S3, E10 | 'Til Death They Did Part

​Season 3 Finale

\ Monday, August 20th, 2007 /
\ 6:19 am est. - 3:19 am pst. /

“Even though I’ve spent every weekend with you here since we got back from Italy, I will never understand how you can do this every single morning” Taylor remarks, watching the cabin’s owner knot his necktie perfectly whilst staring into a mirror. “Because I have patience and like my privacy” Grant retorts, staring at the woman standing within the doorway to their bedroom’s adjacent bathroom through the reflection in his standing mirror, “it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

Rolling her eyes with a soft laugh, Taylor turns back for the bathroom and begins putting away the individual pieces of her makeup kit, every stick of lipgloss, every brush and every bottle tucked into a neat bag made to fit into the larger one she travels with. “As glad as I am that you’re willing to be the brave warrior willing to drive four hours to and from, I couldn’t” the woman responds from within the echo-producing washroom, “at least, I’m pretty sure I couldn’t.”

“I don’t buy that for a second, but keep trying to convince yourself of that. Maybe one day you’ll actually believe it?” Grant rebukes, straightening his tie before taking a seat in the chair nearest the room’s corner. “There’s a reason I have a place in the city. I can’t just live at work, sleep in my chair, and repeat the process the next day” Taylor replies, scrunching her face as her head bobs from one side to the other, “I need to do things like lay down and shower.”

“Technically, you don’t need to. But yes, I agree- you should do those things from time to time” Grant quips back, looking in the bathroom’s direction without the ability of seeing his girlfriend from beyond the wall that separates them. With a sarcastic grin, Taylor peers past the doorway and flashes her glare toward her significant other, his shrug and mimicking of her expression the only thing to be returned to her.

“If I remember correctly, you did say you’d be willing to do that if I married you” Grant recalls, resting his head against the knuckles on his hand as he stares at the television on the side of the room closest to the exit, “what makes the drive so much more bearable then?” Stepping out of the bathroom to place her handbag on the floor beside their king sized bed, Taylor removes her t-shirt and walks to the dresser her stored-away clothes reside in.

“It wouldn’t be that the drive is any easier so much as it would be me willing to make a sacrifice of my own” Taylor replies, pulling a purple bra from within the top-most dresser drawer and sliding each strap over her arms, “I know how much you like this place, and I don’t quite mind it myself.” With a squint, Grant keeps his eyes glued to the local news programme ongoing, sights purposefully withheld from the woman’s near-nude, rapidly-dressed body.

“Don’t you think I’d be willing to get a place in the city with you instead of making you come back out here every day?” Grant inquires, unable to notice the woman’s turn toward him, “why would you have to be the one that sacrifices your time?” Having yet to reach for her blouse and still only in a dark purple bra, Taylor stares at her boyfriend with a look of curiosity, eyebrows furrowed and face slightly pressed inward.

“You’d give up the cabin for me?” she wonders aloud, remaining stood with her eyes firmly upon the man whose sights only now draw toward her. “By the time that’d be in the works, I’d have already gotten down on my knee and proposed to you” Grant responds, carrying the casual cadence of a man speaking something into existence he’d have already assumed had become mutually understood, “I’d give up anything for you.”

His eyes drifting back to the television as quickly as they had departed from it in favour of his girlfriend, Grant returns his attention to the ongoing story the local anchors report upon, the sky just beginning to brighten over Thompson Ridge whilst the broadcast’s picture paints a scene from whilst the sun was very much on the opposite side of the globe.

With a steady smile in spite of her boyfriend’s distanced view, Taylor lets the man’s remarks settle within her, a hearty sense of pride and joy taken from the words seemingly offered to her as if in passing. Pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, the tenured anchor turns back to her dresser and opens the second-highest drawer, sifting through a small stack of button up shirts in search of the one her mind is set upon.

“I know it may not have been the way you would’ve wanted it, but you do know I was serious a few months ago, right?” Grant suddenly wonders aloud, prompting the woman to turn back, leant over the drawer with her attention reclaimed. “Serious about what?” Taylor responds, genuinely uncertain as to what the man is recalling her mind toward, but equally as intrigued at what the answer could be.

