Rip

by Paul Sating

  Janis remained standing. "No, it's okay. I won't be here long."

  Pam looked disappointed, but when didn't she? Recalling what it was like to be alone with her father last night, the way he was excited to see her, his joy evident in every word, Janis wondered what it would take for her mother to enjoy her company for once.

  "Is everything okay? You look good for a change," Pam grunted as she slowly lowered herself into the chair.

  "Everything's fine," Janis answered. The mess of rehearsed lines slithered and slipped, but didn't release from the mental knot, a scramble of black lines entangled in one another, impossible to unlock. "Everything is great, in fact."

  Pam concentrated on pouring a glass of tea as she replied, "Well, I'm glad to hear that, Janis. Things have been difficult lately, so it's nice that you're holding up under the demands." The glass filled, Pam set the jug back on the table with a careless thud. Her fingers lingered on the handle as she rolled them in a tapping motion. Janis watched carefully. "Honey, why are you here? We talked about this. You should know, we must be careful. This has me worried. We weren't supposed to see each other again for a few days, remember?"

  Janis didn't, but she wasn't going to admit it. Her mother had a way of making the most nebulous of memories sound like concrete facts, making it impossible sometimes to tell truth from fiction. But it didn't matter. Not now. None of those previous conversations or plans mattered. Her father was back, independent of her mother, and that changed everything. No more chance meetings, no more having to obtain her mother's permission to speak with the man she longed to have back in her life, in full capacity. "I'm fine. Don't worry about that stuff."

  "Okay, honey."

  Janis couldn't contain the words anymore. This wasn't a dance she wanted to do. "That's the weird thing about life, Mother. Just when you see your destiny, when you get a chance to shine, someone pulls the rug out from underneath you and turns everything upside down."

  "I don't understand."

  "I'm sure you don't."

  Pam slouched back against the chair, her face an unreadable mask. "Honey, what's going on? Did something happen? Are you sleeping at all?"

  She hadn't, really. A few hours here and there every time she neared complete exhaustion. Lying wouldn't make a difference. "No. I've been up all night."

  "Why? Is your mania acting up again?"

  A harsh laugh was Janis' response. "No. This time you don't get to blame my condition or shuffle back to church tonight and pretend you are free of blame. Because I know the truth."

  "What are you talking about? What truth?"

  Janis crossed her arms, feeling smug. "The truth about him. Your secret about my father. I know how to make Dad proud."

  At the mention of her ex-husband, Pam sat up straighter. "Janis, that's not funny. Don't joke around about your father. Ever. How dare you?"

  Janis didn't have time for this. The conversation was turning in the exact direction she figured it would, because it always did. "Cut the shit. He's been waiting for me to break free of your grip, living in Memphis for years and you've kept that from me. You never told me! You said he didn't want to be part of my life and that he only came around last year because he was sick. But that's not true. Not true at all. Just like it isn't true that he would only see me when you were around because it made him feel more comfortable because of ... because of everything that happened. All of it, lies. Why?"

  Pam looked stunned. Good.

  "Janis, I swear, honey, I don't know what you're thinking, but you didn't see him last night," Pam answered, starting to stand. "Oh my goodness, I'm so worried about you."

  Janis scoffed. "Don't be. For years, I thought about what I would do if I ever got to talk to him again, to have a real conversation. What I would say? How would I act? What's funny is that I could recite it all in my sleep, just waiting for the day. Then he comes back and you're always playing guardian, never letting me have the conversations I needed. To reconnect, to get closure, whatever reason. You never allowed me that!"

  Pam's lips pursed in her typically proper way. "Honey, you didn't see your father. You couldn't have."

  "But I did. Just last night. He's been watching my work, much more closely than you said. And, guess what? He's proud of what I've accomplished and encouraged me to keep going, because I'm not done. There's still more I need to do, and he knows I can, mother. He told me so."

  Pam came around the table with her arms extended. Janis backed away, holding up a hand. Pam's arms dropped to her side. "Janis, stop this madness. Please."

