I closed my eyes to try and shake the nausea. That’s when I understood. Wright’s defense team planted this trap, a last-ditch effort to improve their client’s image, and I fell for it. “Just because ‘Chrissy’ fed me a fake story doesn’t mean these other women are lying.”
“I know,” he said, defeated. “But it raises doubt. It hurts their case.”
My intent had been to help them. Selfishly, I wanted to benefit myself, too. I wanted that promotion, which is why I was less vigilant about triple-checking everything ‘Chrissy’ provided. I believed her. I trusted her.
“I can do something to help. I can write a series on how rare it is for women to false report. Or talk to some of Wright’s other accusers. I can do something.”
“Madison,” he said, his voice stern and deep. “A retraction won’t be enough. We’re going to have to let you go.”
“This is the only mistake I’ve ever made—”
“It was a big one.” He looked away, clearly bothered by his decision, though convinced it was necessary. “You’re a good reporter. Give it some time, and you’ll still have a career. You can even use me as a reference.”
“I don’t want a reference! I want my job here. I want a second chance.”
“I can’t give you that right now.” His face softened, as he tried to make the situation appear better than it was. “Go live your life. Plan your wedding. Learn from this, and you’ll be better next time.”
I think about that conversation all the time. I think about ‘Chrissy’ and the other women I damaged by writing that story in the first place. Mistakes cast ripples; they penetrate your surface, the life you thought you had, and expand onward from there. I didn’t just ruin my own future. I jeopardized the women who spoke out against Bernard Wright and endangered the women he might encounter moving forward. My restless desire to lock down a story potentially unleashed a dangerous person into the world.
I messed up. Admitting to what I’d done was difficult. Coop was beyond supportive. I’d already accepted his proposal, but if I hadn’t, his reaction solidified my desire to spend the rest of our lives together. He didn’t blame me or point fingers; he kept me from doing those things to myself. Sometimes I wonder if he’d be as quick to forgive a member of his own staff for the same mistake. Regardless, he saw past my worst moment and loved me anyway. That’s what we all need in life. People who choose to see the best in us, even when confronted by our worst.
Outsiders aren’t as understanding, which is why I avoid telling the truth about my termination. Sympathy is granted sparingly; it’s typically reserved for forms of tragedy. An unpreventable illness. An unprovoked crime. We forget most people are the source of their own unhappiness. When you’re the cause of your hardships, people are less willing to forgive. I’d rather be seen as the doe-eyed wife-to-be. Even she’s less foolish than I feel.
Fifteen
Last night, I struggled to sleep. After I returned from my run, I made sure the house was in order for the potential wedding planners I’m meeting today. Coop and I drank wine after dinner, and I drifted to sleep with images of bouquets and dresses and hors d’oeuvres dancing in my head.
Halfway through the night, I awoke from a horrible dream. It was summer. Coop and I were in a boat—I can only assume on Whisper Lake—sprawled across the deck. We stripped off our suits, and took turns dipping into the icy waters. I was smiling and happy and free. On my last plunge, I stayed under the water, a cluster of air bubbles percolating near my ears. When I swam to the surface, something grabbed my feet, pulling me. It all felt so real. Within seconds, my emotions sprang from delight to confusion, then terror. I don’t know what it was—who it was—pulling me downward, but I couldn’t break free. It was dark when I woke up, sweating and panting. Coop slept peacefully beside me, but I was unable to fall back asleep.
After sunrise, I tiptoe downstairs and start the coffee machine. I’m determined to make this day a good one; the wedding consultants will be stopping by this afternoon. I want to spend the day organizing our ceremony and reception, but that’s difficult to do when the chill from my nightmare lingers.
It’s more than the bad dream. If anything, I’m angry these lies have been orbiting around Coop for the past thirteen years. There’s something about this Celia story that doesn’t fit, a piece that’s missing. I get the urge to do something I haven’t done in ages. I flip open my laptop and type in the name: Celia Gray. Of course, I’ve done this before. It’s my nature to investigate, but I’ve tried to be different with Coop. That’s why I’ve not pushed as much as I should. I love him. More important than that, I trust him. But I feel different now that I’m here, so far away from my usual comforts.
In the past when I searched Celia’s name, little comes up. Since her death, most media outlets have transitioned to online forums, even the Gazette. Many articles were lost in the transfer, including the ones written about Celia. There were a couple articles about her body being found, but little else. Today when I type in the name Celia Gray, a recent link appears. It’s an article that was written only two days ago on The Falls Report. I rack my brain, trying to figure out why it sounds familiar. I realize this is Bailey’s website, the woman I met in the park.
Scrolling through the archives, I see Bailey likes to write about the town’s history. She has a series devoted to the old railway system that used to be based here. She also has reviews of different Whisper Falls restaurants. I return to the article that first brought me to the site. It’s titled, “Guess Who’s Back in Whisper…”
Howdy, Whisperers. Those of you who still subscribe to the local brainwash paper might have recognized a noticeable change to the masthead. That’s right. Following his predecessor’s retirement, Cooper Douglas has finally taken over as editor-in-chief of the Whisper Falls Gazette.
As many of you know, the Douglas family has owned the newspaper for generations. After graduating with his master’s degree in communication (I’ll let you sift through the irony on that one), Douglas spent several years interning at some of the most notable publications across the southeast. He’s brought this expertise back to Whisper Falls and, when asked for comment, said, “I hope to carry on the great legacy of community and history the Whisper Falls Gazette has been entrusted to uphold.”
Cooper is the second son of community benefactor Josephine Douglas and the late Ryan Douglas. Josephine’s great-grandfather started the Gazette back in the 1920s. The success of the Gazette led to several other regional newspapers and amassed a great fortune for the family.
For those of you who don’t remember, our local royals played a unique role in one of Whisper Fall’s greatest mysteries: the death of Celia Gray.
I sit back, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. My stomach turns as I read her name over and over again.
At the time of Celia’s disappearance, a multitude of rumors swirled, cementing her status as a cautionary tale for generations to come. As I’m sure you know, Celia’s body was found in the lake ten days after she was reported missing. The discovery answered the question Where?, but the condition of her body raised more. Particularly How? and Why?