Breaking news, p.1
Breaking News, page 1
Breaking News
TK Eldridge, Mariah Thayer
Graffridge Publishing
First published by Graffridge Publishing 2023
Copyright © 2023 by TK Eldridge & Mariah Thayer
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
TK Eldridge & Mariah Thayer assert the moral right to be identified as the authors of this work.
TK Eldridge, nor Mariah Thayer, have no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.
Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.
Cover by Lizzie Dunlap of PixieCovers.com
Editing by Donna A. Martz of MartzProofing.com
Contents
Epigraph
1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
11. Chapter 11
12. Chapter 12
13. Chapter 13
14. Chapter 14
15. Chapter 15
16. Chapter 16
17. Chapter 17
18. Chapter 18
19. Chapter 19
20. Chapter 20
21. Chapter 21
22. Chapter 22
23. Chapter 23
24. Chapter 24
25. Chapter 25
About the Authors
True love is like ghosts, which everyone talks about and few have seen. – Francois de La Rochefoucauld
Chapter one
Van rolled over and stared at the time displayed on her cellphone. Six twenty-six in the morning. The exact time the doctor called Marcus’ death, one year, ten months, and eleven days ago. Well, exact as in six twenty-six. He died at night, but she woke up at that exact time more mornings than she could count.
She wasn’t sure what had awakened her this morning. Sometimes it was a nightmare of what happened, sometimes it was the feeling of his arms around her, and she’d wake and find herself alone in their big bed. She’d taken to sleeping diagonally across the queen-sized mattress because it felt less empty that way.
Barefoot, she padded across the hardwood floors and into the bathroom. Her dark eyes were shadowed so much it looked like she’d been punched in the face. Her Cajun and Black ancestry gave her tanned skin, hazel-brown eyes and wavy black hair that she’d cropped so short it stayed straight in the ragged pixie cut she wore. A liberal application of concealer would make her publicly acceptable, but for now she splashed water on her face and went to find her coffee pot.
Her apartment was small, but it had everything she needed. A functioning bathroom, a kitchen she barely used, and a main room that held her bed, a loveseat, and a table she’d made into her workspace with a rolling desk chair that creaked when she sat in it. Tall windows let in the light when she opened the blinds, and exposed brick along one wall gave the space some character.
Van hadn’t bothered hanging up any art, keeping any plants, or unpacking much of anything. Most of the contents of her Seattle condo still sat in storage, and as far as Van was concerned, it could stay there for the next decade. She didn’t have the bandwidth to go through the belongings she and Marcus had collected over their twelve years together.
The one picture in the place was one of Van and Marcus, laughing as they embraced at a friend’s wedding. The framed photo sat on the island between the kitchen and the main living space where she could see it from every angle of the room. Van traced a fingertip along the image’s jaw and sighed, then turned to pour herself a cup of coffee. She wore one of Marcus’ shirts as a nightshirt, and the hem fluttered around mid-thigh as she sank into the desk chair and tucked one foot up under herself. The sun was pushing through the morning clouds as Van sipped. Every time she woke from one of those dreams, she tried to follow Dr. Hadley’s advice and sort out the reality from the dream’s fantasy.
Dr. Annelise Hadley, as far as Van was concerned, had saved her life. Her wisdom and understanding had helped guide Van out of the darkest place she’d ever been. They’d met in August, two months after everything imploded.
The night she’d lost everything.
It was June 21st, a Solstice Concert at River Rock State Park. Van and her cameraman, Liam Grant, had been assigned to cover the concert for their boss, Universal Press. Since Bluestar, one of Marcus’ favorites, would be among the many bands playing on several stages, she’d brought him along. Marcus had joined them on assignments before, and he and Liam had become friends.
The park was only about a half hour drive from their condo in Seattle, so Marcus drove while Van went over her notes and schedule for which musicians and event coordinators she had to talk to and when. They pulled into the parking reserved for the press and Van handed Marcus the card to leave on the dash that told security which agency they represented. She still got a rush of pride to see the bright red UP next to her name.
Liam met them at the sign-in table and he and Marcus exchanged a fist-bump in greeting. They were a contrast, these two men. Marcus was bald with a moustache and goatee, flashing dark eyes, brown skin and a very muscular build. Liam had dark curly hair, dark eyes, the muscles that come from carrying heavy equipment as part of the job, and a decided resemblance to Brody Jenner.
“You need help carrying anything?” Marcus asked the two of them.
“No, love. We’re good,” Van replied. “Go ahead and enjoy yourself.”
Marcus leaned over, eyes twinkling as he kissed her. “Stay out of trouble. I love you, Vanni. See you for dinner in a couple of hours.”
