old virgin, red-headed and pudgy no doubt. And, against his wants and wishes, Mark is her sole priority. He very nearly despises her. Moments like this Sari’s words ring in his brain, ‘Marcy is a nice, lonely lady and it makes her feel good to help you in any way she can. Be kind.’ Goddamn Sari and her need to always be sunshine. ‘It is why I love her so much,’ his heart skips a beat. This thought of Sari instantly turns Mark’s frown upside down.
“No thanks Marcy. Just gonna settle into the day. Thanks.” Mark glides past her desk towards his office.
“So Mark, do you know what today is?” Marcy lures.
Mark pivots, thinking…oh shit, is it national secretary’s day? ‘Well at least let me take my coat off Marcy! Then I am sure my calendar will remind me.’ He silently huffs and puffs.
“What is today, Marcy?” Mark decides to play her game but hopes she cannot see his gritted teeth.
“It is officially six months to the day until your wedding!” Sing songs Marcy. “I am surprised Sari didn’t mention it first thing this morning!”
Mark surveys Marcy. Is she serious? Does she actually think Sari is being in any way thoughtless about something this asinine. ‘Lord help me,” he rolls his eyes.
“Huh, no she didn’t mention it Marcy. Oh no! Do you think she is having second thoughts?” He cannot resist a little teasing. His deliberate ridicule evokes another stored Sari piece of advice…’Karma is a bitch.’
“Oh Mark.” Her face glows at the opportunity to voice her opinion. “Absolutely not. Not Sari. No way Jose. She is probably just busy with her neat new job.” Marcy nods and appears satisfied to have offered reassurance on the subject.
“You are probably right. What a relief.” With that, Mark sighs and, at last, totters off to the privacy of his own office.
Office box rather. It is no secret, at least not to Mark, this office was designed solely to have a secluded place with a door to hide from Marcy types and more importantly, file storage. It is windowless and barren. A story of a man and his file cabinets, he quips. In such a small space, every item must have a distinctive home, otherwise, it would look like the disaster known as his childhood bedroom. As he hangs his coat on the usual hanger and stacks his bags in the usual corner Marcy buzzes him.
“Hi Mark. I hope you are settling in nicely to your day. Mr. Jacobsen, from the jail, is on the line. Shall I patch him through?”
Oh boy, Mark braces himself, it is never good news when a call comes from the Cook County Detention Center. Especially not this early!
“Yes, thank you Marcy.” Showtime. “Hiya Pete. What can I do for you?”
“I’m afraid I have some bad news. So I’ll get right to it. Ed Hayes was released yesterday and has failed to check in with his parole officer. Which is a violation and will land his ass right back here unless…”
Mark stopped listening. His heart is racing. His skin prickles from his toes to the top of his head.
“What are you telling me Pete!?!” Mark curtly grills.
“I am saying.,,” Pete proceeds to over enunciate but again Mark unthinkingly ignores his words.
“No Pete, do not repeat. Just answer. Are you telling me you released Ed Hayes WITHOUT consulting my office? I am his counsel for fuck’s sake!” Blood rushes to his head from every pulsating vein in his body.
“Take a breath Mark. You’ve been his attorney for what 3 years or some shit. He served his sentence and paid his debt to…” Pete purposely conveys his annoyance. His office acted appropriately. Furthermore, Pete cannot tolerate lawyers or layman, for that matter, judging convicts who have served their time. Pete wholeheartedly believes in rehabilitation. Even when a parolee has a minor hiccup such as Ed Hayes has.
“Oh shut the fuck up Pete! So he is on the goddamn fucking street? This minute? Right now? Christ!” Mark slams the phone down. “FUCK!” With full force he pounds his fist into his desk.
Mark’s office door flies open.
“Is everything…o….k…??”
“Out Marcy! OUT!” Marcy’s body is visibly shaken by Mark’s outburst. Marcy immediately diverts her eyes and shirks out the way she entered.
Mark reaches for the phone. His fingers quiver on the dial pad. He should have been informed of Ed Hayes’ release. Due to this heinous negligence Ed Hayes is on the street without supervision.
“Aunt Clara, it’s Mark. Call me as soon as you can. Ed Hayes has been released.”
