Bad News Page 5

  I click through to read the article, and I'm immediately presented with a photo of a rather anxious-looking Sheriff Aiden Malone.

  Man, he looks tired.

  I lean closer to the screen.

  Is he dying his hair?

  “One year after their daughter disappeared,” I read, “the parents of fifteen-year-old Kimmy Duchette are still searching for answers. But with local law enforcement having confirmed that there have been no new developments in the case, Karen and Greg Duchette face the prospect of never finding out what really happened to their daughter.”

  I scroll down a little further and find a photo of Kimmy. Smiling at the camera, she looks like the kind of girl who had it all. She's pretty, blue-eyed, blonde-haired, she even has a few friends who – apart from their shoulders – have been cropped out of the shot. According to the caption, this photo was taken just a few weeks before Kimmy disappeared. As I look into her eyes, I see no hint of the horror to come. I see only a happy, carefree young girl who was enjoying life.

  “Investigators held a press conference on Tuesday,” I continue to read, “in which they confirmed that while the search for Kimmy is ongoing, no new leads have been uncovered. They asked members of the public to think back to the day when Kimmy disappeared last year, and to come forward if they remembering seeing or hearing anything that was unusual. Meanwhile, a fresh search of the local forest was recently undertaken, with dogs being brought in to check once again for any clue as to Kimmy's whereabouts. For now, it's as if the missing girl simply vanished into thin air.”

  Next, there's a photo of a forest, presumably one just outside that crumby little town.

  Scrolling down further, I read a few more paragraphs before getting to the end of the article. It's mostly waffle, and the overall gist is that there have been absolutely no developments in the case since I was down there last year. I'm sure Sheriff Malone is a good guy and that he did everything in his power to move the case on, but the fact remains that absolutely nothing seems to have happened. Kimmy Duchette has vanished and nobody has been able to find her.

  Suddenly I hear Skype ringing on my laptop, and I hurry over to the table. Sure enough, the people from Drapes of the Future are calling to interview me.

  I quickly fix my hair (as best I can) and then I sit down and tap to answer the call.

  “Hey,” the man on the other end of the line says, flashing a broad smile, “you must be Maggie. I'm so excited to interview you about this wonderful opportunity.”

  “Absolutely,” I reply, with a fixed grin that I feel has to be over-the-top. “I'm so looking forward to talking with you today!”

  ***

  “Stupid bloody drapes,” I mutter as I finish washing my hands in the bathroom. “I can't believe I actually pretended to care about something so stupid.”

  The rain is getting stronger and stronger outside, and the light here in the bathroom is really gloomy. I cast a quick glance at my reflection before heading back through to the kitchen, where my laptop is still open following the disastrous interview. Sure, the guy said he'd get back to me and let me know his decision, but by that point I already knew that there was no way I'd be getting the job. I know a miserable, failed interview when I sit through one.

  I turn to go to the cupboard, but then Skype rings again and I see that Mom's trying to get in touch. The second-to-last thing I need right now is a chat with her, but the absolute last thing I need is to have one hanging over my head and to receive a barrage of messages asking why I haven't picked up.

  Sighing, I decide to bite the bullet, and I answer the call.

  “So how are you doing?” she asks immediately. “Have you got a new job lined up yet?”

  “Um, not exactly,” I reply, trying to sound nonchalant about the whole thing as I head out of shot and grab some cookies from the cupboard. “I've got several leads, though.”

  “What about that wallpaper magazine?”

  “It was drapes,” I remind her, “and I don't think I'll be pursuing that particular lead.”

  “You should be working in news,” she continues huffily. “That's what you're good at. Why don't you apply to more news jobs?”

  “There aren't exactly ads running for reporters,” I tell her as I sit down at the table and wait for her to tell me that I look tired. “I think I might be out of the news business for a while.”

  “Call CNN. Or NBC. Or Fox. See if they've got something for you.”

