Joe Gribble - Darkest Edge

Natalie Drexel twisted in her chair to look directly at Dr. Hans Drexel. “I’m not comfortable with that.”

“We have no choice,” Dr. Hans Drexel said. “The reporter is going to find out. When he does, we’ll be exposed. We’ll all be exposed.”

“But we did nothing wrong!” Dr. Ermil said.

“Not in our eyes,” Dr. Hans Drexel said. “However, the public’s perception will be our legacy.”

“And all the good we’ve done will be ignored,” Dr. Fraze said.

“We’ll be vilified, like the others,” Dr. Ermil agreed.

“Our only choice is to show this reporter what he has actually stumbled upon,” Dr. Hans Drexel said. “If we can convince him of the good work we have done, it might influence his perception, his story.”

“I’m afraid he might resent this. It will be very personal for him,” Natalie Drexel said.

“We’ll have to take that chance,” Dr. Hans Drexel said. “Wilcox will make his report, one way or the other. We can help him report the truth.”

The doctors around the table nodded in agreement.

“Timing will be critical,” Dr. Hans Drexel said.

Mark hovered over a microfiche reader in the newspaper morgue.

Alicia stepped into the room and read over his shoulder. “I heard you were back down here. How’s the story going?”

“Still don’t have much. Yet,” Mark said.

Alicia peered into the reader. “Who’s Bradley Williams?”

“Not sure,” Mark said. “We saw him at the rehab home in Springfield. He used to be a patient at the State hospital.”

Mark flipped open a folder showing a picture of some patients he had printed out from a previous article he had found. He pointed at one in particular. “That’s Williams.”

Alicia looks at it, then at Mark, then back at Williams’ picture. “Huh.”

“What?” Mark asked.

“Oh, nothing.” Alicia moved back toward the door, but turned before leaving. “Did you visit your sister’s grave?”

Mark looked up from the fiche machine. “No. Not yet.”

“That’s too bad,” Alicia said.

Mark slipped the fiche out. He slid another one in and scanned for the article he wanted.

Alicia stopped in the doorway, looked back in at Mark. “I looked at some of your work. You ran some pretty hard-hitting stories.”

Mark leaned back and looked over at Alicia. “Why the interest?”

“To be honest,” Alicia said, “I’m looking for a good investigative reporter.”

“Thanks, but I have a job,” Mark said.

“A TV job.” Alicia stepped back into the room a few paces. “I get that it’s glamourous and all, but you and I know that’s not where good stories get reported, not good investigative stories.”

“TV’s okay,” Mark said.

“The hell it is,” Alicia said. “You work weeks on a story and for what? A sixty second sound bite if you’re lucky. That’s not reporting.”

Mark smiled and looked back at the fiche reader. “I’m okay where I am. Besides, my family’s in Chicago.”

“Bring ‘em home. We have some good, meaty, political stuff here in Dayton. And when that isn’t bubbling, the history of this place is amazing.”

“I don’t think my wife would move,” Mark said, still studying the fiche. His mind was also wandering, wondering what it would be like to be appreciated for the stories he dug up.

“Sell her,” Alicia said. “This is a hell of a lot better place to raise a child than Chicago.”

Mark slid the fiche across the screen. ‘I’ll think about…”

Mark’s cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket. Glanced at the screen. Ellen. Mark turned to Alicia as his phone rang again: “Excuse me…”

Alicia nodded. “I’m serious. Let me know.” She turned away and left through the door.

“Yeah?” Mark said over the phone.

“You find anything?” Ellen asked.

“Maybe. You?” Mark asked.

“Kind of,” Ellen said over the phone. “I got a call from Scott, the physical therapist I met out at the hospital. He wants us to meet him out at the hospital at eight tonight.

“At night?” Mark asked.

“He said he has something for us to see. Doesn’t want the staff around while we’re looking.”

“Okay,” Mark said. He checked his watch. It was already six. “Meet me in front of the hotel at seven thirty.”

A slight rain fell as Mark pulled up to the front of the hotel. Ellen was waiting under the awning. She opened the door and climbed in.

“Where’s the camera,” Mark said.

Ellen pulled a small camera, no bigger than Mark’s fist, out of her purse. “I’m not dragging that monster around tonight. We’ll use this one.”

Mark pulled away from the curb. Windshield wipers on intermittent, pushing the rain off the windshield. “Sucky night.”

“What did you find?” Ellen asked.

“Not much. There was a fire at the hospital back in the seventies. He was on a list of about fifty people who were injured.”

“Must not have been serious.”

“They took him to a local medical hospital and he was discharged in a few days. Not much else, except… there was an investigation into the fire. Rumors of some kind of cover-up.”

“Kind of weird,” Ellen said.

“Yeah,” Mark agreed.

“Slow down,” Ellen said.

Mark eased up on the accelerator.

When the got close to a McDonalds, Ellen said: “Pull in here.”

Mark pulled in, stopped. A man came out of the McDonalds. Mark recognized him.

“Here he is,” Ellen said.

Scott Ryan climbed into the back seat behind Ellen, almost filling the back seat with his big frame.

“Mark, this is Scott Ryan,” Ellen introduced them.

Mark twisted around and reached over his seat to shake hands.

“I thought we were meeting you at the hospital?” Mark asked.

Scott looked over at Ellen. “You didn’t tell him?”

“I was just about to,” Ellen said. “Now that you’re here, I’ll let you.”

Mark pulled away. “What is it?”

Scott took a deep breath. “It’s all been kind of strange today. This morning I saw some people going into the infirmary.”

“The building out back that you tried to get in,” Ellen said to Mark.

“No one’s been in there for years. I didn’t recognize all of them, but they had someone who looked like a patient. He was in a wheelchair.”

“One of the hospital’s patients?” Mark asked.

“No. I haven’t seen him before,” Scott said.

“Then how’d you know he was a patient?” Mark asked.

“Just a guess, but he was wearing a purple bathrobe,” Scott said.

Mark glanced over at Ellen. “Williams?”

“Maybe,” Ellen said.

“This afternoon I snuck out there to check it out. The doors were still locked, but you could tell someone was in there. I think I heard a scream,” Scott said.

Mark pulled into the hospital campus through the open gate. He doused the car lights. A few lampposts led their way.

“Stay to the left at the fork, most of the lights are out on that side,” Scott said.

Mark veered left, following the road around, windshield wipers sweeping the mist.

Scott pointed at a building ahead of them. “That’s it!”

A van was parked near the front door. A light on the second floor flickered, went out briefly, then back on.

“Someone’s in there,” Ellen said.

Mark pulled over to the side of the road. “Better park here. We’ll walk.”

Mark shut off the car.

“Are you sure we should go in there?” Ellen asked

“That’s where the story is,” Mark said. “We go where the story goes.”

“We could be arrested,” Ellen said.

Mark looked over at her. “Do you want to be a reporter, or not?” he asked.