by Kim Mckade
Toby sighed and hugged her closer. “If you ask me, the whole profession is screwed up if that’s the way you’re supposed to be.”
Corinne smiled wanly and bit her lip. “You’d never cut it, Toby. You’d want to single-handedly solve every problem you covered ”
“You’re right. And I’m not the only one, am I?” He placed his index finger under her chin and lifted it, turning her to face him.
“I guess not,” she said quietly.
“Corinne, caring about what happens to people doesn’t make you a failure.”
“I know that. It’s just that, when you’re a professional, you separate your personal feelings from the job in front of you.”
“Right,” Toby said, rolling his eyes.
“It’s true. A professional—” Corinne stopped and sighed. “Never mind. I know you can’t understand. I wouldn’t have understood if I hadn’t been in that business.”
She hung her head and chewed on her lip.
“Look.” He sighed and took her hand, toying idly with her long fingers. “You put your heart and soul into that job, and that’s not wrong. You got burned, but that was someone else’s fault.”
A tear coursed down Corinne’s cheek. She breathed shallowly. She didn’t want him to know she was crying again.
“You probably didn’t know this, but I watched every newscast you ever did.”
“You did?” She turned to face him, then turned away quickly and wiped her cheek.
“I did. We get the station on cable, down at the courthouse. I watched throughout the whole business with Sulley, too. And if it counts for anything. I never thought you were biased.”
“You don’t have to tell me that, Toby. You don’t have to make me feel better.”
“I’m not saying it to make you feel better. As a matter of fact, if you want to know the truth, I thought you were one cold-blooded woman.”
Corinne laughed in surprise and sniffed.
“I’m serious. If I hadn’t known you better, I wouldn’t have believed you cared about anything—”
“Toby, stop,” Corinne. laughed. With the heel of her hand, she wiped more tears from her eyes.
He hugged her to him. “I’ll bet you could jump right back in there and take up where you left off,” he said, his voice tight.
“I don’t want to go back.”
“Good. I don’t want you to, either.”
He continued to hold her close, and she let him. Damn him, but he was right. She did feel better. She hadn’t voiced her deepest fears about the riot to anyone. Truthfully, she would never know if she was responsible in any way. But in the back of her mind, there had always been that thought, that possibility...
“How did you know it was nine minutes?” Toby asked suddenly.
“What?”
Toby pulled back and studied her face. “You said it was nine minutes, from the moment the guy ran up to you with the gun, till the moment he shot you. How did you know it was nine minutes? You weren’t timing it then.”
Corinne looked away, and she could feel the closeness they’d just shared slipping away. She didn’t know if she was ready to talk to him about the rest. But the words came out anyway. “I watched the tape.”
“That was a dumb idea.”
“Thanks, Sheriff.”
“I mean it. Whose idea was it to let you watch that tape? It was that idiot you married, wasn’t it?”
“It wasn’t his idea.” Her short laugh had a bitter edge. “In fact, he was quite angry when he found out I’d seen it.”
“Finally, the guy’s showing some common sense.”
“Scot, the photographer, brought it to the hospital.”
“What were you supposed to do, sit down with the family and watch it over dinner?”
“Don’t be mad at Scot. He was doing it for my own good.”
“Oh, yeah, a lot of good that’s going to do you. Watching yourself get held at gunpoint for almost ten minutes, then shot in the jaw.”
“He had a reason. There was something else on the tape he wanted me to...to know about.”
Toby would be furious. She knew he would. And a part of her wanted him to be furious. For her. “There’s a little more to that day than you know.”
Chapter 8
Corinne shifted away from Toby on the couch and took a deep breath. She hadn’t told anyone what she was about to tell Toby. Not her aunt, and certainly not her mother.
“What?” Toby’s voice was strained, and she realized she still clung to his hand, her fingers twisting in his grip. She thought in a detached way that it must hurt him, but she didn’t let go.
“What is it I don’t know?” he asked.
