The Reporter

By Andrew Glen

"The Reporter" is a unique and poignant story given the current events and public sentiment. It is a fast-paced tale of a tormented woman reporter, who accidentally kills a man in self-defence on her way home from work one night. She soon discovers that the man was a war vet living on the street, facts that are shockingly similar to her own dad's situation. After the killing her guilt compels her to report on it leading to her developing a relationship with the dead man's wife. From this point the story follows parallel tracks of her own investigation into her father's whereabouts and suffering under the scrutiny of the investigation into the murder she has committed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andrew Glen
• Release date: Nov 22, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393287285

Andrew Glen

In 2008 I was diagnosed with bladder cancer and I underwent two years of treatment including chemotherapy, radiation and surgery. In January of 2010 I had my bladder removed and thankfully I have been cancer free since then.  In 2014 I self-published my memoir “Beating the Odds”, A Chronicle of a Cancer Survivor’s Battle with Cancer, Inadequate Healthcare and Social Injustice. Unlike most cancer survivor success stories, my book differs because it provides the reader with a poignant look into the trials and tribulations that all cancer patients have to deal with above and beyond their treatment. Since then I have gone on to publish: “The Reporter” a unique and poignant story given the current events and public sentiment. It is a fast-paced tale of a tormented woman reporter, who accidentally kills a man in self-defence on her way home from work one night. She soon discovers that the man was a war vet living on the street, facts that are shockingly similar to her own dad’s situation. “After The Sun Rises” a sequel to “The Reporter”. After a car accident leaves Jill and her family devastated they must deal with the aftermath with the help of an unsuspecting helper. The woman who caused the accident. “The Grotto and Other Stories” a collection of short stories based on real life events. “C-ancer-athartic poems” a book of poetry containing poems I wrote during and after my cancer treatment. “Eli and the Fisherman” a heartwarming children’s book that tells the story of a young boy and an old fisherman. “Sebastian’s Fish” a delightful children’s story about a boy who goes to buy his first fish. “Didi’s Demise” in “Sebastian’s Fish” Sebastian bought his first fish. Now the family are getting a cat-Charlie-. What will that mean for poor Didi? Read to find out. *Note: All children’s books were illustrated by the incredible Jonathan (JJ) Anderson.*

Book preview

THE REPORTER

Other books by Andrew Glen

Beating the Odds

The Grotto and Other Stories

After the Sun Rises

C-ancer-atharic Poems

––––––––

Children’s Books

Eli and the Fisherman

Sebastian’s Fish

Didi’s Demise

Acknowledgements:

To my wife Lana. For her unending love and support and keen eye in the editing process. I love you.

To Glenn Murray for his immense help with the editing. Bless you.

In memory of my mum who showed me how to make a ‘proper’ cup of tea and how to do ‘mental math’. May she rest in peace.

In memory of my sister Christine who I miss dearly and was the one responsible for showing me how to wine and dine a woman properly and how make a tomatoe and basil pasta sauce, the right way. May she also rest in peace.

Special thanks to Kristen S for her incredible help on the cover of this book. I think it looks amazing. Bless you.

Her first killing came as much of a surprise to her as it did to him. Neither one was expecting their paths to cross that night or the unfortunate circumstances that would change both of their lives forever. It was a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, for him and for her.

It had been a typical day at work with not much happening on the crime beat that she covered for the local newspaper. Lately it was mostly petty crimes, B and E’s or convenience store robberies, nothing too major. She had the usual meeting with her boss in the afternoon. A boss she hated. He was a real J. Jonah Jameson type with the same haircut and demeanor. She swore he modeled himself after him. He probably smoked cigars in his office just like J. Jonah even though this was the 21st century and smoking in the workplace was forbidden. She wondered if he had the heat sensor or the ceiling sprinkler in his office covered with a Styrofoam cup, like they did in the movies. She would check next time she was in there, being berated.

Wouldn’t that cause a stir? If she had it removed without him realizing and then he set off all the alarms with his dirty filthy cigars; that or one of his disgusting air fresheners. What else could explain that horrible odor one was always met with whenever he called you into his office? Cheap cologne mixed with a cheap air freshener that hung in the air. You could see it reflecting in the sun’s rays as you opened the door. She secretly imagined, hoped and prayed even, that he would one day get a bad batch and that the contents would be toxic; toxic enough to poison him, toxic enough that he would choke to death on the stench in his own office. One could only dream she thought to herself.