*****************************************************************************
In the few months I have been working with Sam all I know is he’s in his mid-40s and a sour crab by nature which I usually chalk up as comical but today none of this is remotely funny.
What a jerk. I meet Sam’s gaze with a blank pout.
****************************************************************************
“Good morning Mark. Can I get you anything?” Rapidly inquires Mark’s irksome secretary upon his first step in the door.
Before he knew Marcy he was sure this brand of character was fictitious. Only to be found in movies, books, exaggerated stories, etc. Wrong. Marcy is a south side Chicago bred trans-generational city worker. A 40 year old virgin, red-headed and pudgy no doubt. And, against his wants and wishes, Mark is her sole priority. He very nearly despises her. Moments like this Sari’s words ring in his brain, ‘Marcy is a nice, lonely lady and it makes her feel good to help you in any way she can. Be kind.’ Goddamn Sari and her need to always be sunshine. ‘It is why I love her so much,’ his heart skips a beat. This thought of Sari instantly turns Mark’s frown upside down.
“No thanks Marcy. Just gonna settle into the day. Thanks.” Mark glides past her desk towards his office.
“So Mark, do you know what today is?” Marcy lures.
Mark pivots, thinking…oh shit, is it national secretary’s day? ‘Well at least let me take my coat off Marcy! Then I am sure my calendar will remind me.’ He silently huffs and puffs.
“What is today, Marcy?” Mark decides to play her game but hopes she cannot see his gritted teeth.
“It is officially six months to the day until your wedding!” Sing songs Marcy. “I am surprised Sari didn’t mention it first thing this morning!”
Mark surveys Marcy. Is she serious? Does she actually think Sari is being in any way thoughtless about something this asinine. ‘Lord help me,” he rolls his eyes.
“Huh, no she didn’t mention it Marcy. Oh no! Do you think she is having second thoughts?” He cannot resist a little teasing. His deliberate ridicule evokes another stored Sari piece of advice…’Karma is a bitch.’
“Oh Mark.” Her face glows at the opportunity to voice her opinion. “Absolutely not. Not Sari. No way Jose. She is probably just busy with her neat new job.” Marcy nods and appears satisfied to have offered reassurance on the subject.
“You are probably right. What a relief.” With that, Mark sighs and, at last, totters off to the privacy of his own office.
Office box rather. It is no secret, at least not to Mark, this office was designed solely to have a secluded place with a door to hide from Marcy types and more importantly, file storage. It is windowless and barren. A story of a man and his file cabinets, he quips. In such a small space, every item must have a distinctive home, otherwise, it would look like the disaster known as his childhood bedroom. As he hangs his coat on the usual hanger and stacks his bags in the usual corner Marcy buzzes him.
“Hi Mark. I hope you are settling in nicely to your day. Mr. Jacobsen, from the jail, is on the line. Shall I patch him through?”
Oh boy, Mark braces himself, it is never good news when a call comes from the Cook County Detention Center. Especially not this early!
“Yes, thank you Marcy.” Showtime. “Hiya Pete. What can I do for you?”
“I’m afraid I have some bad news. So I’ll get right to it. Ed Hayes was released yesterday and has failed to check in with his parole officer. Which is a violation and will land his ass right back here unless…”
Mark stopped listening. His heart is racing. His skin prickles from his toes to the top of his head.
“What are you telling me Pete!?!” Mark curtly grills.
“I am saying.,,” Pete proceeds to over enunciate but again Mark unthinkingly ignores his words.
“No Pete, do not repeat. Just answer. Are you telling me you released Ed Hayes WITHOUT consulting my office? I am his counsel for fuck’s sake!” Blood rushes to his head from every pulsating vein in his body.
“Take a breath Mark. You’ve been his attorney for what 3 years or some shit. He served his sentence and paid his debt to…” Pete purposely conveys his annoyance. His office acted appropriately. Furthermore, Pete cannot tolerate lawyers or layman, for that matter, judging convicts who have served their time. Pete wholeheartedly believes in rehabilitation. Even when a parolee has a minor hiccup such as Ed Hayes has.
“Oh shut the fuck up Pete! So he is on the goddamn fucking street? This minute? Right now? Christ!” Mark slams the phone down. “FUCK!” With full force he pounds his fist into his desk.
Mark’s office door flies open.
