The Journalist's Choice

Marcus Stone watches the collaring ceremony from the shadows. I knew he’d come. I’ve been tracking his investigation, reading his articles, studying his movements. He’s been trying to destroy us for years. But he’s drawn to this. He’s drawn to me.

After the ceremony, I find him in the garden. He’s standing in the shadows, his face pale, his eyes fixed on Lexi’s collar.

“Mr. Stone,” I say. “I knew you’d come.”

He looks at me, his face a mixture of horror and fascination. “I had to see it. I had to see what you were doing.”

“And now that you’ve seen it? What do you think?”

He’s silent for a long moment. Then he says, “I don’t know. I don’t know what I think.”

I smile. “That’s okay, Mr. Stone. You don’t have to know yet. You just have to see. To understand. To feel.”

I gesture to Lexi, who’s kneeling in the garden. “Look at her. Look at her face. Does she look like a victim to you?”

He looks at Lexi. She’s smiling, her eyes bright, her body relaxed. She’s happy. She’s at peace.

“No,” he admits. “She doesn’t look like a victim.”

“Because she’s not. She’s a volunteer. She’s chosen this. She’s wanted this her whole life. And now she has it. Now she’s free.”

Marcus looks at me, his eyes searching. “And you? Are you free?”

“More than I’ve ever been, Mr. Stone. More than I’ve ever been.”