“You got this, man!” David reminded himself as he made his best attempt to obtain some semblance of composure in spite of his racing thoughts and pulsing heart. He lightly slapped his face with each hand a few times. He dusted off his chest and stomach with a rhythmic hand over hand wipe down motion, then finally he stood erect and inhaled deeply. As he began to exhale slowly he made his way over the rubber mats that triggered the automatic doors, which spread wide to allow him to enter The Times’ building and icy conditioned air to exit. The air shocked his senses far more than the slaps and pep talk could and he finally had full control of his emotions and body.
“Who you seeing young man?” Asked the West Indian security guard. “Uh, I really don’t know. I have to publish a confession!” “Son you need to know who you’re seeing. If I let in everyone who wanted to publish some nonsense I’d have lost the this job many years ago!” He chuckled at his joke and David smirked, recognizing the guard’s Caribbean sense of humor. David stopped in his tracks and thought quickly. “Uh, she and I spoke before...” He began to lie, “Something like Mosk-something?” “Moskowitz?” “Yes, that’s the one!” David shot back, relieved that his poor memory of this reporters name was close enough to get him past the gatekeeper. “Ok, what’s your name?” “David Ellerbe.” “Miss Marla,” The guard began on the internal phone system, “I have a David, uh, Ellerbe here to speak to you about a piece he says you have discussed.” “Ok David, 12th floor, head to your left when you get there, she be at the door.”
David nodded both out of gratitude and shock that he was being allowed in. “Damn, I look like a bum.” He thought to himself as he made his way past the elegantly dressed ladies and suited newsmen that made up the Times’ workforce. None of them acknowledged him or how out of place his presence was. Instead they carried on with their days, likely en route to a lunch pricier then he could ever afford where they would be surrounded by people who looked nothing like him. As he spotted the elevator area in the distance his stride grew longer and his steps paced more quickly on the lobby’s impressive marble floors. He proceeds briskly until a force he could not describe caused him to pause suddenly.
“Ah, I should bounce. What the hell am I doing here? Who the hell am I about to confess to? Man, they don’t gotta know.” After his internal monologue, he turned to leave then stopped once more. “Ah! Why did I give them my real name? Everyone is looking for the killer and now they’ll know someone with my damn name came in to confess to the city’s biggest paper. Ahhhh...” His anguish almost left his head and came out of his mouth but he kept himself together. “Alright, we gotta do it.” Addressing himself as ‘we’, as if to convince himself that this was not a lonely endeavor.
He turned around once more and continued his journey to the elevator, this time with a slower but still deliberate pace. The whole scene would have looked ridiculous to the security staff if they were watching the building’s cameras. The welcomed shock of the cold air had worn off and he returned to sweating as the oppressive summer sun, reflecting off of a building across the street, beamed onto him through the massive windows that lined the base of the lobby’s western facing front entrance. “Ahh, what was the floor?” He fumbled around with the elevator touchpad after arriving at the eight shaft elevator well that stood in the direct center of the lobby. “Ummm, 12?” He asked himself as he pressed the touchpad hoping that he had remembered correctly. “What’s this girl’s name? Mosk what? Ahhh.”
David’s nerves nearly overwhelmed him as the elevator shot up more rapidly than the rickety ones he was used to. The combination of fear, emotional exhaustion and the quick ascent buckled his knees. When the ride stopped suddenly and the doors opened he was near the point of collapse. Now, out of the sun, his light
sweating had ceased, but his shirt was left damp and his body feeling drained. Part of him wanted this woman, whatever her name was, to hug and hold him and then lay him on a couch where he could maybe find the sleep that had evaded him for the last week and a half. But Marla Moskowitz had no intention of holding David Ellerbe.
Despite not actually speaking to him earlier that day Marla Moskowitz’s eyes lit up when Clive the security guard alerted her to David’s presence. She was perhaps the most cutthroat young reporter on the Times’ staff, and had been writing daily about the supposed murder of James King. Murder always drew eyeballs, and the murder of prominent businessmen was even more provocative. As a reporter, it was the type of story you’d never go out and create but would be quietly overjoyed to hear about once it happened.
It never ran through Marla’s mind that Mr. King’s wife, who she had been repeatedly describing as “glamorous” (a news catchall for any attractive woman with a mild sense of style) and “possibly adulterous” might be heartbroken. She could not bother to consider Ms. King’s perspective because mixing emotion into a story of this magnitude would only get in the way of reporting its juiciest parts. Marla, who had been head down writing her latest piece on the King murder, made her way toward the twelfth floor’s elevator well immediately after Clive’s call. She had no evidence to believe this, but she was convinced that whoever David Ellerbe was, he was there in relation to the King murder.
