Iris in the Dark: A Novel by Elissa Grossell Dickey

Author:Elissa Grossell Dickey [Grossell Dickey, Elissa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lake Union Publishing
Published: 2022-06-06T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The ten-minute drive takes me only seven and a half minutes, and I spend the entire time gripping my white knuckles around the steering wheel, darting my eyes from the road to the walkie-talkie—which I tossed onto the passenger seat before squealing out of the driveway—and convincing myself that Brayden is absolutely 100 percent guilty.

My blood boils as I picture his smug smile, his condescending tone grating in my ears. I pull into the parking lot practically vibrating with fury, and I stride into the newsroom sucking in deep breaths so I don’t go in guns blazing.

It doesn’t work.

Something about the adrenaline and stress, the sleep deprivation and exhaustion from constantly being on edge, whips my severe anxiety into a frenzy. When I get like this, it’s hard to calm down; usually, I’m able to spend time weeding my flowers, or shut myself in my room, with my comfort movie turned up loud to drown out my sobs.

But today I don’t have my crutches. Today I stalk across the newsroom and slam the walkie-talkie onto Brayden’s desk. He jumps, pushing back from his keyboard and glaring at me. “Iris, what the hell is this?”

“You tell me, Brayden. What the hell is this?”

He raises his eyebrows, an annoyed look on his face. “Uh, it’s a radio. Anything else I can help you with?”

“Where’s the other one?” I ask.

“What?”

“Where is it, Brayden?” My voice rises, and I realize that the rest of the newsroom staff members are watching us.

“How the hell should I know? Jesus, Iris, some of us have work to do.”

“Bullshit!” I yell, and the sports reporter behind him abruptly stops typing, craning his neck to see what’s up. Frank rolls his chair closer, making no effort to hide the fact that he’s trying to get a better view of the show. I lean in closer to Brayden, speaking in a low but scathing voice: “I know you’ve been messing with me. I know you went through Mr. Gordon’s files and you’re trying to use my past against me.”

Brayden blinks. “What the hell are you talking about, Iris?”

Something about the way he’s looking at me—part horror, part fascination—cracks through my anxiety-fueled rage, and I pull back, suddenly unsure. The newsroom is now deathly silent, not even the click-clack of keyboards or the murmur of phone interviews in the background. All eyes—and ears—are on us.

I can feel my face reddening, and I struggle to salvage this train wreck. “Uh, I mean, I . . .”

Brayden seems to sense my weakness and pounces, like a predator smelling blood on its prey. “You seriously believe that I’m, like, searching through files and trying to find dirt on you for some reason? Like I’m threatened or something—by you, of all people?” His voice is slow and incredulous, and he breaks into a smile as he leans toward me. “Wow, Iris, I mean, everyone knows you’re a paranoid weirdo, but I didn’t realize you were a full-on delusional conspiracy theorist.”

A soft chuckle erupts behind me, and I whip around, seeing two young copy editors quickly ducking their heads.

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