WLUV Box Set: Ignited, Consumed, Burned (18 page)

“No. This
is not your fault. You are not the police, you are not the arson investigators,
you are not the guardian of that child.”

Shelby
looked out the window as the city rolled by, but the scene replayed in her
head, the baby, the firefighters, the wail of Angie Karakas.

It was all
too much to process and yet Shelby would have to; she was determined to tell
this story. That little baby would never go to kindergarten, never
Trick-or-Treat, never anything, ever again. The tears refused to stop rolling
down her cheeks and she brushed them away impatiently. Angie and the baby
deserved to have their story told, and Shelby was going to do her very best to
tell it.

“Mac, I am
going to get this arsonist. Or I’m going to force the police into it. They’ll
be so goddamn sick of me they’ll have no choice.”

Mac kept
his eyes on the road, but he smiled, “Atta girl.”

When Mac
saw Angie Karakas attack Shelby he couldn’t cover the ground fast enough. He’d
expected her to collapse, to lash back, even to quit. She did none of those.
What she did cracked open Mac’s heart. He’d been trying to suppress his sexual
attraction to Shelby before and trying to convince himself he didn’t care about
her, but now he was just in awe.

Even after
the woman had punched her in the face, Shelby defended Angie against Gordon.
Then she hauled that camera around and pounded the pavement to get that story.
Mac had kept his distance, but he also kept a protective eye on her. He admired
her even more after watching her work the fire story. She may be a prima ballerina,
but she was not a prima donna. Macy was right—Shelby was a tough and determined
reporter

He had no
doubt that if she couldn’t convince the police to drag in Davie Groll, then
she’d do it herself. The glint was in her eyes and he was damn proud of her for
it. But it also scared him. If Shelby’s perseverance caused her to barrel
ahead, forget about her own safety…he didn’t want to think about it.

Mac
decided he owed it to Shelby to be a work partner worthy of her determination
and grit. He was done punishing her because he found her attractive. That was
fucked up. He’d suppress his feelings so he could be sure she was safe as she
pursued the story. No more working with Gordon, the old blowhard. He’d do what
Macy had assigned him to do, and make sure Shelby had the tools she needed to
turn her raw talents into a bona fide network-caliber reporter.

And pursue
the story she did.

Every day
she followed up with the investigators, and she didn’t let them push her
around. She petitioned to see Davie’s juvenile record after going through his
file, but to no avail. She did the boring work, the clerical work, the phone
calls, the things that never make the air but have to happen for real
journalism to occur. Shelby Virtue was earning her place at WLUV and Mac knew
Macy was noticing.

Mac and
Shelby worked together each day from the fire story forward. Her flirty nature
was gone. Mac was sad to see some of her bouncy personality hidden, pushed out
of the way by determination. But she’d seen a child die and it had changed her.
That’s exactly why the best reporters developed a shell—to cope. Shelby was
coping. She was maturing. Mac knew it was necessary, but he had to admit he
missed the puppy that she’d been when he met her.

Shelby
didn’t throw flirty comment his way, but he still didn’t drop his guard. He
wanted to wrap his arms around her, kiss her, and more, especially now that
she’d blossomed into this gritty and determined Shelby. But that window was
closed. He just stood by, on watch, as Shelby feverishly pursued the truth.
They didn’t even talk much. They just continued their work uncovering new
angles of the story. Their conversations focused on bringing justice to the
Karakas family.

“Okay so
you’re doing a live shot in the neighborhood again?” Macy was quizzing Shelby.
Mac leaned in the doorframe of the news director’s office as Shelby faced the
boss.

“Let me,
please? Today the neighbors are doing a protest with signs and stuff. They’re
fed up! Even Angie called me and wants me there. She wants coverage so we can
get this Groll guy, or at least rattle the investigators’ cage.”

“Okay,
fine.” They were getting ready to go and then Macy added, “Hey wait! Remember
the ballet story? That airs tomorrow in advance of the gala. Is it all set?

“Mac?”
Shelby asked.

“Edited
and ready.”

