The Hurricane

It was the morning after the storm, and the local coverage began. I was put on the front line as the onsite investigative reporter assigned to report the damage from the most afflicted cities in the county. Of all the sites we were scheduled to report on that morning, my perfect town was first on the list. On the way over, I first heard Tom say something to me very quietly in my ear in the news van on the way over. He had never spoken to me prior to that morning, though throughout the years I had grown more aware that he had always been there for me like a guardian angel or something. I actually saw him the first time a few months ago in front of our local grocery store. He followed me home. I wasn’t threatened by him at all so I showed him my children and he smiled at me, nodded his head in a positive consent, like the father I never had. He then put his hands in his black leather jacket and saw himself out. I assumed he worked as a crewmember since I had seen him around the newsroom more often. Nice fellow, just very quiet until now. “Your wife is a smart woman, she probably left town as soon as she heard about the storm.” He said. “I hope so.” I replied. My breathing became shallow and I clenched my fist as the adrenaline in my blood began to surge through my veins. It was the moment of fight or flight, but I couldn’t choose either one, so I contemplated my escape that day instead. I just needed to find my family first.

Once I stepped out of the news van, onto the middle of our mangled cul-de-sac that had been completely leveled to the ground, my heart dove into my churning stomach as I looked at the remains of our custom built home leveled with the ground. I felt helpless as firemen rummaged through my broken hopes and dreams of the future. As I began my on screen coverage, I pushed the words out as hard as I could, though the tears in my eyes were not about to recoil without a fight. I gripped my microphone and kept talking. Tom was watching from behind the camera. I cringed when I looked over Tom’s shoulder to see a gurney being taken out of the ambulance and carried over to what was left of the house behind me. My house. My future. My family. The coverage ceased for commercial break and I sprinted over to the site. There I saw my wife’s broken body holding onto what was left of our two infant sons. It was curious why they were not able to escape the storm in time but Tom told me that the autopsy would later reveal that she had fallen down our staircase with the babies in both arms knocked unconscious with a broken leg. Our telephone lost reception and I was the only one carried a cell phone, but I was going to surprise her with a new cell phone that same day I saw her lifeless cadaver defeated by the ruthless war waged with hurricane Dawn.

Tom stood over my shoulder and started to laugh at me. I felt my anger and disgust invade my face as I looked back at him. “What were you expecting to live happily ever after?” I had no response, so he continued. “That’s life little man. You gotta be prepared for the worst. Laugh it off man, that’s what Julie would want from ya now anyways.” If I could have felt anything besides the initial shock that had just settled in, I would have taken Tom out. What the hell did he know about Julie? “Take it like a man Phil Braxton!” Tom yelled and the tears streamed down my face. He was right. Commercial break was just about over. One of the camera men approached me and asked, “Hey man are you alright?” “Just peachy.” I replied “Now let’s get this over with.”

I rented a hotel room that night. My life felt so worthless. At eight o’clock exactly, Tom walked into the room.

“How the hell did you get a key?”

“You asked the front desk to have an extra ready for me, I was right there. Man, you’re really loosing it.”

“Yeah, maybe I am.”

“Wanna get a drink or something?”

“What the hell?”

I never drank, but I couldn’t think of anything else to do besides standing in front of the radio finding the perfect grand finale theme to my hotel balcony descent from a life that was supposed to have a happy ending behind the white picket fence. I had a beer and then called it a night; I couldn’t stand sulking in my misery any longer. So, I popped some sleeping pills and called it a night. The unexpected alarm of the clock the following morning felt like someone had tazered my brain. It was five o’clock. I was scheduled to report at nine. I was filling in as an anchor this morning. By five fifteen I was showered. By five-thirty I shaved and dressed and at precisely five fifty I ate a lowly cereal bar without the sound the boys or Julie straightening my tie when I requested every morning at exactly five fifty-two. I dropped the cereal bar and left eight minutes earlier for work than I had for the last three years. I couldn’t stand it anymore.

“What’s the rush? You’re early, Phil.” Tom said as he came out from the back corner of the linen closet. I jumped while I reached for my jacket. Tom continued, “Now that you have a little extra time this morning there are some new rules we need to cover. I can grant you a guaranteed happy life again as long as you do exactly what I say. Now, I’ve been around you for quite a while, and I know what it will take to make you forget all of this and never feel this pain again. There was something about the way he said it that was so genuine, and I felt that I had nothing else to loose.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked

“I have some top secret stories that are not being broadcasted, but every word you say is a secret code that will eventually guarantee your happiness and future protection from disaster. Just report it today as an urgent message; I’ll chime in on your earpiece as you repeat exactly what I say.” I knew that I could trust him more than anyone else. He had been there with me through thick and thin. I owed this to him.

“By the way, you must repeat exactly what I tell you. If you screw up any of the words, many very powerful people will be after you. Everyone is watching you. Many of them are disguised in the studio.” He stated sternly.

“But why? What’s going on?” I asked.

“I can’t tell you about all of that right now. It’s not safe here.”

He seemed to know what he was talking about so I didn’t ask any further questions. My heart ached to retreat back to simpler times, but they had been crushed. They were too fragile and perfect to withstand any of the gales of an imperfect world.

Make up had finished and we had less than a minute to spare before the cameras would roll. I checked my earpiece and noticed a few dark characters lurking in the back of the studio. Tom looked a bit nervous behind the camera, but no one around him seemed to notice, or even care. Everyone else was so preoccupied with their own world, they didn’t have a clue. There I was, with my life on the line and no one even knew to care.

“And, 5, 4, 3, 2…” the camera man continued with one finger pointing to me, and I began reading the queue right on schedule, as always. I reported on further coverage of the terrible storm. No deaths were reported. How could that be? My wife and twin sons were carried out behind me yesterday. I know what I saw! I was livid. Then I wondered how many other unknown lives were lost yesterday? Just then Tom buzzed in. I placed my index finger n my ear and began reporting every word he said.

“This just in, there is a war about to break out here in town! We must all take cover immediately! You, must, cover? No. Oh! Take cover! Take cover!” Once I had said something wrong, the shady men in the back of the studio rushed towards me I immediately ran out of the studio as fast as I could. Tom caught up with me, and we both kept running until we came to a nearby park. “Hide under here, I’ll keep watch.” Tom said breathlessly. On my hands and knees I crawled underneath a park bench, where I felt safe. I was there for an hour or so until the local news reporters found me behind Tom. They ignored Tom and went straight to me. I was the public icon, Tom was just another average-Joe, almost invisible, always able to go unnoticed for as long as I’ve known him. The mysterious men had followed the police and reporters and hid behind the news vans as I was interrogated by the small plethora of local news reporters and policemen. I refused to answer any further questions, and the police escorted me into their car. The world had turned against me.

“Mr. Braxton, could you identify your sources? After reviewing all of our sources, there are no real threats to this area whatsoever. So, I must be missing something here, I feel that I need to know about. Anything you wanna tell me?” The police officer put up his hands and sighed. I was alone in a dark interrogation room. No children, no Julie, no Tom. Another officer entered into the room.

“Look Phil, you’re safe here. You can tell us everything. I know you’re going through some rough times since your divorce and all, but…”

“She’s dead.” I interrupted.

“Pardon?”

“She’s dead! She died in the storm this last week.” I yelled

“Phil, we just talked to your ex-wife Julie fifteen minutes ago. She’s in Malibu, with your twin sons. She left you three months ago and then you got a reporting job out here in Tennessee.” He was rather smug about it as if it was a practical joke. He crossed his arms and shook his head. “Can you explain this to me Phil?” he asked.