Cleona Floyd searches newspaper archives, scanning headlines for the perfect story. The community college library seems to vanish around her as old news scrolls down the computer monitor. Other students stare at their social media feeds. Cleona has no time for that nonsense. She loves her journalism class, and this is the biggest assignment of her first term. Find a local news story important enough to have warranted follow-up articles, then critique the entire coverage.
The assignment would be easier if this town weren't so boring. Cleona scrolls past reports of farming news and Little League scores. She's already a decade into the past and hasn't found a single exciting story.
Eleven years slip past, then twelve. An idle thought breaks her usually fierce concentration.
I would have been six years old, my hair sticking out in those ridiculous pigtails that Moms loved.
She shakes away the distraction and loads the next page. Then her eye catches a short lead buried at the bottom of a bygone issue, a scant two column inches reporting the death in prison of a local serial killer.
Cleona reads the article. A serial killer in Springfield? She's never heard a word of this. She types the dead man's name into the search bar and taps the mouse. A few seconds later, a fourteen-year-old lead article appears on the monitor.
Woman Rescues Abducted Minors
Springfield (AP)
Springfield resident Olivia Henderson rescued two teenagers after discovering them imprisoned in a local man's basement early Monday morning, police said. The owner of the residence, identified as thirty-two-year-old Clyde Temple, sustained serious injuries as a result of a confrontation with Henderson, aged thirty. According to police, Temple has been hospitalized pending arraignment on charges of kidnapping and child abduction. The names and ages of the two minors were withheld, but a police spokeswoman stated that both victims are in stable condition.
Cleona is excited now, clicking forward in time. Each day's news yields more information. This is it, the exact story she's been searching for. She grabs her notepad and begins listing the facts.
Clyde Temple worked at a local farm supply store. Neighbors stated he was a bachelor who kept to himself. No one suspected anything. No one, that is, except a woman named Olivia Henderson.
Without notifying police or anyone else, Henderson broke into Temple's basement. She was armed with a crowbar. Beneath the house, Olivia Henderson discovered two teenagers imprisoned in two separate cages. Before she could free the teens, Clyde Temple burst into the basement prison. Henderson physically attacked the man, almost killing him in the process. Only then did she call the police.
Then the news takes an even darker turn. Police find four bodies buried in Temple's backyard. They suspect the man in at least two other disappearances. Clyde Temple is revealed as a sexual predator, kidnapper, and killer. But as the stories scroll past, it is Olivia Henderson who captures Cleona's attention.
One image stands out. In the background, men in suits and uniforms stand frozen in a grainy black-and-white haze. In the center foreground, Olivia Henderson stares directly at the camera. Her face is defiant, lips unsmiling, eyes focused and sharp. The woman looks more like a defendant than a witness for the prosecution.
Cleona cannot look away. She's held captive by the woman's angry eyes as a realization dawns. She recognizes Olivia Henderson, although she's never heard her name, nor any other part of this crazy story. And yet she's seen this woman's face before, more than once, and recently. But where? She sifts her memory but draws a blank.
In an empty classroom four doors down from Cleona's library workstation, a woman attacks the carpeting at her feet. She runs a cleaning machine back and forth over a blotchy stain, wielding the device like an engine of war.
The cleaning woman curses as she works. She curses messy students, teachers who allow messy students, the stupidity of carpeting in any classroom, and the world in general.
Her name is Olivia Henderson, but she is known as Olive. Her coworkers also know Olive to be hard-working, quiet, and private. Henderson lives alone, and this is no surprise to anyone. On the rare occasion when she joins them for a drink, Olive can power down a vodka collins like a pro.
The carpet stain begins to fade. Olive glances at the clock. Two more hours of working alone, then she can punch out. Being alone doesn't bother her. Solitude is all she really wants.
Back in the library, Cleona takes a screenshot of Olivia Henderson, attaches the photo to an email, and sends it to herself. In a matter of moments, she loads the photo into her phone. Smiling to herself, she double-checks her notes, packs up her messenger bag, and logs out of the computer.
Cleona loves journalism. Her parents are supportive, like they always are, but they hope Cleona will change her mind. Dad takes the patient approach, counting on time to blunt his fickle daughter's passion. Moms is more direct, pointing out in her careful parenting voice that journalism is not the best career choice. She doesn't want Cleona to waste her time chasing lost causes. Moms should know better. Cleona loves a lost cause.
Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she exits the library. Her brain jumps with excitement. This might be her first scoop. Find the mystery woman and get an interview. It's sure to earn her a top grade in class. If her story is outstanding, it might be a springboard to a summer internship with the local paper.
As she walks down the broad hallway, Cleona threshes out her strategy. Forget Moms and Dad. They'd only ask questions and get in the way. First step, right after dinner, she'll search social media for any mention of Olivia Henderson. If that fails to turn up any clues, she's still got the photo.
Passing the student union, an idea stops Cleona in her tracks. Why wait until this evening? She backtracks to the union's double doors, steps inside, and scans the large room. Clusters of students sprawl across couches and chairs. Further on, in the dining area, more students chatter away over half-eaten lunches or stare at their screens.
Cleona ignores the students and the dull roar of conversations. Her eyes search the dining area for one particular person. Clara Dean is the boss and terror of the cafeteria and she's also the biggest gossip at the college.
Most students avoid Clara Dean like they dodge homework assignments. But Cleona has a knack for getting on with the staff, just as she does for staying on the good side of her professors. It doesn't hurt anyone, and it makes her life easier.
Cleona watches and waits. Her patience pays off. The formidable Mrs. Dean appears out of nowhere and pounces on a student worker who isn't clearing tables quickly enough to suit the boss. Cleona edges closer while Mrs. Dean berates the hapless employee. The kid scurries off, clutching his tray. Mrs. Dean turns away with a satisfied expression, and there stands Cleona smiling her brightest smile.
"Afternoon, Missus Dean."
The old battle-ax manages a bit of a smile.
"Oh, hello, Cleona. You missed lunch, I'm afraid."
"I know. I was doing research in the library. I'm trying to find a mystery woman. Since you know everyone in town, I was hoping you might be able to help me."
Clara Dean seems to swell larger.
"I'd be happy to help a good student if I can. Who are you looking for?"
Cleona slips out her phone, brings up the photo, and holds the screen out.
"This is her, taken about fourteen years ago. I know I've seen her, but I can't remember where."
Clara Dean leans forward and squints. Then she nods her head and gives Cleona a look.
"Are you sure this is for schoolwork?"
Cleona nods and gives her most reassuring smile, the same one she uses on Moms.
"I'm doing a journalism assignment for Professor Edgars. I'm hoping to interview her for a human-interest story."
"I see. Professor Edgars is one of the good ones. Very tidy man. So, you're looking for Olive."
Cleona is so surprised she almost drops her phone.
"Umm... Olive? You know her?"
"I shouldn't wonder. That's Olive Henderson. She works here. Cleaning staff."
Memory and clarity collide in Cleona's brain. Of course, the silent cleaning woman who never talks to students. That's why Olivia Henderson's face is familiar. Cleona must have seen the woman dozens of times.
"Are you alright, dear?"
"Yes, sorry, I'm just surprised I didn't remember her."
"And you say you want to interview Olive?"
"Yes, very much."
Mrs. Dean snorts and shakes her head.
"Well, all I can say is good luck with that. Olive doesn't have much to say to anyone."
"I see. What does she like, if you don't mind my asking?"
"Olive? From what I hear, she likes vodka, but you didn't hear that from me."
Clara Dean gives Cleona a conspiratorial leer and wink before bustling away.
Following the mandatory family dinner, Cleona reviews her school notes and makes a plan. Part of her homework includes convincing her older brother to buy her a bottle of top-drawer vodka. It pays to have more dirt on your sibling than he has on you. Her brother delivers with a minimum of grumbling.
Even though Cleona knows where to find Olivia Henderson, she decides to mine social media for background on her subject. Her search is not successful.
There are several Olivia Hendersons on Facebook, but none are a match. The same for Olive Henderson. Ditto Instagram and X. Cleona draws a complete blank. Henderson might be using an alias or, she has no social media accounts.
Eventually, Cleona gives up her search and settles into bed.
The next morning, Cleona heads off to her first class with the bottle of vodka packed in her messenger bag. Walking to campus, she weighs out her strategy for approaching Olive Henderson.
Flashing a bottle in the college hallways strikes Cleona as a very bad idea. She could wait until end of shift for the day staff, but there might be too many people. Then she remembers the staff smoking area out back by the dumpsters. She figures Henderson for a smoker. All she has to do is stake out the area after her first class.