  "That's the reason I stopped by," Janis felt lighter, released. The splitting headache that refused to fade since last night subsided almost instantaneously. "You don't have to lie anymore. Fuck the family secret; you don't have to protect that either. I'm not a little girl and I definitely don't need or want you sheltering me from my father again. We're a family now, and I plan on acting like it."

  With her proclamation, Janis spun and headed toward the screen door. Toward her car. Toward Memphis. Toward destiny.

  Over her shoulder she could hear the shuffling sounds of her mother scrambling toward her. "Don't go, Janis! Please sit down! Let's talk this out."

  But Janis was already on the front porch and descending the three steps to the cracked and uneven sidewalk.

  Pam yelled behind her. "You're making a mistake! We're not done yet!"

  43

  The world was ablaze.

  It was happening.

  It was really happening!

  Angelique paced alongside her now favorite credenza. Waiting. All they did now was wait. For Janis. Marshall. The latest news about the murderer. In the electric air, time passed at an excruciating pace. At this rate, Angelique was going to wear the carpet through to the base flooring.

  Everything returned to abrupt clarity when someone knocked. Angelique jumped.

  "Come in," Monica announced.

  Janis stepped in. "Monica, what the hell—am I missing something?" There was a pep, a lightness, in Janis's stride. She looked energized too.

  "Where have you been?" Monica asked more harshly than normal. It was a consequence of the situation.

  Janis looked taken aback. "I was on my way in, like normal. What's going on?"

  "We've been calling you for two hours," Angelique snapped, still pacing and in no mood to put up with bullshit. "Jesus, where have you been?"

  "I—I was getting ready," Janis stumbled. "Then I had to stop by to see my mother. Why is everyone racing around? Why were you calling me? Monica? Someone? Tell me something."

  We wouldn't have to tell you anything if you were at work more often, Angelique critiqued silently. "Crazy shit. They think they found the bastard! Can you believe it? They finally found him!"

  Janis stood quietly in the middle of the room. Her mouth moved, but it was as if her voice was on delay. Finally, she croaked. "What? How? When?"

  Even from the other side of the wall, Angelique heard raised voices. It seemed everyone at The Times was working the story. As they should. Rumor and fact were indistinguishable at this point, and the urgency in the building only blurred the lines more. That required dedicated, serious manpower. Monica made the right call making sure that everyone was on board. The tension leaked into the office.

  Monica spoke quickly. "He's not in custody, not yet. We got a leak this morning. Something about that shit Branson found related to Jack the Ripper's name. He handed his research over to Marshall. Whatever Marshall found, it's happening. Every spare hand is onboard, covering anything that breaks. We're close, Janis! We're so damn close. Get ready, I need you to be all over this. It's moving fast."

  The phone rang, interrupting her.

  "Dammit," Monica halted, quickly sliding down her desk, snagging the phone from its cradle. "What? I'm in a meeting—oh, hey Marshall. You got some—yes, Janis is here. Angelique and Branson too, yes. Oh, okay. You've got it." Monica hung up, her chest rising and falling deeply. "Okay, that was Marshall. He wa
nts us all to stay here. He's got something, something hot. Janis, be ready. Branson, Angelique? Any support she needs to break the story, give it to her."

  "Of course," Angelique answered the command. Of course she was going to support Janis. Never before in her entire career was she as thrilled as now. This was a huge break, for all of them.

  "I—I need to go," Janis said awkwardly.

  Angelique spun. What the fuck was Janis talking about? She needed to go? Now? In the middle of everything happening? This instant? To do what? Heat rose up her neck as she stared in disbelief at Janis' disrespect. Filled with growing outrage and feeling more than a little betrayed, she ground her teeth, trying to stop herself from snapping. The story of the Memphis murders was far more important than that damn woman's ego. The team needed her. The confused expressions on Monica and Branson's faces relayed the commonality of confusion, but they didn't know Janis like she did. Without her long-term understanding of Janis' internal and external conflicts, the pair wouldn't be able to comprehend what was tugging Janis from wanting to work on the one thing she begged to be part of. With no specifics, Angelique knew because she could read the woman so easily. More drama, with Pam, with a guy, or even with a cashier at the gas station; when it came to Janis, it didn't matter who the person was, just that some faceless member of Memphis' community had embroiled her attention with the seduction of conflict.

