Page 1 of Fear the Reaper
Nova “Star” Shuman
The black Lexuswith the tinted windows and blacked out license plate sat in the parking lot as I picked away at my French fries. I wasn’t hungry for the stupid diet I’d put myself on had me eat a bowl of fruits a mere twenty-five minutes before the fates proved I hadn’t lost my mind. I figured as long as I was inside, with people around, I’d be safe.
Dipping a fry into some mayonnaise with one hand, I used the other to send a quick text.
Star. SOS.
Simple, but effective.
Within seconds, my phone chimed and I had to smile. There was something to say about having loyal friends in life.
Hang tight. I’m on my way.
Anyone else would send an address. I didn’t have to. If there was one thing I knew, no matter what dark hole I was in, if there was a computer close by I could access, Axel “Swede” Svenson would always be able to find me with a few taps on his keyboard.
I wasn’t sure if it was cute or creepy and I didn’t care.
With a sigh, I sipped from my soda and waved at the waitress. She quickly jogged over and I smiled up at her.
“I know I said I didn’t want anything heavy to eat,” I said. “But, I hear your mushroom cheddar burger is to die for.”
She giggled. “I have to admit, I had to swear off them.” The young woman tapped her belly. “Trying to keep it tight for the future husband, you know?”
I laughed. “I get it. Can I have that on the sesame seed bun?”
“Sure, you can. And, want a refill?” She pointed to my drink. “They’re free.”
I nodded.
When I was alone again, I shifted in my seat so I could see out the glass again. The car was still there.
When I first told the producers at the studio someone was following me, they beefed up security on the grounds. But what was I supposed to do after leaving? I couldn’t very well call the cops and report being followed. They would have just laughed me out of town as another crazy woman with schizophrenic tendencies. After all, even I wasn’t sure it was really happening. But then the threatening calls started.
The first was just someone phoning my house and not saying anything when I picked up. The number was always blocked and even trying to trace it hadn’t worked. Then the strange man told me I was dead.
Well, I couldn’t ignore the threat, could I? Then again, if I didn’t know better I would be laughing. The voice was almost comical. But threats in my line of work, though a regular thing, had never been a laughing matter. My studio called the police and they’d put a bug on my phone. The perpetrators simple stopped calling. They backed off but the moment a patrol car stopped babysitting me, it started all over again.
I knew investigative journalism wouldn’t endear me to most. Hell, the only people who didn’t treat me like a spy were the Brotherhood Protectors. Each time I thought to quitting, I reminded myself I didn’t start in the field to make friends.
The thing was, I hated liars. I hated people who used their power to take advantage of the poor, weak and the stupid. Politicians, athletes, actors—none of them were beyond my judgment.
And I showed no mercy.
Sure, I wasn’t perfect. I didn’t pray to the ancestors like a good little girl. I smoked for four years in my late teens and I had a very public affair with a married man—in my defense I didn’t know he was married. His wife and I had become best friends since I help her get more than her fair share of his things when they split.
But I never once lied or hid my faults. I was woman enough to make the mistakes, I had to be woman enough to face the consequences.
The people I expose, on the other hand, tried hiding it all with threats, bribery, ruining other people’s careers, even murder. I felt no shame in my job.
It was becoming more and more of a safety issue, however.
Someone inside the car rolled down their window and tossed out a can. It hit the pavement and tumbled beneath the car beside them. I made a mental note and finished up the fries I had first ordered.
By then, the waitress brought my burger over with an extra set of French fries. The burger stunned me since it was bigger than anything I’d ever be able to bite.
“Cut it in half and squeeze down,” the waitress said. She must have seen the horror on my face at the sheer size of the thing. “Trust me, it works.”
“Can’t I just be like Shaggy and Scooby Doo and tie it with a string?” I teased.
