Escape

“I’m getting out of here,” John muttered, rising from his chair when the teleprompter text suddenly rearranged itself saying that Scarlette’s dress was becoming more revealing. He didn’t care if he was breaking protocol by leaving before break. Either someone had spiked his coffee with crazy pills or the entire station had lost its mind. It didn’t matter, he was done.

Leaping from his chair, John felt a strange vertigo, as if the studio floor had tilted beneath him before it corrected itself. It took everything in him not to turn around and listen to the weather and traffic reports. Something weird was going to happen with Scarlette (and maybe Allison too). He just needed to be gone before it happened.

The camera crew exchanged alarmed glances, and the floor director frantically waved his arms, mouthing “What are you doing?” The producer’s voice crackled in his earpiece: “John? John! What’s happening?” But John didn’t care. The exit sign glowed, promising escape from whatever madness was unfolding.

The door was within his sight. All he needed to do was leave the studio, race home, and apologize to Erin for witnessing the most bizarre news program the station had ever produced. He'd call in sick tomorrow. Maybe for the rest of the week.

He yanked the door open, barely noticing a thin, spidery crack on the glass that seemed to shimmer or the way it shifted from the glass to the door itself.

Then he stepped outside…

And found himself still inside.

The cameras, the lights, even Olivia still sitting at the anchor desk. Everyone was looking at him as if he was the crazy one.

John turned around, seeing outside just beyond the door. His heart pounded against his ribs as he stepped through the door again. And again, he was inside the studio. He ran his trembling hands through his hair, disheveling his carefully styled appearance. Why couldn’t he leave? Why was nothing making sense anymore?

Mercifully, the program went into its first commercial break. While the camera crew busied themselves with adjustments, the floor director, Russell Garrett, was making a beeline for him. John could see the vein pulsing in Russell's temple from across the room. Never a good sign.

“What the hell was that?” he shouted, his voice low enough not to be picked up by the microphones but sharp enough to cut through the studio chatter.

John gulped and glanced at the hallway behind him. “You don't see what's happening?” John muttered. What did he do to deserve this? He pointed frantically at the teleprompter. “Something is wrong with the teleprompter. Olivia and I were saying all that nonsense! The text was changing, rearranging itself!” He hoped against hope that Russell would see what he was talking about.

From the corner of his eye, John could see Olivia watching their exchange, her professional smile momentarily replaced by a look of concern… or was it irritation? She quickly turned away when she caught him looking, pretending to review her notes.

Unfortunately, Russell’s eyes narrowed before he walked around John and pushed him back toward the news desk. “I’ll have someone top off your coffee,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. For a split second, John thought he saw the same shimmer reflected in Russell's glasses. The glasses shuddered before taking on a more feminine, almost motherly look. “You focus on doing your job. Let me worry about the teleprompter."

“But…” John started to protest, but Russell cut him off.

“You’re staying there until the program ends, or you’re grounded, mister!” The words landed like a prison sentence despite how unusual it sounded. As Russell walked away, his dress shoes clicking as if they were heels, John realized with growing dread that he might not have a choice in the matter anyway, the door wouldn’t let him leave even if he tried.

John reluctantly made his way back to the anchor desk, the studio suddenly feeling more like a cage than a workplace. The commercial break countdown clock showed Five minutes remaining. Soon the cameras would be back on him, and he’d have to pretend everything was normal.

Even as reality itself seemed to be falling apart around him.

“Did someone get in trouble with his mommy?” Olivia asked. John couldn’t tell if she was teasing him or genuinely asking. What concerned him more was not knowing which was worse.

She leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger, and grabbed at his crotch without hesitation. Her fingers closed around his throbbing cock through the fabric of his slacks. John yelped. “What are you doing?” he hissed before glancing around the studio, desperately hoping that no one had noticed how shameless she was being.

“You seem so tense, darling,” Olivia drawled. “I could give you a quickie before we resume with the news. A little stress relief, courtesy of your favorite slut.”

“I already told you, I’m married!” John protested. He glanced at the teleprompter, wondering if it was somehow controlling Olivia’s actions. However, the screen remained blank. Maybe it was mocking him. Or worse, this was who Olivia was now. No, John refused to believe it. There was no way that his co-anchor and friend was a depraved slut. The teleprompter was responsible for this, even if it made zero sense.

Suddenly, an intern, a fresh-faced girl who looked barely out of her teens, arrived with his new cup of coffee. She seemed cute, John thought, a fleeting moment of normalcy in the midst of the madness. “Here’s your coffee, sir,” the intern said, her voice soft and demure, as she carefully set the cup on the news desk. John slightly frowned. It wasn’t full. Usually, the interns would have full cups. However, his mug was the least of his concerns.

Before John could even thank her and attempt to regain some semblance of control over the situation, the intern lifted her shirt, revealing perky, swollen breasts. She pressed her nipple against the rim of his cup, squeezing a stream of thick, white milk into his coffee. “Mr. Garrett thought you needed some milk,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion, as if she were simply delivering a weather report.

With that, she grabbed his empty mug and skipped off the set. John stared at the cup of coffee, his mind on the verge of collapsing while Olivia kept feeling him.