You Reap What You Sow

She had never intended for things to go this far. She never intended to be sitting in a New York luxury apartment, drinking vintage wine, and soaking in her gold adjourned hot tub. She never intended to become a best-selling author, and yet, here she was.

“Ms. Locke, what would you say your biggest step to success was?” reporters often asked. She would always give them the same forced smile. 

“Well, as I say in my book, it's all about hard work.”

But that isn't true at all, is it? No, there’s nothing hard about spreading a rumor or two. She sipped her wine nearly bitterly. She has everything she has simply because she told a lie to the right person. 

She had discovered at the age of thirteen–rather conveniently–that whatever rumor she made up would come true. However, it only worked if enough people heard it. Simply saying it wasn’t enough. Luckily for her, her best friend at the time loved to gossip, and she quickly discovered the strength of her abilities.

She never used them for nefarious purposes. Instead, she would create school cancellations, snow days, get homework reassigned–all things that any child at that age would approve of. In fact, she had promised herself that she would never utter an untrue word about a person. And she mostly kept that promise.

By the time highschool came around, she had mostly retired her powers, instead hoping to create a career as an artist. She poured her heart and soul into it, but by the time she was twenty-five, it simply never panned out.

Hungry, indebted, and mildly depressed, she picked up a payphone to call a local tabloid. She felt nervous, sick to her stomach even, as she waited for the other line to pick up. She jumped as a voice spoke. 

“You’ve reached the office of TMZ. How can I help you?” a soft womanly voice answered. She swallowed. 

“Yes. I was wondering if I could get any compensation for some very interesting information about a certain pop star.”

“Depending on the quality of your information, yes, there is a chance for compensation, though I cannot guarantee the amount. Who do you have information on?”

“Brintney Spears.”

She still winces at that memory, but she didn't have a choice–she was living off of crackers, tap water, and peanut butter. She took another sip of wine. It got the job done though, she was paid a considerable sum. Whenever she needed money, she would call a tabloid and offer information as a “close source” to a celebrity. Occasionally, if they were already widely disliked, she might start a rumor about how they tipped poorly or were aggressive at a restaurant. She slowly pulled herself out of the hole that way. 

Then, she got the bright idea to write a memoir, A Broken Shooting Star, which followed her life through a low income family, her struggle to be an artist, and then, some of the most traumatic years of her life. The book itself isn’t half bad, though some of it is exaggerated. But she was lucky enough to have a friend that loved to gossip. 

“Tara, what I tell you next, you have to keep it a secret, ok?” she began, sitting on her couch, channel surfing. 

“Of course, my lips are sealed. What’s up?”

“You know how I wrote a book?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, it's becoming a bestseller, and it's flying off the shelves!”

“Oh my god, that’s amazing! Good job!”

“Thank you, remember though, this has to stay between us.”

A week later, her book sales began to go up, and nearly a month after that conversation, she was regarded as an up-and-coming author, whose life story was inspirational and admirable, whose book was so well written, it was going on several best-seller lists. 

She supposed she still had to give Tara some sort of thanks, but people like her are so painfully easy to find. Walk down the street or stand on the subway or bus, hold your phone in hand, and see who looks over your shoulder. People like Tara, people who love to gossip, are nosey by nature. They will look. And those same people find a thrill in talking about their “special” information, and will undoubtedly begin to talk. She always knew how to pick these people out from a crowd. It was a gift, but a curse. She found them to be rather annoying.

And so, here she is, Ms. Ella Locke, sitting in her luxury apartment, sipping vintage wine, while soaking in a hot tub looking at the sunset over the city. Remarkable, really.

She took another sip. At times she felt guilty, but others, not so much. Is what she did any different than anyone else? She did only what was needed for survival. At least, that’s what she told herself. 

Her phone began to ring. Ring, ring, ring. She debated answering as she took another sip of wine. Ring, ring, ring. 

“Hello?” she answered, swirling her wine, unamused. 

“What the hell, Ella! Have you seen the tabloids?” Ella’s eyes widened as she set her wine down on the edge of the hottub, her mouth filling with a sour taste. She put her manager on speaker as she googled her name. 

Award winning author Ella Locke a Liar?!

Ella Locke, author of “A Broken Shooting Star”, “exaggerated greatly” according to sources

“A Broken Shooting Star” author, Ella Locke, a liar according to family member

She scrolled through the headlines panicky, reading each title that all claimed she lied in her book.

