JULES

I stepped down the bus behind Adrian, who held his hand out chivalrously. 

“I’m alright, thank you.”

He shrugged before heading forward towards the crowd. I followed him, at his heel, trying not to bump into anyone. Who knows how long it had been since any of these reporters had taken a shower. 

Along the entrance of the hospital, there was a huge crowd of reporters and other paparazzi waiting by their vehicles while some tried interviewing staff coming in and out of the place. It seemed like everyone was tired of waiting for a story, but not tired enough to leave.

“See, I told you sweetheart, there’s nothing here-”

A security guard walked out right as those words barely left his mouth, and held up a megaphone.

“Alright, listen up people. Evelyn James’ PR team would like to hold a meeting where they’re willing to provide an official statement regarding the situation. Now I want everyone to calmly gather at the west block entrance where the staff members will guide you into a conference room. Only reporters with press passes will be allowed,” the security guard gestured towards the west block where everyone strode to.

“Do you have your press pass?” I turned towards my so-called partner.

He nodded, pulling out a card from his left pocket, dramatically.

“Never go anywhere without it.”

“Can I see?” He gave me the card before continuing,

“Why?”

“Samoht Adrian Tickle. 29. You’re older than you look,” I paused. Oh god.  “I-I mean that in a good way. M–most people show signs of senescence by their uhm, late-twenties or early thirties. Sorry– wait, I–I just meant you look young. Did that come off as flirtatious? I-I apologise,” I bit my lip.

Adrian’s blood rushed to his face in a fraction of a second, eyes widening. My breath hitched when he snatched the pass out of my hands.

“Shush, don’t let anyone hear that. It’s as embarrassing as it was twenty-nine years ago in the hospital where I was named.”

“Sorry. It’s just… I…I didn’t want you being an assassin or something,” I swallowed hard before staring down at the grey pavement underneath me. Bitumen. Bio-bitumen is safer. It can be acquired through pyrolysis— stupid Jules. Of all the things you could’ve said.

Adrian gave me a strange look before he threw his head back, clutching his stomach, his knees bucking slightly.

I pursed my lips, tugging on the bottom one with my canine.

“Uhm, my name is Jules.” Shut. Up.

“About time you told me your name, I was beginning to think you were the killer among us.” A pause. “Oh my god, there’s no way you actually thought I was a hitman, I’m too nice.”

My cheeks were burning.

“It’s alright. Don’t mope around, c’mon,” he grinned.

As our feet marched towards the hall in unison, I felt the awkward silence linger in the atmosphere.  Jules, look what you did. Now he’s laughing at you. Great way to leave an impression. I’d just accused him of killing people for a living – and he took that much better than others would’ve, thankfully.

“Looks like I was right. There is a story here,” I whispered quieter than I wanted to, grateful that I was smart enough to change the topic, and he to go along with it..

Adrian shrugged, clicking his tongue, “Don’t place your bets on it. Only day twenty-two of your job, I’ve been doing this for years,” he chuckled.

“You’re only a senior reporter…” my voice lowered, apprehensive.

“Hey, that’s 4 more years of experience than you. Doesn’t that account for something?”

We walked towards the entrance, showed our cards, and headed inside, taking seats in the middle rows.

As the rest of the journalists walked in, taking their seats, Adrian pulled out his laptop and started typing again. Reaching into my bag, I pulled out my diary and turned to a fresh page.

It was then that I realised— I didn’t know what to ask. Or what to say.

“Wait…Uhm, Adrian, wh-what do I ask?”

“Well, the key to forming a great question isn’t asking what you want to know. It’s asking what they don’t want you to know. And, you don’t have to ask something unless you want to.”

“Greetings, everyone. Lovely to see you all at,” the man glanced at his watch, “four-forty-five in the morning. Thank you for your patience. As some of you may have witnessed last night, Evelyn James had experienced a brief medical episode during the…”

“She experienced syncope. What is this guy saying? They need to bring in a professional for this…” I muttered to myself, writing in my journal, and heard a slight snort from my right. I could feel the heat in my face. Stop embarrassing yourself more than you already have.

“...still waiting for a final report from her designated medical team, we believe it was due to exhaustion, extreme stress, and perhaps even dehydration...” 

That didn’t make sense.

“Unfortunately, she had to face the consequences of her decision,” the PR manager paused, probably for dramatic effect. 

What did he mean by that?

“Her personal staff would like to express their sincerest apologies for their ignorance and her manager, Mr. Justin Lee has resigned as her manager…”

Adrian’s head shot up, and he looked at me. Why had her manager quit just because she fainted? And… stress? Evelyn would live with a doctor if she had the chance. She’d probably have one on speed dial. Why would she brush it off? 

She wouldn’t.

“...will be taking up only a few questions.”

Adrian stood up along with a bunch of other reporters at the same time, eager with a question in mind.

I immediately started scribbling.

“Sir, why did Evelyn James’ personal staff not report or notice her apparent unwell state if she’d been like that for a while?” Unnecessary accusation. Unnecessary question. I struck out mine.

“Where was Miss Evelyn’s boyfriend, Mr Callaway, in all of this?” Relationship disputes. Unnecessary question. The RSVP was a celebrity magazine, not a scandal report. 

I was searching for a question, if it was in me to gather the guts to ask one,  when all that came to my mind was epigenetics and dictionary.com’s word-of-the-day — morbid. I was morbid once upon a time. Quit drifting off, Jules.

“Your statement says Evelyn’s collapse was caused by exhaustion, but you haven’t explained why she was missing from the auditorium for twenty-eight minutes before it happened. Was that absence medically related, or are you deliberately leaving that part out?” Adrian. Finally, a useful question.

I glanced at him, still staring right into the eyes of the manager.

“I shall not dignify any rumors, Mr. Samoht. As for her absence, it is completely unrelated to her collapse. She just needed a moment to herself. We request that everyone respect her privacy while she rests here—”

“I didn’t ask where she was resting. I asked where she disappeared to for those twenty-eight minutes,” all the warmth in his tone was now lost, just as my mind. 

“That will be all, Mr. Samoht. Thank you.”

I looked at my notes, their haphazard layout ticking, and heard an exaggerated huff from the brunette man falling in place in the seat next to me. 

“What the hell…”

“It’s okay. We’ll find something,” I didn’t know why I believed that.

I heard a sigh as he stood up, shoving his things into the brown briefcase.

“Told you this was a bad idea. We aren’t gonna get anything useful here.”

“But… we have to.”

                                                                                              📸

Outside, Adrian and I sat on a bench in the parking lot. The sun was on the horizon, ready to wake us all up. Hopefully, Evelyn would wake up too. I glanced at Adrian thinking.

“Y’know. Now not a bad time to ask me where the ‘real story’ lies,” he spoke. 

I turned my head towards him, tilting my head slightly, an eyebrow raised.

“The Academy Awards ceremony, or at least where it happened,” the corners of his mouth tugged slightly upwards.

Oh. Goodness, why didn’t I think of that?

“It’s still five-six. If we can catch the bus, we’ll reach there by five-thirty,” Adrian prompted.

“Then we’d have half an hour before the staff arrive,” the words came out of my mouth before I could stop them. Think Jules, think. “And… they could clean up everything, maybe… maybe even evidence, after they arrive at six.”

“Right on track, sweetheart. You’re a good apprentice. So far.”

“My name’s Jules.”

“Right.”