“I know I didn’t have a ring, but I would’ve proposed to you at the steakhouse- or whatever it was- in June” Grant confesses, a divulgence his girlfriend hadn’t actually given much thought to until now. “You didn’t let me and- aside from knowing you want it to be genuine- I don’t know when you will” the cabin-resident continues, shaking his head in dismissal of the idea that he’s yet to earn the right to ask in her eyes, “but I will marry you. I’ll let it happen genuinely, but it will happen.”

Her smile from before only growing wider, Taylor pulls away from the dresser and steps around their shared bed, not letting the mystery of where her desired blouse resides prevent her from showing the man how much his comment means. “You’re too good of a man for me to let go of without being seen as insane by anyone with a working pair of eyes” the woman replies, climbing atop his lap and placing her arms around him, “I could only be so lucky for you to ask.”

Placing his hand around either side of the woman’s waist, Grant pulls his lover close and leans in, his lips pressing against hers before pulling apart for one sweet intermission. “When do you want me to?” the man wonders aloud, leaving the time, place and circumstances entirely in the control of the woman he offers his promise to, “it’s going to happen regardless, so tell me when the time will be in which you actually say ‘yes’.”

With a deep breath, Taylor’s eyes wander toward the window just over their bed’s headboard, her chin pressing against her boyfriend’s forehead as his arms proceed with holding her close. “I’ll tell you what- just keep asking” she answers, pulling her head back to face the man that looks at her with an amused confusion, “when the time comes where I just can’t bring myself to say ‘no’, I’ll say ‘yes’.”

“And you want me to just keep asking?” Grant whispers back, a smile held upon his face just the same as the one upon his lover’s own, her face leaning toward his for another kiss. “Just keep asking” Taylor remarks once more, her lips pressing against his for a few seconds before pulling apart, joining the rest of her body in returning to the task of dressing.

“Will you marry me?” Grant soon asks, not even bothering to wait for his co-anchor to take more than one step away. “Not yet” Taylor answers, a smile and a wink returned before she continues her stroll to the other side of the room. “How about now?” the cabin’s owner inquires, slowly continuing to chip away at the playful boundary established between two answers, drawing an eye roll from his better half.

“No, and no for the rest of the day” Taylor chirps back with humour, hearing the man’s fingers snap together with feigned disappointment as she walks off, “but I do admire your persiste-” Falling silent just as her eyes do upon the television, the half-dressed anchor finds herself entranced by the feed portrayed upon the wall-mounted television. Leaning forward in his seat, Grant peers at the television for a moment before looking back to his girlfriend at a loss, waiting for her to continue.

“Are you alright?” he asks innocently, taking note of the woman’s frozen posture after a few seconds before watching her head shake, rattling as if she were trying to clear the cobwebs that had come upon her mind. “Ye- yeah. Yeah, I’m- I’m fine” Taylor replies with squinted eyes and a befuddled tone in her voice, eyes casually drifting back to the drawers her initial destination had been set upon, “that’s just weird.”

“What’s weird?” Grant soon asks, watching the woman remove a dark blue blouse from within the cabinets, settling for the one shirt sitting atop the pile of others. “Just- that car crash is just weird” Taylor replies, throwing an arm into one sleeve whilst looking at the screen, unable to comprehend why she’s so taken aback by the images pictured, “there’s just something about it that’s odd. I can’t quite put my finger on why.”

Not fully understanding what the woman’s uncertain gaze is meant to portray, Grant turns his eyes back toward the television set, listening intently for the remaining few minutes that pass before his girlfriend is readied. Thinking nothing of the story, the cabin resident follows his lover through the door and powers off the mounted display as he passes it, casually descending the nearest staircase with keys in hand, locking the door on his way through what’s to be just another day of work.

= Tonight at 9 is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and the entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onward =

\ Monday, August 20th, 2007 /
\ 8:05 am est. - 5:05 am pst. /

Joined together under one roof, various well-suited figures occupy the seats that wrap around a circular table like a boa constrictor wraps around its prey. Waiting patiently for the woman responsible for calling them here, the seven men and two women fill their time by answering emails and checking the headlines to the day’s news as best as they can with the poor quality web browsers their phones are pre-installed with.

Unprompted and with a head of steam, Robin steps through the conference room’s door with eyes set upon her vacant seat. Not offering so much as a word, the chairwoman dismisses any remark made toward her en route to her seat with absolute silence, not intending to speak until she’s reclaimed her place at the head of the table. Placing her light briefcase atop the hardwood surface before letting her palms press into the tabletop, the acting figurehead stares daggers at the man across from her.

