Joe Gribble - Darkest Edge

“At least call her on her birthday,” Amanda said before she closed the front door.

Mark turned slowly and headed back to his car. He took one last glance back at his home. Would it ever be his again? Theirs? For the first time, he had the glimmer of a feeling that it might not.

Mark sat alone at the reporter’s hangout. It was a fairly upscale bar where several of his colleagues usually hung out. Tonight, though, it was pretty empty. He smiled at himself, thinking that this was ‘that’ bar — the one where everyone knew his name. But then again, that probably wasn’t a good thing.

The bartender slid a shot glass in front of him. Mark lifted it, downed the contents, then put it back on the bar, next to his half full beer. “Another,” he said to the bartender. Just as he placed his order, his cell phone chimed. He glanced down at the display. ELLEN. “Crap,” Mark said as he picked up the phone. “What?” he answered.

Ellen sat in Mark’s cubicle, logged onto his computer, phone to her ear. She opened the top desk drawer, scraped around through the junk until she found a pencil. She used the pencil to rummage through the other stuff in the drawer. When she didn’t find anything interesting, she closed the drawer.

“What,” she heard when Mark answered.

“I found some stuff. Good stuff,” she told Mark.

“Stuff? What time is it?” Mark asked over the phone.

“Eleven. The Dayton State Hospital. Really weird stuff,” she told him.

There was a pause. “Like what?” Mark asked.

“I’d rather show you. Can you come to the office?”

Mark took a swig of his beer. He rolled his eyes when Ellen asked him to come to the office. “I’m a little busy right now. Why are you working so late?”

“I told you I want to learn investigative reporting. Whatever it takes,” Ellen answered over the phone.

Mark waved at the bartender, mouthed “Another.” Then, into his phone: “First thing you gotta’ learn is to be succinct. What did you find?”

“Most of it dates back to the seventies and eighties,” Ellen said. “All kinds of accusations against a couple of doctors.”

Mark wondered if maybe Ellen had actually found something. Something they could work with. “Accusations?”

“Yeah. Something called insulin shock, electro-shock, drugs, brain surgery. Seems like some pretty sadistic stuff.”

“Are the accusations well documented? Any lawsuits?” Mark asked.

Ellen continued rummaging through Mark’s desk as she talked to him on the phone. She put the phone on speaker and set it on the desk to free her hands. “No lawsuits,” she said. “I found a couple of Internet articles and a short documentary.” Ellen opened the bottom drawer and pulled out the flask.

“Well, that’s a start,” Mark said.

Ellen opened the flask and took a whiff. Her head snapped back, nose flared in disgust.

“You there?” he asked.

Ellen quickly put the flask back into the drawer. “Yeah, yeah. I’m here.”

“Okay,” Mark said. “Tell Judy to book our flights.”

“Already did. We leave at noon tomorrow.” Ellen closed the bottom drawer, and logged off of Mark’s computer

“Great,” Mark said. “See you at the airport.” He canceled the call and put his phone in his jacket pocket. He downed his beer, then slid off his bar stool. “Just great,” he said as he left the bar.

Mark sat at the airport bar, nursing a beer. In the mirror behind the bar he could see the reflection of the windows on the far side of the terminal, the planes parked against the jetway. He didn’t see Ellen, though, when she approached.

Ellen stepped up behind him, lugging a large roll-around suitcase. “I thought I might find you here.”

Mark jumped. “Quit sneaking up on me, damn it!”

“Sorry,” she said as she sat down in the seat next to Mark.

The bartender pushed a napkin in front of her. “What’ll you have?”

Ellen glanced at Mark’s beer. “It’s a little too early for me. Just coffee. Thanks.”

Ellen turned to Mark: “Drinking away your sorrows?”

Mark looked at her sideways. Frowned. ‘Why don’t we just meet up in Dayton…”

“Come on, Mark. We might as well be cordial, we’re going to be together for a few days.”

“Yeah. Don’t remind me.” Mark took a swig of his beer.

“Look, this can be miserable, or it can be fun. I vote for fun.”

“Who says you get a vote?”

The bartender put Ellen’s coffee in front of her

“So, how’s Amanda? I haven’t seen her since the Christmas party,” Ellen asked.

“Jesus Christ. Can’t you take a hint?” Mark raised his voice.

Mark’s outburst caused the patrons nearby to stop talking and look over at him.

Mark ignored them. He downed his beer and dropped a ten-dollar bill on the bar. He quickly stood up and, with an angry sneer at Ellen, turned and walked away.

Mark stabbed at his breakfast, head pounding from the night before. He hadn’t slept well. The hotel bed was hard as a rock. The room hadn’t been very hospitable either — not even a mini-bar. He had trekked to the nearby liquor store to build his own bar, and had visited it frequently throughout the night. He’d be damned sure to complain to Art about the station’s arranged accommodations, which he knew were probably a gift from Judy. At least the hotel restaurant was good.

Mark took another bite when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ellen come in. He looked over at her, but didn’t bother to try and get her attention.

Ellen looked around. She spotted Mark looking at her and headed his way. She sat without waiting for an invitation. “Anything good?” she asked.

Mark ignored the question as he forked a piece of sausage. Let her make her own decision.

Ellen picked up a menu and started to scan it. “Art called. He’s arranged an interview with the hospital administrator.”

Mark pointed his fork at Ellen. “Art called you?”

“Yeah. Said he couldn’t reach you.”

“Bullshit,” Mark said. He pulled out his phone and checked his missed calls. ”Bullshit.”

“We’re supposed to be there at ten. You know how to get there?” Ellen asked.

“Yeah,” Mark said as he chewed his sausage. Why the hell was Art calling Ellen? “I grew up here, remember?” Mark said, not looking at his videographer.

“Your parents still here?” Ellen asked.

“Both dead,” Mark said, concentrating on his breakfast, trying to ignore his pounding head and the questions that were floating through his mind.

“Sorry. When?” Ellen asked.

Mark sighed, he glanced up at Ellen. “I was six. I barely remember them.”

“Siblings?”

Mark put down his fork, rested on his forearms and leaned forward. “You starting with the twenty questions again?” He lifted his Bloody Mary to take a sip.

Ellen shrugged. “Okay, no more questions about your family.” She pointed at Mark’s drink. “A little hair of the dog?”

“Tomato juice,” Mark replied.

“Since when do they put a celery stalk in tomato juice?”

Mark realized he was absent mindedly stirring his drink with the stalk. He stopped right away. He started to take another bite of sausage, but stopped. He looked directly at Ellen. “Are you going to be a pain in my ass the entire trip?”

“Come on, Mark,” Ellen said. “I’m just trying to be friendly. You’re stuck with me, might as well make the best of it.”

“Don’t remind me,” Mark said.

“So what’s there to do in Dayton?” She asked. “Anything fun?”