She cleared her throat. “Scot brought the video to the hospital. I could tell he wanted to say something, and at first I thought it was just that he felt bad about the shooting.”
“You mean the fact that he just stood there and taped the whole thing instead of helping you?”
“He tried to help me. That was him you saw, trying to talk the guy into giving up the gun He’d put the camera down and someone else picked it up, I don’t know who. Anyway, before that, when he still had the camera...”
“What, Corinne?”
“He brought the tape to the hospital so I could watch it See, there are two channels of audio on a tape. One channel goes out over the air, everything you hear on your television. Then there’s the headset audio. That’s what the cameraman hears through his headphones. It’s the director back at the station, giving him direction.”
“The director? That would be—?”
“That would be Don, my husband.”
“Your ex-husband.”
“Yes.” She cleared her throat, wondering if she could really do this. “His voice was on the tape. Scot made me a copy, without anyone knowing. He turned up the headset audio so I could hear what was being said while I...while I was being held hostage.”
Corinne pulled her hand free from his and clasped her hands together m her lap. Toby’s hand roamed over her back, warm, soothing, but she wasn’t soothed. A year later, she couldn’t get rid of the sick feeling in her stomach when she thought about that tape.
“I’ll show you.” She got up and walked robotically to the cabinet where she kept the video. She knew it was gruesome and probably unhealthy of her to keep it, but she’d tried before and couldn’t throw it away. A part of her needed to remember.
Her breath caught in her throat, she turned on the television and stuck the tape in the recorder. She pushed Play and sat down beside Toby.
People were running and yelling all around her, throwing bottles, breaking store windows.
Don’s voice came on, giving Scot direction, making comments about angles and light.
Toby’s hand gripped her knee tightly, but he didn’t say anything. Corinne listened, still morbidly fascinated despite herself. The voice she’d once thrilled at the sound of, when she was an idealistic young journalist, carried across the breaking glass and shouting people.
The gunman moved in behind her. Corinne reported the damage being done around the block, unaware of the frustrated maniac nearby.
How pompous she was, she thought as she watched the screen. Acting as if the mayhem around her wasn’t affecting her. As if she weren’t heartsick over the rioting around her. The picture of the calm, objective reporter. Well, she was about to be taken down a notch or two.
The gunman didn’t do anything at first He stood behind her and stared at the camera, his fists clenched in rage. He darted glances to the chaos going on about them, but his attention fixed mostly on the camera.
Don was the first to notice the gun. His voice came over the audio. “My God, he’s got a piece! Scot, close in on that guy behind her.”
Corinne didn’t know why Scot panned away. She kept her monologue going, cataloging numbly the events happening around her. The moment she realized there was something going on directly behind her, she turned.
He grabbed her r
oughly, wrapping one arm around her neck. He stuck the gun hard against her throat, screaming in her ear.
Beside Toby on the couch, Corinne felt herself starting to shake. She clamped down on it, but tremors emanated from within her, beyond her control Toby wrapped his arm around her. He stared at the screen as intently as she did.
The gunman yelled in her ear. The gun dug into the flesh of her neck. He pinned her tightly against his body from the back. At first she was too frightened and stunned to fight back. In a flash of horrified realization, she saw clearly what was happening to her, and she fought to extricate herself. He slammed the heel of the gun against her cheekbone.
“My God, did you see that?” It was Don’s voice again. “Scot, is she bleeding” Close in on her face, see if she’s bleeding.”
The camera panned closer, blurry at first and then focusing on her face. A thin trickle of blood inched down the side of her jaw and onto her neck where the blow from the gun had broken skin.
“Pan back and get the guy’s face.” Don’s voice was broken, but from excitement rather than distress. He shouted something she didn’t understand to someone in the control room. “Turn up her audio and get what the guy’s saying. Who is this guy, does anybody know?” His voice grew louder.
The gunman jerked her lightly against him, and Corinne’s eyes grew wider with panic. She strained to see behind her. She implored Scot with her eyes to save her.
