I Believe You, Simon

I believe you, Simon.

That single thought enclosed Elliot’s thoughts. Those four on repeat. His fingers streaming across the keyboard of his computer, forming more of the article that Simon died for.

I believe you, Simon.

That mantra kept Elliot going, kept Elliot typing. The clicks of the keys creating a metronome of focus. The manila folder splayed out beside him, all his notes and journalistic instincts that lead him to Simon, contained the future of Elliot’s professional life. It might be how he would be remembered. He leaned back in his seat, looking up at the roof of his study. He has finished the article, Simon’s life printed on the page. All he has to do is press one key, one directive.

I believe you, Simon.

A mechanical ding reverberates around the silence, and Elliot finally goes to sleep.

***

The next morning, Elliot turns on the morning news.

People had read my article then, he thought with slight amusement. He wished the news channel had used a better photo; his tie was slightly off-centre.

“As mentioned at the top of the hour, a bombshell article released by journalist Elliot Peterson which seemingly accuses The Hidden Lens Agency of corruption and injustice. So far, we have no comment from anyone related to The Hidden Lens Agency. For more analysis and discussion…”. Elliot mutes the news as he opens his phone to countless messages, from journalist friends who congratulate him on a whistleblower story and messages from online trolls who condemn him. They see treason and political agendas.

The fact that people are talking is good, Simon, they’re listening. They’re listening to you.

He unmutes the news.

“It’s as simple as this, the Agency must answer questions about the article, and the fact they haven’t is damning in itself”, said a suited man. “Why the radio silence?”

Elliot’s phone dings, and he sees that it’s a message from his editor.

‘Elliot, come see me in the office today as soon as you can’.

Normally, Elliot wouldn’t be too concerned but today felt different. As he drove to the offices of Australian Public Press, he felt a nervous energy coursing throughout his body. This energy didn’t leave him as he entered the office. Everyone seemed to be working at double pace, constantly talking on phones and running between cubicles.

“Elliot”, a man called out. “Over here”. Elliot saw his editor and made his way into his office.

“John, what’s the matter?” Elliot asked as he sat down. “It’s my day off, it should be in the calendar”.

John looked at him with what almost seemed like pity. “Elliot, we’re pulling your story”.

Elliot’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding”.

“No, and it’s final”.

“Why?”

“The story isn’t there, and I told you that when you brought it to me”.

“Seriously?” Elliot says incredulously. “Did you read the article? There’s clearly something going on”.

“Ellio-”

“No, no”, Elliot ran his hand through his hair. “Tell me why this story is being pulled, tell me the truth”.

John turned away, almost in shame.

“John, what’s going on”?

“There isn’t a story Elliot”, John turned back around to face him. “We are letting you go, please gather your things and leave the premises immediately”.

“What? No, you can’t”, Elliot stood up. “There’s clearly a story here, The Hidden Lens Agency is corrupt, everyone can see it now”

I believe you, Simon.

“There is no substantive evidence, there’s no quotes, no direct link and your main witness is dead”.

“So? The article pro-”

John slams his hands down on the desk, causing pencils and cups to fly off and crash onto the ground. “The article proves nothing”

“John, please”.

“No, the article is done, it’s off the website and we are putting out a retraction, and an apology.”

Elliot stormed away towards the door, ripped it open and slammed it shut, offering no apology.

***

“In breaking news, Australian Public Press is offering a full apology to The Hidden Lens Agency for the article published by Elliot Peterson. They said in a statement that it was an institutional mistake to publish an article lacking the basic elements of journalism. They vow to make changes to their publishing policy and hiring practices. There is still no comment from The Hidden Lens Agency, at this point. We do not expect a statement. More after the break.”

Elliot turns the TV off in disgust, bottles clinking across the table as he reached for his phone.

I believe you, Simon.

Elliot opens his phone, and swipes away all the notifications that have haunted him the last three days. Countless online accounts showing old mistakes from his previous articles, discrediting him in the court of public opinion. His journalist friends and colleagues who were celebrating him, now want nothing to do with him.

The manila folder is still on his desk, the folder that ruined his professional life and began destroying his personal.

I believe you, Simon.

He grabbed another bottle, lay down on the couch, and drank.

I believe you, Simon.

Drink.

Believe you, Simon.

Drink.

Simon.

The bottle clinks and smashes on the floor, glass shards everywhere. Elliot feels a slight wind chill, which is strange because he always closes the door and windows. In a drunken stupor, he gets up to close the window and falls in the kitchen.

Simon. I’m sorry. They didn’t believe me.