News Flash
Anson Hastings glanced across his desk at the blue-eyed blonde who looked like she was about to jump up and lead a cheer for the Puritan Falls Patriots high school football team.
"And what job are you interested in getting?" the owner of the local television station asked.
Brenda Cashman, who had graduated from high school two weeks earlier, had a good idea of where she wanted to begin her career.
"I want to be a reporter. I'd be willing to start as the weather girl, but my goal is to be the news anchor."
Anson's eyes bulged, and he nearly swallowed his Nicorette gum as he fought the urge to laugh.
Once he recovered his composure, he asked, "Do you have any experience in television journalism?"
"Not exactly, but I was the editor of my school newspaper."
Hastings took a sip of his coffee and silently cursed his luck. With the nation's economy in such a sorry state, the television station's financial situation was precarious. Brenda's father owned a large car dealership in neighboring Essex Green and was the station's leading advertiser. So when Artie Cashman came to Anson asking that the station owner give his little girl a job, what else could Hastings do but say yes? Of course, Anson had thought more along the lines of a receptionist job. He had no idea the girl would want to be on the air.
"Maybe I could start you out as a copy editor," Hastings offered. "How's your grammar?"
"It's not bad, but I don't want some boring desk job. I want to be on TV. Who knows? I might be the next Barbara Walters or Katie Couric."
Anson was momentarily speechless. The girl might just as well have said she wanted to serve on the Supreme Court or run for president.
"We usually require our interns to have either a degree in broadcast journalism or some prior reporting experience."
Brenda's blue eyes registered disappointment.
"Oh, well," she sighed. "I'll just ask Daddy to talk to the people at WOAR. I'd rather be on TV than radio, but maybe they have an opening."
As Hastings saw his station's single largest source of revenue slipping away, he made a hasty decision.
"There must be some way you can fit into our organization. I suppose we can start you out doing on-location pieces. You know, covering the goings on about town."
The former cheerleader gushed.
"Will I be on TV?"
"Yes, and you'll often have to appear live, so I hope you're not subject to attacks of stage fright," he laughed.
"Who? Me?" Brenda asked with a giddy laugh. "I was both homecoming and prom queen, so I'm used to being the center of attention."
I'll bet you are.
Hastings spit out his Nicorette gum into his empty coffee cup and reached into the back of his desk drawer where he kept an unopened pack of Marlboros, just in case of an emergency.
And this, he thought glumly as he watched the bubbly blonde bounce out of his office, certainly qualifies as an emergency.
* * *
Brenda's first assignment was a small one: a sixty-second spot announcing the opening of the annual science fair at Puritan Falls Middle School. Hastings watched the tape with Ray Delgado, the station's news producer, and was surprised at how well Brenda did.
"The camera loves her," Ray observed.
Hastings, however, was less interested in how attractive his new intern looked than in how well she read the lines on the teleprompter.
"She seems relaxed, she enunciates her words and she speaks at a proper volume and speed," he declared as though going down a checklist.
"Where did you find her?" the producer asked.
"I gave her a job as a favor. Her father is Artie Cashman of Cash Man Motors."
"Ah," Ray replied, his one syllable indicating his total grasp of the situation. "Well, at least she's good."
"Yes," Hastings agreed with a sigh of relief and turned his attention back to the intern. "Thank God for that!"
After more than a dozen similar assignments, Brenda graduated from being an intern to becoming a full-fledged member of the Channel 6 news team. Things went smoothly until one summer day when Brenda was reporting live on the closing of a nursing home in Hampton Heath. In the middle of her broadcast, the young woman's blue eyes glazed over, her face lost its usual animated quality and her voice lapsed into a monotone.
"This just in," the reporter droned. "There was a three-car accident at the intersection of Old Bridge and Naumkeag Roads. Seventeen-year-old Barry Rankin, the captain of the Puritan Falls Patriots football team, and three other students from the high school were fatally injured in the crash."
"What is she doing?" the producer asked his assistant who was seated beside him in the control room. "Is she high or something? Get her off the air for Chrissake."