From the safety of her living room, Corinne thought it looked as if she were imploring the national viewing audience for help She admitted bitterly to herself, it was powerful stuff.
And Don, being the veteran newsman he was, wasn’t about miss this golden opportunity.
The gunman began dragging her backward. In the recesses of her mind, Corinne remembered a self-defense expert recommended going limp in a situation like this. The dead weight would be harder to hold on to But try as she might, she couldn’t force the tension from her body She scraped her heels on the sidewal- fighting being dragged back with the man.
He put his back to a wall, and held her in front of him. The camera followed On the audio, Don’s voice yelled, “Catch the look in her eyes, Scot! Close up on Corinne’s eyes. Look, he. mouth is trembling, pan down to her mouth. Now, back away. slow, get the gun, get him. Great, great, you’re doing great. Whe the hell are the police?”
Funny, Corinne had been wondering the same thing at that time A block away, pandemonium ensued, the rioting crowd unawar of her particular drama. Corinne was alone, helpless, without hope.
She pleaded for the man to let her go. Pleaded with him to talk to her, to let her help him work out his frustrations in a better way.
On the couch, she was nauseated to hear herself soundmg weal and pathetic.
The gunman knocked her in the head again, and the world went gray for a minute.
She could hear sirens. None headed her direction. There was a mob of people, fifty yards away, but none of them helped her.
Finally, the screen went gray, showing only concrete. Scot set the camera down.
She heard his voice, shaky with fright. “Come on, man, give me the gun. It’s okay, we’ll work it out. We can talk about it. Just give me the gun, and I’ll let you say what you want to say. I’ll make sure it gets played on the air. This isn’t the way to solve anything. Give me the gun.”
The man screamed in Corinne’s ear, and someone else picked up the camera and resumed filming.
“Let him go,” the gunman yelled. “Let Sulley go! Talking don’t do any good. This is the only thing anybody understands.” He jerked Corinne harder against him and brought the gun up to her jaw. He was crying.
“This is the only thing that gets noticed. This is the only thing that works. Not words. Sulley knew it, too. Talking doesn’t change a thing. Action does. Let him go! Let him go or the woman gets it.” His voice became more panicked, and the terror inside Corinne grew.
She heard shouts, and booted feet running down the sidewalk to her right. Scot looked in that direction, and Corinne knew from the relief on his face that it was the police.
Immediately on the heels of her relief, however, came more terror. The gunman grew hysterical at the sight of the policeman. He began sidling along the wall, dragging her with him Three policemen ran into the street and drew their guns. Now she had not one, but four guns pointed at her.
“Back off, or I’m gonna blow the girl’s brains out! Get Sulley out here. I want to talk to Sulley. Back off!”
Something inside Corinne snapped. Suddenly, even death was preferable to this torment. She slammed an elbow against the gunman’s rib, intending to duck out of his embrace.
The gun went off.
In the mayhem that followed, Don’s voice could still be heard.
“Oh, my God! He shot her. She’s down. Pan down! Pan down! She’s on the ground.” The camera didn’t follow his directions. Two more pops sounded, and the gunman fell.
In one corner of the screen, Scot was trying to push past the police and get to her. “Who the hell’s on the camera?” Don screamed. “Where’s Mike? Is he out there? Mike, step back and get the whole scene.”
The camera remained on her, lying on the sidewalk.
“Who’s got the damned camera?” Don demanded. “That thing’s worth a quarter of a million dollars!”
Corinne’s trembling hand reached up, trying to feel her bloody face. A policeman knelt over her, screaming directions. For a moment, the camera panned up and caught the gunman, lying on the ground where he had fallen, shot by the police. Then it came back to her
“Corinne.” Through a fog, Toby’s voice drifted into her consciousness. It hovered there for a moment before she acknowledged it.
His hand gripped her shoulder so tightly that it hurt. He was trembling, too. With anger.