  Janis had lost her priorities. If she didn't want it Angelique would more than fill her shoes. Janis could throw away everything she'd been handed by Monica and the Times if she wanted, because Angelique was done playing nice. Working in a dying industry wasn't in the cards, television was, and this story, being at the forefront, would position her nicely to make that happen. So be it.

  "You heard Monica," Branson said. "Marshall wants us to stay put."

  But Janis shook her head. "No, Monica, I know who the killer is and I have a good idea where he'll be. I need to go."

  How? Was that what this was all about? Janis had something the rest of them didn't? Was that where she was this morning? Digging deeper into the story outside the boundaries set by Monica? That took balls. In a split second Angelique's anger and frustration turned to maddening respect. This was the Janis who set herself apart, the woman who had the fortitude to sneak around on her own boss in the most high-profile story in the city. The woman, as conflicted as she was, proved her genius.

  Monica moaned. "Marshall was adamant that no one was to leave. Let's wait until he gets here. Plus, even if you do, you can't just go racing out there and put yourself in danger. Wait for Marshall; he'll know what to do."

  "And let other agencies break the story?" Janis countered. "Come on. You brought me here for this purpose, to get the exclusive. Well, this is it. I'll make this story for you, but I need to get to him before the cops do or you'll lose it. Let me go and you'll have the board eating out your hands for years. I'll help you make history. And, I'll take Angelique with me if that'll make you feel better."

  Angelique snapped her head to take in both Monica and Janis, ready to race from the office the moment her boss agreed. This was what reporting was about, what she'd trained to do and sacrificed years to achieve. But would Monica buy it?

  "I can go," Branson asserted. "I've given as much to the story she has. I want to be there."

  "No," Janis said firmly. "He—he caught me last night, as I was leaving work."

  "What?" Monica shouted.

  Janis waved her away. "There isn't any time to explain. I need to leave now or we lose this one chance. That's all you're going to get. Are you willing to let this slip out of our hands?"

  Monica appeared to be considering it. She broke eye contact with the three reporters who hung on her every word and searched her desk for nothing in particular. Angelique could almost see the wheels in Monica's head turning. Calculating. A smile crept across Angelique's lips. At her core, Monica was still a writer, a reporter, hungry for a story, willing to chase the rabbit. That reporter would have raced out of the office along with Janis. "Okay. Okay," she said more firmly the second time. "But take Branson, at least. Don't put Angelique in that position."

  Angelique was about to protest, to remind Monica that it was her decision as to what positions she was put in, but Janis spoke first.

  "Can't," she said, shaking her head vigorously. "Angelique can handle herself and this person will be threatened if Branson rolls in with me. Guys threaten other guys. Who knows what'll happen. Do you want it to escalate because of testosterone? Can we really afford to take that chance? Angelique, are you willing to go?"

  "Yes." It was the easiest answer she ever had to give. Plus, they didn't need to know she was packing a pistol and knew, somewhat, how to use it.

  Branson gesticulated wildly. "Monica, come on, this is crazy. They're fucking journalists! Are you really okay allowing them to go see to a sociopath? The Memphis fucking murderer?"

  Monica, easily swayed as ever, appeared conflicted. "I—I'm not sure. If Janis is right, we're going to be the only agency with the access to the suspect before his lawyers shut this shit down. This could ... this will go national."

  Angelique sighed.

  "And if she's wrong?" Branson pushed.

  "Janis?" Monica prodded, all eyes turning in unison.

  Janis looked like she mentally had one foot already out of the door. "Please let me finish the story."

  "Oh my God," Branson turned away, disgust arcing across his expression.

  "Okay," Monica waved them out, "go, before I change my mind."

  Janis turned toward Angelique, giving her curt nod. "Come on."