  “It doesn't work like that.”

  “Send them your resume.”

  “Yeah, right. I'm sure I'd get a call immediately.”

  “Maybe I should call them for you,” she says. “I'll tell them how good you are.”

  “Do not do that, Mom,” I say firmly. “Ever.”

  “You won't change the world by writing for lifestyle magazines, Maggie.”

  “I think I might have grown up now,” I reply, as I feel a sense of deflation. “The whole news industry's completely screwed up and I can't play all the right games. I just want to be left alone to report on serious stories, but that's not how it works. I can't keep being this naive idealist, Mom. It's time I started living in the real world.” I stuff a cookie into my mouth. “The dream is dead.”

  “Don't speak with your mouth full.”

  I finish chewing, and then I swallow the chunk of cookie like a good girl.

  “Sorry, Mom.”

  “I just don't want you to give up,” she continues.

  “I'm not giving up,” I tell her, even though I know she might have a point. “I'm being realistic. And instead of continuing to bang my head against a brick wall, I'm going to reinvent myself for the actual market that's out there. I'm tired of fighting.” I pause, as I realize that I'm going round and round in circles. “When I got into this business,” I add finally, “it was because I wanted to change the world. I need to remember that feeling.”

  Chapter Nine

  He reaches out and grabs me, pulling me back into the darkness. Spinning around, I finally see his face, or rather I see where his face should be. He has no eyes, though, and no nose or mouth. His face is just an endless void, and we both scream as he pulls me inside.

  Rolling onto my front, I reach out and dig my fingertips into the rough wooden floor, and then I start trying to haul myself forward. As soon as I do that, however, I let out a cry of pain as I feel a blade slicing into my back, cutting between my shoulder-blades.

  “Do you think you're getting out of here?” a voice hisses in the darkness behind me. “No-one's looking for you, you dumb bitch. No-one remembers you. I can do whatever I want to you, and no-one'll even hear you scream. They've moved on, they've forgotten about you. And now it's time for you to feel real, excruciating pain.”

  Before I can react, I feel the blade slicing into my back. I try to pull away, but suddenly I find that I can't feel my arms and legs.

  “There goes your spinal column,” the voice snarls. “I can't wait to get started on the rest of you now.”

  “No!” I gasp, sitting up suddenly and then feeling a rush of relief as I realize it was just another nightmare.

  Still out of breath, I lean back against the wall and try to pull my crap together. I had that same dream again, the one where I'm being pursued by someone through the shadows. He always catches me in the end, I always turn and see his face, and I always end up getting sucked into whatever nothingness he contains. Now my heart is pounding and I'm soaked with sweat, and after a moment I clamber out of bed and make my way out to the hallway. I always struggle to get back to sleep when I've had the nightmare.

  And I'm absolutely drenched in sweat.

  Reaching the kitchen, I don't bother to switch the light on as I go over to the sink and fetch myself a glass of water. Then, still feeling out of sorts, I grab my phone from the side and bring up the web browser, figuring that maybe I can research some sleep aids. Before I can type anything in, however, I find that the page from earlier is still open, showing the sad news
story about Kimmy Duchette's disappearance. The page quickly reloads, and sure enough the photo of Kimmy appears.

  Happy.

  Smiling.

  Missing.

  This isn't right. This kid isn't going to get found, not with the way the investigation is going so far. No disrespect to Sheriff Malone, but it's clear that he's not going to get the job done. After all, Thomas Roper has already managed to slip out of one noose, and obviously he's good at making sure that he's not caught. I guess that's just the way the world works. Bad people do bad things, and they don't always get caught. News broadcasts reassure members of the public from time to time, showing them that sometimes there's justice, but in many other cases nothing actually gets done. The world is a dark and cruel place.

  For a moment, I hear Karen Duchette's words echoing through my head:

  “You want to help me? How about you start by going off to wherever you came from, and then slitting your wrists open? Because that's all that people like you are worth. You're human trash, feeding on the pain and suffering of everyday people.”