Van kissed him back and rested her palm on his cheek. “Stay safe, yourself. I love you, too. I’ll text you when we’re done with the interview and can take our dinner break.” She watched him walk away and weave through the crowds, then shook her head and turned back to the table to get their credentials registered.
“Was that your guy?” the girl at the table asked Van. “I thought he was LL Cool J for a minute there, and was wondering when that fine looking man had grown a goatee.”
“It looks good on him, doesn’t it?” Van replied. “That’s Marcus Weatherby, my fiancé. He’s a tech guy.”
“He sure doesn’t look like a tech guy,” the girl muttered and Van grinned, then leaned over and semi-whispered.
“You should see him with his glasses on,” Van said and fanned herself. They both laughed as the girl handed them their paperwork and moved on to the next person in line.
“First up is Angus McCallan of Highland Rockers, the management group for three of the bands. He’s over in area B, to the left of the main concourse,” Van told Liam. “Want a copy of my list?”
“Naw, I’ll just follow you,” Liam replied.
They did interview after interview, with Liam catching clips of some of the bands playing on the different stages set around the massive park. The lights, colors, and noise of several thousand people could be overwhelming, but Van focused on each person on her schedule and it was only when Liam slung his camera over his shoulder and put both hands on hers that she stopped.
“We need to eat. Let’s find Marcus?” Liam asked.
“Right, it’s about that time, isn’t it?” Van said with a grin. “I’ll message him to meet us at the food trucks.” She pulled out her phone and sent a text: Food time. Meet at the food trucks?
A moment later, Marcus texted back: See you there. Will you be dessert?
Van laughed and slid her phone back into her bag, then turned to Liam. “It’s about a half-mile walk. He said he’d meet us there. Let’s go.”
The park was set up with a main stage in the center back, then two smaller stages on each side that faced outward. In the center, past the main stage area, were a couple of resource tents, a medic station, and a few port-a-johns. More facilities were on each side, away from the stages, but at the very front were two rows of food trucks and a bunch of picnic tables.
They were about two hundred yards from the food court when the sounds of gunfire and screams tore through the night. In moments, the mood of the crowd shifted and the flow turned into a flood. Van and Liam stepped back against the metal framing of the stage to get their bearings. Van looked around, gave a nod to Liam and pointed up. They climbed up the framing and crouched on the back of the stage structure behind one of the huge speakers. Once Van saw that the camera was running, she tried to see where the gunshots were coming from. She spotted a section of the center space where some pe ople were sprawled on the ground and others were trying to crawl away. A man stood in the middle of the clearing with two gun straps over a shoulder and one automatic rifle in his hands as he sprayed more bullets into the fleeing crowd.
Even with the darkness of nightfall, there was enough event lighting to highlight the man, his guns, and the bodies that continued to drop around him. Van watched as he dropped the gun in his hands to the ground, slung a different one around to his front, and proceeded to shoot once more. He walked towards the crush of people at the front of the event space, pausing to shoot through the medic tents and sign-up tents. A steady pace carried him closer to where Van and Liam hid – close enough for Van to see he wore work boots, jeans, and a flannel shirt open over a T-shirt. A baseball hat hid his hair, but she could see his gritted teeth as he fired into the fleeing crowd.
A police officer came up from the side and pointed a weapon at the man, and instead of stopping, he continued to fire and turned to cut down the officer. Two more officers crept around behind the man with the guns and one yelled, “Police!” while the other fired. The sound of gunfire stopped as the man spun around, one hand grabbing for his shoulder as he fell to the ground. The two officers were on him in a heartbeat and had him rolled over and cuffed before he could reach for the trigger once more.
It was only after the gunfire stopped that Van stopped thinking like a reporter for a half-a-second and pulled out her phone. She called Marcus – and it went to voicemail. “Tell me you’re safe. Please. Call me right away.”
She tucked her phone into her jacket pocket and turned to climb down. “Stay here and keep filming, I’ve got to go find Marcus,” she told Liam and he gave her a thumbs up as she jogged away from the stage.
Liam and Van had covered war zones before, but never in her own backyard. Even some of the riots they’d covered in the US paled in comparison to this. Bodies were everywhere, some still, some moving.
“Marcus! Marcus!” Van called out. She heard her name, then a choked cry of pain, that led her to a spot maybe fifty yards from where she and Liam had sheltered. Marcus leaned against a trailer, legs sprawled out in front of him, a teenage girl held in his arms.
“I tried to save her,” Marcus choked out. “There were too many holes.”
Van dropped to her knees and touched the girl’s arm, then reached up a hand to press to the side of Marcus’ face. “Let’s get her to the triage area. Come on.”
Marcus shifted the girl, then winced. “I don’t think I can.”
Van’s blood went cold and she forgot about the girl then as she frantically pulled the teen’s body away from Marcus’ torso and saw the bloody holes in his shirt.
