The Editor

Ada looked up at the warehouse, scanning the tall, graffiti-covered walls and rusty bars that stretched across broken windows. The wind blew through her sweater and tossed a plastic shopping bag across the empty parking lot, lodging it in a patch of tall grass that grew from cracks in the pavement. She tucked her coffee into the crook of her elbow and rechecked her phone, confirming the address. This was it, 292 Coffman Street. She started to draft an email to Tammy Herstad, the woman who had interviewed her, when a voice made her jump.

“Are you the new editor?” a woman asked. Ada spun around. The woman was tall and wrapped in a calf-length black coat. A scarf was pulled up over her nose, her glasses fogging with every breath.

“Am I in the right place?” Ada asked.

“Yeah,” the woman laughed. “It doesn’t look like much on the outside, but that’s what makes it so cheap. I’m Kim. I started about a year ago.” Kim extended a hand. Ada shook it, then followed Kim around the side of the building, watching as the slender woman yanked open a rusty metal door. The door groaned in protest, but eventually let them inside. Ada blinked the sun from her eyes and looked around. In the far corner, one long wooden table surrounded by ten chairs sat under the only light in the room. Pressed up against the wall, a plastic folding table sat beside a mini fridge with a coffee maker perched on top. The rest of the enormous room was empty, the cracked pavement stained with various colored spills. A tarp fluttered across a broken window, unable to keep the cold air from seeping into the building. Four other women were gathered around the large table, alternating their attention between their laptops and the manuscripts beside them.

“Ladies, this is Ada, our new editor,” Kim announced, her voice echoing around the giant room. “Ada, this is Theresa, she’ll get you started on your first project.” Theresa stood and extended her hand.

“You guys went all out on the venue,” Ada laughed. “It really is the perfect place for editing crime novels.”

Theresa laughed. “It helps set the mood, that’s for sure!” She led Ada to an empty seat at the table. “There’s a coffee machine over there if you need to refill your mug later, and there’s creamer in the mini-fridge. Feel free to set up your computer while I grab your manuscript for you.”

The others at the table looked up briefly and nodded a hello. She plugged in her laptop and pulled out her case of pens. Theresa returned with a folder and a thumb drive, taking a seat beside her. “Okay, so there are a couple of important things to go over.” Theresa fidgeted with her hoodie string as she spoke. Ada glanced around and noticed everyone else was dressed casually—hoodies, sweatpants, and one girl was in pajamas. She felt a wave of embarrassment about her ironed slacks and curled hair. “First, the manuscripts never leave this building. At the beginning of the day, you’ll get your manuscript from the folding table over there. It will have your name on it. You’ll also have a thumb drive to plug into your computer, where you can make edits, but you are not allowed to download the file. You can’t have access to the manuscript when you aren’t in the building. Confidentiality and plagiarism. You get it.” Ada nodded as Theresa plugged the thumb drive into her laptop. “The wifi password is ‘TrueCrime’ with ‘@’s’ as the ‘e’s.’ Cheesy, I know.”

Ada laughed politely and typed in the password. “So, how long do we have on each project?”

“That depends. Some clients have a deadline, others like to be super specific with it. They pay by the hour for your time, so that’s really up to them. You start at $90 per hour, but over time, your rate will go up.”

Ada choked on her coffee. “Ninety dollars an hour?”

“Our clients like to be thorough. After your first five projects, you’ll have a review with our boss, Tam. That’s when she’ll decide if your rate goes up. It’s all based on client reviews, so you really want to make sure your work is good. You will never talk directly to the client, that’s all Tam, so don’t worry about customer service or anything like that.”

Ada nodded, doing math silently in her head. She lowered her voice and whispered, “Sorry if this is too forward, but ninety for an editor—”

Theresa raised her hand. “The second rule is not not question it. We do our jobs, and we do them well. Our clients believe in our work, and that’s why we get paid so well. I think it’s just super-rich people who want to write, but are terrible at it. You’ll see, some of the writing is garbage. It takes a lot of work.”