As amused as he is put off, Reece leans in his seat with an arm against the desktop, a smile of discomfort put upon his face as he takes a glance toward an unimportant side of the room. “Can I help you?” the man wonders aloud, staring at the stoic woman as her eyes rip through his flesh and glare at the inner chambers of his soul. “Yes, you can” the chairwoman replies, nodding to herself with a smile before her bobbing head settles back into its rigid hold on the man, “get the fuck out.”

Taken back by the rather crass and snide command, Reece glances toward the men and women joining him at the all-encompassing desk, the discomforted grin returning to his face in a moment of humoured dismissal. “What?” the man laughs, still looking back and forth at the many faces that join him in being called to the chair woman's presence.

“You’re resigning as a member of the board effective immediately and you’re getting the fuck out of this building” Robin responds, looking to her seat with intentions of taking it before the voice across from her retorts. “Is this a joke?” Reece wonders aloud, still wearing the dismissive presentation of pearly whites with an inability to comprehend what’s been said in the manner it’s been delivered.

“No, it’s not a joke you closeted bottom. Pick up your shit and get the fuck out of my building before I have security toss you out on your ass” Robin replies, her remarks quickly prompting the man she expels from the proceedings. “You don’t have the authority to throw me out, Robin” Reece responds, putting up a fight that carries him out of his seat, finger pointed in the woman’s direction.

“That’s why I said you’re resigning” Robin replies, reclaiming ownership of the styrofoam coffee cup she’d entered the room with. “On what grounds would I resign?” Reece rebukes, confrontational in nature with a hand on his side and the other resting its foremost fingers against the table he stands behind.

“On the grounds of leaking confidential information to individuals not associated with the company” Robin responds, puckering her lips as she pauses the lift of the cup to her face, “spilling your guts to Burt Russo is in direct breach of your internal agreement with the company. I have all the reason I need to have you investigated and ousted in disgrace- count yourself lucky.”

“You can’t prove that” Reece replies with a finger raised, watching the woman chuckle with amusement to herself as she takes a light sip of coffee. “And with what I was told by Russo just a few days ago, I have every reason to believe that an internal investigation would uncover that exact accusation and- again- have you ousted in disgrace” Robin responds, a grin worn in the corner of her face, “you know it just as well as I do. Count yourself lucky and take the out I’m giving you, shitsack.”

With his lips opening to reply, Reece falls silent, clearly anxious in his unnerved posture as his eyes dart from one side of the room to the other, not a soul willing to step in and speak upon his behalf out of the simple desire to not get on the chair woman’s bad side. In frustration, the exiled man lets out a loud sigh and turns away, making for the same doors he’d entered the room through and leaving, never to repeat the process again.

Waiting patiently for the doors to slowly glide to a close on the man’s departure, Robin returns her coffee to the table before pressing her palms against it, eyes taking to the direction of each member that remains. “Don’t you ever find it funny that I’m supposed to be the one that answers to you?” the woman inquires, her first word uttered the moment the entrance shuts behind the expelled member’s exit, “I only ask ‘cause I find that ironic when I sit at the head of the table.”

Sitting in collective silence, the suit-adorned members of the board look at the woman that slowly progresses through her remarks, helpless to do anything more than watch and listen. “Under me, this company has seen financial success the likes of which companies like Kodak and Shell would blow a load in their pants for” Robin continues, beginning to step away from her seat and venture around the table, walking across all those who reside within her presence.

“I replaced a veteran of the field with a nobody and she’s knocked the lights out ever since” Robin explains, shrugging as she proceeds, “hell, I gave the president of this company the greenlight to take an internally-besmirched anchor and mould him into this generation’s McCarthy.” With her hand on the shoulder of the first board member- a black man dressed in a sharp, dark grey suit- the chair woman proceeds onward, nodding to herself as she does.

“The stock price has jumped since the turn of the millennium, ratings have never been higher, and the gambles I’ve made throughout my career- most importantly- have paid off” Robin continues, letting her hand fall from the first man’s shoulder as she continues on, strolling past the lady sitting beside him, distanced by a few feet. “Regardless of who puts you in these seats, you serve the shareholders” the woman continues to recall, “do you think you know what the shareholders want?”