  Angelique's blood surged through her veins. "We're really doing this?"

  "What about Marshall?" Branson's question sounded more like a begging plea.

  In a final gesture of salvation, Monica answered, "I'll deal with him. Just get that story."

  "I will, you won't be disappointed," Janis replied. Her hand rested on the door handle as she paused, answering Monica before they left to chase madness. "I'll give you a story Memphis will remember forever."

  And then they were racing past the cubicles and coworkers, through the electric atmosphere of breaking news. Hundreds of eyes witnessed their sprint toward glory.

  Angelique had never felt so alive.

  44

  Angelique tried to control her bouncing foot, but it had a mind of its own. Energy surged through her as they made the short trek across the city, west toward the Mississippi River. Traffic was moderate but frustrating. Throughout the drive, Janis remained quiet, leaving Angelique to her own thoughts. They were about to experience the biggest moment in their individual and collective careers, maybe even in their lives. For all their remaining decades, they might never have another one as big as this. So silence made sense; any conversation would have been empty and deluded by the surge of physical and mental energy created by the impending seminal event.

  Businesses, new and old, flashed past. Each car's occupants became an item of interest to Angelique as she tried to make out distinguishing details of those they left in their wake. All served as a source of distraction, something to pull her mind from the incessant thoughts surrounding the possibilities awaiting them.

  Janis swore she knew who the killer was and where he'd be. But that was all she shared. Ever since they raced down the stairs and out to the parking lot she was tight-lipped, even as Angelique poked for more information.

  Information was power and might be the difference if Janis' conversation/pseudo-interview with Memphis' mysterious killer went downhill. Heading into the situation armed with only her pistol wasn't her smartest decision of the week or last twenty years, and she'd made a ton of bad mistakes. She'd slept with more women in the past month than her entire collective visits to the firing range. Angelique held hope she had picked up enough tricks and tips during those practices to get both of them through this unnerving encounter, should it be needed. The only thing stopping her from yanking open her door at th
e next stoplight was the fact that Janis was determined to meet the man she adamantly claimed was responsible for the murders of at least four of the city's women. Leaving Janis to face him on her own was not an option.

  Still, Angelique needed something she could use to prepare, to anticipate what they might face in the next few minutes.

  But Janis wasn't speaking.

  Not until they neared their destination. "I trust you girl, but this is crazy. Fucking crazy."

  Janis stared straight ahead, speeding across the city. Her voice was distant when she responded. Dreamy. "No, it's not. We're going to be remembered forever. Here. We're here."

  Angelique looked away from studying Janis' face. They pulled off Riverside Drive and into the circle in front of the television news building. "Martyr's Park? Really? The killer is going to be here?"

  "So?"

  So? A television station and a crime unit were located within a football throw of the lot. Extending that circle out a few hundred yards and two other buildings housing hundreds of people might bear witness to their encounter. This was one of the last locations in Memphis Angelique expected the murderer to make his appearance. Unless the scumbag got off on risk.

  "It's open. Too opened," she reasoned. "I thought he'd be discreet. Kind of makes me feel better, like he's honestly interested in giving you his story before the cops get to him." She laughed without humor. "I expected a warehouse or something, to be honest. This is safe. Safer, I mean, because none of this crazy shit is safe."

  Janis murmured as she pulled into a parking spot. "You watch too many movies. It's all going to be good if you trust me. Let's go."

  Parked at the far end of the traffic circle, Martyr's Park lay just down the slope, the Mississippi beyond. No other cars were around, so if the killer was here, he didn't drive or he parked toward the more populated end of the lot, near the news station. The entire situation was risky for him, but taking it that far didn't make sense. He had to know the net was shrinking and this conversation with Janis was his final hurrah, his chance to become the celebrity he wanted to be. Surely, he would take the opportunity to get away if it presented itself to him. Then he wouldn't have put himself in a position to be near any media or law enforcement office, unless he was an absolute maniac, and if that were the case, a few trips to a firing range wasn't going to be enough to protect her and Janis.