  Maybe she had a point.

  I'm about to bring up a search page to search for those sleep aids, but somehow I can't quite bring myself to get rid of the photo of Kimmy Duchette. Slowly, a sense of determination is rising up through my chest, and I can already feel myself starting to come up with a ridiculous plan.

  No, I can't do this.

  Well, maybe I can.

  No.

  I can't even afford to do this.

  Unless I use my savings.

  Even then, I wouldn't be able to help anyone.

  But you might.

  You never know.

  And if I don't try, I'll always wonder whether maybe I could have made a difference.

  If I'm getting out of the news game, then I figure I have to take one last shot. I have to roll up my sleeves, focus every fiber in my body, and get my hands dirty. I have to put my nose to the grindstone. Sure, I've failed plenty of times in the past, but I'm pretty sure that I have what it takes. Maybe, if I go back to that wretched little town, I can prove that people like Thomas Roper eventually pay for their crimes. I'm not quite ready to give up. Not yet.

  I'm going back to Ridge Falls, and I'm going to finish what I started last year. I'm going to break this story. Even if it's the last thing I do as a journalist, I'm going to find out what really happened to Kimmy Duchette. And if I have to be more like Rolinda Derringham in order to do that, then so be it.”

  Chapter Ten

  For some reason, I remembered Ridge Falls being a faded, rundown little town filled with miserable people. I remembered it seeming faintly stale but at the same time quite smug. I remembered it feeling like the kind of place where nothing important ever happens. But do you know what? I was wrong.

  It's even worse than all that.

  Stepping out of my car, I look along the dusty main street and see that just a couple of other souls have ventured out on this warm morning. It's just over a year since I was here with Daryl and Terrance, but the decline is marked. Or am I just letting my cynicism and prejudice cloud my view? As I slam my car door shut, I remind myself of the rules we learned in Journalism 101. For all I know, this town is thriving and I just happened to have arrived at a quiet moment. I need to be objective about this place if I'm going to get to the bottom of what really happened to Kimmy Duchette. I need to see it as more than a cliché, because young girls don't go missing in towns where there's nothing untoward hidden beneath the surface.

  I turn and take a step toward the kerb, but then I feel something soft under my right foot. Looking down, I immediately let out a gasp and step back as I see a dead rat on the ground.

  “Objective,” I mutter. “Stay objective.”

  I lift my left foot, only to find that some kind of rat goo is stuck to the sole. I take a moment to try wiping the goo on the grass, but I'm starting to think that this might be a job for a proper brush.

  “Gross,” I say with a sigh, as I look around and finally spot a bar not too far away. “Really gross.”

  ***

  “Thanks for that,” I say to Teresa, the girl behind the counter, as I make my way back through from the washroom. “You guys are life-savers.”

  “Here's your coffee,” she replies, sliding a mug of weak-looking liquid toward me. “I'm always telling Bernie to watch out for rats. They're just everywhere lately.”

  “I live in the city,” I tell her. “Believe me, I've seen my fair share of rats. I even shared my apartment with one for a while. I was almost sad when he stopped scurrying in at night and going through my garbage.” I take a moment to stir my coffee, while I try to work out exactly how I should phrase this next question. “So how are things going in Ridge Falls these days?” I manage finally. “Any news?”

  “Just the same old, same old,” she says with a slight smile.

  “Huh. Yeah, I guess not much happens round here.”

  “We get by.”

  She goes over to clean some pots, and I realize that I need to step it up a little. This girl works in a bar, so she really should have her finger on the pulse of the town. I refuse to believe that she doesn't overhear all sorts of gossip.

  “Hey,” I say after a moment, “I know this might sound crazy, but I feel like the name Ridge Falls rings a bell. Has this place been in the news at all over the past year or so?”

  She murmurs something, but I don't quite make out any distinct words.