“Is everything…o….k…??”
“Out Marcy! OUT!” Marcy’s body is visibly shaken by Mark’s outburst. Marcy immediately diverts her eyes and shirks out the way she entered.
Mark reaches for the phone. His fingers quiver on the dial pad. He should have been informed of Ed Hayes’ release. Due to this heinous negligence Ed Hayes is on the street without supervision.
“Aunt Clara, it’s Mark. Call me as soon as you can. Ed Hayes has been released.”
*****************************************************************************
Friday, August 7, 2009
NIP 5
“Oh god, how awful. Are you feeling better now? Drink some water. Maybe you should call Dr. Stewart and schedule a check up. It could be your blood pressure…”
“No, no, it’s not anything like that my crazy hypochondriac sista. And stop talking so fast. You’ve had coffee. The Sari coffee curse has already kicked in and I am the maddened recipient. Oh joy.” Lizi must be feeling better if she is picking on me. “Anyway, this is not physical. It felt almost emotional. It’s strange. It’s nothing. I just needed to hear a friendly voice. So sweetie pie…I am going to phone Ainslie. She’ll nurse my psychosis.”
“Hey!” I feign annoyance. “Go for it. Call Ainslie. BUT you better have freshly made blueberry pancakes served on Leonardo Dicarpio naked ass at her door once she picks up that phone!” As I start chuckling I realize I have only amused myself. Typical.
"I’m closing you down caffeine junkie.” Lizi is mildly amused by my wit, I can tell. “So I’ll see you tomorrow night. I am picking the spot this week. No suggestions please. My pick! Expect my text message. Later sis.”
Ah yes, our weekly sister dinner. This dinner is only to be missed for three reasons. One, hot date but must call with details as soon as hot date is over. Two, hospitalization and then dinner will be brought bedside. Three, walking down the street you haphazardly run into Vince Vaughn and end up in his bed, in which case we have sworn to wait for as long as it takes at the restaurant for the lucky glowing sister to show up and divulge all details. This is serious…we have had dinner together once a week for 7 years.
“Feel better Lizi. I love you. Say hi to Ainslie for me. Can’t wait to hear how that call plays out!” I hang up with a smirk.
Calling Ainslie this early is sheer lunacy. Lizi is not awake in the mornings whereas Ainslie is awake and absolutely furious about it. If you cross her path too soon you are a goner. She’ll attack you with big words and complete sentences!
Ainslie is the brainiac of the family. She has the innate ability to retain information. Useful information, unlike me, I retain everything celebrity. A natural born scholar, Ainslie has as appetite for all subjects of real world importance. Which explains why at 27 years old she is an award winning health care lobbyist in Illinois. Ainslie confidently grabs the attention of and ruthlessly battles elite politicians until they agree (often times reluctantly) to sign the bill offering free health care to all children provided by the state. This aggressive lashing is what one will receive if Ainslie is bothered before her morning primping is complete. I laugh out loud thinking about Lizi calling Ainslie this minute.
The cabbie knocking on the partition summons me back to reality. I pay him his fare, collect all of my bags and head into the ABC building. I love trotting into this building. I feel so inspired, so successful, so full of energy and charisma.
“Top of the morning to ya Miss Clarke.” Frank, the ABC doorman, greets as I walk through the lobby.
“Good morning to you Frank.” I adore him. Frank has been the doorman here for 42 years. He is the eyes and ears of everything ABC in Chicago. Frank tells captivating stories from the past and the present, only if you are one of his favorites. I am. I am drawn to gossip…it is my downfall.
“Miss Clarke if I didn’t know you as well as I do I would think you were off to the airport with all of those bags.” Frank reaches out to help me with my bags.
“I know! A girl has to be prepared.” I smile. “I do look a little silly, huh?”
“Not even a little Miss Clarke.” Frank winks.
“So tell me…anyone or anything cool running here on the morning news?” I brace myself for his response. I have bumped into Cirque du Soleil performers, celebrities, musicians, prodigies and even animals - domestic and wild.
“I regret to inform you not this morning Miss Clarke. However, there is a playground colon being built behind the studio.”
“Oh really…okay.” We exchange the ‘ick’ look. What a strange way to entice people to get a colonscopy…having kids slide through plastic intestines of a giant colon.