Looking around the room, the chair woman’s eyes take to a sea of uncertain faces, their lips never moving because they don’t intend on answering the question. “The answer to that question better be a resounding ‘yes’ since it’s the job they vote for you to do” Robin clarifies, continuing to slowly circle the table as she advances to the next man in her path, “there’s only one person the shareholders want in the position of acting CEO, and that person is me.”

Staring straight ahead, the third man in line feels the woman’s hand pat him on the upper back as she passes, making her way to the gentleman sitting a few paces to his right. “I have a reputation for knowing what’s best for this company. I know what I’m doing, I have since I took over this position, and you better believe I haven’t lost my fucking step” Robin proceeds, onto second woman of the group, “I just want you all to understand that as we continue moving forward.”

Still kept to themselves, the board members allow the woman to proceed with her remarks, watching her encirclement of their collective seating. “That’s all I called you here for. I figured the whole of you might’ve needed a little reminder of just who calls the shots around here” Robin proceeds onward, patting the penultimate man on the top of the head as she nears the completion of her short journey.

“Reece seemingly forgot that the chain of command isn’t exactly as it appears. I only answer to you in writing” the chair woman carries forward, pinching the final man’s cheek before making her way back to the seat she’d vacated at the top of her remarks, “anyone that follows in his footsteps of forgetting how this works will find themselves out of a job. The best thing about you scheming cunts is that you’re all slimy. I just need to dig a little and find a reason for your resignation.”

Taking her coffee into one hand and her bag into the other, Robin stands before the collective group, watching the eight sets of eyes that remain take to her with undivided focus. Whilst some reserve concern over the precedent being set before them, others stare with an unchanged expression, trying to subdue the vastly different thoughts that rummage throughout their minds.

“This company is mine. This company, the people that work for it, the people that go on my airwaves every night- they’re all mine” Robin concludes, a slight squint in her right eye held as she finishes her point, her tone declarative in nature and unwavering in resolve, “if anyone tries to threaten that- if anyone tries to take that away, tries to rip me out, or tries to undermine me to steal it for themselves- they will lose.”

Taking her free hand to wrap a pair of designer sunglasses over her face, Robin waltzes past her constituents in favour of the same exit her dismissed adversary had taken to leave the premises. “And if anyone contacts Reece, let him know my wishes for the best in his future endeavours are for him to keep” the woman quips back, a smile on her face as she walks through the doors, “once he shoves them up his ass- I don’t want them back.”

|

\ Monday, August 20th, 2007 /
\ 12:04 pm est. - 9:04 am pst. /

His foot anxiously tapping against the ground as he sits patiently, Aiden stares at the distant wall-mounted clock without reprieve, incapable of pulling his attention away from it. His metal tumbler having long since been filled with only drops of coffee the executive producer had already drank, the fingers on the producer’s left hand press a thin piece of paper between them whilst those on his right gently tap against the wooden conference table.

“You alright, man?” Doug whispers aloud, eyebrows furrowed as he looks to the higher-ranking man just off to his right, watching the man’s surprised pupils dart back toward him. “Yeah, I’m fine. We’re just waiting on Carly” Aiden replies, feigning a smile as he clears his throat, trying to kick himself of the urge to look at the clock for even a second further as the voice of reason speaks softly once more.

“She hasn’t been in these things for weeks” Doug corrects, taking the man’s glassy eyes and distanced expression as the appearance of a man more so ill with a virus than preoccupied with other thoughts, “are you sure you’re alright?” Momentarily stricken with the look of disappointment, Aiden’s feigned smile returns, his dismissive nod and phoney visage of reassurance handed back to the senior producer.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just that-” the eight o’clock showrunner begins, the insincere gestures of good faith he wields beginning to slip beyond the point of recovery, a subtle sigh held within his breath, “-she should be here.” Still on the wrong page from that of his superior, Doug shakes his head and lets out a much more notable sigh than that of his contemporary, “I couldn’t agree more” the man responds, shrugging his shoulders as his eyes take to the notes he’s written.

“Does she just not care anymore?” the man beside Colin wonders aloud, having granted his ears to listen into the conversation not meant for him. “I’m sorry?” Aiden questions back, uncertain of both whether or not he heard the man correctly and if his assumptions are astute. “She doesn’t even talk to us anymore. She hasn’t shown up to the rundown, and the only time I ever hear her speak is when she’s on camera” Joey retorts, as at a loss for clarity as the rest of the staff is.

