Chapter 77 The Witch's Lair
They met up in a cafe a block away from the tabloid’s main office. Emily finally got a closer look at Fred, a middle-aged man with a greying moustache. Byron only called on him for the most covert operations, and now Fred was excited at the prospect of going undercover.
“So, I was abducted by aliens?” Fred clarified. “What happened then? How did I escape?”
“I don’t know.” Emily shrugged. “Maybe you found their fatal weakness: they’re afraid of water.”
“That’s the wicked witch,” Fred said.
“Okay, how about they let you go so they can keep observing you?” Emily suggested.
“The main thing is, try to talk to Megan DeLorme,” Byron said. “Find out what she’s up to.”
They watched from the second story of the cafe as Fred crossed the street and entered the office building.
“There he goes...” Byron said, “I hope he doesn’t bungle it this time.”
They exchanged amused looks.
“It seems like only yesterday I asked Fred to follow you and keep you safe,” Byron said. “But I’m glad we don’t need to do that anymore.”
“Hopefully not,” Emily replied, “though here we are getting up to more spying hijinks.”
She was glad at least this time Byron was much more calm in this sort of situation.
Soon they saw Fred walking swiftly out of the building. He seemed tense as he made his way back to the cafe.
“We should get out of here,” he said, coming by their table.
They all walked back to the car, and only once safely inside was Fred ready to talk about what he had seen.
“Did you talk to Megan?” Byron asked.
“No,” Fred said, “but I saw her. I’m pretty sure I know who ‘Megan’ is. Your old friend Christine Tourneau.”
“Christine? She was there?!” Emily exclaimed.
“I’m afraid so. It was a different journalist who took me to his office, one who specialized in aliens, but I saw Christine working in another office right beside it.”
“And she specializes in ruining my day,” Byron concluded. “I guess Megan DeLorme must be her new pen name. She didn’t see you?”
“I don’t think so,” Fred said.
“You’re not going to actually let her ruin your day, are you?” Emily asked.
“It’s too late for that,” Byron replied. “She’s already got her little article out, and probably more on the way.”
“Yes, I don’t like that she picked on you, but like you said, it’s a pathetic magazine. We shouldn’t care what they write. Just ignore it.”
“How can I just ignore her badmouthing me?” Byron exclaimed, “And what if she starts on you as well, like last time?”
“I would laugh it off,” Emily said. “Nobody takes that stuff seriously.”
“You’re probably right,” Byron said. “Nothing good has ever come of trying to fight her. I just hate to let her get away with it.”
“I know she shouldn’t get away with picking on you,” Emily agreed, “especially about your depression. That was really not cool. But in a way, she’s already got her comeuppance. You’ve already destroyed her career. Look at where she’s working!”
“It’s a filthy place,” Fred agreed, “I mean literally. Very dusty, cobwebs everywhere. I was nervous about sitting on one of their chairs for fear of catching some disease.”
“Seems like a fitting place for Christine the wicked witch,” Byron remarked.
“Maybe she is afraid of water,” Emily chimed in. “Did they buy your alien story?”
“I think so,” Fred replied, “They seemed really interested in it. Good thing I used a fake name.”
They all laughed about it, and it seemed like Byron was content to let the whole thing go.
But a few weeks later, Emily and Byron were at a charity event put on by a local business when they were introduced to Mr. Pierre Pollock, a businessman who almost rivalled Byron in the scope of his enterprises. He was a short, balding man, not too much in the looks department, but the woman with him was quite stunning, tall, blond, and impeccably dressed. It was none other than Christine.
“I thought we might meet again,” she said, her evil smile flashing at them. “You cost me my job, twice, and now it’s payback time.”