“Have a nice day Miss Clarke.” Frank waves as I step into the elevator.
“You too, Frank.” I press the number 57 and I am on way to the newsroom. I feel elated and alive. Each and every day I come to work I feel I am right where I am suppose to be. Finally. I have begun to achieve my goals and dreams. I am a reporter! And to think only two years ago I was the traffic girl on WBBM 780AM drive-time show, then worse, the phone girl for the ABC city news desk and now the 57th floor…here I am! Another day of surprising twists and turns to uncover the truth. I dramatically exhale as I step out of the elevator…
“SARI! Fucking it’s about time! Let’s go. Turn, turn around and get back in that elevator. Let’s go!” Orders Sam as he is shoves me not caring about the fact that all his camera equipment is beating the crap out me. I lose my balance and stumble into the elevator.
“What is going on!?!” I am dumbfounded and unsure if I feel mad at Sam, annoyed or possibly a bit entertained.
“Big story! HUGE!! This is the stuff I dream about. This scoop is going to catapult us right into news history!” The euphoria in Sam’s eyes is slightly contagious albeit it disturbing.
“Wow. So what is the story? What happened?” I feel my face turn red. I am the reporter…I should be getting scoops not taking cues from my burly cameraman. Though, this is not the first time. Sam has all the answers, he always does. A very annoying quality.
“A tip came through on your line…”
“My line? You answered my phone?” Ahhh, this is MY scoop.
“Yeah, I had a hunch. It was ringing off the hook…it got to me. I had to pick it up. Don’t look so pissed hun. I was waiting for you at your desk to go to that stupid tradeshow.” I roll my eyes and Sam shrugs. “Get this…you are not going to believe it. I still can’t believe it and it was my ears that danced with joy when I heard the news! A unanimous source called in and said a woman was brutally raped and murdered in Lincoln Park Zoo.” He stares at me waiting for my dazzled reaction. I draw in a deep breath.
“Oh my god, how awful.” I shiver. “Last night?” Inert is my mind and body as I struggle to register what I am hearing.
“Yes, but it gets better. Can you believe it gets better!?! Apparently, she is hanging on the monkey cage. Mutilated and naked. We are first to the scene!”
My stomach flips and I feel slightly light-headed. I run my fingers through my hair and take a deep breath. The monkeys are my favorite. Chills run up my spine. Dizzy. My eyes fall on Sam’s cocky smile. My skin quickly warms to a boil and my heartbeat cues rage. “SAM! Goddamn. Have some compassion. God, what is wrong with you!” I turn my head in disgust. I cannot even look at him. Poor woman. My blood is boiling. His excitement is out of line. I know this is our job but we can do it with some empathy for crying out loud!
“Oh shut up. In the van now.” Sam demands practically ripping my arm off dragging me into the van. “She is probably a prostitute….get off your fucking high horse.” He flings his equipment in the van and sprints around to the driver’s seat. I grab the straps of my bags…
“Thanks Frank.” Eyes and ears, Frank followed us out of the building to help me with my bags. Now there is a gentleman.
“Come on Sari! Get in! We gotta move. Do you not understand our goal here?” He has replaced misguided elation with mockery. Wonderful.
“Alright Sam. I am trying to get organized. You caught me off guard.” I am composed. I am a journalist, damnit.
I sit in the back of the van and take a sneak peek of myself in a mirror. I have to make sure I am camera ready…especially under these chaotic circumstances.
“Is the equipment set up for a live feed?” I figure if I talk shop I can avoid any sort of real conversation with him. I have had enough.
“Oh lady jane…never underestimate my value. And, never forget, I am the one who is looking out for you missy. I know exactly what I am doing. You just focus on your pretty little face and clever words. This is our shining moment. I know I am not going to be the one to fuck it up.” Sam is as cool as a cucumber and as cold as ice. Now I have really had enough.
“Why are you so…so…so…so hostile?!? Before this morning you were actually starting to be nice to me. Is there a bipolar switch on you or something?” I am bemused. In about one minute I am going to lose my cool and let him know he is seriously working my nerves.
“I have the fire inside. Big story Sari. You need to toughen up otherwise all the other reporters in this city and those clamoring to get to this city are going to eat you alive. You’ll be back taking calls at the desk! Or better yet…selling newspaper subscriptions over the phone!” Sam laughs hysterically at his own joke.