Theresa stood, “That’s pretty much it! You set your own hours between 9 a.m. and 5 p.m. Feel free to come in and work as much or as little as you’d like; you just have to get at least twenty hours in per week. At the end of the day, make sure your computer is clear of manuscripts and put everything back on the desk.”

“Okay,’ Ada nodded, ‘While editing, are we helping with imagery, grammar, and all that?”

“You’re welcome to do grammar and imagery, but most of the clients are just looking for plot and believability. It’ll say on the first page.”

“Oh, perfect! Thanks!”

“No problem! Let me know if you need anything!” Theresa returned to her spot at the table and put on her headphones. After one final wave at Ada, she began typing. Ada opened the folder and started to read through the manuscript. Theresa was right; the writing was shabby at best. It was littered with grammatical errors, and the protagonist, a murderer, was overly cocky about their crime. Ada scribbled her edits in the margins, pointing out all the places the police would have caught the protagonist. The crime reminded her of a case she had worked on before. After spending four years in the police force, she had been fired for a novel she was writing. The details of her fictional crime were too similar to a case still under investigation. A month before it was set to publish, she let a coworker read it. The next week, she was fired, and her book’s publication date was indefinitely postponed. While she would prefer to be writing her own pieces, editing felt almost like the next best thing. She made suggestions on the author’s character, pointed out that the character was not wary enough of security cameras, and even suggested adding a second character who could take the fall for the murder.

She jumped when Theresa tapped her shoulder. “Hey, the rest of us are heading out for the day. It’s almost five.” Ada glanced at the time on her screen—4:50.

“Oh my gosh! I was just so in the zone.” Theresa laughed and helped her pack up her things. “So we just leave all this on the folding table over there?”

Theresa nodded. “Yep! When you’re ready for it to go to Tam for approval, you’ll leave it here on the big table, but if you’re still working on it, it goes over there.”

***

When Ada opened her first paycheck, she couldn’t believe her eyes. After only working on the project for two weeks, she was able to pay off her car and cover her rent for the rest of the month. She worked as many hours as she could, finishing projects in record time. When it came time for her review, she passed it with flying colors, and her rate jumped to $120. After a few months, she was able to move into a nicer place, pay off her mom’s debt, and start a savings account for the first time in her life. Each manuscript was similar, mainly looking for believability, less concerned with grammar, and almost always looking for a way for the protagonist to get away with a crime. Ada found it fascinating to work ‘cases’ from the other side, even if they were just fictional. She became good friends with the other girls, and even though it was against company policy to meet up outside of work, she invited almost all of them over for drinks at her place every Thursday. Kim was the only one who never came.

As they were leaving work one day, Theresa grabbed Ada’s elbow and pulled her behind her car. “Ada, I need to talk to you.” She was serious, her body tense, and her eyes searched the parking lot behind Ada. “But we can’t talk here. It’s not safe.”

Ada pulled her arm away from Theresa. “What do you mean, it’s not safe?”

“It’s just—” Theresa looked back over her shoulder. “Look, can you meet me later tonight? Holiday Park at nine? Let’s meet on the bench by the pond. You know, the one across from the gazebo?”

“Sure, but Theresa,’ she put a hand on her friend’s shoulder, ‘you’re kind of scaring me. Are you okay?”

“Just meet me there.” Theresa pulled away and climbed into her car. She turned on the engine and sped out of the parking lot, nearly missing Kim, who was walking around the side of her car.

“What’s up with her?” Kim asked.

“I don’t know. She seems spooked by something. She said something about wanting to meet up later tonight and that we couldn’t talk here,” Ada said.

Kim tilted her head slightly. “That’s odd. Where are you meeting her? Want me to come?”

