Bradley Cash

Devon and Guadalupe’s first meeting, illustrated by Digital Media Arts College freshman Bradley Cash.

Despite her insistence otherwise, Devon had grown certain Guadalupe did not own a TV. It was the only way to explain her ignorance.

They spent the rest of their brief break swapping questions and answers between bites of ham sandwiches and sips of soda. Devon would suggest a theory to explain the false stories, and Guadalupe would find a flaw to knock them down.

“Maybe it was aliens,” he began, only for his companion to start shaking her head.

She crossed her arms sighed. “No, Devon.”

He heaved an exasperated sigh and shrugged his shoulders. “Fine, then, what do you think is happening, smarty pants?” he asked.

She closed her eyes and recited the words as though she had practiced them over and over for the day she’d finally be able to share them. “I only have one plausible theory,” she said. “These stories are being planted by someone who wants the credibility of the Devil to plummet.”

“So, what, someone who hates them?”

“The fact that these breaches in site security haven’t been caught makes me think it’s someone working for them who is helping cover it up,” she said. “But that’s why I came here, to this internship. To find out.”

Devon rubbed crumbs off on his slacks while he thought. Guadalupe had the good grace to not comment while she wiped her own hands on a napkin. Her eyes fell on the time in the corner of the laptop. “We should get going,” she said.

Devon checked the time. “We have another five minutes,” he noted, ending the sentence with a vicious last bite into his sandwich. She wrinkled her nose in mild disgust.

“To be on time is to be late,” she said, shutting her laptop and putting it away. “To be early is to be on time.”

In the pause it took Devon to process that, she had already packed her things and was heading to the door. She lingered at the exit. Devon crammed the last of his meal into his mouth and, still chewing, met her at the door. He fell into step beside her. As the Devil came into view, they saw a young woman standing at its entrance. As they approached, she lifted her hand to wave. Tied through one of her slack’s belt loops was an ID card like theirs. Hers read EVELYN WILSON and, underneath in bold blue lettering, EDITOR.

“Ah, you two,” she smiled. “Felix has some work to do and it’s my turn to train you.”

“Train?” Devon repeated.

“Well, yes,” she said, steadying her gaze on Devon. “Once we get the basics out of the way, you two will be allowed to submit stories to the site like any other staffer.”

She was a petite woman, a head taller than Guadalupe and a few inches shorter than Devon. Her eyes were light brown and almond shaped, her skin like white porcelain. She looked older than Felix. She reminded Devon of a doting mother with the warmth in her voice and the welcoming look on her face.

“I’m Mrs. Wilson,” she said, shaking each of their hands. “I work with the arts section. Felix asked me to teach you about the editing process.”

They entered the building. Guadalupe passed her bag back to Dakota, who tucked it beneath her desk.

“Working hard, Dakota?” Mrs. Wilson asked as they waited for the elevator. The receptionist barked out a laugh.

“Oh, you know it, Mrs. W,” she replied. “Nothing harder than answering a phone.”

Mrs. Wilson shook her head, rolling her eyes. They entered the elevator. Devon settled against the right wall on side of Mrs. Wilson, and Guadalupe on the left. Mrs. Wilson pressed the button for the third floor.

“Shame about Dakota,” she sighed. “She really is a sweet girl.”

Guadalupe and Devon exchanged glances behind her back. Guadalupe inclined her head, as if urging him on. Devon straightened himself, hoping the few inches he had over Mrs. Wilson would make him seem more adult.

“What’s a shame?” he asked. “Is it that she’s single?”

The woman laughed, shaking her head. “Cute, ah, Devon, was it?” She didn’t wait for his reply before continuing. The words escaped her like a secret she loved to share, a pity she had told a thousand times over. “No, no, I meant that she works here as a receptionist rather than as a writer. She wanted to, but poor thing has no way with words whatsoever. She’s studying hard, I know, but none of her recent submissions show any improvement.”

She sighed again as though this were something that had troubled her often. “She’s a bright girl, really,” she said. “Working the phones, taking notes – I think she’s a little bored.”

The elevator dinged. Mrs. Wilson put a hand over her mouth. “Sorry, I really shouldn’t gossip like that – stirs up trouble,” she murmured. “Things are bit more laidback at the Devil than other publications, if you haven’t noticed.”

She began rambling about the homey, family dynamic of the publication. Devon glanced at Guadalupe. He couldn’t read the expression on her face but, when she turned to face him, she smiled slightly. He felt himself surge with pride. He had done well.