The plug was figuratively pulled on the news show, and a commercial for Mr. Whiskers cat food was quickly put on the air. No sooner did the Mr. Whiskers jingle begin than the station's switchboard lit up.
"Wait until Hastings hears about this," the producer predicted. "The shit'll really hit the fan."
It didn't take long. The cat food commercial had not yet come to an end when the owner of television station stormed into the control room.
"What the hell was that all about?" he screamed.
In the middle of the station owner's ensuing harangue, the receptionist popped her head in the control room.
"Mr. Hastings," she said, cutting the owner off mid-sentence. "That was Officer Shawn McMurtry on the phone. There's just been a bad accident at the intersection of Old Bridge and Naumkeag. Four teenagers were killed, including Barry Rankin."
At that point no one but the three people in the control room knew that Brenda's bizarre broadcast had predicted the tragedy four and a half minutes before the accident actually occurred, and not one of them knew what to make of the uncanny situation. When Anson regained his composure after momentarily being flabbergasted by Brenda's jaunt into the Twilight Zone, he immediately sent his young reporter to the scene of the accident to cover the story.
The station's evening news anchorman was notified, and as soon as the reporter and cameraman were ready, he announced, "Now a late-breaking story. We go to Old Bridge Road, the scene of a tragic crash, where Brenda Cashman is live with Officer Shawn McMurtry of the Puritan Falls Police Department."
Most viewers did not think it odd that Brenda's broadcast was interrupted by a series of commercials nor that it was begun in Hampton Heath and concluded in Puritan Falls. Many assumed some bonehead at the station wasn't paying attention to his job and pushed the wrong button; others were too shocked by the deaths of the four teenagers to notice.
* * *
"How the hell did you know it would happen?" Hastings asked Brenda when she returned to the station later that evening.
"Know what would happen?" she replied.
"The accident?"
"Miranda called me on my cell phone and told me to get over to Old Bridge Road as soon as possible."
"I mean before that."
The puzzled look on the blonde's face was not feigned. Apparently, she wasn't even aware of her mysterious prediction.
"Have you ever known something was going to happen before it did?" Anson pressed.
"Well, yeah. I knew Jimmy was going to ask me to the prom before he did. I knew Kyle and Denise would break up after graduation. I knew ...."
"Never mind," Anson said, feeling like he had been thrust into an episode of Saved by the Bell or whatever youngsters were watching these days. "You did a good job covering the accident."
"Does that mean I can start training for the news desk?"
"Not yet. After all, just because a high school pitcher throws a no-hitter, it doesn't mean he's ready to play for the Red Sox."
"Red Sox? I was thinking more along the lines of starting for the Yankees," the blonde said with a wink as she exited Anson's office.
Had the foretelling of the fatal car crash been an isolated incident, most likely no one would ever have considered Brenda's strange prediction as anything but a fluke. But the occurrence proved to be only the first of several such inexplicable episodes. Three weeks before Christmas the novice journalist was at Puritan Falls Mall reporting on the success of the Marine's Toys for Tots campaign when she again slipped into a strange trance-like state.
"A car bomb exploded in Baghdad early this morning, claiming the lives of seven U.S. servicemen and women including that of Elroy Cousins from Copperwell. Cousins, whose tour of duty in Iraq was coming to an end, was due to return home in time to spend the holidays with his family."
Ray Delgado closed his eyes and waited for the sound of the slamming door to announce Anson's arrival in the control room.
Once again Brenda's prediction came true, and once again only the people in the control room were aware that the reporter's story was broadcast before the event happened. Only this time, no one shrugged the incident off as a fluke.
Hastings turned to his producer and asked, "What do you think we should do about the situation?"
Delgado's eyebrows rose.
"I honestly don't know. They didn't teach clairvoyance at UMass. But I do think we ought to keep a lid on the whole psychic business. Once word gets out, The National Tattler and every other tabloid will be all over the station."
Hastings winced. It was his organization's job to report the news; he had no desire to see it become the news.
"I'd hate to have to fire the kid," the station owner said. "Despite my initial misgivings, she's become a pretty good reporter."
