The Reporter Who Knew Too Much - He Escaped The Prison… But Not The Past
A journalist returns home with secrets that refuse to stay buried
Story: S A Spencer
Author of Popular Fictions: The Pink Mutiny, The Black Waters, Dream In Shackles
The storm rolled over Sydney Airport like a living thing,
rattling the glass panels above the arrivals gate. Tiffany stood among the
crowd, her fingers tightening around the photo of Jerry she’d carried for five
years. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, but her pulse drowned everything
out. She kept her eyes fixed on the sliding doors, waiting for the man she’d
loved since she was twenty‑one — the man she’d last seen boarding a flight to
Sambora with a backpack and a grin.
A news ticker flickered above her head: Foreign journalist
released after five years in Sambora prison.
Her stomach twisted. Released. Not rescued. Not cleared.
Just… released.
Ava tugged her hand. “Mum, is he here yet?”
“Any minute now, sweetheart.”
The doors slid open. A group of passengers spilled out,
dragging suitcases, hugging relatives. Then she saw him.
Jerry.
He was thinner, his hair longer, his eyes darker — like
someone had turned the brightness down on his soul. He scanned the crowd with a
strange, searching look, as if expecting danger instead of family. When his
gaze landed on her, something flickered — relief, fear, disbelief — she
couldn’t tell.
He stepped forward, but before he reached her, his knees
buckled. Tiffany lunged, catching him as he collapsed. Paramedics rushed in,
lifting him onto a stretcher. As they strapped him down, she saw it — a small
tattoo on his wrist, a symbol she didn’t recognise. A circle with three
slashes.
She’d never seen it before.
And Jerry had never had a tattoo.
The stretcher rolled away, leaving Tiffany frozen in the
middle of the airport, the storm outside pounding against the windows like a
warning.
Jerry woke in the hospital hours later, blinking at the
ceiling lights. Tiffany sat beside him, Ava curled asleep on her lap. He turned
his head slowly, as if it hurt.
“You came,” he whispered.
“Of course I did.”
“They said you’d forgotten me.”
Her breath caught. “Who said that?”
He didn’t answer. His eyes darted around the room, tracking
shadows. When a nurse walked in, he flinched so hard the bed rattled.
Ava stirred, rubbing her eyes. When she saw Jerry, she shrank
back against Tiffany.
Jerry’s face crumpled. “She’s scared of me.”
“She just needs time,” Tiffany said softly.
But even she wasn’t sure.
Later, when Jerry slept, Tiffany opened his bag to find
clothes, a notebook, and — tucked beneath a shirt — a cheap burner phone. The
screen lit up with a single message.
Deliver the files or they’ll come for her.
Her blood ran cold.
Her? Ava? Or… her?
She turned to look at Jerry. His face twitched in his sleep,
as if he were fighting something inside his dreams.
Jerry’s nightmares bled into the days. He avoided mirrors,
covered the windows, and scribbled in his notebook for hours — symbols,
coordinates, fragments of sentences. Sometimes he muttered in Samboran, a
language he’d never spoken before.
One night, Tiffany woke to the sound of him whispering.
“Don’t hurt her… I’ll finish it… I’ll finish it…”
She sat up, heart pounding. “Jerry?”
He didn’t hear her. His eyes were open, but he wasn’t awake.
The next morning, she called Daniel, his former producer. He
answered on the first ring.
“Tiff… I was hoping you wouldn’t call.”
“What’s going on?”
Daniel exhaled shakily. “Before Jerry was arrested, he sent
us encrypted footage. Something big. Something dangerous.”
“What kind of footage?”
“The kind governments kill for.”
Her hand tightened around the phone. “Did Sambora know?”
“They knew enough.”
“And the files?”
“Gone. Someone wiped our servers.”
Tiffany looked at Jerry’s notebook on the table — the
coordinates, the names, the frantic handwriting.
“Daniel… I think Jerry brought something back.”
Silence.
“Tiff… if that’s true, you need to be careful.”
She hung up, her pulse hammering. When she turned, