Freyja needed time to process. She walked up the street and across the slushy plaza and into Fairmont Waterfront Hotel. The lobby offered spectacular views of Burrard Inlet toward the North Shore Mountains though right now snow squalls obscured the peaks. Freyja chose one of the tasteful groupings of furniture, the furthest away from the watchful eyes of the desk staff, sloughed her backpack on a love seat and sat beside it.
She opened her backpack and took out her camera. An hour ago she hoped her pictures of the massacre would catapult her from nobody to notoriety, from foundering to famous with international coverage in the media and viral exposure on the web. Now her motivation for publishing the photographs had changed. Her photos would prove what she saw, despite the spin applied by the government. She owed it to herself to get them out there. More than that, she owed it to the victims.
If she became famous as a result, well, that wouldn’t be a bad thing.
Freyja flipped open the slot, inserted the memory card, and turned it on the camera. The Canon beeped to life. She pressed the playback button and the LCD monitor illuminated with the message:
‘No pictures or videos to display on memory card.’
She sucked in her breath, blinked and read the message again. “Oh, no.
Her stomach began roiling like it was descending the first hill of the giant rollercoaster. Her hands shook as she switched the camera off, plucked open the slot, and examined the card. She reinserted it, made sure it was secure, and repeated the procedure.
Nausea swept over her. She bent over, grabbed her knees, and took deep breaths. What had happened? She’d given the memory card to Warren so they could view the photos on his computer and left it with him when she’d gone to the cafeteria. On her return she’d been hustled into the boardroom. During that time someone must have deleted the images. Whether or not the photos still existed didn’t much matter. They sure as hell weren’t going to be made public.
Freyja took deep breaths. What do you do when your once in a lifetime opportunity has been wiped out? Get back in line, she imagined. It wasn’t like anything worse could happen.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish