Corruption in the Creek

Twinkle lights illuminate the bridge leading to the event center decorated with balloons and streamers. It was Prom, and I had spent the entire afternoon helping my students transform the drab event center into a "Night Among the Stars." Looking at how everything came together, I was filled with a sense of pride. Our school was an online high school, so this event was extremely important as it was 1 of 4 times we held in-person events. With our limited resources and manpower, we still managed to turn the plain cinderblock building into a dreamscape. The building itself was situated in a picturesque park with a small rose garden and a creek running down the side.

From outside, I hear my name being shouted, "Mrs. Fisher, come look at this!" I turned and exited the building and followed the rose-lined path till I found some of my students looking down at the creek. The creek was set in a small gully, so you had to be near the edge to see what was in the creek. While they weren't panicking, I increased my speed, worried about what they found that demanded my attention. In a few strides, I found myself looking over the edge to see several small shiny disks stuck on the bed of the shallow, slow-moving body of water. One of the students pointed and asked, "Are those DVDs?" Working with teenagers can age you quickly. Most of these students were born the year I graduated high school and lived in a primarily cloud-based society. "Maybe they could also be CDs. I would have to see the front side of the disk to know." Observing the creek, I noticed in addition to several CDs/DVDs, there seem to be the remnants of a file cabinet. Folders, a partially broken drawer, and colorful dividers litter the creek bed.

Before I could stop him, a more adventurous student had rolled up their pants and was already wading into the water to retrieve the shiny objects that had transfixed their teenage attention. The student, Justin, beaming with curiosity, placed the disks in my hands. Shuffling them through my hands, I try and find the answer to their previous question. "They are CD-Roms." Justin asked enthusiastically, "What's on them?" Most of them lacked labels, but one of them had the remains of some sort of identifying mark; however, it was unreadable. "I am not sure. I would probably have to put them in a computer to see." Justin looked a little defeated. "I can check them out on an older computer and let you know on Monday." He perked up slightly upon hearing that, and he and the rest of the students finished preparing for the dance. I placed the disks with my personal belongings and did the same.

The rest of the night was filled with revelry and teenage angst. Every year some sort of drama would unfold on the dance floor, but it was usually easy to defuse. This year, we also had some students complain about a man acting weirdly out in the park area; however, when a few staff members went to check, the man was gone. We put extra staff members outside to keep an eye out just in case he returned, but if he did, he didn't raise the alarm. With a growing homeless population, I suspected it was probably someone just looking for a place to sleep for the night. Other than that, the night went off without a hitch. It was past midnight when we finally tore everything down and cleaned up.

Putting the last of the supplies in my car after everything was done and over I couldn't wait to get home and pour myself a glass of wine. Finally, at home I remembered the CDs still sitting on my passenger seat. Thinking it over more thoroughly, I regret offering to put these random CDs into one of my computers. Anything or absolutely nothing could be on these disks. Still, I retrieved them from my car and found my old laptop that still had a disk drive in it.

Booting up the older device, I poured myself a glass of wine. Looking through the CDs, I noticed that many of them seemed to be blank. Not really wanting to spend my night looking at all of these, I decided to only put the one with the smudged label in and hedge my bets. It had been several years since I turned this machine on, so it needed several updates. While I waited, I finished my first glass, so I poured another. 30% complete! This is taking forever and now I am really regretting my decision. For just a second, I close my eyes.

Finally, with everything updated, I inserted the disk and waited for the window to pop up on my screen. The computer roared to life as the fans blew with exhaustion, and the CD began to spin in the drive. The window pops up, and there are several image files, two audio files, and one Word document. I open the Word document first, not really wanting to open an unknown image or video file. On the document seem to be notes of some sort. They are jumbled and hard to read, but soon, a story unfolds. Brentwood, a local chemical plant, apparently has been using the Willamette River as river as their own personal dumping ground. Whoever typed this document uncovered layers of corruption going all the way up to the State legislature. EPA reports had been forged, and numerous local officials bribed. The person even wondered if the corruption went beyond the state due to the Brentwood family's presence in national politics. The image files detailed dead wildlife probably as a result of the dumping. There even seemed to have been a pretty large lawsuit filed against the corporation by several families along the river who may have been harmed as well. Clicking through the files, the evidence of guilt was overwhelming. The Brentwood family or any of the co-conspirators would not want this leaked.

Enthralled at the developing drama in front of me, I almost fall out of my chair at the sound of pounding at my front door. Who could possibly be pounding on my door at 1 am in the morning? Silently, I creep to my front door, trying not to alert anyone that I am home. I peer out the peephole to see a large bearded man in a black hoodie that is pulled to hide his face. When. I don't answer he again pounds on the door. "I know you are in there. You have something of mine. If you give me what you found in the creek today, I will leave." Two glasses of wine in, I almost believed his offer, but thankfully, after years of watching true crime documentaries, I knew opening the door would only lead to death. I am frozen with fear, unable to move. Again, he shouts through the door, "I know you are in there! We have been watching and following you all night. You should have left the disks in your car. You have no idea who you are dealing with. Open up, Mrs. Fischer." My heart pounds as my thoughts tumble over themselves, trying to figure out what to do. How did they know my name? Watching me all night? Was this the man that frightened the students at Prom? What happened to the person who originally discovered all of this information?

My survival instincts kick in, and I race back to my office as the pounding continues at my front door. I pick up my cellphone to call the police, and I realize the pounding stopped. Anxiety overwhelms my nervous system as I try to listen for sounds of retreat. A brief moment of silence is followed by the sound of breaking glass. Terrified, I scream and fall forward.

My wine glass is broken at my feet, and I am not holding my phone in my hand. Instead, I am staring at the still-updating device. It still has 40% left. Laughing at myself, I begin to calm my nerves down. I realize in my exhaustion that I must have fallen asleep while waiting for this ancient device to come back to life. It had all been a dream. The CDs still sit strewn on my desk. Even though it was a dream, I am completely freaked out. I place the CDs in the trash and close the computer. I will just tell Justin they were blank. It's not worth the risk.