She wondered if it was even possible to put a toxic substance into an aerosol can. Note to self, Google toxic aerosol sprays when you get home she thought as she made her way to his office for their daily chat.

She wanted so bad to tell him to shove his job up his ass but she knew she couldn’t afford to. What had once been a passion for her, writing, and a job she loved, reporting on the news, was now becoming a chore. She would love to quit her job and write crime novels based on some of the things she had experienced in the midst of doing her job. Or she could write children’s stories. Lord knows her kids were an endless source of adventures and mishaps. Surely she could write a few kids stories based on that.

But for now she had a family to feed. Her husband, Frank, had been out of work for over a year now, ever since the factory closed down and the company had moved all the jobs to Mexico. They had four kids and another one on the way, she hadn’t told anybody about that yet. She was secretly hoping it wasn’t true, not because she didn’t like kids or having kids. She loved being pregnant and she loved all of her kids dearly. She just wasn’t too sure how they were going to continue to feed and clothe them; that’s all.

For a moment she thought maybe they could do things different. Maybe they could sell the house and get a smaller place. But they were already tripping over each other where they lived now. They didn’t need a smaller place, they needed a bigger place. Plus she loved her house and she didn’t want to move. Maybe she could try the food bank. Maybe they could help out in some way. But there again, were they really that poor? Were they really that needy?

She didn’t blame Frank, for being out of work. It wasn’t his fault. It was a tough economy. That’s what the company said, that the relocation of jobs, and subsequent layoffs, they did for the sake of the company. But everyone knew it was a lie. They did it for the sake of the shareholders and the CEO’s who all got a hefty raise and a bonus cheque for making such a ‘difficult decision’.

Theirs was not a difficult decision, especially to men without morals or a conscience. In fact ‘business decisions’ as they called them came easy to men like them. To the workers these men were ingrates and scumbags, but in the business community they were known as fiscal geniuses.

She had decided to work a little later that night. Just in case anything would come in across the police radio. But no such luck. By the time she packed up and left the office it was dark. She was walking along the same path she walked every night. She had taken her hairpin out of her bag. She used it to stick her long blonde hair up in a bun when she was at work; she placed it between her middle and ring finger and made a fist. It was about the same thickness as a chop stick but about half the length and had a pointy end. She had heard of people who would put their keys between their fingers but to her this didn’t seem enough.

She didn’t see the man approaching. The street light above them had burnt out. He didn’t see her because he was walking with his head down. Before either one could react they bumped into each other. She startled him and he stumbled as he put his hands up to balance himself. She mistook it for him reaching out to grab her. She panicked.

Before she realized what she had done she had stabbed him several times in the neck in a matter of seconds. It was just like she had been shown in her self-defense class. Act fast. Think later. Several quick blows before the attacker has time to think.

The man moaned and then slumped to the ground.

Oh my god! she yelled when she realized what she had done. It happened so quick she hadn’t had time to think. She stared at the bloody hair hairpin in her hand and then back at the man lying on the pavement.

She couldn’t tell if he was dead or not. She knelt down beside him, on one knee like she was genuflecting before going into a church pew. When she realized he was an older man, probably living on the street, she shuddered.

I’m sorry she said, as the old man winced and reached for the pain in his neck with his dirty, filthy hand.

He felt his warm blood against his palm. He moaned again, slowly opened one eye and looked right at her. She saw a look of pity in it. A small trickle of blood began to run between his fingers. He reached out to grab a hold of hers but she quickly jumped back and stood up narrowly missing his outstretched hand.

Jesus! she thought. What have I done?

She grabbed her purse that had fallen on the ground when they had bumped into each other. She looked around to see if anything else had fallen out of it. Then she grabbed a handful of tissues from one of the side pockets and wiped the blood that was dripping from the hairpin and her hand. She wrapped the hairpin in another tissue and stuffed it along with the bloody tissues in one of the side pockets of her handbag.

She looked down at the old man lying there motionless on the ground.

I’m sorry, she said again. I’m so sorry. It was an accident. I didn’t mean to hurt you, she said.

The old man had closed his eye by this time and had placed his bloodied hand back upon his neck. He lay there motionless barely breathing, barely making a sound.

Jill thought for sure he was dead.

She hesitated for a moment trying to think what to do next. Should she call for an ambulance? Should she call the police? Would they believe her story? That she had acted in self-defense. She didn’t know what to do. She was panicked. She had just stabbed a man and now he was lying there on the ground with blood trickling out of his neck.

