Joe Gribble - Darkest Edge

“Hey,” Ellen said as she stepped into his cubicle.

Mark jumped and his hand recoiled from the drawer. He slammed it shut before looking over at Ellen.

“I heard we’re going to Dayton,” Ellen said.

“Christ. Don’t you ever wait for an invite!” Mark said.

Ellen dropped down into his tiny, plastic guest chair. “Sorry. When are we leaving?” she asked.

“Who said you were going?” Mark asked as he took a drink of his coffee.

“Art told me,” Ellen said.

Mark put his coffee down. Hard. He finally looked over at Ellen. “He tell you I get final say?”

“He said you might say that. But that I was to tell you I’m going.” Ellen said.

Shit. Mark leaned back in his chair. He looked Ellen over as he tapped a pencil eraser against the top of his desk. “You’re camera. That’s all.”

Ellen leaned forward. “Come on, Mark. I really want to learn about the art and science of investigative reporting. You’re the best we have. You can teach me some of your tricks.”

Mark leaned toward Ellen. Lowered his volume, but not the harshness of his mood. “I know you’re after my job.”

Unperturbed, Ellen leaned in as well — she got even closer.

Too close. Mark hadn’t expected Ellen to invade his space. He backed up a bit.

Ellen dropped her voice as well: “I’m tired of dragging that stupid camera around. If I had some reporting cred, I could get a job somewhere else.”

Mark knew that was bull. He had to confront her. “Now, why would you go somewhere else?”

“You said it,” Ellen said. “If I wanted a job here, I’d have to bump you off. I wouldn’t do that.”

Mark knew he had her. “And how’d you get to be lead camera? You were just an apprentice and before long you took the lead spot.” He paused as he ventured back into her personal space, leaning closer to her. “Where did George end up again?”

This time it was Ellen’s turn to retreat. She sat back in the chair and crossed her arms. “It wasn’t like that.” Ellen shook her head, then stood up. “It looks like this trip’s gonna’ be just loads of fun.”

Mark stopped her before she left. Might as well get some work out of her. “You want to learn investigative reporting? Find out everything you can about the Dayton Asylum.”

Ellen paused, turned back to face him. “They aren’t called asylums anymore. How?”

“How what?” Mark asked.

“How do I find out about it?”

Mark shook his head. “Jesus. There’s this neat new thing. It’s called the Internet. You can use it for more than just shopping….”

Ellen clenched her fists. She finally just turned and stomped away.

Mark sipped his coffee. He hadn’t liked treating Ellen that way, but she was definitely someone to keep at arm’s length. George had been a great photog. All the reporters fought to get him on their team. When he left — or more accurately, was ousted — no one really knew how much Ellen had to do with it, but everyone knew she had something to do with it. Arm’s length. Mark turned back to his computer. He had other things to deal with right now.

Mark climbed the two steps to his door. Well, Amanda’s door. When would he be able to get that straight? He hesitated, then raised his hand to rap on the side of the door, holding a poorly wrapped birthday present in his other hand.

He heard steps beyond, then Amanda opened the door. Mark tried to smile, though he knew how this conversation was going to go.

“What do you want, Mark?” Amanda asked through the screen door.

Mark lifted the present. “For Rachel.”

“I’m sorry, Mark. Rachel’s not here. Besides, her party isn’t until Friday. I told you that.”

Mark slumped at hearing Rachel wasn’t home. He couldn’t help but avoid eye contact with Amanda. He finally explained: “I can’t make it to the party. I thought maybe I could go ahead and give her the present now.”

Amanda stepped outside the screen. She crossed her arms and glared at Mark. “Damn it, Mark. You promised her you’d be there.”

Mark fidgeted, still struggling to make eye contact with Amanda. “It can’t be helped.”

“Can’t be helped?” Amanda asked. “She’ll be devastated. You promised her.”

“I know. I know…” Mark said.

“What is it this time?” Amanda asked. “Planning a binge? Don’t you even care?”

Mark was taken aback. That was mean. Even for Amanda. Mark had no trouble looking Amanda straight in the eyes now. “Of course I care. It’s work. Art’s sending me out of town.”

“Right. Work again,” Amanda said. “How many birthdays have you missed because of work?”

There was really no call for Amanda to act this way, and Mark could feel himself getting angrier and angrier. He knew he had to keep his cool, and he did, mostly. “Come on, Amanda. I’ve only missed one of Rachel’s birthdays.”

“I was talking about my birthdays!” Amanda said as she turned and stepped back inside. She pulled the screen door shut after her.

“Hold on, Amanda,” Mark lowered the volume, smoothed his tone. “Can we at least talk since Rachel isn’t here?”

“Talk about what? How good a father you are?”

“About us, Amanda.”

“Okay. Let’s talk. Why can’t you make it to Rachel’s birthday?” Amanda asked, hands folded across her chest, shielded from Mark by the closed screen door.

“I told you. Work.”

“One of your super-secret undercover reports? Like last time? Which bar are you going to stake out?”

Mark felt the anger rising up in him again. “I have to go back to Dayton.”

“What’s so earth shaking in Dayton that you have to miss your daughter’s birthday?”

How did Amanda always know how to push his buttons so easily? “It’s not about the story, Amanda. It’s about my job. Art said it was my last chance. If I don’t dig something up, I’m out.”

That gave Amanda a moment of pause. But it didn’t take her long to get back on the attack. “Art’s an ass. You’d be better off working for someone else,” Amanda said.

Mark glared at her. “Do you have any idea how tight the job market is for reporters right now? If I get fired, I’m out. Totally out.”

“A year ago you had your pick of jobs,” Amanda said.

“Yeah. That was a year ago,” Mark said.

“Before you started drinking.”

Amanda pushed that button again. But that wasn’t what Mark was thinking about. He blurted it out before thinking: “Before… before she died.”

Mark almost felt that Amanda’s voice lost its sharp edge: ““She didn’t just die, Mark. She committed suicide. Why can’t you get that? What she did…” Amanda paused. “That didn’t have anything to do with you.”

How could he ever make Amanda understand? “I know,” Mark said. “But I wasn’t there for her.”

“She hadn’t been there for you in years, Mark. It’s not like you two were close… I really can’t understand why you can’t get over this. You really ought to try seeing a doctor.”

“Wouldn’t do any good,” Mark said. He was no longer angry, just confused.

Amanda shook her head. “You don’t know that. I just don’t understand why you won’t even try. Not even for your marriage? Not for your daughter?”

“I don’t know…” Mark struggled for the right words to try and explain. They wouldn’t come. “Maybe when I get back,” he said.

“Yeah, right. I’ll believe it when I see it. Go see a doctor, instead of your bartender. You do that, and then maybe we can talk.”

Mark held up the present. “Will you give this to Rachel? Please?”

Amanda opened the screen door and reached for the present. They both held onto the gift a few moments, staring at each other. Finally, Amanda took the present and stepped back into the house. Mark spotted the glint of a tear in her eye.