6

Avril had spent the whole night awake, working on ways to pitch the story that she had in mind. The whole media was frantic with the End Of The World, but she wanted to get the human story out of it. She knew she had a running start against more journalist on the race to get Barnett’s story: she was a Witness. She was stressing that angle on her presentations, but not too much. She needed to sound interesting, but not desperate. Fortunately, thanks to the supernatural manifesting live in prime time, nobody had remembered to fire her. She even expected a huge bonus some time soon, which she would most definitely use to leave the job. The irony didn’t escape her, of course, but she found it funny.

She finished yet another email, and sent it away. She was aiming high, asking for diets and travel expenses, but she hoped that the Witness card would buy her those. She would, of course, settle for a monthly check that cover rent and dignity, but she knew that she would be getting less than what she was asking for, and it was good to dream for a while.

She was doing some research on the side. There were over one hundred Chris Barnetts in the country, let alone the world, but only one of them lived in this town. It made sense to think that the possession event would have happened close to the victim’s house, so most media was focusing on this Chris. She had seen the only footage available from him, when he opened the door this morning. He seemed scared, but Avril found him strangely cute and fascinating. Here was the World Destroyer, the Man That Needed To Die, looking sheepishly as the whole world focused on him. Seeing his face, Avril was sure that he had never read the news or spoken to anyone before leaving the apartment. That sounded weird enough, in this day and age. She fished around through Facebook looking for him and his possible circle of friends.

By noon, she had already pinned down his job and relationships, and found out that he was dating a girl who lived quite far away. She struggled for a bit, but got a phone number soon enough, and she called. The voice that answered was shaken, and slightly raspy. It seemed that the woman it belonged too hadn’t had a good night sleep either.

“Hello?” said the voice.

“Hi,” said Avril, feeling excited. “Is this Dianne Fell?”

“Who is this?” asked the voice.

“My name is Avril Smith,” she said while crossing her fingers. “I am a journalist.” Please don’t hang up please don’t hang up please don’t hung up.

“Sorry, do I know you?” YES!

“No, not yet, I was calling regarding the incident on TV last night, involving your boyfriend.”

“Fuck,” said the voice and then fell silent. When Avril was about to speak, the voice started talking again. “What the fuck has he done?” She doesn’t know yet. It makes sense, we have a higher audience here.

“He hasn’t done anything, Miss Fell, but he was, let’s say he was involved in our... in yesterday’s Nights with Anthony. Do you know if Chris knew a priest by the name of Father Lucas?”

“Chris? A priest? Not likely... What is this about?”

“Well, your boyfriend is a bit of a celebrity this morning. I was wondering if you could answer some questions.”

“He’s not my boyfriend anymore.”

Avril hold the phone tightly. FUCK, she thought.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said.

“We broke up last night.”

Avril head immediately noted that down. She had used “we”, which most definately meant “I”, as she wouldn’t hesitate to blame him for the breakup if it had been his fault. She had been impersonal, not blaming anyone, which meant it was her fault. That gave a whole new perspective to the story. Here was a man, rejected by the woman she loved and condemned to die on the same day. The pathos was enough to grant her a Pulitzer. She was re-writing the story in her head as she spoke.

“Do you think the breakup might be related to the event?”

“What event?” asked the woman. Avril remembered just then that she didn’t know what had happened. She wondered how she could explain what she had seen, and decided to keep it short and direct. She didn’t want the woman to became defensive or shut her off.

“Well, Father Lucas claimed that the world will end if Chris doesn’t die in a month,” she grasped the telephone even closer, she was trying to gauge the woman’s response, which was hard to do without seeing her face.

“Chris, my Chris?”

“Well, apparently he is not your Chris anymore.” Avril immediately regretted saying that. She hadn’t seen it coming, but she had been unable to stop it anyway. The woman on the other side of the line became silent. She could hear movement, and finally some background noise. TV, most likely.

“Look, Miss, I’ll have to call you back.” NO!

“I can call you ba...” said Avril to a dead line. “Fuck!” she shouted. She made several notes on the stack of papers she had on the floor. She had gotten some interesting information and she had been the first. The best thing about it is that she would now be warned when the next journalist called, so her head start had gotten even better. She made a new mental list of newspapers and magazines she wanted to write for and started sending pitches.