  “Sorry,” I continue, “it's just that it's bugging me now. I'd check my phone, but I don't have much coverage out here. I just feel like I've heard of Ridge Falls.”

  “So are you just passing through?” she asks, sounding a little evasive.

  “Actually, I'm stopping for a day or two.” I pause, as I start to realize that she's going to be a tough nut to crack. “It's on the tip of my tongue. I swear, Ridge Falls has been in the news for something and -”

  “Okay, yeah, it was,” she says suddenly, turning to me with a dour expression. She glances toward the door, as if she's worried that we might be overheard, and then she turns back to me. “It's just not something we like to talk about.”

  “I get that,” I reply, before pausing again. These little pauses are tactical, they're my way of (hopefully) seeming friendly and open, and thoughtful too. “I just -”

  “Robbie Richards had no right to share those photos,” she continues, “and as far as I'm concerned, his friends are a bunch of... of... What's the word for a monkey?”

  “I'm sorry?”

  “Apes! That's what they are! They're a bunch of apes!” She storms back over to join me at the counter, and she seems really angry now. “I sent those tasteful, artistic images to Robbie because I thought he'd appreciate them while he was out of town, and then he went and shared them with his friends, and then one of them decided to tag me in them online! I mean, can you imagine that? I so nearly moved, like that week, I so nearly packed up all my things and left town.” She slams a fist against the counter-top. “But those things follow you, don't they? You can't get rid of them, once they're online, they're there forever.”

  “Well, I think maybe -”

  “So I started doing videos,” she continues, again looking toward the door for a moment, “because I figured, if that stuff's going to be out there, I might as well be making money from it, right? Then these people started emailing me about panties, like my panties, and at first I thought they were insane but then they made these offers of money, and I figured it was all a joke, but then they actually paid the money, including shipping, and I suddenly got scared because what if I didn't send the panties and then I got into trouble? So, you know, I did the responsible thing and I sent them and...”

  She checks the door yet again, before leaning closer and lowering her voice.

  “You're the first out-of-towner to ask me about it,” she whispers, “but that's cool, I understand how these things work. I know people are still talking about the photos, and you know
what? Now I don't even care anymore. Because I'm making five figures a month from my videos and my panties, and they don't know about that, so I figure I've got one up on all of them. And I'm not even ashamed. But kudos to you for tracking me down, I don't know how you did that, but I'm not offering you a discount. This is a business, and if you want the merchandise, you have to pay.” She glares at me, as if she's trying to stare me down. “Obviously you wouldn't have to pay shipping, though,” she adds finally. “Just 'cause... Well, for obvious reasons.”

  Staring back at her, it takes me a moment to figure out what she's been talking about. After a few seconds, I realize that actually I don't think I want to know.

  “I was thinking,” I say cautiously, “more about the missing girl. Kimmy Duchette.”

  “Oh.” She hesitates, before shrugging. “No idea.”

  She turns away and gets back to cleaning the pots.

  “So there haven't been any developments, then?” I ask. “No gossip around town?”

  “I dunno.” She doesn't seem remotely interested. “Maybe. I dunno, people talk a lot in here, but I don't really listen. I kinda filter it all out, you know?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I mutter, as I start to realize that this bar isn't going to be the hub of all things social in Ridge Falls information. “Well, thanks for the coffee. Could I be a pain and get it in a take-away cup after all? Sorry, I just have some things to do.”

  She grabs a disposable cup and transfers my coffee, managing to splash a fair amount on the counter in the process.

  “Thanks again,” I say as I turn to leave.

  “You know, that girl's mother came in one day,” Teresa adds suddenly.

  I turn to her.

  “Karen, her name is,” she continues, and now she's repeatedly twisting a strand of hair around her left index finger, while staring into the distance. “I see her around quite a lot. To be honest, I try not to look at her so much.”

  “You do?”

  “Just because of how she looks. She always seems so sad.”