He did not add that Cash Man Motors had increased the number of its advertising slots once Daddy's Little Girl began her broadcasting career.
"I don't think that'll be necessary," the producer opined. "Let's just stop the live broadcasts. We'll tape and preview all her stories before they go on the air."
"She might think we've lost confidence in her."
"You can tell her we're grooming her to be an investigative reporter."
"Better yet," Hastings said with a laugh, "I'll tell her we're putting her on the fast track to becoming anchor. After all, if this kid wants to pitch for the Yankees, she's gotta spend time in Scranton-Wilkes Barre first."
The producer, who didn't follow baseball, failed to get the joke, but Anson didn't bother explaining the farm system to him.
* * *
During the next twelve months, Brenda accurately foretold a massive earthquake in Central America, the outcome of a close gubernatorial race in Pennsylvania, a fire in a California theme park, a breakthrough in AIDS research, the collapse of a long-established financial institution and the death of a beloved Hollywood icon. Although she had been shown irrefutable evidence of her unusual gift and had come to accept its existence, Brenda could not explain it, for she was oblivious to everything around her when she fell into a trance.
Word of the reporter's prophecies was kept within the organization. No one dared speak of her psychic visions once Hastings insisted his employees sign a confidentiality agreement. There was also the certainty that should word get out, someone would lose his or her job.
On the afternoon of December 18, after most of Hastings' employees left early to get ready for the station's annual Christmas party, Brenda went into the studio to tape a short piece about a local building inspection scandal that would air on the eleven o'clock news.
"All right," the producer said, as the makeup man powdered Brenda's face. "This should only take about fifteen to twenty minutes. We'll be out of here in plenty of time to make it to the Sons of Liberty Tavern in time for cocktails."
When the cameraman and teleprompter operator were ready, the hairdresser patted down an errant lock of Brenda's blond hair, and the reporter cleared her throat. However, once the tape began to roll, Brenda's normally shiny eyes glazed over, and the crew steeled themselves for what was about to happen.
"An English professor from the University of Massachusetts at Essex Green may be granted tenure—not at the college but at the Essex County Correctional Facility. The popular teacher is a person of interest in connection with the disappearance of a student missing since Thanksgiving weekend."
At the conclusion of her impromptu, otherworldly newscast, Brenda's demeanor returned to normal, and she read the script on the teleprompter without further incident.
"Is that okay?" she asked when she concluded her reading. "Can I leave now? I've got to run home and change for the Christmas party."
The producer nodded his head and then signaled to the film editor to cut out all references on the tape to both the missing girl and the English professor.
Later that evening, when the Christmas party was in full swing, the television station's employees were in various stages of inebriation. Their voices were raised, and their tongues were looser than normal. Regrettably, Brenda's latest revelation became a topic of conversation.
"She said some English professor is to be questioned in connection with that college kid's disappearance," the makeup man declared in a voice that carried to the surrounding tables.
"I said from the start that the police are never gonna find that kid alive," his companion replied. "This professor must have killed her."
No one in the boisterous crowd noticed a handsome middle-aged man at a corner table drop his martini glass on the Tavern's carpeted floor. The shock of what he had overheard made his face turn pale and caused his hands to tremble.
* * *
"I don't get it, Anson," the news producer said to Hastings the following day at their regularly scheduled morning meeting. "I checked with McMurtry at the police department, and he said there's been no word about an English professor being linked to the girl's disappearance. On the contrary, Stan Yablonski, the detective in charge, believes she ran away with a boyfriend, possibly to get married."
"Brenda has never been wrong before," Hastings declared.
"There's always a first time for everything."
Anson sighed.
"Maybe the faulty prediction means Brenda is losing her power. It would be nice to have done with all this supernatural crap, wouldn't it?"
Delgado agreed.
"It would certainly make my job easier."
While both men were looking forward to more normal working conditions, neither one guessed that Brenda's latest prediction would also prove true with time.
* * *
The station's employees with the most seniority were given Christmas day off, leaving the less experienced staff to fill in where needed. The same was true for the news crew. As usual, with the number one and two anchors home with their families, senior reporters were eager to grasp the opportunity of filling their chairs for the day.