In the few months I have been working with Sam all I know is he’s in his mid-40s and a sour crab by nature which I usually chalk up as comical but today none of this is remotely funny.
What a jerk. I meet Sam’s gaze with a blank pout.
*************************************************************************
“No, no, it’s not anything like that my crazy hypochondriac sista. And stop talking so fast. You’ve had coffee. The Sari coffee curse has already kicked in and I am the maddened recipient. Oh joy.” Lizi must be feeling better if she is picking on me. “Anyway, this is not physical. It felt almost emotional. It’s strange. It’s nothing. I just needed to hear a friendly voice. So sweetie pie…I am going to phone Ainslie. She’ll nurse my psychosis.”
“Hey!” I feign annoyance. “Go for it. Call Ainslie. BUT you better have freshly made blueberry pancakes served on Leonardo Dicarpio naked ass at her door once she picks up that phone!” As I start chuckling I realize I have only amused myself. Typical.
"I’m closing you down caffeine junkie.” Lizi is mildly amused by my wit, I can tell. “So I’ll see you tomorrow night. I am picking the spot this week. No suggestions please. My pick! Expect my text message. Later sis.”
Ah yes, our weekly sister dinner. This dinner is only to be missed for three reasons. One, hot date but must call with details as soon as hot date is over. Two, hospitalization and then dinner will be brought bedside. Three, walking down the street you haphazardly run into Vince Vaughn and end up in his bed, in which case we have sworn to wait for as long as it takes at the restaurant for the lucky glowing sister to show up and divulge all details. This is serious…we have had dinner together once a week for 7 years.
“Feel better Lizi. I love you. Say hi to Ainslie for me. Can’t wait to hear how that call plays out!” I hang up with a smirk.
Calling Ainslie this early is sheer lunacy. Lizi is not awake in the mornings whereas Ainslie is awake and absolutely furious about it. If you cross her path too soon you are a goner. She’ll attack you with big words and complete sentences!
Ainslie is the brainiac of the family. She has the innate ability to retain information. Useful information, unlike me, I retain everything celebrity. A natural born scholar, Ainslie has as appetite for all subjects of real world importance. Which explains why at 27 years old she is an award winning health care lobbyist in Illinois. Ainslie confidently grabs the attention of and ruthlessly battles elite politicians until they agree (often times reluctantly) to sign the bill offering free health care to all children provided by the state. This aggressive lashing is what one will receive if Ainslie is bothered before her morning primping is complete. I laugh out loud thinking about Lizi calling Ainslie this minute.
The cabbie knocking on the partition summons me back to reality. I pay him his fare, collect all of my bags and head into the ABC building. I love trotting into this building. I feel so inspired, so successful, so full of energy and charisma.
“Top of the morning to ya Miss Clarke.” Frank, the ABC doorman, greets as I walk through the lobby.
“Good morning to you Frank.” I adore him. Frank has been the doorman here for 42 years. He is the eyes and ears of everything ABC in Chicago. Frank tells captivating stories from the past and the present, only if you are one of his favorites. I am. I am drawn to gossip…it is my downfall.
“Miss Clarke if I didn’t know you as well as I do I would think you were off to the airport with all of those bags.” Frank reaches out to help me with my bags.
“I know! A girl has to be prepared.” I smile. “I do look a little silly, huh?”
“Not even a little Miss Clarke.” Frank winks.
“So tell me…anyone or anything cool running here on the morning news?” I brace myself for his response. I have bumped into Cirque du Soleil performers, celebrities, musicians, prodigies and even animals - domestic and wild.
“I regret to inform you not this morning Miss Clarke. However, there is a playground colon being built behind the studio.”
“Oh really…okay.” We exchange the ‘ick’ look. What a strange way to entice people to get a colonscopy…having kids slide through plastic intestines of a giant colon.
“Have a nice day Miss Clarke.” Frank waves as I step into the elevator.