“No, no, nonono…help!” Van screamed as she pressed her hands to the wounds. “No, love, stay with me. I’ll get you help.”
Marcus gave her a weak smile and shook his head. “I love you, Evangeline Arabella Beaujolais. I will always love you.” A breath rattled and he whispered, “I won’t leave you alone.” His head fell forward on a soft breath, then he went limp.
The rest of the night was a blur for Van. She could remember flashes of bits and pieces. Someone pulled her away from Marcus’ body and medics checked him over, then covered him with a plastic sheet. She tried to go back to him and a medic gave her a shot and she sagged in Liam’s arms.
Lights and sirens filled the space with a kaleidoscope of noise and colors. Screams of pain and grief echoed against the trees where music had once resonated with laughter.
Liam buckled her into the passenger seat of his truck, then drove her back to her place. He walked her inside, then helped her shower off the blood and mud. He got her into clean clothes before he tucked her into bed, and Van drifted. She supposed she slept, but it wasn’t restful sleep.
Dawn was rising over the city skyline when Van got up and went into the kitchen to get some water. She took a drink, then turned and spotted Liam in the recliner, his phone in his hand, his eyes shadowed as he watched her.
That’s when it all came rushing back. Her life, as she knew it, was over.
Marcus was dead.
Chapter two
Liam chewed the skin around his thumbnail and sighed, tilting back in his chair as he looked bleary-eyed at his computer screen and the footage from the previous week’s demonstration outside the governor’s mansion in Olympia. The shit had gone wild, promising to be one of the hairier domestic incidents he’d covered in recent years, with one armed protestor calling for the murder of the journalists in the crowd.
Nowhere near the violence of the concert shooting, but still not a fun moment in Liam’s life.
He didn’t keep regular hours, hadn’t since he’d taken this job years ago, and it was only on days like today that it was beginning to bother him. There had been a point, running around the world covering war zones, protests, and natural disasters, that he’d been able to exist for days on two hours’ sleep and an excess of caffeine.
Nowadays, he tried to maintain healthier habits, but the job was still the job. Scrubbing his hands over his face, his eyes caught on the award on the wall, the photos of himself with Van beaming as they stood together shortly after learning they were nominated. They’d been heading back home after covering a major flood. Van’s hair was plastered to her forehead, her teeth gleaming pearly white and bared in the biggest smile, bags under her eyes speaking to the exhaustion she’d endured to bring that story home.
He hadn’t heard from her in over a year. No one had.
She’d left the job after the concert, shocking her family, friends, and peers when she’d tanked her decade-long career in journalism following the death of her fiancé. Not that Liam blamed her. Van had loved Marcus like she’d loved oxygen—he'd been her life.
Liam’s eyes closed as he remembered the last time he’d seen Marcus alive. That day.
It was a concert, for chrissakes. It should have been... well. It didn’t matter what it should have been. It had devolved into a nightmare.
Gunfire didn’t faze Liam like it had at the beginning of his career covering war zones, but the unexpected sounds of an AR-15 discharging into the crowd set adrenaline thrumming through his body. He and Van were close to wrapping up and grabbing dinner with Marcus when the first shots had been fired, setting all his hairs to standing on end. Unlike the screaming concert goers, however, they stepped out of the rush to get themselves a better vantage point rather than turning to flee. Van indicated to him to climb, and he hauled his camera up onto the stage, hunkering down behind the equipment for concealment as they tried to get eyes on the shooter.
When Liam spotted him, some part of his brain registered the tragic cliché of the angry man charging through the crowd, firing at exposed backs and terrified innocents. The rest of his brain took charge and lifted the camera, framed the horrifying action to preserve it for history, and hit record.
The man in his dad cap, flannel, and boots had come strapped with two rifles slung across his body, one an AR and the other an M1 Garand with a folding stock. Apparently not enough magazines, though, as he dropped the AR and pulled the M1 around his body, unfolded the stock, set it to his shoulder, and kept shooting. Every tense moment felt like it was pulling Liam apart. But he’d learned long ago that he couldn’t save anyone.
As the police finally arrived on-scene and took down the shooter, Van’s expression changed from intense observation, pinched and focused, to profound fear. She put her phone to her ear, and a chill crawled up Liam’s spine.
Her call to Marcus went to voicemail.
“Stay here and keep filming,” she said as she’d turned to climb down from the stage. “I’ve got to go find Marcus.”
Liam felt torn down to the roots, but he’d done as she asked, staying behind to capture the scene as law enforcement disarmed the shooter and hauled him away. Restlessness had eaten at him every second, and he’d had to work to remain steady as he panned to follow the action taking place below.
The moment the police had tucked the man out of sight in the back of a cruiser, Liam turned off the camera and bolted, running for the food trucks where Marcus had been waiting—the only place he could think of to look for Van.
