Page 116 of Burn Like An Angel
“Or to respect people’s privacy, it seems.”
“Unfortunately, not in this line of work.”
The coffee appears right on time, carried by a bumbling, early-twenties lad who seems eager to impress. Elliot appraises me while I accept the hot drink.
“You know, we had journalists stalking us for years,” I state casually. “Hacking into our email accounts, accessing medical records, reading therapy notes. Even picking through our trash. We were hunted.”
“Harrowdean was a sensational story.” He shrugs like the lifelong invasion is a mere inconvenience. “It still is.”
“And this tell-all documentary series… That’s going to settle the score, is it?” I chuckle. “You’re going to create public spectacles of us all. The last decade will have meant nothing.”
Elliot takes his own coffee. “I believe the public reaction will be one of sympathy.”
“When have they ever been sympathetic to people like us, Mr O’Hare?”
He opens his mouth to answer but can’t find a response.
“The ignorance of the world is the reason Incendia Corporation and its six institutes went unchecked for decades.” I stare at him without mercy. “The public is culpable here, not us.”
His gaze ducks to my white-knuckled grip on the coffee mug. There’s a flash of apprehension in his eyes, like he can tell I’m wrestling the urge to dump it over his head.
Did no one else give him a hard time? I have no idea how many people he’s sat down with. Only one matters to me. One I made a promise to protect ten long years ago. I intend to keep my word.
“Excuse me?” A dawdling employee sneaks into the room. “Elliot, security would like a quick word. It seems you have another visitor.”
“Of course.” He clears his throat. “Mr Beck, make yourself at home.”
Placing his notebook down, Elliot scuttles from the room, taking his lackey with him. Pathetic. It shouldn’t be this easy to play him, but I’ve never had much trouble bending the will of others.
He’s so desperate for his scoop, he’ll do anything to capture our stories on tape. Including letting the wolf into the sheep’s pen. I have to stop this. He’ll regret ever dragging the past back up.
Setting the untouched coffee down, I know I have to move fast. This place is prestigious enough to have a full security team and countless levels of staff, offices and more. I won’t have long.
Scanning the room, my determination hardens, steeling my muscles with staunch focus. This has to be done. I’m the only one who sees this exposé for the threat it really is.
Opening my jacket, I pull the canister of lighter fluid out. I’ll have to aim for the important stuff. Documents, cameras and records. Anything that can be used against us. Secrets that should never see the light of day.
My foot connects with a tripod, sending it flying. I douse the motherfucker in fluid then turn my attention to the other cameras. It’s easy enough to pop the memory cards out, each marked with date stamps.
RB. Interview Three.
Seeing Ripley’s initials causes a lump to lodge in my throat. She’s done a brave thing. I want her to find peace. Salvation. Whatever the fuck she’s still looking for after all these years. This just isn’t the way to do it.
But she chose this.
Can I take that from her?
Unable to burn the memory cards, I tuck them into my pocket. I’m not chickening out. These files will remain in the one place they’ll be safe: my possession. I’ll protect Ripley’s secrets with my life.
The cameras are smashed then added to the pile of metal gathering in the room. I don’t have long before the dickhead returns. There’s still so much to destroy before I can calmly rest again.
Grabbing as many of the labelled notebooks as I can hold, I toss them into the mix, dousing everything in fluid. One lands on top, spelling out another recognisable name written beneath the wordsCompton Hall.
Colour me surprised.
I never thought they’d get that nutcaseto sit down.
Not even I would risk that conversation.