With more eyes taking toward his general direction, Aiden reads the situation for what it has become- a conversation not just being had between himself and his senior producer, but between his entire staff. Scratching the side of his head, the showrunner and the leader-apparent of the newsroom scratches at the back of his head and stands from his chair, looking at the table as he formulates what to speak next.

“Alright, listen. Carly’s dealing with stuff that isn’t necessarily something that everyone needs to know or concern themselves about” Aiden clarifies, his hands eventually finding their way to his hips as he looks at his colleagues, “so you should just know that- that-”

Falling silent, the showrunner looks out at the crowd of people all sitting before him, anxiously awaiting what he’s to say next with an eagerness only held within those desperate for answers. Incapable of finishing his thought, Aiden watches a few faces turn away as the silence persists, assuming they’ll get nothing more than the vague remarks he’d already paid them. In a moment of sudden discontent, the executive producer turns his eyes toward the still-busy bureau with a sigh.

“Fuck it, I’m not gonna lie to you” Aiden mutters aloud, immediately re-earning the attention of those that had turned away seconds prior, his chin lowering slightly as he looks to the panopticon’s distance, his ex-girlfriend’s vacant office sitting directly within eyesight. “Carly and I had been dating for a little bit before I came onboard to produce this show, and we broke up a few months ago” the showrunner confesses, letting the cat out of the bag for those not already aware.

“She doesn’t hate any of you, she hates me. She hates me because I did a shitty thing- which was not cheating on her before anyone asks- and she’s got more than enough reason to” Aiden continues to explain, watching the expressions on those seated before him turn to match the varying different thoughts that their minds host.

“We talked on Friday and I told her to show up for the rundown meeting if she could find it within herself to accept that we had to co-exist and work together to get this show running smoothly again” Aiden proceeds, turning to look back at the woman’s empty office with a disheartened stare, his head hanging as he mutters aloud the conclusion he’s come to, “I guess I have my answer.”

Feeling the weight carried within their respected colleague’s final remark, much of the newsroom hangs their heads with disappointment, aware of everything he’d said whilst equally unable to not feel for the dejection within his voice. Subduing his dolefulness, Aiden shakes his head and presses his lips together, lowering himself back into his seat as he glances back to the clock, its minute-hand already one tick past the numeral one.

“Let’s just get on with the pitches” Aiden finally declares, taking the meeting down the same direction he had on his own for the last number of weeks, an eye paid to the equally-disheartened staff, “who wants to go first?” With silence to be found on all sides of the table, the staff are hesitant to speak, not out of concern for the quality of their pitches, but rather because the mood that encompasses the conference room takes on the appearance of something closer to a funeral.

“An official out in Utah said the six miners that were trapped may never be found” Doug responds, shrugging his shoulders with the end of a pen pressed against his bottom lip as he replies, taking the bullet of opening the conversation so his peers don’t have to, “that’s their official statement on the matter and it might be worth running with somewhere halfway into the-”

With an angle of the office’s entrance, the eyes of the speaking producer drift through the transparent glass case they sit surrounded within, watching the front doors open and falling silent as they prepare to close. Joining the rest of the bureau in following the source of his sudden loss for words, Doug watches the figure that captures their attention so easily whilst his superior struggles to understand what’s unfolding.

Visibly curious, Aiden follows the line of sight the man beside him takes, its direction leading him to the hurried woman quickly jogging to the same conference room she’d spent much longer without stepping in than she ever had before. “Sorry I’m late!” Carly exclaims, the same friendly demeanour she’d worn months prior- and gone without in the months since- returned as if had never left, “the driver took a wrong turn and almost dropped me off at the wrong building entirely.”

With his face writhing in visible shock, Aiden watches the woman lower her purse toward the floor beside her chair, its cushion seat having gone without an occupant for as long as she’d been absent. “Did I miss anything?” Carly wonders aloud, catching her breath from the near-sprint she’d used to shorten the time it’d taken for her arrival, arms resting atop each side of her seat whilst the entire staff hold their stare upon her.

“What? Do I have something in my teeth?” the woman questions, genuinely unsure of why her presence brings upon the level of surprise it does. “No, it’s just-” Aiden interjects, speaking on behalf of his subordinates as he pauses, a handful of his coworkers looking back at him whilst the rest remain fixated on the eight o’clock host, “-it’s good to have you back.”