“We’re meeting at Holiday Park around nine, but she probably wants to talk alone. With her being this jittery, I don’t want to put her off by bringing another person. Thanks, though.”

“No problem. You’ve got my number if you need anything, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh hey!” Kim said, walking over. Kim was usually polite, but she seemed overly friendly today. She put an arm around Ada’s shoulders and gave it a squeeze. “Six months! That’s a big deal!”

***

As she walked down the hallway to her apartment, she sifted through a stack of mail. Mostly junk, but she opened one—her mom’s medical bill. Walking into her apartment, she sat down at her computer and paid it. Ada sat back and laughed. Last year, these bills took every cent she had. She would wait until their due dates to pay them, surviving off bags of chips and cans of tuna from the dollar store. Now, she didn’t even have to hesitate. The money left her account without leaving a dent. She picked up her phone, thinking of giving her mom a call, but it was already too late. The care facility where her mom lived had a cutoff time for phone calls. Instead, she warmed up a plate of leftovers and curled up with a blanket on her couch.

Ada rubbed her eyes. She read the ‘Are you still watching?’ message on her TV screen. She tapped her phone screen and jumped! 9:05! Ada grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder as she raced down the steps to the parking garage. She drove to the park, searching the darkness for Theresa.

When she finally saw a figure by the bench, Ada waved. “I’m so sorry I’m late! I fell asleep while eating dinner!” The figure waved back. Ada laughed and said, “We edit crime novels for a living, maybe we shouldn’t be meeting in a dark park? Seems kinda like a setting we know all too well for murder.”

Theresa didn’t laugh. “Ada, we aren’t editing crime novels.”

“Yes, we—”

Theresa grabbed Ada’s hand. “You have to listen to me. Ada, we are helping people plan their crimes. There’s a guy who just got caught for committing the exact crime I edited last month. After his arrest, Tam pulled me into her office, and my rating went down. She said a client wasn’t happy with my work. Ada, we are teaching people how to commit murder, how to rob people, how to hide bodies!”

Ada shook her head and squeezed Theresa’s hand, trying to calm her down. “Theresa, maybe it was a copycat—someone who liked your author’s writing.”

“But it’s not published anywhere! No one could have read it except the author! Plus, I started looking into other cases I’ve worked on. Almost every single crime matched something in the real world. A lot of the cases are unsolved, but the evidence matches. Evidence I told people to plant!”

“So, you’re saying we edit people’s crimes and then they commit them? That doesn’t seem—”

“Why do you think we get paid so much?”

Before Ada could answer, Theresa’s hand flew to her throat. She gasped for air, as she fell to the ground. “Theresa!” Ada dropped to her knees beside her friend. She watched Theresa’s body convulse before it went limp, as if someone had just turned off the power. “No, no, no. Theresa!” Ada’s hands searched her pocket for her phone, finally finding it and pulling it out. She tapped on the screen, but then it was snatched from her hand.

“Hey!” She screamed before a hand clasped over her mouth.

“Shhhh. It’s Kim.”

Ada shoved Kim’s hand away. “Kim, we need to call 911. Theresa’s not breathing!”

“We aren’t going to do that.”

Ada opened her mouth but couldn’t form words. She watched as Kim shoved Ada’s phone into her pocket. Kim pulled out a wipe and knelt beside Theresa, wiping down Theresa’s hands and face. She was wearing latex gloves. “Did you touch her anywhere else?”

Ada just stared at her.

“Ada! Did you touch her anywhere else?”

Ada shook her head. She watched Kim place the wipe in a plastic bag and shove it into her pocket. Kim sighed and brushed a strand of hair from Theresa’s face.

“Did you do this?” Ada finally asked.

“I’m sorry. I know she was your friend.” Kim took off the gloves, placing them in a separate bag.

“Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“What she was saying.”

Kim sat back and looked at her, her jaw tightening. She looked down at Theresa and frowned before meeting Ada’s gaze. “Are you sure you want to know?”