Brenda, although one of the lowest people on the seniority totem pole, was asked to co-anchor the morning news, an unprecedented opportunity for one so young. Anson suggested the temporary assignment in the hope that her father would extend his generosity into the upcoming year.
On the morning of December 25, the station owner tuned into Channel 6 and caught the last ten seconds of the Mr. Whiskers jingle. After the station identification break, the camera zoomed in on the anchor.
"Happy holidays to all our viewers. I'm Dale O'Connor, and this is Action 6 News. Our top story this morning ...."
Hastings felt as though his Christmas Eve dinner was about to be regurgitated. He reached inside his pocket, pulled out his cell phone and called the station. The assistant producer answered after only one ring.
"What's wrong?" the owner asked. "Why isn't Brenda sitting beside Dale?"
"We can't find her. She never showed up for work," the assistant producer replied. "We tried calling her cell phone, but it goes directly to voicemail. We even sent someone over to her apartment, but no one answered the door."
Anson closed his eyes, already feeling a headache coming on.
"I'll telephone her father. Maybe she's with her family. Meanwhile, have Dale go solo. Tell him I'll make it up to him."
Although the sun had yet to rise, Hastings poured himself a glass of spiked eggnog before dialing Artie Cashman's number. As he'd feared, the client had no idea where Brenda was.
"Perhaps she overslept," the father offered, trying to reassure himself more than his daughter's employer. "I have a key to her apartment. I'll go over and wake her up."
Anson downed another cup of eggnog as he waited for Artie to get back to him. The morning news coverage was almost at an end when his phone rang. He hardly recognized the voice on the other end of the line; it was so choked with emotion.
The news wasn't good. Brenda Cashman was dead. Her father found her body on the living room floor of her apartment. Apparently, she had been murdered by a blow to the head.
* * *
Despite the death of a young and well-liked employee, the news, like life itself, had to go on. On December 26 the regular anchors returned to work to cover, among other stories, the death of their young colleague.
When Hastings walked into his office shortly after six in the morning, he was surprised to find Ray Delgado waiting there for him.
"You're in early. What's the occasion?" the owner asked.
"I have something I want to show you," the producer announced and led Anson to the control room. "This clip was edited out of Brenda's last broadcast. We didn't pay much attention to it since her previous prediction proved false." He lowered his head and added sheepishly, "Plus we were all anxious to leave early and spend Christmas Eve with our families."
Ray Delgado pressed a button on the console, and Brenda's smiling face appeared on the monitor.
"Today a lowly reporter," she laughed, "and tomorrow co-anchor. And I'll bet Anson Hastings never thought I'd make it."
Her good spirits immediately vanished, and she stared, dazed, into the camera.
"And now, a late-breaking news story. Channel 6 newscaster Brenda Cashman was found dead in her apartment this morning by her father, Artie Cashman, owner of Cash Man Motors. The young journalist was killed by Professor Derek Stanley of UMass at Essex Green in an attempt to keep her from revealing details of a previous murder he committed. Professor Stanley's first victim was missing student, Libby Van Winkle. Miss Van Winkle's body was buried in an unmarked grave, in a wooded area near the old Puritan Falls Church cemetery."
The film clip ended, and the monitor went blue.
Anson Hastings spit out his Nicorette gum and buzzed his secretary.
"Call Stan Yablonski over at the police station and ask him to get over here as soon as possible."
One of the biggest news stories in Puritan Falls history was about to break. It would most likely be picked up by all the networks and cable news stations across the country, but the prospect brought Hastings and Delgado no satisfaction, for both were trying to deal with the guilty knowledge that they might have saved Brenda Cashman's life had they not been so quick to discount her earlier prediction as false.
As they waited for Detective Yablonski to arrive, the two men continued to stare at the blue screen of the monitor in silence, while from somewhere in the station, the cheerful sound of the Mr. Whiskers jingle added a jarring soundtrack to the solemn occasion.
It doesn't take a psychic to predict who will show up when the Mr. Whiskers jingle plays on my television.