“Great.
OK, Shelby, just slow down a bit on your live shot tonight. You tend to talk
too fast, especially when you’re excited about a story.” Macy was always
tweaking the staffers at WLUV. Mac loved his old friend for her own brand of
determination; attention to quality was always top-down and Macy was a good
person to have at the top.

“Got it.”
Shelby walked passed Mac and out of the office.

Mac was
following her out when Macy stopped him and asked quietly, “How are you doing
with the whole, uh, attachment situation?”

“Fine.
Well, to be more specific, I’m staying away from her for her own good. How’s
that?” Mac smiled.

“Will
anyone in womankind ever tame you?” Macy threw a barb his way.

“Shut up,
Green.” Mac had to admit he loved working for Macy. Other than Gordon, this
shop was pretty damn good. He knew it wasn’t like this everywhere. He hadn’t
been bored by the stories either, he realized—even in the features, like the
ballet piece, he’d been able to find something to like.

The first
time he’d driven to the South End street with Shelby, he’d thought it was
pretty beat up and impoverished. Now it was starting to look like a war zone.
Angie’s house wasn’t even there anymore, and there were groups of protesters
gathered around the charred foundations of houses up and down the street.

Mac set up
the live shot and Shelby delivered for the evening newscasts. What she’d said
to Macy was true—the neighborhood wanted her there. In the last week she’d
managed to renew Angie’s trust, and befriended the head of the neighborhood
block watch. She’d talked to alleged friends of Davie Groll, those who
supported him, and those against him.

Angie, her
son T.J. and about two dozen neighbors challenged authorities and investigators
about the fact that four arson fires had consumed homes on the block, a child
had died, and still nothing had been done.

Shelby
made the neighborhood matter in the way she told the story of its residents.
Sure, some of the neighbors were scum. Davie Groll and his type were violent
losers, and it was no surprise to see them living in a slum. But the rest of
the people here were decent folk; most of them had stories that viewers could
relate to. They were mothers or, in Angie’s case, grandmothers, they were
families working hard to make things work, and they were kids, even teenagers,
who just hadn’t figured it out yet. Shelby took the time to show Grand City how
much potential the fire had destroyed, and how much more was at stake.

After she
finished the live shot, she spent some time talking to the protestors. Mac was
parked in the alley near the protest. Shelby had promised to stay put while he
brought the car around.

Too late,
Mac realized he’d broken his own rule and gotten too far from Shelby.

Their time
in this neighborhood had made them way too comfortable in a situation that was,
in fact, about to blow. All of the ingredients to a powder keg were there:
people living in close quarters, some of them violent, most of them angry, and
all of them at odds about who to blame. The protest invited confrontation, it
struck the match. 

Mac should
have seen it coming, but he’d ignored the warning signs. He was so focused on
helping Shelby tell the story –and watching her do it – that he’d let his own
guard down in the dangerous climate of the South End of Grand City, Michigan.

Mac slowly
pulled the car around the corner into a melee. Dozens of people, from
protestors, to thugs, to kids looking for trouble, had started to fight. Some
of them surrounded his car, shaking it back and forth and pelting it with
whatever they could find.

This was
not the first time he’d driven through an unruly mob. The trick is to continue
forward, ever so slowly. Most people have enough of a self-preservation
instinct to get out of the way. Mac’s eyes darted around the scene, but there
was no sign of Shelby. She’d been in the thick of where they were now all
swinging punches and obscenities. If she was still there, her red trench coat
would be a beacon, but it was just a mass of gray and brown and chaos. He
pounded the steering wheel.

This scene
was too familiar; it was his waking nightmare. He launched out of the car and
into the crowd. Someone had to have seen what happened to Shelby. He heard
Angie and, from what he could gather, Davie Groll’s brother, yelling at each
other.

 “Bitch,
you listen to
me!
I am going to sue your asses for all this bullshit. My
brother can’t even get to our driveway without somebody egging the car.”

“Oh
really? Because I’ve got a dead grandbaby.”

Where
the fuck is Shelby?
Mac’s
vision blurred for a second and a scene of sand and flags a world away replaced
the Michigan street in front of him. 

He cleared
his mind and muscled forward.
No, no way.

He didn’t
have time for that bullshit. He’d failed Karen, he would not fail Shelby. He
couldn’t.