“What?!” she exclaimed. Her manager scoffed. 

“Yeah, you tell me, Ella! God, this is bad. This is really, really bad.”

***

The TV flickered as they watched once beloved author Ella Locke appear on some cheap talk show, desperate to reclaim her throne. Her hair was thrown back in a bun, sloppy compared to the nice, white pantsuit she was wearing. Her heels clicked as she took her seat, giving an exhausted–and entirely forced–smile to the audience, revealing her eye-bags and hallow cheeks. They turned up the volume. 

“Now, Ella, recently some sources have claimed that you greatly exaggerated–to the point of lying–about certain events in your book. You have posted on social media that ‘while I take certain creative liberties, no detail in my book is false in any manner’. Can you give us some more information on what that means?”

“Well,” she smiled again, looking devoid of emotion, “you can’t really trust tabloids, but some ‘source’,” she said, gesturing with her fingers, “claimed I lied in my book. That simply is not true. Everything in there is written as I remember it, and in the beginning of the book, there is a disclaimer saying that not only are these events as I recall them, but that I used some creative liberties and for the sake of entertainment, some events may be exaggerated. That is my right as an author.”

“But wouldn't you agree that it is still misleading your audience?”

“No. It is my right as an author, and I told them as such on page one. If they don't read it, I am not responsible,” she replied coldly. 

Brutal honesty had always been her supposed best characteristic. They shut off the television, and stood up. They began to pace around the crowded room. Around them, pictures of Ella were taped to the wall, along with clippings from articles. A copy of her book sat next to the television, covered in dust. They paced until they had another idea, one that would beyond any doubt, destroy her. 

They picked up the phone, and dialed in a number. They waited until the phone picked up, and didn't even give the receptionist a chance to speak before they blurted out, “I have pregnancy news about Ella Locke.”

***

Ella woke up before the sun rose, feeling awful. She slowly and awkwardly rose out of bed and made her way into the dark bathroom. She turned on the lights, which were bright and hurt her eyes. She suddenly felt dizzy and her mouth began to salivate as the taste of vomit rose up her throat. She fell to the ground, vomiting violently. 

Perhaps she had too much to drink last night, or ate some bad food. But she didn't feel particularly ill. Aside from the vomiting, she felt fine–she didn't have a fever or chills. Well, she did feel a little bloated, so maybe she just had a stomach bug or indigestion. 

She tried to get up from her knees, but her balance felt off. Her stomach felt firm and swollen. She pulled back her robe and fell to the ground again. She stood awkwardly, nearly sprinting to her room, yanking her phone off the charger.

She frantically opened her period tracking app. 

“No, no, no,” she muttered frantically as she scrolled through three months.

Her last period was nearly four months ago. She cursed. She could have sworn she remembered having one just last month. Wait–she didn't even have any partners recently! Or maybe she did–at least, she must have. Otherwise, she's the new virgin Mary, and she doubted that was the case. 

She began to cry. She didn't want children. She didn't even know whose child this was. She wiped her eyes and sniffled as she called her manager. What was she going to do?

***

They checked their local grocery store to see if there were any new magazines. Their eyes scanned the shelves quickly, looking for anything on Ella Locke. Their eyes traveled up and down the shelf until they saw what they were looking for.

Ella Locke Pregnancy Rumors Swirl as Author Has Been Spotted In Loose Clothing

Ella Locke–Pregnant?

Who Is Ella Locke’s Baby Daddy? A Timeline.

They smirked to themselves a bit, though admittedly they were afraid. The power they wielded–the same power Ella herself had–was frightening. So long as people were willing to talk–and they always are–people like them could control the world. They could alter reality. They picked up a magazine and placed it on the conveyor belt. The cashier picked it up and looked at it. 

“Crazy, right?” she said, gesturing with the magazine. They smiled in response. 

“Very. You know, I heard she’s actually encountering some financial problems right now.” 

The cashier gasped. “Oh my god, really? Why?”

“I don’t know. I guess her book just isn't selling as well anymore,” they shrugged nonchalantly. “Have a great day,” they smiled, grabbing their magazine, and handing the cashier a couple of dollars. 

People like her were so easy to fool. She’d likely never do any research whatsoever, and simply tell whoever was willing to listen about Ella Locke’s money problems. They could see it in the way her eyes widened, the way her mouth smiled slightly at the sight of the magazines. Gossips really stand out. 

