A Writer's 21st Century Memoir.

The 95

Photo by Adam via Flickr

Photo by Adam via Flickr

I jogged out of the newsroom with my briefcase at my side and didn’t look back. I was knee deep in the biggest story I have ever been involved in, and I still couldn’t even get the nod of approval from my editor. Money that was stolen and became tied up in the local government’s personal pockets, as well as the Paper’s, proved to be fatal when Mark went missing and one of my other sources was found dead outside the coffee shop where I was waiting for him. Lives were now at stake, and I had the obligation to write the story and try to save whoever was left.

I made it home about twenty minutes after I had left the newsroom. Which was probably the fastest I have ever driven home in my life. However, as I was driving on to my street, I noticed that my front door was open. I managed to flip a quick U and speed off before I believed anyone saw me. 

I had to act fast. They knew I was involved in exposing the truth, and they were so deep into this game that they had nowhere left to go but further down. Whoever was in my house was willing to kill me, and after checking out more accounts found in the files I knew I couldn’t go to the local police either. I would have to get out of town and find one of my contacts in Washington to shut this scandal down before I wound up in a ditch somewhere.

I ended up driving a few miles down the road before pulling over onto the shoulder. I exited my car with my cell phone in my hand and threw it on the hot pavement so that the shattered pieces blended in better with the gravel. I took the ball of my black closed-toe pump and made sure that the SIM card was also crushed. I didn’t know for sure if the police had access to tracking the GPS on my phone, but I didn’t want to take any chances.

I then got back in my car, buckled my seat belt and sped off until I was able to get onto the Interstate. I had about a 3-hour drive on Interstate 95 from Springfield before I hit Washington, and I had nothing in my car but my briefcase and my backup file. If the police couldn’t help call off the hit that was on me, then maybe the Feds would be able to finally put this to an end. It was really my only hope.

Everything You Know Is A Lie

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