At my earliest convenience I logged on to the We’ve got the News that Bruises website. It looked great with eye grabbing colors and live videos.  Though it was committed to digging the dirt out of society there were a great number of positive articles and pages as well. All in all,  a good well rounded effort to make the world a better place via the power of words and anyone was free to contribute (at the administrators discretion of course.) 

      Anyway, appearances were great,organization not so much. Logically what I was looking for should be under past articles right? Wrong. Past articles brought me to some grammatical rubbish on how to write in the past tense. Ok….I’m not in kindergarten. Inwardly I hastened to remind myself that the population of that district were uneducated people. Oops, so sorry for mentally belittling the less fortunate. I moved on to past posts and found myself sifting through article after article on hundreds of different subjects from lost cat and dead goldfish  all the way up to the latest dictator conspiracy theories. 

“Oh for pete sake” I muttered, “Dictator Horrace Hanes isn’t Satan, all right? He got where he is today because the Triad of Representatives accurately put our interests on the table. Just because it doesn’t go your way doesn’t mean the system is rigged. It’s people like you who screwed us up in the first place idiot!”

Click. Factory Fire. Finally! This was great, it had videos as well written interviews. One can get just as much information if not more from the way something is said than fromthe actual words. The first interview was from the associate manager. He stood in front of the camera, his face patched with soot and his clothes in tatters. He was wrapped in a blanket and quivering from shock and sustained stress.

“I don’t know what happened. The inspector was just here and everything was fine.”

“Do you know where it started?” The interviewer asked.

“No! I don’t know anything!”

With that he brushed out of the cameras view. I leaned back, stroking my chin thoughtfully. Then I leaned forward and replayed the segment. I watched, eyes narrowed, taking in every last iota of detail. When I first started working with the police I got a nickname, the living lie detector. Though I prided myself on it I never let it go to my head. After watching awhile I made up my mind.

“No. You’re not lying. Just scared.”

I let the video continue. The camera zoomed in on a female employee sitting in the ambulance. She was rocking back and forth and crying. 

“Did you see how it started, ma’am?” The interviewer asked.

She bit her lip.

“No”

“You were said to be in the vicinity”

“Maybe a fuel line or somebody messed up. I don’t know, I don’t know.”

I watched that about fifty times and got one impression. She was masking something she saw by throwing it out as an assumption. No was a lie. She saw what happened, but wanted to sound just as unsure as everybody else. I reviewed what she said. Maybe a fuel line or somebody messed up.   Who messed up what? 

That’s when the lights went out along with my computer. I got a sick feeling in my stomach as adrenalin rushed through my veins. This could’ve been something totally unrelated to what I was doing. But my gut said otherwise. Every fiber of my being screamed, “Get your gun”
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