They opened their front door, kicking their shoes off as they stepped in. Their house was crowded and dark, but that was the way they liked it. They tossed the magazine down on their coffee table. They never had any real intention of reading it; the magazine was more of a memento, a keepsake, and marker of their victory. 

They didnt know how they came to wield this power, why they were able to mold reality with their words, but it hasn't always been that way. No, this is recent. This gift was something they were given merely a few months ago. It took them some time to figure it out, but they seemed to have mastered the power. 

They almost felt bad for Ella, surely sitting alone in her high-rise apartment, furiously scrolling through the tabloids, trying to make sense of her life. But she brought it on herself. 

***

Ella paced around her apartment angrily. How did the tabloids know? How did they know about her problems before she even did? Her manager had just called her and told her that sales were low, and that she was being booked less and less for signings and speaking. Fine. whatever. That could be due to the recent fiasco where she was accused of lying. But, her bank accounts were also low, lacking money she knew she had yesterday. She called Tara.

“Tara, I need a favor,” she said coldly, as she ran her bath. 

“Ella? What’s wrong?” she asked, as though she were truly concerned and not trying to pry.

“Well,” Ella began, shutting off the water and sitting on the edge of her tub, “I’ve been told that a friend of my–one I consider family perhaps–has been sharing personal information of mine to the tabloids. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?” she asked.

“Wha-what? No! Do you think I would do that?!”

“Of course not. I know you would never,” Ella replied, her voice devoid of any emotion. “But I was hoping you could ask around, spread the word that I know who is doing it. In fact, tell them I want them to visit me. Maybe we can talk things out.”

“Of course! I'm really sorry, Ella. It must be so stressful.”

“Yes, well, I need to bathe. Goodbye, Tara,” she said, hanging up the phone before she could reply. 

She walked out of the bathroom, and opened her nightstand. Within it was a black, sleek box. She opened it and pulled out the cold gun that rested inside. 

***

They leaned against the counter, waiting for the coffee to brew. The machine sputtered and spit as it worked. Ella Locke was smart, that much was for sure. She managed to recover financially because miraculously, there was a problem at the bank. She was keeping the baby because–and they didn't think of this–she was getting more attention.

That's all Ella ever wanted–attention. When they were in high school, she would do anything to be noticed. They had heard she could make anything come true for a price, but they didn't know what that meant. They assumed whoring, or something. No, not at all.

Ella destroyed their life. It happened in their junior year of highschool. Ella, lonely and desperate, was jealous of them because they were dating the person she had a crush on. They were madly in love. In a bitter and jealous rage, Ella had–they heard drunkenly–started a rumor: they were sleeping with their history teacher to pass the class. 

It flew around the school, and two days later, the teacher came onto them, and they couldn't say no. There were whispers, but no proof, so they simply left the class. That didn't stop their relationship; and although they didn't want it, they couldn't say “no” to the teacher. 

It didn't end there. Ella began accusing them of cheating on their exams. They got suspended. Their partner left them. They ended up pregnant–probably the teacher’s–and had to seek out an abortion. They were disowned by their family, outcasted by their peers. They were left with nothing.

The coffee machine spat and sputtered violently one last time as the dark brown coffee steamed inside the cup. They added a ridiculous amount of milk and sipped on their now luke-warm coffee.

They followed her career for years, waiting for the perfect moment to strike back. Who knows where their life would have been if they hadn’t lost everything. They were denied admissions to universities because they were a “dishonest” student. Employers knew them for the scandal with the teacher–especially if the employees went to their highschool.

They held their cup tightly, their knuckles turning white. This gift was truly a blessing–for them at least.

Their head began to feel fuzzy as they slid their hand into their pocket, grasping what was inside. They set their cup down and grabbed the edge of the counter. The world began to spin, their vision going in and out. They fell to the ground.

***

They came to at a place they did not recognize. They were in some sort of apartment building, standing outside of a door. 247 it read. Against their will, their finger pressed the doorbell. It rang inside. 

Their eyes widened. They knew where they were. Ella must have found a way to summon them. They slide their hands inside their pockets as the door swings open, their fingers wrapping around a gun, just barely pulling the grip out of their pocket.

The door opens, revealing a heavily pregnant Ella. 

A shot rings out.