She couldn’t tell if he was alive or dead. She was terrified and didn’t want to get any closer to him to try and determine if he was still breathing or not. She looked around and the path was empty. No one had seen or heard what had happened.

She decided to leave. She needed to get home and she needed time to think.

She hurried along the path and then climbed the steps to the street above, careful not to touch or take hold of the railing.

At the top of the steps she hesitated once more. She took a look around and saw that the parking lot was deserted except for her car located beneath one of the light poles. She ran across the parking lot.

When she got to the car she noticed that there was still blood on her right hand. She reached into her pocket with her left hand, took out her keys, pushed the button to unlock the door and then carefully opened the car door trying not to get any blood on anything as she climbed inside.

Once inside she pushed the key into the ignition. She reached inside her bag and rummaged around until she felt a bottle of hand sanitizer. She squeezed a large blob of sanitizer onto her shaking bloody hand and wrung her hands together vigorously. She grabbed another handful of tissues from the box on the floor and wiped her hands trying to get the rest of the blood off them.

When she had finished cleaning her hands as best she could she placed the bloodied tissues in the same pocket that she had placed the others and her hairpin. Then she hastily tried to zipper it shut. But it caught on something and wouldn’t close all the way. She zippered her handbag shut and placed it on the passenger seat beside her, slumped back in the seat of her car and closed her eyes. She couldn’t focus fully. She couldn’t believe what she had just done.

What would become of him? Jill thought.

She thought about calling the police again but what would she say now that she had fled the scene. She was confused. She was in shock. She wasn’t thinking straight. She told herself that the best thing to do would be to get home and then call the police from there. She reached forward and turned the key, and the car started. As she began to drive away, she noticed her hands were shaking. No wonder, she had just stabbed a man, possibly killed him.

Who knew what would become of him. Who knew what would become of her. She began weeping. It was hard for her to see the road through her tears. She turned at the next intersection and pulled over to the side of the road. She grabbed a tissue from the box on the floor of the car and wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She shook her head and told herself that she needed to keep it together, at least ‘til she got home.

Maybe he wouldn’t die, she thought. Maybe somebody else would find him in time and they would call the police. Maybe he was only injured; injured enough that he would get a few nights stay in the hospital where he might get a bed and a good night’s sleep and something to eat. Even if it was hospital food, it would probably be better than anything he had eaten in the past few days.

She began to pray, Oh god, please let him be okay, she said.

Before she knew it she was home. She couldn’t remember driving or how she got there. By now she was stoic.

As she turned off the car and stepped out, careful not to slam the car door behind her, Jill noticed the outside light was on, as was the living room one. The rest of the house was dark. Frank and the kids were probably in bed by now. She had no idea what time it was. She slowly unlocked the door and prayed that no one heard her coming in. She locked the door behind her and turned off the outside light. She put her purse on the floor took off her coat and hung it on the hook beside the front door.

Jill slowly walked down the hall, careful not to make too much noise, to the small two piece bathroom halfway down the hall. She turned on the light as she turned to close the door. She turned on both taps and began washing her hands. The warm water felt comforting, soothing. Her hands were cold. There must have been a chill in the air but she hadn’t noticed.

Jill looked up and began to examine her face in the mirror. At first she couldn’t see anything and then she noticed a small red dot on her cheek just below her left eye.

She stood motionless for a second and then she began to wretch. She clung to the edges of the sink as her body convulsed in horror. She grabbed one of the hand towels from the chrome ring hanging on the wall. She ran it under the warm water and began scrubbing her face furiously. Tears began welling up in her eyes.

She began to feel sick to her stomach. She lifted the lid of the toilet just as she began to vomit. She was crying and vomiting at the same time. She tried as hard as she could not to make too much noise. She was wishing that they had installed an exhaust fan in the bathroom. Just then she heard a knock at the door.

Are you alright in there? Frank asked.

Fine, she said trying to catch her breath. Must have been something I ate for lunch, she added.

Need me to get you anything? he said.

No thanks dear, she said. Go on back to bed I‘ll be there in a minute.

She still wasn’t sure how or what to tell him about what had just happened.

She heard him walking down the hall. She was so glad that he didn’t insist on coming in. Then again he never was much help whenever she was sick. He was never there to hold her hand or hold her hair back. He couldn’t stand to see or hear anyone throwing up and went into convulsions himself whenever he did.

Jill wiped her mouth with the hand towel. She made her way back to the sink and cupped her hand under the running water and began to rinse her mouth out with water. She opened the cupboard under the sink to see if there was any mouthwash and was grateful there was.