Sitting with a smile, Doug nods to himself and looks back to his notes, the smile Carly and Aiden share with each other speaking levels more than what words can offer. As if the host’s appearance had turned the tides of the entire day, the staff’s once-dejected collected portrayal turns to a collective of chipper, pleased, and elated faces. With more enthusiasm and drive, the newsroom’s employees prepare to pitch as if all were back to normal, the host and her producer still locking eyes.

|

\ Monday, August 20th, 2007 /
\ 9:37 pm est. - 6:37 am pst. /

“You say this as the newest borehole is being dug- if it’s not already- which doesn’t lend much reason for people to have optimism” Taylor remarks, her right elbow leaning against the top of her shared newsdesk, the tip of her pen pressing against the papers in front of her, “is the company itself not expecting to receive much out of this attempt?”

His hands coupled at his lap as he sits back in his chair, Grant listens to their shared guest answer the question with rather intricate detail, much of the wording used serving to twist around the question as present a reply that says little more than nothing. With wandering eyes, Taylor uncharacteristically begins to space off from the ongoing interview, never having been one to like the guest format brought upon in the wake of Aiden’s departure.

Surrounded by one television display after another lining nearly every ounce of the walls that comprise the panopticon-shaped bureau, Taylor’s attention is inevitably taken toward the different screens. “I see” Grant half-remarks, simply adding his voice to the ongoing response their guest provides, not wanting the dead-air to be filled with nothing more than ‘um’s’ and silence whilst their guest pauses.

With her eyes upon the Finley Network feed covering a George W. Bush address over the impending emergency efforts in the wake of a coming hurricane, Taylor soon drifts her focus to a few screens off to the side. “Sure” Grant continues off-hand, doing his best to fill the air his rather absent-minded guest leaves unattended.

Covering a piece on Britney Spears, the screen presenting ACN soon pans to another angle of the ongoing report its lead anchor presents, losing Taylor’s attention alongside it. “And that’s the company’s official stance?” Grant retorts, wanting to ensure whatever is said is kept within the legal precedent he’s held to, not wanting to present the company with any reason to throw empty-handed lawsuits within his direction or the company’s own.

Though the interview is one in which she is meant to take the lead of, Taylor can’t help but let her own personal disregard for the individual she covers get in the way of her professional responsibilities, eyes inevitably landing elsewhere on the wall-mounted screens. “Don’t you understand why some would consider this stance to be a bit counter-productive?” Grant inquires, unaware of his girlfriend’s veering line of sight, “regardless of its realism, it defeats the point.”

Whilst her significant other proceeds, Taylor sets her eyes upon his former place of work, the coverage CSN displays being a recap of the day’s earlier congressional meeting. “No, I understand that the goal is to rescue the miners, all I’m saying is that your statement appears to offer the public little reason to be optimistic” Grant explains, his open hand resting on its side atop his paper script, “this all comes in the wake of finding that the caves may not be safe to search through period.”

Catching herself in a lost train of thought as she saves herself from accidentally rolling her eyes into the camera covering her, Taylor tucks her hair behind an ear and offers one last glance at the wall of screens. “You’ve now lost multiple rescue workers, and I don’t see how you could expect the public not to see this as a bad omen for things still to come” Grant concludes, preparing to end the interview as scheduled whilst the next commercial break looms near.

Having stumbled upon a second look at the Finley Network’s coverage, Taylor’s eyes take to the screen just to its right, the local news broadcast just returning from a commercial of their own and leaping directly into the coverage of a story from earlier in the day. “Alright, sir. Is there anything you have left to add that you haven’t already?” Grant inquires, offering his guest the option to present a final few words, either on the behalf of his own or his company.

Finding an earlier recording of a white vehicle on its roof just at the base of an overpass near the outskirts of New York City, Taylor reads the headline presented on the broadcast’s lower third quietly to herself. “Alright, sir. Thank you very much for joining us” Grant concludes, lifting his coupled hands from his lap and placing them gently upon his desk, the second screen placed along his broadcast fading away as the one he shares with his girlfriend reclaims centre focus.

“Two car collision kills one, leaves two in local hospital” the local news banner reads, claiming to present imagery captured within the small town of Eastchester, New York. Holding a squint, Taylor stares at the feed with uncertainty, at a loss for why it would have her as entranced as she seems to be. Amidst a pause, the air in the newsroom goes quiet as Grant waits for his co-anchor to proceed onward, the duties of sending the show into commercial lying upon her shoulders.

