“I guess she could be alive, but if so, why are they taking so long to get her to the hospital? Either way, the shot’ll be epic if we get it.”
A fissure of discomfort slithers through my chest at the casual way we deal with death in the news. Sure, on-screen we’re the caring and empathetic news reporter, but inside we’re rejoicing to get a shot of a dead body? No, I push all that shit back and focus.
“Let’s do this— Whoa!” The heel of my shoe sinks into the ground. I flap my arms for balance and barely recover. The earth is mushier than usual after a couple days of rain, and even though this is one of the more developed neighborhoods in Flag, it’s still a city in the mountains, which means lots of natural ground.
“You better be all right. We’re on in three.”
Thanks for the concern, dick. “I’m good.” I put on a mask of professionalism while my skin practically vibrates with nervous energy.
“Stand by.”
I take my position, smooth my hair, and focus on my words.
If all goes well, I’ll get out of this hole-in-hell town and into a bigger market, which is one step closer to anchor. No one just out of college gets this kind of an opportunity. My professors always encouraged me to go for an anchor job, my half–Native American blood making me look just dark enough to be considered a minority but light enough to be desirable. It’s total bullshit, but I don’t make the rules. Can’t hate a girl for taking advantage, though. I have very specific career goals, and if using my ethnicity helps me to get there, so be it.
My momma always said I was meant for big things. I can still hear her voice in my head: “You’re too big for this world, Shyann.” Said I came out of the womb with goals and never stopped reaching for them. My chest cramps at the pride my momma would feel if she were alive today. She always pushed me to chase my dreams. God, I hope she can see me now.
“We’re on in five . . . four . . .”
I straighten my coat and look directly into the camera as Trevor counts down in my ear.
This is for you, Momma.
“You’re on!”
“Terror struck this quaint Flagstaff neighborhood as big-city crime moves north. After several assaults on women in Phoenix, all with identical trademarks, police have now moved their investigation to neighboring cities as another victim surfaces. The name of this most recent victim hasn’t been released, but her age, socioeconomic profile, and details of the crime fit other victims of who Phoenix police are now calling the Shadow. All the assaults were committed in the evening hours, with no witnesses, and the perpetrator is masked and wears gloves, leaving no forensic evidence behind. The call to this house behind me came in shortly after eight p.m. when the woman who lives here was found bloodied and unconscious—”
“There’s movement in the doorway,” Trevor says.
“. . . after a frantic nine-one-one call.”
“No! Let me go!” A young girl, a teenager, is practically carried out of the house by an officer. Leaf swings the camera to her. She’s curled into the chest of an older policeman, her shoulders bouncing as she sobs.
“Shyann!” Trevor’s voice booms through my earpiece, making me jump. “Keep talking. Leaf, get us a visual on the girl.”
“Oh, uh, it seems a . . .” The girl’s face twists in agony and I swallow past the thickness in my throat. “A girl who—”
“Mom, no . . . please, Mom!” Her guttural shriek pierces the air.
Another fissure slices through my chest and old feelings threaten to bubble to the surface.
Emotionless. Stay distant, Shyann.
“Seems to be the victim’s daughter—”
“Let me see her,” the girl pleads with police. “Oh, God, please . . .”
The girl’s anguish reaches through my chest and squeezes my heart. My throat grows tight. The backs of EMTs shuffle out the door as they carry a stretcher.
“Mommy!”
I ignore the girl as best I can and try to trudge on. “It seems . . . um . . . they’re—”
“No!” The girl throws her body onto the stretcher and it’s then I notice the woman on it is covered in a white sheet. Completely covered. Even her face.
Oh, God. She’s dead.
Trevor’s voice growls in my ear. “She’s dead! Get the shot!”
My stomach churns.
“Talk! Shyann!”
I nod. “It seems tragedy has taken a turn . . . um . . . for the . . .”
The young girl launches herself at the body again. The police hold her back while she kicks and screams for her mother.
My breath catches as memories flood my mind. I was just like her. Losing control of my body, kicking and wanting to inflict the kind of pain I was feeling. The heart-pumping panic, sudden coldness that blankets overheated skin causing uncontrollable shivers. And the terror, all of it shoots through me now like it did when I lost my momma.
“Shyann! Talk to her!” The levity in Trevor’s voice ignites my blood, replacing my frigid panic. “This is fucking gold.”
Leaf moves to get a better view and jerks his wide eyes for me to get into the shot. I turn back, studying the girl, remembering the confusion, the heartbreak, the all-consuming unfairness.
“Please don’t die . . .” Her anger turns to sobs of devastation so palpable they shake my foundation.
I take a wobbly step forward.
“Don’t be dead . . .”
“I swear to God, Shyann, if you don’t get in there and grab this story . . . this is our ticket. You hear me, dammit? Get your ass in there!”
I open my mouth to speak, Trevor’s demand in my ear pushing my lips to move, but there are no words.
I can’t.
Everything becomes irrelevant. My stupid fucking clothes, dreams of becoming an anchor for a national broadcast, all of it pales in the light of this girl’s recognizable anguish. Her cries rip through my unaffected fa?ade and reach into my soul. It slices through vital organs and dives into the recesses where I’ve locked away my hate. Anger. Cruelty that a child would have to suffer through the loss of the single person in this world that ever understood her.
Trevor growls in my ear. “Shya—”
“I can’t.” The words come out with the force brought on by years of suppression.
“You can’t? We’re live! Talk!”
Leaf’s free hand rolls frantically through the air, his camera lens zeroing in like a weapon ready to cause mass destruction.
My head moves on my shoulders, conveying the one word that won’t leave my lips. No.
“Fuck it, she’s done!” Trevor’s voice shakes with fury. “Leaf, get in there now!”
Leaf moves before Trevor’s even done talking and shoves the camera lens into the girl’s face.
“No!” An impulse to shield her compels me forward. “Leave her alone.” I stumble over loose rocks, but it’s not enough to stop me. “Cut the feed!”
“Back off, Shyann! You’re—”
I tear out my earpiece and throw my body between the girl and the camera lens.
Leaf gasps, “What the fu—”
“Leave her alone!” I grab the camera and slam it into Leaf’s face so hard it sends him to his ass.
The firm clunk of the news camera rings in my ears and blood spills from just under Leaf’s eyebrow, signaling me to a single truth.