After I fed her, I finally got Lexi to leave. She asked about the dildo. I just told her it was a new creation and if she was a good girl, I'd let her have another run. She looked hesitant. After getting fucked into the ground, and passing out, she wasn't raring to have another go. At least not right away.
Now that the distraction was gone, and I felt relieved and refreshed. I opened my laptop.
"Where to go? Where to go?" I spent time researching the local news stations.
They were all too small. I needed a larger organization with a wider reach. But I didn't have the clout I'd need to approach some big-named reporter.
"Yeah. Local and small is better."
I needed to expose Celeste's abuse to the world. One girl, no matter how loudly she screamed, could not move a country. But, if I was able to move the hearts of the people, then even Celeste's family would be hard-pressed to put out the flames caused by their ineptitude to raise a decent human being, in addition to their willingness to coverup her atrocities.
There was a small news station located in a small building next to a hardware store on the outskirts of town.
They held a nightly news program that had maybe 20 viewers. They were definitely on the way out. But that was almost too perfect. A news program on the outs suddenly publishing a story about the heiress to one of the wealthiest families in the country, portraying her as a sexual deviant with a mountain of victims would be too much for people to ignore.
The big news stations will claim they were making it all up to stay relevant. They will fact check using their deeper pockets and larger resources. Conspiracy theorists will immediately claim there was a mass cover-up. And their online communities will pull together to prove the truth of the events. All the while, the average public will slowly come to realize the truth of the matter. Public opinion is a bitch! Especially when it's against you.
I could expose her secrets and let everyone else do all of the heavy lifting. It would be perfect.
Honestly, I doubted Celeste would actually get any jail time. But only time will tell.
It was nearly 730 PM. Almost time for their nightly news program to air. I grabbed the broken lockbox and stuffed it in my backpack.
If I ran, I could probably make it with a few minutes to spare.
Old Kyah would've suffered a heart attack before she even made it a quarter of the way to the news station. But with my new and improved physique, I was sure I could make it there without any problem at all.
There were too many eyes around this late at night. I couldn't run at my full speed. I went the speed of a slightly fast sprinter. I was fast sure…but not freakishly so.
I noticed that I was initially being followed by a gray sedan, which was flanked by two dark blue SUVs.
I didn't need to stop and inquire who was following me. I was more than aware that it was Celeste's dogs. I decided to lose them by taking a shortcut through the woods. By the time I emerged, not only did they lose all traces of me, but I was also fairly close to the news station.
The building was a dilapidated and faded mess. Redundant? I guess you had to see it for yourself.
The short building may have been quaint once. Now, the chipped purple paint hardly covered the rotted wood siding. In too many places to count, there was no paint and even the primer was so thin you could see the wood beneath. There was obvious termite damage next to the half-broken and handle-less front door. Two of the three windows were broken and had cardboard taped inside of the window frame. Above the entrance was their sign, which read WPTK-News. At least, that's what I think it said. The P, K, E, and W were too faded to properly read.
"Wow." I didn't know what else to say. I was expecting it to be bad but damn!
I reached for the corded rope that dropped from a hole where the handle should've been and pulled…hard. The sound of the rusted hinges grinding reminded me of a horror movie.
As sad as the outside was, the inside was not much better. Buckets overflowing with water that dripped from the ceiling were everywhere. It smelled of mildew and despair.
I followed the trail of flickering lights until I was in a small back room. An older man was standing outside the door with a clipboard in his hand. He was talking to a middle-aged woman in a red business jacket, a matching red skirt, and a low-cut ivory shirt that did very little to hide her deep cleavage.
I guess when all else fails, show a little T & A, right?
"This story won't work, Marco. There's nothing to it. I'm not doing an entire fucking program on the possibility of green mice in the back alleys of this shit-hole you call a town!" Despite her comely appearance, this lady was a little firecracker.
The older man's brows twitched. "We're on the air in 15-minutes, Heather. You're doing the fucking story. We don't have shit else!"
"Screw this! Why did I ever take this job to begin with?" She crossed her arms over her chest. This only accentuated her bosom, something of which Marco was well aware.
As he struggled to rip his eyes away from the pair of breasts prominently displayed in front of him, he put on an air of self-righteousness. "How many times are you going to bring this up? You're here become no one else wanted you after the mess you started in Washington. You're here because I was dumb enough to hire you. You're here because you have no fucking place else to be. Now go see make-up, take this story and act like the fucking professional I know is in there somewhere."
For a second, I thought she was going to deck him. But she didn't. "Make-up? You make it sound like this is some big production or something. All it is is your useless daughter who couldn't find a job. She can't even put-on foundation. Talk about nepotism!"
"Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. The world's smallest violin, Heather. Just get going."
She turned on her heels. "Shit! I fucking hate this place."
She was halfway through her turn when she saw me.
I stepped out of the flickering shadow and smiled. "Hi."