I shuffled out of bed and walked to the bathroom. It was past ten. Too late to order breakfast room service. I wasn’t in the mood to order off the lunch menu. I would have to pick up coffee on my way out. I thought I remembered seeing a gourmet coffee bar near the reservation desk in the lobby when I checked in last night.
I pulled my long auburn hair into a bun on top of my head before brushing my teeth. By the time I showered and dressed it was close to eleven. I wiggled into a pair of jeans and pulled on a fitted tank top. Even though summer was over, there was still a trace of my summer tan on the tops of my shoulders.
I checked over my equipment one more time and repacked it in its case. Each piece had been charged overnight. The settings were configured. All I had to do when I reached my destination was hit record.
That was probably the most paralyzing and yet freeing part
of the project. Once I tapped the record button, everything became real. There was no denying the truth. It was something I had grappled with for six months. When someone told me their story. Revealed their part of the puzzle, I couldn’t undo that. I couldn’t pretend I didn’t know just a little bit more. That I understood things a little deeper. That I was one step closer to the truth.
I heaved the bag over my shoulder and let the door close behind me. The key was tucked in my purse. It was ornate and heavy. A custom relic leftover from the hotel’s history.
I walked toward the elevator, thinking about my interview today. In some ways I felt as if I knew what I was doing. Like I was a pro at asking questions and hunting down clues. After all, I had a made a living doing just that. Only, it had been in the secret underbelly of the dark net. A place I swore I’d never visit again.
But each time, I faced more uncertainty. More questions than answers. More doubt. Less hope.
My neck turned when I heard another door in the corridor open. When I looked, there were only closed doors. God, I was still paranoid from the dream. There was no one there. It was likely there never had been.
I walked between the elevator doors as they retracted.
There was one name on my list today. Ethan Howard.
I knew he was forty-eight and single with two divorces under his belt. There were no kids that I knew of. He worked at a metal plant nearby. He was a Cowboys fan and a weekend hunter. It was easy to put together a small profile from his social media, but he didn’t post often. Just enough to stay relevant. Just enough for me to know a few things about him.
So far I hadn’t been able to make contact with him. He never answered the cell I had dug up for him. He didn’t respond to emails. I restricted myself to certain channels. I was reformed. No more hacking. No more stealing information. I stayed on course, even when it went against all my instincts.
I knew there was an easier way. Staying off the back channels of the net for a hacker was like an alcoholic staying away from the mini-bar in the hotel. I ignored the twitch in my fingers every time I went online. I wanted my story to be authentic. I wanted to prove I was worthy of the truth. I couldn’t do that if I stole the answers.
I had parked the rental car in the private garage adjacent to the hotel. Parking in downtown Dallas was scarce. I could Uber or use a car service, but I liked having my own car, even when I didn’t know my way around the city.
After a few minutes the car was cool and I was headed toward Arlington. The address I had for Ethan was only fifteen minutes out.
When I pulled in the driveway I did what I always did. I pushed out the hope. I squeezed it far down until it wasn’t there anymore. I trained myself to stop having expectations. I trained to stay objective, even though this was the most personal assignment of my life.
I stepped out of the car and reached for the microphone and recorder. It was my traveling set. Light. Compact. Simple.
I cleared my throat before I flipped the switch to on.
Chapter Two
I observed my surroundings before I started speaking into the microphone. I knew I had to paint a picture for my listeners. Every stop along the way had to be tangible to them. It needed to resonate in a way that was only possible if I took a deep breath and looked at where I was from the eyes of a listener.
I learned when I played my first two interviews back that I hadn’t exactly nailed it. Storytelling didn’t come naturally to me. Hacking did. Digging into the recesses of the dark was easier than standing in the light. Being visible and transparent was a raw and vulnerable feeling. But this was the new me. The one who pushed myself to be authentic. The girl who didn’t live in the shadows any longer.
I prayed Ethan was home for this. Without him, I didn’t have a full episode. Worse than that, I wouldn’t have answers.
I pressed the record button.
“Hey, everyone it’s Sydney. I’m in Dallas, Texas. Last time, we were in Phoenix where I learned that my mom was friends with a man on her hall named Ethan Howard. Right now I’m outside Ethan’s house. It’s a one-story ranch. Light bricks, almost an orange hue. It’s Saturday so I hope I can catch him at home. I haven’t been able to set up an appointment with him, so I should let all of you know he’s going to be surprised.
“I don’t know much about him. I’m not sure how close he was to my mom, but he lived on her floor when she was pregnant. Ethan might be able to tell me something. Let’s see how this goes.”
I let the recorder continue to run as I walked along the sidewalk. Weeds struggled to grow through the cracks. The flower bed was covered in rocks instead of mulch. The summer had been brutal here. Most things looked crisp and brown, but not from a natural change of seasons. It was like someone had seared the tips of the leaves with a match.
I knocked on the door and waited. It was tempting to note every movement into the mic, but I knew when I got the audio back, I’d be able to edit out the long gaps in action. I didn’t know what to expect from my conversation with Ethan. This could be everything or nothing.
So far I had enough material for four podcast episodes. None of them were live yet. I wanted a full picture before I finished editing. This was my story. My journey. I couldn’t drop pieces like bread crumbs on the airwaves until I knew the outcome. There was a lot of post-production editing ahead of me.
I tipped a little closer to the door, listening for movement inside. I knocked again, waiting for Ethan to answer.