She lay against him, drained. It was selfish, she knew, to make him share this with her. But she’d never known how much better it would feel, having someone else to help her carry this.
Toby made a sound, low in his throat. She raised her head and looked at him. His face was a stone mask, his mouth a grim line. But his eyes—his eyes were wild, dark gray embers that sparked with fury.
“Toby?” she asked, uneasy
“I could kill him.”
“Don’t bother. He’s dead. The police killed him.”
“Not the guy with the gun. That jackass. Don. He has to die.”
Corinne didn’t bother arguing. After watching the tape, she knew she couldn’t live with him anymore. Once, she’d practically worshipped Don, idolized his drive, his charisma, the newshound in his blood. He had a great deal of respect in their industry—something she’d so desperately needed for herself. She’d thought that she loved him, but a few months after the divorce, she’d finally admitted to herself that she’d married him for all the wrong reasons. Like the little girl who’d tried so desperately to earn her mother’s love and approval, she’d fallen into the same trap with the man who was her husband.
Toby stood and paced the room. Corinne knew he was trying to remain calm for her sake, but frustrated energy poured off him.
“It’s funny,” she said, shaking her head. She rose and pulled the tape out of the player.
“Yeah, hilarious.” His boots clomped across the floor. He pulled the drapes back and looked out, then checked to make sure the sheet was fastened over the window tightly.
“I mean, it’s funny that I always strove for emotional detachment in reporting, and I didn’t get it. And now, it’s easy for me. I’m emotionally detached from everything.” Corinne leaned back against the couch, feeling emptied. “I don’t feel anything. Every bit of caring and hope and idealism I had in me...well, it died, the moment I saw the tape ”
Toby stopped pacing and stood before her
“Really?” His voice was husky.
“Really. I don’t feel anything anymore. I don’t care about anything. I’m dead inside.” She didn’t intend for it to be, but as soon as she spoke th
e words, she knew they were a warning to Toby—a way of letting him know she would never be able to give him what he wanted.
Toby remained standing for a moment, then sat beside her again and placed a hand on her knee.
“I mean,” she continued, comforted by his warm touch, “I don’t even know what to believe in anymore. I don’t know who are the good guys and who are the bad ones. They all look the same from where I’m standing. I don’t know what’s real anymore.”
Toby leaned back and drew her with him, and Corinne rested in the crook of his shoulder. It was so nice to have someone to talk to, someone who understood, someone who sympathized. She could feel his heart thudding beneath her ear, but his anger seemed to be banked some.
He squeezed her shoulder and kissed the top of her head. “You,” he said in a soft, husky voice. “You are such a liar.”
“What?” Corinne drew back sharply and placed one hand in the middle of his chest, staring at him.
“You’re a liar.”
“Is that so?” She put a few inches of space between them on the couch and clenched her jaw.
“You don’t care, huh? Bull. I saw you out there tonight, lady. I saw how intent you were on that game. Every muscle in your body was tense. It was all over your face, how much you wanted those boys to win. I saw how much you cared about the other guys, too, the ones who didn’t get to play”
“Of course I was concerned—”
“If you want to lie to yourself, Corinne, go ahead. But I’m not going to let you lie to me. Maybe you don’t want to care Maybe you want to stay cold and dead inside, and not worry about those kids or feel anything for them But you do. You know you do.”
Corinne tried to dredge up some self-righteous anger to fight him off. But all she felt was drained and exposed. “Get out,” she said tiredly.
Toby smiled, but it wasn’t heartfelt. “That’s all you ever say to me,” he said. “‘Get out.’ I’m starting to feel unappreciated.”
Corinne moved away and rose from the couch.
“You know it’s true.” Toby remained seated. “You can’t even deny it. You don’t want to admit you care, because if you care about something, you run the risk of getting burned again. You poured your whole life into that career, and the only thing they cared about was how many ratings points you got them. And you’re not going to go through that again.”