She opened the bottle and took a huge gulp. She spit the excess into the sink and then swished what was left around her mouth as she examined her face in the mirror once more.

Thank god there was nothing there. She spat the mouthwash into the sink and watched it as it ran down the drain. As the water began to run clear she could feel her stomach beginning to wretch once again. She quickly bent over and grabbed a hold of the rim of the toilet. But her stomach was empty and she began to dry heave.

After a few minutes she slunk to the floor exhausted. She hadn’t lay on a bathroom floor since college. Not since the first night she had tried drinking. It obviously hadn’t gone well. She ended up on the bathroom floor then just as she was now.

In fact, most people Jill knew in college, when they tried their first drink often ended up passed out on their bathroom floors. It was always trial and error until their bodies built up a tolerance to it. Many nights she had spent holding back one girl or another’s hair as they threw up after a night of drinking.

Often she would leave them there to sleep off the effects, too weak to drag them back to their beds. It was a wonder with the way these girls most often ended up that Jill ever began drinking herself, but peer pressure eventually got the better of her one night.

It was nearing the Christmas break and the girls on her dorm floor were all having a drink to celebrate the end of exams and the coming holidays. Jill wasn’t sure what she was drinking. She was just going along with the crowd, trying to fit in and have a good laugh. She initially had tried to ignore them when they came knocking on her door, but they were persistent and she knew that they wouldn’t go away or give up until she finally opened the door.

She agreed to one drink but then one thing led to another until she found herself in the same place and situation that many of the other girls had been in, in the bathroom. This time however it was one of them holding her hair back and trying to console her, until her stomach was good and empty and she had succumbed to exhaustion and passed out beside the toilet. She swore she would never drink again after that night. Right about now though, she could sure use a stiff drink.

Jill stared off into space as she rested her head on her outstretched arm and then passed out.

When Jill eventually awoke she had no idea what time it was. She crawled out from beside the toilet and pulled herself up off the bathroom floor. She put the mouth-wash bottle back under the sink, turned on the cold water tap and cupped her hand underneath and gulped handfuls of water. She rinsed out the sink, dried her hands on the hand towel lying beside the sink and then slowly unlocked the door.

The house was still. The only light that was on was the living room light Frank had left on when he went back to bed.

She slowly made her way down the hall with the towel in her hand and into the kitchen. The clock on the stove illuminated the time.

It was 6:10.

Frank would soon be getting up. He was still an early riser even though he wasn’t working. After that it would be the kids and then the chaos would begin. Trying to get everyone’s lunch and breakfast ready for school and then get them all out the door before they were late.

Thank god the kids were all in school still and not on spring or summer break. She had no idea how she was going to make it through the day or how she was going to tell Frank what had happened the night before.

She passed through the kitchen and made her way into the laundry room. She took the lid off her laundry basket and stuffed the towel in as far down and under the clothes that were already in there. She would have to remember to do her wash first thing in the morning.

She didn’t need to worry about Frank, or anyone else for that matter doing her laundry. She was very particular about how she did her laundry and what went in the dryer etc. He hadn’t done her laundry since they were married and the kids were too young.

It wasn’t that Frank didn’t know how to do the laundry. Thankfully his mother had taught him how to cook and to do the laundry properly, separate the colours and all that.

It was just that he never knew exactly what pieces of her clothing were supposed to go in the dryer and what weren’t; especially her bras. She hated it when he used to put her bras in the dryer. As well as her ‘delicates’; men would never understand about bras and ‘delicates’. They washed and dried everything like it was a pair of old dirty jeans.

When she got back to the kitchen Frank was up and was putting on the coffee.

Morning, Jill said trying to act casual.

Morning, Frank replied. Feeling any better? he asked her.

Yes, thanks, she answered still not able to look him in the eye.

Did you sleep on the couch? he asked.

Yes, she said.

It was not unusual for her to fall asleep on the couch, or even at her desk if she was working on a story or trying to make a deadline. She began putting the cereal and milk on the table. He began making the kids lunches. This had been their morning routine since he got laid off. He turned on the radio. For a moment all seemed normal again. Then the news came on. She froze and listened intently.

First it would be the national news and then the local stuff. The election was now on so there were stories about what the party leaders were saying and where they were going to be on that day of the campaign trail.

Frank mumbled something about the election being a joke and that the leaders and the parties were all one and the same now; how you couldn’t tell one from the other. Of how they were all in it for themselves and how no one gave a ‘rat’s ass’