Page 23 of Into the Tempest

Not even Rowan and Zoe’s curious disdain.

I took my coffee and decided to answer emails and return some calls before spendin’ the afternoon boarding up windows. That was the plan. I’d have to probably call into the supermarket at some point, I realised.

I probably should have done that before now.

I checked my watch. It was just on half eight. Hmm, maybe Ellis needed to go too. I picked up my desk phone and buzzed his office, but as I waited for him to pick up, my mobile phone rang.

It was Ellis, and I laughed as I answered, thinkin’ he must be stuck on hold with some pain-in-the-arse customer on his desk phone. But before I could speak, he said, “Cafeteria, now.”

There was no joke, no smart-arse comment. Clipped and serious.

I jumped to my feet and dashed for the cafeteria where several people—including my parents and siblings—were watchin’ the TV on the wall. It was only ever on some morning show bullshit that I never had time for, but what I saw stopped me cold.

“It’s all over the news,” Ellis said.

It was Jeremiah’s interview from yesterday. Half the screen was his face frozen, his blue eyes unmistakable. Then the other half of the screen played the very familiar footage of his mother on Collins Street, the tramline being struck by lightning, her doing that macabre dance, his stroller rolling away. Then it showed a policeman carrying a crying toddler, a small boy with dark hair and very, very blue eyes.

The screen froze, Jeremiah’s face on both sides of the screen. From yesterday and from all those years ago.

Jesus fucking Christ.

What he’d said last night came back to me.

I never said my full name because you know what comes next.

He was exactly right. He knew. Heknewthis would happen.

“Those motherfuckers,” I said, feeling a rage explode within me. An anger like I’d never known.

“Is that really him?” Ellis asked. “Was that his mother?”

I managed to look at him, at all the faces now watching me. And despite how angry I was, I was hurt for Jeremiah so much more. This was going to kill him. “Yes, that’s him. I need to go.”

I turned and ran, only stopping to grab my keys and phone from my desk, and I raced to my car.

Fuck all those arseholes.

Christ.

When Jeremiah had said he has to relive his mother dying every time that footage was played, I never really understood...

Until now.

How dare they.

How fucking dare they.

I sped the whole way to his work. I was way past caring. And of course there were news vans parked at the gate, which was, thankfully, locked.

At least they weren’t banging on his door.

I skidded the Rover to a stop, maybe a little too close to them, gaining the attention of every reporter and camera there. I got out and slammed my door, getting madder by the damn second.

They weren’t here for emergency news updates. They were here for nothin’ but gossip.

“You wanna be careful,” one cameraman said, nodding his chin to my car.

I spun and pointed my finger at him. “And you might wanna watch your fuckin’ mouth.”

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