The Guilty - Jason Pinter [98]
"Amanda..."
I looked at Amanda. Her beautiful eyes. Those arms that
had held me so close. The strong heart that had given itself
to me. Trusted me.
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Just like Mya had trusted me years ago. And now Mya was
lying, broken.
No.
Amanda stepped forward. "Henry, oh God, is she alive?
Please say something. "
"I..."
I heard a gasp behind me. Mya's mouth was opening and
closing. Another bubble of blood burst, coating her chin. I knelt
back down and wiped it off. Not again. Not Mya. Not Amanda...
"Henry, please..."
"Get the fuck away from me!" I screamed, bolting up. My
body felt ready to explode, and in my mind's eye I saw everything I touched, everything I loved, broken in pieces. I
couldn't see Amanda. Not like this. Not like Mya. I'd already
failed one woman. I couldn't do it again.
"Henry, please talk to me."
"Get the fuck out of here! " I yelled again, this time stepping
toward Amanda, a fire in my eyes that I could see reflected
via fear in hers. She stepped back. I stepped forward.
"Get out of here," I said, panting. "Don't ever come back.
Leave now."
"No," Amanda said, tears flowing from her eyes. "Don't
do this. I'm not Mya, I'm not..."
"Get away from me, and never come back." She didn't
move. "I said get the fuck away from me! "
Amanda looked at me, crying, unable to say a word. Then
she turned and ran into the night. And I turned back to Mya,
took her hand. "Baby, don't leave me...it's Henry...please
don't leave me...I'm here..."
45
Paulina Cole sat at her desk rifling through the transcription
of an interview with a Republican senator she had just spoken
to that afternoon. She didn't particularly like the man--
primarily because she knew a great deal more about his
predilection toward Guatemalan housemaids than did the
voters--but he was a shoo-in for reelection and Ted Allen's
instructions were to paint him in the most positive light. That
Ted had contributed close to six figures toward his reelection
campaign was not to be mentioned. Paulina had already
picked out six good sound bites, thankfully all taken within
some sort of context, and was in the midst of outlining
tomorrow's front-page story.
She was writing longhand when a sweaty, haggard James
Keach appeared in her doorway. Keach staggered in, dropped
into a seat across from her desk, his breathing hard, eyes
frightened. It was the first time James had taken a seat without
her express permission. Usually he stood by the doorway
taking instructions. He didn't even think twice about plopping
down, and it unnerved Paulina.
"Jesus, James, what happened to you?" she said, allowing
a hint of concern to creep into her voice.
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James looked up, as though startled to realize he was
sitting in Paulina's office. He looked around, then locked
eyes with her and leaned forward. James looked like he'd just
witnessed something unspeakable, and would give anything
to take it all back.
"I was trailing Henry Parker," James said. "And...oh
God..."
"Spit it out."
James Keach's body began to convulse with sobs. She felt
panic well up, but the flavor of excitement, as well. Wherever
there was fear was also a great story.
"Mya Loverne," James said. "I was following Henry and..."
For the next five minutes, James told her what he'd seen
that night. The man atop the building. Mya's body hitting the
ground. Henry Parker screaming, crying. The ambulances, the
broken girl being sped away to the hospital.
The killer on the rooftop, grinning like the devil himself.
When James was finished, Paulina sat in silence. She
recalled her conversation with Mya at the diner; the small,
frail girl looking like she was one tap away from shattering.
Mya Loverne. Was it possible...
Paulina cleared her throat, blew her nose into a handkerchief. She picked up the phone and dialed the Metro desk.
"Fred, Paulina Cole here. Call Ted Allen. Tell him Senator
Brisbane is being pushed back to page seven. We have a new
page-one story tomorrow."
She hung up. Looked at James.
"Did they say Mya is