Cleona understands the secret of being somewhere you're not supposed to be. Act natural and look like you belong. She sits in the shade under a tree and pretends to be engrossed in her tablet. She has a clear view of the staff smoking area and ample time before her next class.
Over the next hour, a few staff members emerge in pairs and trios, huff their cigarettes and vapes, then hurry back inside. None of them is Olive Henderson.
An hour passes. Just as Cleona is deciding that stakeouts are very boring, a lone woman appears. The woman lights a cigarette and squints up at the sky. It's Olive Henderson, without a doubt.
Cleona feels a knot in her stomach but forces herself to move. She's on her feet and approaching without allowing herself to chicken out. As she walks forward, Olive Henderson stares at her. Cleona pastes a smile onto her face.
"Hello, Miz Henderson. I'm Cleona Floyd."
Olive takes a drag on her cigarette and exhales sideways. Her eyes remain riveted on Cleona's.
"I don't know you."
"I'm a student here at Franklin."
"Good for you. What do you want, Miss Floyd?"
"Well, actually, I was hoping I could interview you for my journalism class."
"Not interested, thanks."
Cleona hesitates. She's not surprised by Olive Henderson's refusal, but she expected questions, or a phony Why would anyone want to interview me?
Okay, plan A is dead, so it's time for plan B. Cleona reaches into her messenger bag and produces the bottle of vodka. Before she can speak, Olive laughs and shakes her head.
"You came prepared with a bribe. That's gutsy."
"I was hoping for more of a goodwill gesture."
"Same thing. And Grey Goose, too. Nice. But I don't accept gifts from strangers, especially underage strangers. Put it away before someone gets into trouble."
Cleona slips the bottle back into her bag, at a loss for what to do next. Olive stabs her cigarette into a butt can, then shakes another from a pack. Desperate, Cleona gives it one more try.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. It's just that I really need an interview for my assignment. I came across your story and wanted to know more."
Olive lights the cigarette and squints through the smoke.
"Lucky for you, I'm not easily offended. The bribe was a bit clumsy, but they say it's the thought that counts. You get three questions, but the clock's ticking. My break's almost over."
"Really? Right now?"
Olive waves the cigarette in the air.
"Tick-tock, Miss Floyd."
Cleona scrabbles inside her bag, finds a notebook and a pen.
"Okay, ummm... why did you suspect Clyde Temple when no one else did?"
"That's easy. He had the eyes of a predator. When Temple looked at someone, he saw prey, not people. I've seen those kinds of eyes before. Once you know the look of a hunter, you never forget."
Cleona scribbles notes, puffs out a long breath.
"You went down into that basement alone. Were you scared?"
"No, I was angry. Last question."
Cleona taps the pen against the notebook. Then a thought comes from nowhere.
"Right. Something about this story doesn't add up. You saved the lives of two teenagers. Why weren't you a hero?"
"A question with some meat on it. Good for you, Miss Floyd. But I'm going to leave it to you to find an answer. You obviously did your homework on the crime, just like you did with the vodka. Try digging deeper into what happened during Temple's trial. That was almost a year later. Trials don't make banner headlines."
"But..."
Olive Henderson cuts her off with a smoky wave.
"Three questions. That was the deal. I'd like to finish my break in peace."
Cleona opens her mouth, thinks better of it, nods, then walks away. As she retreats, she feels Olive Henderson's eyes boring into the back of her head.
Over the next three days, Cleona practically lives in the library. Every hour she's not in class is devoted to researching the trial of Clyde Temple. Reading through the old news archives, she learns how little she knows about criminal trials. The reality is nothing like the cop shows on television.
A full year passes before Temple goes on trial. During that time, police excavate Temple's backyard looking for more victims. Temple refuses to cooperate. The dead victims are identified. Families mourn. Reporters cover the somber funerals.
Cleona works her way forward in time. The trial begins. Temple pleads not guilty. The prosecution has two dead bodies, the two surviving kidnap victims, and Olivia Henderson. The evidence is damning. It looks like an open-and-shut case.
The prosecution presents its case. Witnesses are called and testimony taken. Olivia Henderson is the prosecution's final witness.