When the light above the sliding elevator door blinked red Marla’s heart began to race. “Here he is! Oh-oh my God am I safe?” She asked herself as it dawned on her that he might be the killer, but there was no time to call security or a coworker for help if it was needed. “Ugh, just Jim.” She said, as a poorly dressed and goofy summer intern exited the first elevator to her right and smiled at her. She didn’t bother to smile back at this nobody, it was David for whom she had to reserve her complete energy. As Jim entered the thick glass doors to the twelfth floor office space, Marla kept her eyes on the elevator lights, and the one in the back right blinked red. “Here we go.” She whispered out loud, her heart pounding.
Despite David’s weakened condition, his tall, muscular frame gave him the appearance of strength and this appearance as well as his skin color and clothing stunned Marla. “Wait, is this literally him? No chance, maybe he’s doing work on the building.” “This the chick?” David asked himself, slightly put off by the diminutive figure who stood across the glass doors that Jim had just walked through. Marla shot David a look as if to ask, “Are you the one?” David’s stern nod seemed to provide the answer she needed, and once she acknowledged it she held her employee ID up to the sensor next to the doors, her perfectly manicured hand shaking as she did so. The ID’s validity was immediately acknowledged with a green light on the pad glowing follower by the glass doors smoothly sliding open just as David was nearing.
David squinted from the weird glow of the environmentally friendly lighting system. “Damn, all this money and the lights worse than what I got at home.” He thought as his vision adjusted. As Marla attempted to collect herself, David passed through the doorway and instinctively she began to extend her hand for a shake, but David’s demeanor gave off no impression that he sought a friendly greeting, so she pulled it back before David could even recognize the attempt.
“Weird, this chick doesn’t even wanna shake my hand.” He thought to himself, “Whatever.” “Dah-day-David?” Marla strained to make out his simple name. “Yeah, I’m David Ellerbe.” “Hi David, I’m Marla Moskowitz, Clive said you had something to discuss with me.” She stated with eyebrows raised, more a question than a comment. “Ah, yeah, you got somewhere we can talk?” “Of course! This way.” She turned, keeping David to her right so she could hold her eyes on him, then began walking toward a small, soundproof conference room that she hoped would be unoccupied.
Stopping suddenly as she spotted the pantry, she realized that in the excitement and suddenness of their meeting, she had not offered her guest anything to drink. “Coffee, water?” “Uh, yeah a water, thanks. Please.” As Marla poured David a cup of water, he felt calm for the first time in days. Her tiny stature and pretty face had seemed to help him regain his composure. Well, perhaps it was the fact that he was about to unload the burden he had been harboring, but regardless, the attractive appearance of this future news nun who was primed to hear his confession only seemed to aide in calming him.
“All right it’s just this way, right past the fish painting on our right.” Marla announced as she pointed down the hall. David followed the direction of her hand until he made out an impressionist fish painting displaying indeterminable species of fish that seemed to glow with their fantastic colors. David had been walking in front of Marla, stepping quickly due to his excitement, but she jumped ahead of him now to act as gracious host, opening the door to the room within which his admission was to be made.
“Damn, this is the nicest office I’ve ever seen!” David thought to himself. Marla stuck out her left hand, pointing David toward the leather chair where he was to sit. He accepted the invite and made his way around a well maintained stained wooden table. Marla made her way in as well and sat down far enough away to make David comfortable and angled herself to help to avoid the impact that the tension of eye contact might have one David’s behavior.
As he sat, David once more experienced an urge to run, an urge to leave this room, to never look back, to never answer a call should Marla conduct research and find his phone number. Yet, he did not stand up. Instead, David became as physically at ease as he could despite his mental discomfort. He casually sipped his drink as he leaned back into the chair in an attempt to suggest he was at ease in his position. Marla, across the table made the inverse motion, leaning forward to open up a notepad. She clicked her pen three times as was her custom, and considered how best to broach the reason for David’s unexpected visit.
An uneasy tension filled the room as Marla’s prying eyes directed their gaze toward David and he met her unbroken glance reciprocally. This stare down was worthy of a heavyweight title fight, and it only served to build out the anticipation of what Marla hoped would be a traumatic revealing of information that would further angle the trajectory of her already rising career star.
Marla had learned early on that as a reporter when one does not have to speak one should not speak, so as to allow the subject to grow uncomfortable and drawn into the defensive mechanism of speaking to break the silence. This tactic generally worked, however Marla was not accustomed to using it in situations that felt so serious. As David, unblinking, remained silent, she began to doubt her strategy.
After a thirty second period that felt like an eon, Marla decided to amend her plans and she broke the silence. “Well, why don’t we start from the beginning. I know your name, David, but who are you, where are you from? And, why … or…. well, let’s just begin with that.” She felt uneasy asking such a dull question, but knew of no other way to attempt to break down David’s walls. Marla's wave of anxiety receded as David blinked, literally and metaphorically, and began to open up.
To be continued...
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