There were
scrums of neighbors fighting. He zeroed in on Angie Karakas and pulled her away
from her screaming match. “Where’s Shelby?” he barked.

The guy Angie'd
been fighting with charged towards them, and Mac flung him to the ground.
“Where is Shelby?” Mac used a tone that could not be ignored. Angie snapped out
of her fighting rage.

“Uh –  oh
yeah – sorry, I sent T.J. after her…Davie’s got her.”

“
What
?!”

“Fucking
Davie said it was her fault the cops are after him. He said he’s going to give
it to her. Look, man, T.J.’s on it.”

“Which
way?”

She
pointed, and Mac broke into a sprint towards the Groll house. He hoped T.J.,
Angie’s boy, was good for something, but his worst fear had been realized.
Groll had Shelby.

Once he’d
gotten away from the center of the fighting, he started calling her name. “
Shelby
?”

“If you
know what’s good for you, Groll, you’ll let her go.” He was shouting at the
front of the house, but there was no response, the house just stared back at
him.

Mac
decided to enter the home, law be damned. He wasn’t about to let anything
happen to Shelby, and he worried that something might if he waited around for
permission.

Slowly, he
opened the front door. The pit bull they’d encountered earlier trotted up to
him and sat. Making friends with it the other day at had certainly paid off.
“Hey there, Usain. Good boy.” Mac gave the animal a quick pat on the head.

Then he
heard Shelby yell, “Get
off
me!” and made a beeline in the direction of
her voice. From the narrow hallway, he could see T.J. Karakas on the kitchen
floor, hopefully just unconscious. Davie Groll had a hand on Shelby’s throat
and was grabbing at her all over with his other hand though she did her best to
dodge it and fight him off. The guy’s back was to Mac and that was the only
advantage he needed.

Mac leaped
from the hallways and yanked him off of Shelby; he threw him to the floor and
just started punching. Blood sprayed from Davie’s face and he was already out cold,
but it didn’t really register, Mac kept punching. 

He heard a
siren in the distance and then he heard Karen yell his name.

No, not
Karen. It’s Shelby
.

He turned
to see her just as she grabbed his arm to stop him. “Come on, Mac, he’s out.
I’m fine, Mac. You need to stop.
Mac
.” Shelby’s voice was pleading.

Mac looked
at her and squinted. Was she fine? Was she
real
? He’d gotten to her
before they could kill her in the desert.

This is
not the desert
.
Mac shook his head, trying to get his shit together.

They were
here, in Michigan. This was now. She was staring at him, looking panicked. He
touched her face.
This is Shelby.

“You’re
okay? Did he hurt you?  Touch you?” Mac ran his hands through her hair.

“No, just
a lot of shoving around and threats, T.J. slowed him down” She looked over at
T.J. lying unconscious, “I think he’s okay, but we need to get him an
ambulance”

Shelby
looked around the kitchen a few times, at the unconscious forms on the floor,
and started to shake as the adrenaline wore off. Her voice shook, “Mac, I need
to get out of this house” Now that it was over, the reality was sinking in,
“Get me out of this house, Mac.”

He picked
her up and carried her out of the house.

Her
tremors grew worse and he squeezed her against him. “It’s okay, Shelby. It’s
over. We’re out of there.”

Squad cars
littered the front yards and their lights danced up and down the street; the
police were everywhere, breaking up fights and trying to untangle the mess. Mac
found a spare officer and requested an ambulance for the two kids knocked out
inside the Groll house.

It took a
few hours, but finally they’d both given their statements and been cleared by
the EMT. When the officers were finished with Mac, he walked to where Shelby
was, a warm blanket draped over her shoulders, answering the last of their
questions.

When they
let her leave and she started to walk towards him, then broke into a run. He
opened his arms and encircled her. Thank god, she was safe, warm, and home.
Thank god.

They drove
in silence but before long Shelby unhooked her seatbelt and slid to his side so
she could put her head on his shoulder. He should have stopped her; he should
have tried to do something to reign in the tumbling emotions they were both
feeling. But he couldn’t, not now, it felt too perfect. Instead, he put his arm
around her and tucked her in closer as he drove her home. He wanted her to feel
safe, to be safe.