The Darkness - Jason Pinter [31]
was an important lesson.
She went back to reading the paper. Her fingers were
still a little wet, and I could see the print rubbing off on
them. She went to wipe her hands on the towel, then
smiled and thought better of it.
"You see this?" she said, holding up a copy of that
morning's Dispatch.
I shook my head. I rarely read the Dispatch. Not
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because I held a grudge against them--though I did--it's
because they never had much I felt was worth reading. It
was the kind of paper that rarely presented an even story.
It was all about eliciting a reaction, stoking a fire, presenting a story so biased in one direction or the other that
readers would either be incensed or infatuated. I had all
the major New York City papers delivered to my door in
one bundle. I could care less about the Dispatch, but it
didn't cost anything more and every now and then I
enjoyed reading the sports section.
"I must have missed it," I said. "What'd you see?"
"Paulina Cole," Amanda said. "Says here her column
will be suspended until Thursday while she deals with a
personal matter."
"Really?" I asked. That surprised me. Paulina Cole
was the kind of woman who didn't take personal leaves.
If my mental image of her was accurate, she stayed in her
office while darkness crept in, waiting for some scoop to
brighten her desk. And if she didn't get one, it would only
fuel her fire to make the next scoop even juicier.
I wondered what could be so important that she'd
suspend her reporting, even just for a few days. It would
take either an act of nature or a revolt by the paper's
shareholders to get rid of Paulina. Which meant somewhere a storm was brewing. Not to mention I'd be lying
if I didn't hope, after everything she'd done to Jack and
me, that it made her life a living hell.
No doubt Paulina would come back on Thursday with
a story that would open some eyes.
11
Wednesday
Paulina Cole glanced over her shoulder. Still nobody
there. The Mercedes was empty when she climbed in,
empty when she started the engine, and empty when she
pulled onto the FDR Drive toward I-95. She even checked
the trunk--nothing--but wondered if there had been
enough time for someone to climb in during the split
second when she closed the trunk and climbed into the
driver's seat.
The anger welling up inside Paulina was a firestorm.
She was scared, and God, she couldn't stand that feeling.
The idea that someone controlled an aspect of her life that
she did not, it was like being trapped in cement while
people poked you with a stick. That night, the night that
man took her, Paulina had experienced emotions she
didn't think she'd ever felt. Not when her husband left her.
Not when he took half of her money because his deadbeat
ass barely made a dime, not when she was fired from her
first job as a secretary for "not being presentable." Of
course this translated as she wouldn't wear a blouse lowcut enough that the partners could see her tits, but even
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then Paulina Cole didn't feel this sensation. Even then,
she knew her future was in her hands. Small people
thought small. She was meant for something bigger,
grander, and nobody, no idiotic men--whether spouse or
employer--would ever slow her down.
Until that night.
There were burn marks on her right side, just below
the curve of her breast. It ached every second of every
day, and she had to wear a massive bandage, otherwise
all the aloe she put on it would seep through her shirts.
She'd never been brutalized. Not like that. She could take
criticism. She could take people hating her. Hate came
when you got under somebody's skin, and Paulina was
nothing if not a provocateur.
But she did nothing to deserve this.
And neither did Abby.
Thinking about what that man threatened to do to her
daughter made Paulina shriek inside. And when Paulina
Cole got scared, she took those emotions and turned them
inside out. Fear turned to rage, and rage had