“You too, Frank.” I press the number 57 and I am on way to the newsroom. I feel elated and alive. Each and every day I come to work I feel I am right where I am suppose to be. Finally. I have begun to achieve my goals and dreams. I am a reporter! And to think only two years ago I was the traffic girl on WBBM 780AM drive-time show, then worse, the phone girl for the ABC city news desk and now the 57th floor…here I am! Another day of surprising twists and turns to uncover the truth. I dramatically exhale as I step out of the elevator…
“SARI! Fucking it’s about time! Let’s go. Turn, turn around and get back in that elevator. Let’s go!” Orders Sam as he is shoves me not caring about the fact that all his camera equipment is beating the crap out me. I lose my balance and stumble into the elevator.
“What is going on!?!” I am dumbfounded and unsure if I feel mad at Sam, annoyed or possibly a bit entertained.
“Big story! HUGE!! This is the stuff I dream about. This scoop is going to catapult us right into news history!” The euphoria in Sam’s eyes is slightly contagious albeit it disturbing.
“Wow. So what is the story? What happened?” I feel my face turn red. I am the reporter…I should be getting scoops not taking cues from my burly cameraman. Though, this is not the first time. Sam has all the answers, he always does. A very annoying quality.
“A tip came through on your line…”
“My line? You answered my phone?” Ahhh, this is MY scoop.
“Yeah, I had a hunch. It was ringing off the hook…it got to me. I had to pick it up. Don’t look so pissed hun. I was waiting for you at your desk to go to that stupid tradeshow.” I roll my eyes and Sam shrugs. “Get this…you are not going to believe it. I still can’t believe it and it was my ears that danced with joy when I heard the news! A unanimous source called in and said a woman was brutally raped and murdered in Lincoln Park Zoo.” He stares at me waiting for my dazzled reaction. I draw in a deep breath.
“Oh my god, how awful.” I shiver. “Last night?” Inert is my mind and body as I struggle to register what I am hearing.
“Yes, but it gets better. Can you believe it gets better!?! Apparently, she is hanging on the monkey cage. Mutilated and naked. We are first to the scene!”
My stomach flips and I feel slightly light-headed. I run my fingers through my hair and take a deep breath. The monkeys are my favorite. Chills run up my spine. Dizzy. My eyes fall on Sam’s cocky smile. My skin quickly warms to a boil and my heartbeat cues rage. “SAM! Goddamn. Have some compassion. God, what is wrong with you!” I turn my head in disgust. I cannot even look at him. Poor woman. My blood is boiling. His excitement is out of line. I know this is our job but we can do it with some empathy for crying out loud!
“Oh shut up. In the van now.” Sam demands practically ripping my arm off dragging me into the van. “She is probably a prostitute….get off your fucking high horse.” He flings his equipment in the van and sprints around to the driver’s seat. I grab the straps of my bags…
“Thanks Frank.” Eyes and ears, Frank followed us out of the building to help me with my bags. Now there is a gentleman.
“Come on Sari! Get in! We gotta move. Do you not understand our goal here?” He has replaced misguided elation with mockery. Wonderful.
“Alright Sam. I am trying to get organized. You caught me off guard.” I am composed. I am a journalist, damnit.
I sit in the back of the van and take a sneak peek of myself in a mirror. I have to make sure I am camera ready…especially under these chaotic circumstances.
“Is the equipment set up for a live feed?” I figure if I talk shop I can avoid any sort of real conversation with him. I have had enough.
“Oh lady jane…never underestimate my value. And, never forget, I am the one who is looking out for you missy. I know exactly what I am doing. You just focus on your pretty little face and clever words. This is our shining moment. I know I am not going to be the one to fuck it up.” Sam is as cool as a cucumber and as cold as ice. Now I have really had enough.
“Why are you so…so…so…so hostile?!? Before this morning you were actually starting to be nice to me. Is there a bipolar switch on you or something?” I am bemused. In about one minute I am going to lose my cool and let him know he is seriously working my nerves.
“I have the fire inside. Big story Sari. You need to toughen up otherwise all the other reporters in this city and those clamoring to get to this city are going to eat you alive. You’ll be back taking calls at the desk! Or better yet…selling newspaper subscriptions over the phone!” Sam laughs hysterically at his own joke.
In the few months I have been working with Sam all I know is he’s in his mid-40s and a sour crab by nature which I usually chalk up as comical but today none of this is remotely funny.
What a jerk. I meet Sam’s gaze with a blank pout.
*************************************************************************
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)