Burned

chapter 8

Bucky’s POV:

I sighed, running my hands over my face before wiping the desk surface of all papers with my other arm. They sailed across the room and then floated to the floor. I was so done, to quote the teenage girls of this era.

It had all started with the stupid intern, Charter. She didn’t want to cooperate and pitch in to find Flame. She should know already that journalist are ready to do anything to get the good story, and if she doesn’t have the balls for it, there’s the door. But of course, showing your interns that it’s okay to be daring to get the good story wasn’t exactly the best in the eyes of the town council.

So, here I was, giving Charter a job and paycheck. And for what, to get no shots of Flame, which was the real reason I threw her out the window in the first place.

I glanced at the numerous front page papers that I had laminated and framed around my office. Most of them were of Flame: Flame cradling a little boy and he saves him from a house fire, Flame not bating an eyelash when  a gun man rained a whole round of bullets on him. And my personal favorite: Flame smirking like the little shit he is as he holds the same gunman who fired the round on him in a tight headlock, all the while there is a group of people surrounding him, cheering for him.

In all honesty, it made me sick, and I would rather burn the papers then print them about Flame, but the people wanted to read about him.

Without even thinking about it, I clicked my top drawer open and pulled out a tin container. I opened and slipped out a cigar, lighting it quickly before breathing it slowly, trying to calm my frantic nerves. I sighed sadly when I saw my private collection was running low, but I chose to use the last one anyway.  I wanted to write a story about Flame’s downfall, not his rise. He was slowing down production; it’s hard when you want to print papers about normal newspaper things, but all the people want to read about was a flying pyromaniac. There was nothing special about him, all he was doing was showing off the freak of nature he is.

A small buzz came from my intercom and I took my time reaching over and pushing the beeping button.

“Yes?” I replied in a bored tone.

“Mr. Bucky Rivers, sir? There is someone who is here to see you.” Donna, my secretary said.

I glanced absentmidly at my calendar, and I was surprised to see the date blank, with no appointments.

“Tell ‘em to go away. They didn’t set up a meeting so they’re not getting one.” I said as I breathed out another puff of smoke from my cigar. I was not in the mood to deal with some frivolous free lancer who didn’t know enough to call me first before stopping by. That’s what Charter was until I realized the girl had a real skill with a camera. After that I let her set up shop in the smallest desk I owned so she could arrange her own small pieces. I’ll admit, she was gifted, but never gifted enough to get real job here, unless she tattles the council. That little shit intern was nothing but a thorn in my side.

Donna’s voice broke through, and it made me jump a little; I expected her to usually sign off when I said I wasn’t interested.

“Sir, His name is Donavan and he’s got more cigars for you since you were running low.”

Charter’s POV:

I couldn’t stop the smile on my face as I clicked the shutter, the beautiful sound echoing off. The two little girls stopped their skipping and turned around to the noise. Once they found I had taken a picture they giggled, flattered that I had done so. They turned and skipped on, hand in hand, once in a while looking back over their shoulders with smiles on their face. When I thought I had enough shots, I crouched down and gestured them over. They ran over, giggling as they craned to get a look of the pictures.