His smile slightly lowered for the moment it takes him to glance back at the woman he shares the screen with, Grant finds himself confused when all that meets him are the curly blond hairs in the back of her head. Completely out of the loop, the man remains silent for just a moment as Shane’s voice calls into their in-ear’s.

“Taylor, cut to commercial” the executive producer directs, snapping the woman out of her fixated daze and prompting her to face the camera once more. Her mouth propped open out of sheer surprise, Taylor comes back into her own and prepares to bring the broadcast to its pause. “We’ll be back after the break” Grant interjects, noticing his girlfriend’s out-of-place aura and taking over the duties on her behalf, letting the first advertisement roll before taking advantage of the pause.

“What’s wrong?” the man soon wonders aloud, turning his seat to face the woman that stares at him without a reply, aware that something is wrong with his more-experienced anchor. “I’m not-” Taylor replies, cutting herself short and shaking her head before turning the opposite way around, her entire body turned toward the broadcast occurring near the opposite end of the bureau from their offices.

“Taylor, are you feeling alright?” Shane inquires from beyond the control room, able to make out the strange reaction she holds from beyond the glass box he’s situated within. “Yeah, I’m-” Taylor replies, again reluctant to finish the thought she begins to voice, feeling the touch of Grant’s hand on her shoulder before leaving her seat abruptly, stepping off the transparent platform their desk sits atop and venturing across the newsroom.

“Taylor, what’s going on?” Grant wonders aloud as he steps out of his seat, keeping up with the woman as he follows her through the floor, their every move watched on by the producers that sit around the base of the stage, their work for the evening already done as all that remains is to watch the broadcast they helped prepare carry onto the airwaves.

“I don’t know yet” Taylor responds, still uncertain as to why she’s so enamoured with the story being presented through the screen she watches, though fully self-assurant that she soon will be. “Guys, we’re approaching the latter-half of the ‘C Block’, this break only lasts, like, two minutes” Shane warns through his own mic, watching the anchors walk across the newsroom floor with the rest of the staff, completely unsure of how to react.

Stepping up to the monitor that captivates her, Taylor stares at the varying images of the overturned SUV, a few pictures of a black SUV of even larger stature with a damaged front end flashing in between the helicopter coverage of the wrecked vehicle below. “Aiden’s not even here anymore, why do we keep his ‘never turn off the wall TV’ policy again?” Shane queries to the team responsible for executing the video packages, hand covering the mic he uses to speak with his anchors.

Squinting, Taylor stares at the monitor and dissects the footage, her arms crossing as she simply stands put with her boyfriend a few paces behind. “Something’s wrong with this” the woman finally confesses, incapable of describing her takeaway from the broadcast and why it infatuates her so beyond drawing that simple conclusion. “Well, it is local news” Grant responds, trying to match her admission with a slight amount of humour, “they don’t have our budget for effects.”

“It’s not that, it’s-” Taylor pokes back, a slight amusement taken from his remark, though nowhere enough to kill the vested interest she takes in the ongoing coverage, “-I don’t know, I just feel like there’s something that I’m missing here. It’s like I should know more about what’s going on than I do.”

“Seventy seconds and counting, guys” Shane quips, continuing to keep the anchors informed of their ever-lessening time to uncover the apparent mystery unfolding before them. With her head leant to the side, Taylor continues to stare at the various closeup shots they show of the flattened and overturned SUV, the wreckage left far from the road it was knocked off, left to collide with the earth many stories below as the banner updates, swiping the former tag with one of new.

“Second survivor dies in fatal car accident” the banner now reads, its lower-third adding emphasis as still images begin taking over the screen, “survivors taken to Lawrence Hospital for critical care.” Shaking her head and drawing inches closer to the picture with each passing second, Taylor begins to succumb to her uncertainty as the calming voice just a step away lulls her back into a state of certain mindedness.

“Fifty seconds” Shane murmurs aloud, the declaration prompting the voice of comfort to linger within Taylor’s ear even further once provided. “I promise that we’ll figure out what’s got you so enthralled with this after the show, alright?” Grant whispers to his lover, hands gently resting against her hips, “we’ve got eighteen minutes left. When the show is over, I will not leave until we figure it out together, okay?”

