Wild One

Sixteen

Manon

I sigh, unimpressed. This story is piece of s**t.

“Are you serious right now? Where's the details? Where's the danger?” I scan the paper once more in pure disbelief. “Where's the grammar?!"

The intern shuffled in her spot. “Um...well...it's just a bank robbery. They didn't even get anything."

I scoff, closing the folder. “It's just a bank robbery because you wrote— just a bank robbery.”

“I reported the crime,” She argued, “That's what the crime reporters do.”

“No, that's what amateurs do. Real crime reporters don't just report about a crime—mundane details, names. They tell the story. They tell the world their chaos, they unveil the evil inside us all. They hold up a mirror that begs to be examined. Who am I? Would I do something like that?”

“What would push me over the edge? That's what crime reporters do, Ms. Reynolds. When you can do that, come back and see me.”

She turns and leaves, undoubtedly ignoring my words. She probably just thinks I'm being overly critical.

I'm not. Or maybe I am, but it isn't personal. That's not quite true either. Ms. Reynolds has potential. I've read some of her fictional works. Her problem is, that she can't see the bursts of dark magic in every crime.

She can't see the story. Her eyes are black and white. She sees facts, but crimes are rarely based on facts. It's based on emotions, on madness, on the darkness that feeds on weak minds and even weaker hearts.

Betrayal, love, hatred.

Crime is not facts. Crime is human nature at it's worst.

And until she can see that, her writing will be dull.

“And this is why your my top Crime Reporter," My boss grins.

He's an older man, still fit, with salt and pepper hair and a fatherly aura.

He smiles softly, his smile lines flexing.

“Mr. Starling, you know favoritism is forbidden?”

“Nonsense," He kisses my forehead, “It's my business, I can show my adoptive daughter favortism."

I chuckled, playfully swatting him away. “One of these days, I'm going to find the law I know you're breaking.”

He grins back. “They can't kill nepotism, my dear."

He sits down on the other side of my desk, making me set my papers down and give him my full attention.

“Is everything okay, Mr. Starling?”

He sighs, eyeing me with fatherly concern. “You know I care about you, right?”

My stomach twists. “Of course, sir."

“Then you know I'm saying this for your benefit—I only have your best interests at heart.”

My belly knots.

“Is something wrong?"

“You're a beautiful young lady, my dear. You're an intelligent, successful woman, who is far beyond her years," He starts cautiously.

I'm stuck between feeling even more queasy, or settling into the compliment.

“But...I worry about you. You're 22 years old, young, in your prime, and all you do is work, go to school and work."

All the knots soothe. That's all? He's concerned about my love life?

“Did you forget I was engaged?”

“No I didn't. But how long did it last? Manon, I fear you're making a big mistake trying to bury yourself in work. I want you to take some time off, and live."

Time off?

Live?

“You're firing me?”

He blushes. “More like...forcing you take at least a month of your years of accumulation vacation time... consecutively...starting tommorow.”

“So you're forcing me to take a vacation?!”

The older man stands, gazing at me sternly. “Yes, Manon. I'm forcing you to take a vacation. Unfortunately, I can't force you to enjoy it. I know you love your work, but your work can't love you back."

He eyes me sadly, as if it were breaking his heart to see me this way—sucessful, well-paid.

Then he turns around, and leaves my office without another word.

***

I go home early. I know Mr. Starling means well, but I don't need a vacation. I don't need love.

I sit on my hardwood floors, sipping wine, browsing the web.

Something catches my eye.

New head of the Vitale Crime Family?

It was dated for five years ago. I hesitate, the words turning red as the mouse hovers over them.

On its own, like a reflex, my finger tics, smashing on the mouse. The story pops up.

We've all heard of the infamous Luciano Vitale, head of the Vitale family, who went on national television to demand the return of his wife.

He held the city of Chicago hostage for weeks while his wife was missing.

These days though, the boss of the Vitale Family seems to have given over the reins. His close associate and cousin Niccoló Vitale would be the most likely candidate for the position, but it's not confirmed.

So who will head the Vitale? What will they be like? Hopefully, they will follow the policies of their Predecessor, who was a relatively peaceful leader.

I sigh, closing the browser. My eyes dart away from the screen. I shut the laptop, picking up my wine, staring at the floors.

Niccoló Vitale.

He was my dream. He's my nightmare. He still plagues me, a shade. But he's not lacking opacity anymore.

He's real, shimmering, right in front of me, his outline quivering in flames.

He wants to play.

I want to burn.

We'll meet again, no doubt.