They emerged onto the third floor. In the stapler scavenger hunt, which Devon now suspected had been Felix’s way of allowing them to explore the building, they had grown familiar with the third floor. The layout was similar to the second – rows of desks and a copy room in the back. However, the office area was smaller than the second floor, and a third room to the left of the elevators lead to a break room of sorts – a fridge, microwave and long table along with a coffee machine. Another room to the right had been locked in the prior search – the panel on the door read “CHESTER THOMPSON – I.T. SUPPORT” – which had worried Guadalupe, but Devon reassured her Felix would not have expected them to break in. For whatever reason, they were not to enter that room. Likewise, the fourth floor had been full of locked doors.

Mrs. Wilson stopped rambling long enough to clear her throat. “Welcome to my office,” she chirped. She led them to a desk in the middle row. Three office chairs were arranged around it – one behind the desk and two in front. As they settled in, Devon noticed the desk was littered with photos of two boys with Mrs. Wilson’s brown eyes and dark hair.

“My boys,” she said, when she caught Devon staring.

She took on a more serious air as she handed each of them a colorful hand out on her desk detailing The Editing Process.

“First we have to brainstorm an idea – Autumn will be talking to you about that tomorrow – and get the first draft together,” she began. Guadalupe pulled out a pen from the pocket of her skirt and scribbled notes onto the page. Devon was content to listen.

“Stories are edited five times here. The first is content editing, by the section editor, then fact checking, copy editing,” she continued, listing them off on her fingers, “then content editing by an assistant managing editor, and finally content editing by the editor in chief.”

“That’s extensive,” Guadalupe observed, numbering the steps on her paper. Mrs. Wilson nodded.

“We’re careful with details here, considering how controversial our stories can be,” she said. “I’ve been told you’ve already done some copy editing today. Now we’re going to practice fact checking. Turn the sheet over.”

The other side of the paper was a list of things to check on a site for verification. Some things were simple – knowing to check the end of a website URL for “.gov” or “.edu” versus “.com” or “.org.” Others were more complicated – checking the site for options to contact them and following through; does the number they have listed lead to the company? Fake sites were easy to spot using the tricks on the list.

Next she handed the pair a worksheet. The sheet had a list of facts with three sources beside each one.

“You have the rest of the day to work on this, and you may work together,” she said. “Find each of those facts true or false based on the sources.”

She pointed out two desks in the far left corner of the office, directly in her eye of site.

“You can work on those computers over there. I’ll be here if you need any help or have any questions,” she said. Guadalupe thanked her for the assignment and assistance then sat at the desk. When she left, Mrs. Wilson heaved a breath Devon hadn’t realized she had been holding.

“She seems awfully serious for someone so young,” she mused. “Do you know her well?”

“Just met her today,” Devon admitted, shrugging. He gathered the papers and trotted after Guadalupe. He could hear Mrs. Wilson’s whispers of “Poor girl.” He could already see Guadalupe becoming another story she would tell in the elevator – first the sordid tale of Dakota, the girl who couldn’t write, and then Guadalupe, the girl who didn’t smile.

Whatever the case, he did not imagine Mrs. Wilson was a suspect in their mystery. She seemed like a woman who reveled in discovering secrets, not in keeping them.

He sat beside Guadalupe. The assignment had thirty facts they needed to verify. It was decided she would do the odds, and he would do the evens. However, after a brief fifteen minutes in which he had only determined one of the three sources as false for number two, she tapped him on the arm.

“Look,” she whispered.

Her screen had been open to a word document. She may have been typing out notes of her work, but they had been erased. A new message was appearing on screen, but she was not touching the keyboard.

“Stop looking,” the note read. “Or you’ll lose more than the internship.”

The words were repeating themselves. Guadalupe couldn’t control them; she rattled the mouse and slammed at the keyboard, but the words persisted.

“There’s something like this at my school,” Devon said. “The teachers can take control of any computer just by signing in to some software.”

“Meaning?”

“Whoever is doing this is in the building and on a computer, right now.”

Both of them looked up slowly at the locked door in the corner for the I.T. worker.

“Do you think he’s in there?” Devon asked.

“We can’t let anyone know we suspect them,” she said. “Not until we know more. This could be anyone.”

Guadalupe’s computer shut itself down.

“That’s great and all, but,” Devon shook his head. “whoever it is, they already know who we are.”