With a frown, Taylor watches the local broadcast prepare to carry onto their next story, the final few shots occupying the airtime. “Alright” the woman responds with disappointment, lowering her arms and halfway turning to return to the desk before her eyes finally catch what they’d been looking for.

“We’re back in thirty with the German woman found in-” Shane begins to explain, having taken the anchors’ turn back toward the desk to be the last of his troubles for the night. “Oh my god!” Taylor abruptly exclaims, prompting the man to pull his head away from the rundown sheet beside himself and look back to the woman’s direction, silenced by her exclamation.

“What? What’s going on?” Shane questions back, staring through the transparent wall between himself and the anchors, earning no response before he watches the woman disconnect her in-ear from the receiver pack, cutting off all communication with the control room. “Did she just-!?” the executive producer exclaims, unable to finish his thought before watching the woman sprint for the exit, covering his mic as he shouts at the glass wall, “put me back!”

“I have to go!” Taylor shouts as she disconnects her in-ear, the words she utters rendering her boyfriend incapable of speech, “I’ll text you everything!” With hands open at each side, Grant watches from a few paces before the monitor as his co-anchor departs the broadcast, sprinting for the exit without a moment’s hesitation. “Fifteen seconds!” Shane shouts through the glass, too infuriated by the moment to remember his mic still has the reach of one anchor.

Jolted into action, Grant takes a final glance at the broadcast prior to its revolution onto the next story, the final shot of a mostly-shattered rear window with a heavily-altered depiction of three stick figures all that he finds- a mother, father, and carved-up outline of a child. Taking all that he’s approached with for whatever he can, the sole-remaining anchor turns back for the desk and gestures at the executive producer he still sees in the window’s view.

“Clean up the rundown as we go, fix the prompter for one- I’m going on alone” the anchor commands, laying out the ground rules to his producer, the man kept at bay through the glass divider already counting down the seconds to air. Hurrying into the seat, Grant presses his arm into the desk as if nothing were out of the ordinary, a last-second adjustment from the man ahead of him fixing the hard camera upon a tighter shot, only focused on the one seat occupied.

“...It on- the Coke side of life” a countertop tube television speaks, echoing the conclusion of an advertisement before rolling into a shot of a smiling anchor, his hand swiping at the left side of his head to fix his hair into place. “Now it’s time for every American’s favourite five words-” Grant mutters, his chin dipping just slightly as he takes the stage all for himself, no one to share the spotlight with as he peers at what- for the first time- is his camera- “-to Afghanistan we now go.”

“Thank you!” Taylor shouts to the driver of her taxicab, forking over a handful of cash before slamming the door shut and making a sprint for the front doors of the hospital she’d sought after. Through passive remarks and the comment of one name in particular, the woman manages to clear herself entry to the patient wing of the hospital, a few nurses walking after her in light of the hectic manner in which she’d arrived and advanced through the premises.

Down one wing after another with eyes stolen by each sign the walls of the building are adorned with, Taylor marches her way to the one destination she makes the most sense of, walking through the doors that divide her from the corridor a single man occupies. Taking instant notice of the sudden arrival, the grieving gentleman turns to look her in the eyes, his head having hung against the arm he props up against the drywall.

Without a word, Taylor stares at the man as their eyes collide, able to see the pain felt deep within him through just his face alone. “You’re too late” Ross remarks after a few further seconds, unable to enter the operating room his wife lies alone in, hooked up to machines that have already been powered down, stuffed with tubes that do nothing to prevent what has already happened, the best efforts of the medical workers having failed to pay off, “she’s already gone.”

Tears welling up in his eyes, Ross looks at the same person his surprise visitor soon sets her sights upon, Kaye’s body lying atop the table lifeless and bloodied from the accident that had baffled the anchor for all too long. With a sorrowful look, Taylor listens to the subdued weeps of the man standing beside her, just trying to process the loss he’s now come into.

Setting her differences with the man aside, Taylor looks to the grieving husband with a sincere, apologetic look, his eyes too taken by his wife’s lifeless remains to notice. The anchor he’d once taken the opposing side of once upon a time now resting her hand upon his shoulder for support, Ross lets his head hang once more as the sounds of sorrow that reverberate from deep within his fragile core become too strong to hold back.

== Tonight at 9 ==