The Unspoken Truth

Chapter Three [Edited]

CHAPTER THREE        

Annie's POV

        The buildings lining fifty fifth street glisten in a new day. I look ahead as I move down the road towards a little café at the end of the sidewalk. I pull on the door of the corner store and the café seems to open up before me. It smells rich of coffee, cream, and pastries. The lady at the front counter throws me a funny look and cocks an eyebrow. The coffee shop rarely gets customers, I am probably her first all morning. "Hi," I say to her, making my way to the counter. "One cup of coffee please, hold the sugar." Her cheeks light up with a smile as she nods and turns around to get the order.

        "You're Annie Morter, right?" she asks.

        "I'm not that popular, am I?" I ask her, now my turn to toss a funny look her way.

        "Nah," she laughed. "Your boss was in here the other day with some girl. They were talking about you."

        "They were?" I ask. "Would it break your code of ethics if I asked you what they said?"

        "Me? A code of ethics? Darling, please," she said smiling. "I would tell you everything I know, only, I don't know anything. They talked in hushed whispers all the time they were here."

        "I just hope I'm not in any trouble," I say.

        "I'm sure your not," she hands me my cup of steaming coffee. I smile and take it from her, walking in wide strides towards the door.

        The world seems a dark and dreary place compared to the bright homely feel of the coffee shop. I look around and catch a glimpse of a dark hood as it turns down an alleyway. Reporters are right behind it, I recognize Connor just before he chases the hooded character around the bend. Then my feet are moving, my muscles straining to reach the speed my brain and every nerve impulse are demanding they go. The whole world is rocking back and forth, coffee from my cup spilling onto my hand and scorching my skin. I am right behind them. Connor turns around to find me pink faced and exhausted with coffee splattered on my clothes. I smile weakly as he rushes over.

        "Annie!" Connor said, "What are you doing here?"

        "I... I wanted to help," I said softly.

        "Annie, you're the editor. You're being paid to edit. Right?" he says.

        "Yeah," I mumble, turning away. "Okay. I'll go. I just... Sorry."

        I slowly trudge back down the street, pulling my jacket closer to my skin with nothing but snow to keep me company in the cold. The office is quiet. So silent when I stood still for a moment, I could hear the tick of the crisp black clock on the wall. When Kreysten dropped his pin, I heard the sound as if it was vibrating off the white washed walls. I march up to his desk and address him straight in the pupils of his strict, cold eyes. "Mr. Kreysten, sir, the stories are being told wrong." I inform him. His face transforms, now amused, as he listens.

        "Morter," he says, looking at me as he would a young child. "You do not understand business such as this. You--"

        "But, sir!" I demand.

        "This is a professional business, Miss Morter. I will not stand for you acting as you are. You are here to edit. Editing is what your job is. If you are not happy with it, you are more than welcome to walk out that door," he says, jabbing his thumb towards the door.

        "Sir, I--"

        "End of discussion, Miss Morter," he says, a stern tone in his voice.

        "But, sir I--"

        "End of discussion."

        I stare at him as he picks up his pen and resumes his writing. His blue eyes look as though they are already dead. I turn away from him and swiftly walk down the hall, fury in my stride. Scarlett is sitting in a seat near the door when I storm into the room, anger radiating off my skin. "Mr. Kreysten is awful, Scarlett! Awful!" I cried.

        "Annie! Keep your voice down! He'll hear!"

        "I don't care," I said, stepping into the hallway. "Let the bastard hear!"

        Scarlett's hand materializes on my arm, pulling me back into the editing room. She spins around and shuts the door, "Annie, I know you're mad but you don't want to lose your job," she says. "You have worked your entire life to be here."

        "Not here! I worked hard all my life to be a writer, Scarlett! Not a measly editor!"

        "Well you won't be either if you keep yelling like that."

        "I know," I said, collapsing into a chair. "I'm sorry."

        "It's alright," she says, sitting back down.

        I pull out a article and begin correcting grammar. I try my hardest not to think about whether or not the words printed on the page in neat lettering are the truth. My back hurts from leaning over by the time I am through. Scarlett looks up to find the papers spotted with tears. "Hon," she murmurs sympathetically.

        It is then the door bangs open. Revealing the one person on earth I did not want to see in that moment, a grim smile plastered on his wrinkly face. "Board meeting. Now," he says before strutting out of the room.

        Scarlett sighs, and gets up from her chair. We walk out into the hallway without another word. The air is swelteringly warm as we walk to the door marked board room in boxy tile. I make my way to the back and sit down, preparing myself for a nightmare of a lecture. Even worse than the ones I was given in collage. Mr. Kreysten comes into the room and greets us, holding a laptop for another of his infamous power point presentations. "It has come to my attention," he begins. "That sales of the Gazette are suffering."

        We sit through a long talk about the many things Kreysten is certain will bring sales up. There is a newbie taking furious notes in the front row. "On the topic of Miss Annie Morter," he says. I perk up at my name. "She has mentioned an issue she thinks has come up with one of the authors of our articles. I believe this not to be true because I know the author she is accusing personally and I know that such a thing would never happen." When the lecture is over, I get up to leave but he catches me on my way out the door. "May I speak with you a minute?"

        I shrug and we walk towards his desk, "Yes, sir?"

        "I do not want to hear a single word about any of this nonsense ever again. Is that understood?"

        "Yes, sir."

        He waves me away and I walk towards the editing room. After working for the job so long, it is almost hard to believe this is what my life has turned into. Almost.