012 : The Journalist
1558 Words
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Neza
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I had barely slept the night before. The city was loud, and my head wouldn’t stop spinning. Brian had found a lead to a journalist who once worked on a story that mentioned Blodwyn. That was all I could think about. The name had haunted me since the day I realized my parents’ deaths weren’t an accident.
The morning light filtered through the dusty blinds of Brian’s loft. I sat on the couch with my legs folded under me, half-eaten toast on the table, staring at nothing. My mind was miles away.
“His name’s Marco Lucci,” Brian said, breaking the silence. He was already at his desk, coffee mug beside him, fingers flying over the keyboard. “He’s been off-grid for years. No social media, no fixed address, just scattered reports under aliases. But last night I traced a payment from a legal department to an offshore account connected to him.”
I looked up. “So he’s taking money from them?”
“Not exactly. Could be hush money. Or blackmail. Either way, he knows something.”
I rubbed my temples. “Where is he now?”
Brian sighed. “I got an address. An apartment near the east dock. But listen—if this guy’s been hiding, there’s a reason. You can’t just walk up to him and—”
“I’m going,” I said before he could finish.
He turned in his chair, his eyes narrowing. “Neza, don’t be stupid. Gavino’s men are still looking for you. You think walking into some random man’s apartment won’t get you caught?”
“I’ll be careful,” I muttered, grabbing my jacket.
“Yeah, that’s what everyone says before they end up in a ditch.”
I paused at the door. “You coming or not?”
He groaned, pushing back from the desk. “You’re impossible.”
We left the loft a few minutes later, slipping through the back alley. The air smelled like rain and exhaust fumes. My heart wouldn’t stop pounding. Every car that slowed, every glance from a stranger made my stomach twist. I kept seeing Gavino’s face in my head—the way his jaw tightened when he was angry, how his voice turned cold. If he found out where I was now, I’d be done for.
Brian drove, eyes darting between the road and his phone’s map. The city stretched ahead, grey and restless. My fingers drummed against my thigh, my nerves getting worse with every passing block.
“You’re shaking,” Brian said quietly.
“I’m fine.”
He gave me a side look. “You’re not fine. You’re terrified.”
“I’m angry,” I corrected. “There’s a difference.”
He didn’t push it.
When we got to the docks, the place was almost deserted. Old warehouses lined the street, rusted fences, broken lights flickering weakly. Brian parked the car a few buildings away.
“This is it,” he said, checking his phone again. “Apartment 3C. Top floor.”
I nodded, pulling my hood up. My heart was beating so fast I could hear it in my ears. We climbed the narrow staircase, every step creaking under our weight.
When we reached the door, I knocked once. No answer. I tried again, louder. Nothing.
“Maybe he’s not—” Brian started, but I turned the knob. It opened.
The smell hit first…something burnt, metallic. My stomach turned. The room was dark except for a small lamp by the couch. Papers were scattered on the floor, and the TV was on with no sound, showing static.
“Marco?” I called softly. No response.
Brian flicked the light switch. The sight made my blood freeze.
A man lay slumped against the coffee table, head tilted unnaturally to the side. There was blood—dried, dark—on the floor and on his shirt. A cigarette burned out beside his hand.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, backing up.
Brian rushed forward, checking for a pulse even though it was obvious. “He’s dead.”
I covered my mouth. The room spun. I wanted to believe it was just a robbery gone wrong, but deep down I knew better. It was too clean, too arranged. His laptop was gone, but his wallet was still there.
“It’s staged,” I said shakily. “This is a setup. Gavino must have found out.”
Brian looked up. “You don’t know that.”
“I do.” My voice cracked. “He warned me once, beside I know Blodwyns like the back of my hand…anyone who tries to dig into Blodwyn doesn’t last long. You think it’s a coincidence this man dies right when I find him?”
Brian stood, rubbing his hands on his jeans. “We have to leave. If someone finds us here—”
“Wait,” I said, crouching beside the man. My hands trembled as I scanned the mess around him. There were torn notes, printed emails, half-burned documents in an ashtray. One paper caught my eye—Blodwyn’s logo faintly visible under a coffee stain.
I grabbed it. The paper was half-burned but I could still read a few lines.
“Neza you can't touch things on a murder scene…” Brain queried.
My throat went dry. “He knew something about the experiments,” I murmured. “Something they tried to erase.”
Brian pulled me up. “Neza, we have to go now. Please.”
I looked back one last time at Marco’s body. His face was pale, peaceful in a way that made my chest ache. Whoever did this wanted to make it look like an accident, but it wasn’t. I could feel it.
We ran down the stairs, the echo of our footsteps mixing with the sound of distant waves. By the time we got to the car, my hands were cold and my heart felt like it had been ripped out.
Brian started the engine, but I wasn’t ready to move. I stared at the building through the windshield, anger and fear battling inside me.
“He killed him,” I said quietly.
“Neza—”
“Don’t tell me I’m wrong. This is what he does. He makes problems disappear.”
Brian sighed, gripping the steering wheel. “If it was Gavino, then you poked the wrong bear. We need to disappear too.”
I turned to him sharply. “I’m not running.”
“Then what are you doing? Marching back to him and asking for answers? You’ll get yourself killed!”
“I’m not afraid of him anymore,” I said, though my voice betrayed me. “He can’t control everything. Not this time.”
Brian exhaled, frustrated. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
I ignored him and pulled out my phone, scrolling through the photos I’d taken of the burned papers. There wasn’t much, but maybe enough to trace something.
“I’ll send these to a contact I know,” Brian said reluctantly. “He used to work in cybersecurity for a news firm. If anyone can pull metadata from what’s left, it’s him.”
“Do it,” I said.
He nodded, and for the rest of the drive, neither of us spoke. The city blurred past the window, lights smearing into colors I didn’t register. My mind replayed the image of Marco’s lifeless body again and again.
When we got back to the loft, I dropped onto the couch. My whole body felt numb. Brian went straight to his desk, typing furiously. The air smelled like cold coffee and stress.
I leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “You think Gavino knows where I am?”
Brian didn’t look up. “If he wanted you found, you’d already be dead. Maybe he’s watching and just looking at you, your dear brother is unpredictable.”
That didn’t make me feel any better.
I curled my knees to my chest, feeling the weight of everything crashing down. Marco was supposed to be my lead. My only chance at finding the truth. Now he was gone, and the little piece of hope I’d built was slipping through my fingers.
Brian’s phone buzzed. He checked it, then frowned.
“What?” I asked, sitting up.
“The contact replied. He says these files are encrypted, but he recognized part of the code. It’s used in military-grade research archives.”
I blinked. “You mean government-level?”
He nodded slowly. “Whatever Blodwyn’s hiding, it’s not just corporate.”
My stomach knotted. “Then it’s worse than I thought.”
He turned to face me. “You need to stop, Neza. For your own sake.”
I shook my head. “I can’t. Not now.”
I stood and walked to the window. Outside, the city lights shimmered, cold and indifferent. Somewhere out there, Gavino was probably already hearing the news of Marco’s “accident.” Maybe he was pouring himself a drink, maybe he was smiling, satisfied.
The thought made me clench my fists.
“You won’t win this time,” I whispered under my breath.
Behind me, Brian muttered something about tracing the next lead, but I wasn’t really listening. My heart was too heavy, my mind too loud.
- Writer
