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Title: The Shadows Grow Long 7/18
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Monday, 10:26pm, Steph's car, westbound on I-66, Virginia
Throughout high school Stephanie had dreamed of becoming the �next Carl Bernstein�. Not only had Carl (in her head she always called him by his first name) cracked open the Watergate Coverup with Bob Woodward, but he was also a Blair High School alum, the same school Steph had graduated from a couple years ago. Pictures of him hung around the campus, prodding the journalism students on to do better, be better. The school paper she had written for, "Silver Chips," had a history of journalistic excellence. She didn't just want to be a good journalist... she wanted to be the best.
She knew that being an investigative journalist meant that she would end up wading in some pretty dirty situations, but until this moment she had never been this close to someone so evil. Now she could say she had.
So here she was, and she was stuck on the same initial interview question...
"So, what's your name?" Steph tried again.
"What do you care?" he sneered.
"Usually when I'm being held hostage, I like to know who�s holding the gun," Steph answered.
The rough chuckle startled Stephanie, but apparently he thought her retort was funny enough that he was willing to answer this time. "Leroy, Carl Leroy".
"Leroy?" Steph couldn't be sure if she had heard him right.
"You making fun?" he said, with more than a bit of anger, his voice rose and he leaned closer. When she quickly shook her head he said, "It's Carl".
And Steph was momentarily struck... for the last few years that name, Carl, had been Steph's mantra for perseverance and determination throughout her journalistic studies. She had read "All the Presidents Men" a dozen times. Winning a Pulitzer for Public Service had become her life's goal. It was a sick twist of fate, she thought, that this dark, vile man was also a Carl. But she wasn't going to allow this jerk ruin her mantra; it had gotten her through a lot in the past.
"Carl", she said, "Carl", repeating her mantra. And it felt good, helped her focus. "Carl".
"What?" he asked, getting hot again, thinking she was talking to him.
"Nothing," she said. And she knew that she could get through this night.
email Teresa
mercier_beaucoup at yahoo.com
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