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| Story: A New Life - Chapter 7 Saturday, 15-Apr-2000 23:07:13
"Mr. Harris? Mr. Harris, I'm Debra Sloan from the Colorado Tribune. What is it that - " "Mr. Harris? Dan Moore, Denver Mercury. Are the allegations true that - " "Harris - Harry McHenry. Why are you being so evasive? The people have a right to know - " The car door slammed shut, cutting off whatever else the seedy, pseudo-journalist from the paparazzi magazine "The Denver Examiner" was going to say. Which was just as well with Sarah Carter. She couldn't stand the guy. Whereas she and the other true journalists attending the news conference had asked their quesions politely and smoothly, McHenry's blustery manner had isolated the president of Stanwick Consolidated Freightways. McHenry had blasted Micheal Harris with outright accusations of corruption and embezzlement. It had bothered Mr. Harris so much that he had called off the conference and had stormed out of the room, with all the journalists - Sarah included - following him, trying to get any last-minute statements from him. But he had ignored them all, shutting himself into his long black limousine, which promptly pulled away from the curb and accelerated away. Sarah gave the paparazzi reporter an "if looks could kill" stare, narrowing her blue-gray eyes in frustration and irritation. He caught her icy look, taking it as an indication to walk over to her. "Can you believe the nerve of that guy, Legs? He just took off, ignoring us!" "Harry, he wasn't ignoring 'us' - he was ignoring you. Once again you ruined a perfect opportunity for us to all get a good story. And don't call me 'Legs'." He smiled, somehow making to look both ingratiating and condenscending at once. "Sarah, Sarah... You're so naive. You haven't been in this business nearly as long as I have. You have to be tough with your questioning, getting under their skin so you can get to the truth." She put her hands on her hips, giving him another dirty look. "Harry, you don't care about the truth. You just want to sell your sleazy paper." That smile again. "Whatever. Hey, I gotta go, Legs. Catcha at the next shindig, and I'll be sure to show you how to really ask questions!" He have her a wink and ran across the street, towards his car. Sarah shook her head in disgust. He still hadn't got a clue - he probably never would. But he was making her job much more difficult. This was supposed to be one of the top stories of the month: Michael Harris, presidnet of the largest shipping company in the Midwest, was under allegations of massive fraud and embezzlement. Indictments from the Colorado Supreme Court were rumored to be incoming at any time, and all the news agencies in the city - radio, television, and newspapers - had all gathered to hear what the president had to say in his defense. But, once again, Harry McHenry's ill-handling of the conference had cut if short, leaving Sarah without a story. She shook her head again, almost tasting the disgust on her tongue. Maybe it was just as well that he had taken off suddenly - she could just throttle him! She walked towards her own car, knowing that she had all that she was going to get from this location. It was time to head back to The Post's office. She climbed into her small Toyota Corolla and pulled out into the light, late-morning traffic. The office was only a couple of miles away. Within minutes she was pulling into the parking garage attached to The Denver Post, the city's largest newspaper agency. As she walked through the garage and into the building proper, Sarah went over just how she had come to work here. It had only been a week since she had graduated from the University of Colorado that she had received a call from The Post's editor-in-chief herself. Lana Wayne, by chance, had read through Sarah's thesis on journalism and its effect on society, and had been very impressed. She had offered Sarah a job on the spot. Sarah had grasciously accepted, and had gone right to work. In the two years she had been with The Post, she had already been nominated for a Pulitzer Prize for her work on downtown restoration and preservation projects. Ms. Wayne considered Sarah one of her top journalists, and always made sure to send her to all the high profile events. But this time it hadn't worked out. She shrugged to herself as she rode the elevator to the nineteenth floor of her building. 'You can't win them all, Sarah. And you can't let Harry get to you with his little quips and irritating manner. Just do your job, and don't worry about him. Eventually, he'll trip himself up.' She exited the elevator and walked down the maze of cubicles and work areas, waving and giving greetings to all the people she passed. They all greeted her in return and went back to their various projects. Sarah had to smile; she liked working here with these people. They had been great to her ever since she had first arrived, helping her out when needed. She finally came to her own work area - a large space that could have held three cubicles. She didn't have to share it with anyone, although she wouldn't have minded. Sarah shurgged off her business suit's jacket and hung it on the back of her office chair. She sat down, exhaling through nearly closed lips, blowing bits of her hair around her face. She bent over and removed her left pump, rubbing her stocking'ed foot, her fingers massaging its arch. She sighed in relief, glancing around her "office". She kept it Spartan - her chair, desk, computer, and a few personal items were all that she kept here. Sarah focused on one object in particular, picking it up with her free hand, feeling the memories rushing into her mind. It was a framed picture of herself along with Donald, Elizabeth, and Dana, their youngest daughter. This had been taken about four years after she had landed, if