The Mediator by Erica Pensini - HTML preview

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Chapter 10

John is looking at me with a peculiar expression painted on his face and an undefined question finding its way through him.

“Is this really how the Steven Meyers case started?”, he asks at last

“Yes”, I say

John ponders my answer, plays with combinations and possibilities.

“What do you think happened next?”, I ask him

“Carlie Lester finds the story. She remembers you, but she’s not sure at all that you’re making this up. She probably thinks that following the trail you gave her is nothing but a game. She can’t really believe it will go anywhere, and yet she needs out of her present life and she catches the hook”, John says

I smile.

Needing more than his own imagination, John waits for my words. But I too want his story.

“What do you think happened next?”, I ask again

John seems lost for a moment, and yet I know it is worth waiting.

“Carlie doesn’t have an exact plan, but she knows that if she can hook up Steven she’ll be a step closer to putting her hands on esthanol”, he says after a pause

I nod

“When she compares your short stories she notices how you change names…how lethanol is esthanol, how her own name – Carlie Lester – has been translated into Leslie Carson. She envisions that Meyer Stevenson is probably the alias for Steven Meyers”, John hypothesizes

“You sure know how to follow your trails, Mr. Journalist”, I smile

“And so Carlie finds Steven”, John continues

“She does”, I say

“And perhaps she even lands a job in his company”, John speculates

“How does she land this job?”, I want to know

“You’re such a tease”, John replies, laughing for the first time

I pretend to frown, before my smile melts into John’s laugher.

“You want to know? I feel we can find some answers here”, John says, opening my book on a page marked by a small fold on the top right corner

I cock my head sideways, now frowning in genuine surprise.

“Let me read you a chapter you might have forgotten about”, John smiles

I sit back, the expectation flowing within me in rivulets of warmth, as I wait for my own words to reshape themselves through John.