“It’s suicide, they’re saying.”
I sighed.
“Same basic piece then. Guess I’ll schedule an appointment with the family. I should have the piece done by next week.” I said.
“Sounds good, Jael. That’s all for now.”
“OK. See you later boss.” I responded.
I had been working for the school paper for about a year. Nothing too interesting, just trying to get something to put a resume really. School wasn’t big enough to have any large controversies, but there was usually something interesting every now and again. I’d written a couple pieces about students who had committed suicide. It was so odd at first, It’s not something you really think you ought to really talk about. Meeting with the family is going to be hard, but I can at least take solace that I won’t have to ask any of the real hard questions. A basic sort of positive “he was a good kid” message would suffice.
A week rolled by fast, as they seemingly always do.I set up an appointment with the family. Standard stuff, but there was something odd the father said.
“I can’t believe they went ahead and just said it was suicide, there’s no way-” He was then interrupted by the mother, and then just sighed.
I can understand denial, given the circumstances, but this was less of a “I never saw this coming” and more of a “They were wrong, she didn’t kill herself.” I didn’t give it too much heed at the time.
That was, until, about a week ago.
“Another suicide.” The boss said dryly.
“Fair enough. I’ll schedule a meeting with the family then.” I responded.
“There seems to be happening more and more. Last month and now this. I’m sorry to give you both of these articles, but-”
“It’s fine. I can handle some grieving families.” I replied.
“You know I heard this girl was friends with the other girl, you know, the one died last month.” The boss stated “I wonder if they’re related somehow.”
“C’mon boss. Don’t go filling your journalist’s mind with ideas.” I replied. I might seem rude, but the boss was always like this. Spreading rumours, getting in deep with the tabloid style “muckraking”. It was shameful, in my opinion. He wasn’t really a journalist, just an english teacher with some free time.
“Gotcha. That’s it for today then.” The boss said.
As always, I scheduled an appointment with the family. I couldn’t resist my own curiosity and i looked up detail about the suicide. It was true, the means of death were almost the same. Each time, it was from a stab to the torso by a sharp blade. Even if the two were the same, the strangest part was the method. Who kills themselves with a blade in modern times? Both of them also had various cuts on their arms, also self inflicted. I had to admit, it was a strange coincidence.
Then I spoke with the victim’s family.
I didn't think much of it, going in. Didn't matter too much who the family were. But this family was different. This family was mad. I'd gotten to this family pretty quickly, perhaps a sign of how regular this got for me, and it showed. The family hadn't really been taught about how to talk to the press. They didn’t hold back.
“ It's obvious, I think” The mother stated angrily “ It was not a suicide!”.
I leaned back in my seat, with an obvious look of discomfort.
“Uhh…” I muttered, trying to say something coherent. The father patted his wife’s arm.
“Now now, the journalist doesn’t need to hear all that.” The father said calmly.
The mother mumbled something and shrugged.
“All right. I don’t know what else I can say about what happened.” The mother replied harshly.
“Um, well..” And that’s when my curiosity got the better of me, i’m afraid.
“You know, I might just agree with you. It just seems fishy to me. If you help me by saying you aren’t satisfied with what the police have said on the matter, we can hopefully get more eyes on the case.” I said, my own journalistic passion outweighing my common sense.
“What? You would actually publish that?” The father asked.
“My boss would jump at the opportunity.” I said.
It was the truth. He would almost certainly be overjoyed at such an article arriving in his lap.He had shown in the ast no hesitation when delving into the realm of controversy.
“yes.” The mother replied “that’s the thing we should do. we can’t let this just linger into obscurity!”
The fish had been caught. After the interview I set off right away to write up an article. It criticised the police’s lack of suspicion in the case, so quickly calling it a suicide. I then called on the dean to place restrictions on night classes. Both the students had died shortly after a night class. This way, I thought, if there was a killer, he would thrown off guard by these changes. Maybe then he would get desperate enough to lead clues to his identity. I was already getting caught up in theories and speculation. I was becoming everything I had days previously mocked.
Taking the article to my boss was interesting He seemed hesitant, asking if I was sure I wanted to publish the article. “Why now do fear controversy” I thought to myself. Either way, he eventually agreed to publish it, and it went up in next week's paper. The reaction was far more intense than I suggested.
On tuesday, as I was walking to class, I saw a large group congregated by the entrance to the administration building. It was a protest group,saying that the campus either should shut down and heavily increase security. It seemed the article hit home. Far too proud of my own actions, I marched to class oblivious of what consequences my actions may have had.
It seemed the administration wouldn’t falter from their plans, and thus made no changes. The principal came out in defense of his actions, saying “we stand by the police’s verdict. If they say it was a suicide, we have no reason to act as if it were otherwise.”
Frustrated, I went to work making more articles calling for change. I had gone full on sensationalism, using whatever argument I could. I was hooked, each of my articles had fantastic reactions. People were actually reading my articles in the dinky old school newspaper.
It was crushing then, to find out the principal read the articles too. He went ahead and forced my boss to stop publishing any articles I created. There went my power, gone as quickly as it came. In my stead, more school-friendly articles started to appear. The protests died down. In my incalculable stupidity, I decided to talk to the principal myself. However, I was too timid to go right up to him and blurt out my opinions, so I sent an email.
I never even got a response. I was so frustrated, I might have done something even more foolish, but then It happened.
Seemingly like clockwork, after the same interim of time, another killing occurred.
“Ha!” I thought “I am vindicated! they can’t put off calling t o murder any longer!” I had become so wrapped up in my own pettiness, that even the prospect of a cold blooded murder, so long as it was beneficial to me, seemed a positive thing. I had no grief, no pity. I was no longer human.
So spiteful was I, I went, newspaper in hand, right up to the newspaper office.
“Ha! How do you feel about that!” I Shouted.
‘I think it’s very sad and horrifying.” The boss said.
“What? No, I mean, I was right! It was a murder the whole time!” I replied with bravado.
“OK. And?” The boss replied.
“well…” I muttered “Don’t you feel guilty for kicking me off the paper? It could have been prevented if people listened to me.”
“It wasn’t my choice. It was you or the whole paper.” The boss replied.
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