she remembered correctly. Her thumb unconsciously rubbed across the faces of her departed surrogate parents. She still missed them. They had been as close to a family that she could remember. In fact, she thought of them as her biological parents. During her time in college and here at work, Sarah gradually put more and more distance between herself and her alien past. It was almost a reverse of what she had gone through while learning about herself from Xris. "Sarah? Ahh, are you busy?" "Hmmm?" She looked up to see Andrew Peters, an aid for the paper, standing outside the entrance to her "office", looking a bit hesitant. "Oh, Andy. No, no, come on in." She slipped her foot back into her black pump and sat up as he slowly walked in. "What can I do for you?" "Well - - Ms. Wayne sent me here to see if you had anything from the SCF conference." Sarah leaned back in her chair, her neck resting against the chair's back, as she looked up at the ceiling. "Oohh, the conference.....", she breathed. "It didn't go nearly as well as it should have. That idiot McHenry shot his mouth off, as usual, and Mr. Harris had left in a huff without saying much of anything." She turned her head so she could look at Andrew. "I hope you had better luck with your project." "What? Oh, uhh, yeah. I found some good information about the, uhh, the old hotel the historical society is trying to save." "Oh, good. At least one of us did their job today." She meant it as a complement, but she wasn't too sure if he understood that. He always seemed nervous and unsure when he was around her. He seemed like an intellegent young man, otherwise, with a good head on his shoulders - - though he did seem a bit clumsy sometimes, but it was usually when she was around, so she chalked it up to his being nervous. "Was there anything else, Andy?" He shook his head. "No, that's all." He turned to leave. "Hey, Sarah?", he suddenly asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Hmm?" He stood there, rubbing the back of his neck, a look of indecision on his face. He pushed his glasses back up his nose, and Sarah had the impression that he was trying to stall for some reason. "Would...would you like to join me for..for lunch?" That was a new one. He had never asked her that before. What could it hurt? She ate alone most of the time in the building's cafeteria. Some company might be nice for a change. "Sure, Andy. I'd love to have lunch with you." She smiled at him. He smiled back. "Great! I - I'll see you then!" He left and Sarah turned her chair around to her computer to continue some revisions on a story she had been working on. 'Wow... That was a bit strange.', she thought to herself. She liked Anthony as a friend, regardless of his nervousness or shyness. That had apparently taken a lot of nerve on his part to ask her to eat lunch with him. Taking one last look at the picture of her family, she got to work. Sarah opened the door to her apartment with a bit of difficulty, having her purse and keys in one hand, and a small sack for a nearby China tak-out in the other. When she came home, she had noticed a fairly large box sitting right outside her apartment door. After opening the door, she pushed the box into her living room with her leg. It wasn't as heavy as it looked, and she managed not to spill anything. She kicked her shoes off, setting her food and purse on her small dining room table. She had no idea what could be in that box, and it had piqued her curiosity. Sitting down on her couch, Sarah looked at the box's label. It had been sent from Clearmont, her small town back in Wyoming. She immediately had a very good idea of what the box contained. She took the pair of scissors she had grabbed from the nearby inn-table and ran one of the blades down the box, cutting the brown shipping tape. As soon as she opened the flaps, her guess was confirmed. It was another shipment of items from the Carter's house. She had thought that she had taken care of all their things before the house's new owners had moved in. Evidentaly she had been mistaken. At least her home's current residents had been kind enough to ship these last few items to her, instead of just tossing them out. Sarah began to go through them. She pulled out a couple of Donald's car repair books and several of his small tools. She smiled in remebrance, thiking of how much joy her father had received from getting his hands dirty with his cars. The next item was wrapped in bubble wrap; upon removing it, she discovered that it was the missing piece of Elizabeth's prized small china teacup collection. Sarah had been wondering what had happend to it. She stood up from the couch and placed the teacup into the wooden holder mounted against the wall behind her, happy that her mother's collection was again complete. 'I wonder what else is in here?", she mused. There was one last item in the bottom of the box - and it, too, brought memories flowing back. But these memories were not all that welcome. She dipped her hands into the box and brought out a small, folded bundle of slick black fabric. Sarah instantly knew what it was: she had been wearing this when she had first awoken, all those years ago. The end of her old life, and the beginning of a new one. She absently stroked the glossy material, lost in thought. Was she really doing what was right for her to do? She had promised herself that she would live a life her parents would be proud of. So were they? Was this life she was living up to the standards she had placed on herself? She didn't know. She placed the bundle of fabric beside the now empty box. As she ate dinner, her mind kept wandering back to that question. Was this really her life? There was no clear answer..... To be continued Terry |
| Story: A New Life - Chapter 7 (Terry) (15-Apr-2000 23:07:13) |
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