Epilogue

Next morning Peter runs into my office. I haven't even finished my first cup of coffee so I'm not quite in the mood to face him. But he's there, so what else can I do than lean back and wait what he has to say.
He throws pictures on my table.
-See? All very dark. I'm not sure you want to use any of these.
He might be right but still I pick up the pictures and browse those trough. They're good. I would love to use them. I put them into a pile and back to the table.
-Sell them, I say.
-What?
Peter's entrance was just a big betray. He knew that pictures were brilliant. And he knew that with my article he could finally intrude to the big league.
-I'm not gonna do it.
-Why?
I turn to see out of the window and I know I can't really give a waterproof reason. That's because I don't know.
-He didn't give me anything to write.
Peter knows me well enough to be aware that I'm lying. That's why I turn to see him.
-You'll get good money out of those pictures. Just choose well where you sell those.
-Jack...
-I'm sorry, Peter.
He takes photos and leaves. He's disappointened and I'm not sure if I can ever convince him to work with me.

Phone rings and I answer. My assistant tells me that Nick Cartes in on line one. I tell her to tell him that I'm not here.
I can't write the article. Or I could. And it would be astounding. But he'd tell me not to publish it. And I wouldn't.
Then, in a week or two, he would appear on a talk show and suddenly he would have all the right words to talk about Brian's death. All the right words I'd given to him. And I had helped him enough already. I had no reason to make a fool of myself.

I look out. It's still raining. And it's my time to leave the city. Take a flight to great unknown and tell how I managed my assignment.

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