During cross-examination, the defense attorney pounces on her. He brings up Henderson's past, citing a history of emotional and sexual abuse the witness suffered at the hands (and more) of her maternal uncle.
Cleona backtracks in time, checks her notes, then rereads the news reports. The judge is a man, likewise the prosecuting attorney and the defense attorney. Olivia Henderson is alone in the witness box. The defense attorney suggests that Henderson had an ulterior motive when she broke into the defendant's basement. She is an angry woman with a revenge motive.
The prosecutor raises objections. The judge cautions the defense attorney about badgering the witness but allows the line of questioning to continue.
In the newspaper articles that follow, Olivia Henderson's status as a hero is tarnished by revelations of her past. Reporters uncover some of the sordid details. From the ages of thirteen to fifteen, young Olivia Henderson was repeatedly raped and abused by her uncle. The cycle of abuse finally ends when the uncle is hospitalized with a gunshot wound. The man claims the wound was self-inflicted, an accident. He moves out of state days after being discharged from the hospital.
Cleona checks her notes against the archives. Everything adds up. She has tallied all the facts: who, what, where, when, and why, in chronological order. And yet something about the story nags at her. Not the crime itself, but the trial. There is a missing thread begging to be tugged, if only she can find the loose end.
She teases the thing back and forth in her mind. Realization begins to take shape. In the courtroom, Clyde Temple, a bona fide monster, was tried for heinous crimes. But another trial played out in the news, the public trial of Olivia Henderson, the state's star witness. Temple was found guilty, but in a way, so was Olivia Henderson. She was guilty of being a victim.
Cleona dives back into the archives, reading op-ed pieces and letters to the editor. There, she finds another story, the transformation of Olivia Henderson from hero to stained victim. And in her reading, Cleona discovers that people dislike a vengeful victim almost as much as they fear a monster. The revelation cuts through Cleona like a sharp edge.
Anger floods through her.
That's not right! No one should be treated like that.
Cleona tries to regain her thoughts in a whirl of emotion. What happened to Olivia Henderson was wrong, but that was more than a decade ago. Things would be different today. Before she can gain comfort from that thought, doubt slices the idea to ribbons. A wave of dismay displaces her anger.
No, it wouldn't be different today. It would be worse. You know it's true. Truth is under attack everywhere. That's why you want to be a journalist. Right, and what does Professor Edgars say in his lectures? A good journalist faces the facts as she finds them.
Cleona shuts down the computer, packs her notebooks into her bag, and leaves the library. She has the story now, a real story about how the news got it wrong. All she has to do is write it down. But first, there is someone she needs to talk to.
Cleona sits beneath a tree and watches the staff smoking area. She checks the time on her phone. A few minutes pass. Then Olive Henderson appears. She lights a cigarette and squints up at the sky. Cleona stands and walks forward. This time, there is no knot in her stomach.
"Hello, Miz Henderson."
Olive takes a drag on her cigarette and exhales through the ghost of a smile.
"Hello, Miss Floyd. Back for a return engagement?"
"Yes. I came back to thank you and to apologize."
"Really? For what?"
"Apology first, I guess. I'm sorry I started asking questions before I understood the whole story."
Olive nods, flicks the ash from her cigarette.
"Apology accepted."
Cleona realizes she's been holding her breath. She exhales, glad that the hard part is over with.
"I want to thank you for challenging me to dig deeper. That's exactly what Professor Edgars would have done. I think I have a much better understanding of certain aspects of the story, more than enough for my assignment."
"Good for you."
Cleona hesitates for a moment.
"And I want to give you this. Not a bribe or a gesture, just a thank you."
She reaches into her messenger bag and produces the bottle of vodka. This time, she thought to wrap the bottle in a paper bag.
Olive gives her a hard look until a genuine smile creases her cheeks. She steps forward and takes the bottle from Cleona's outstretched hand.
"Fair enough, Miss Floyd. I will put it to good use."
Cleona ducks her head and takes a step back.
"I'll be going now, so you can enjoy your break in peace."
Cleona starts to turn away, but Olive's voice stops her.
"Miss Floyd, I'll be wanting to hear how your assignment turns out. You know where to find me."
Cleona looks back. She meets Olive's frank gaze and holds it. Then she nods once and walks away.
One week later, Cleona Floyd turns in her assignment. Professor Edgars gives her paper a very good grade.
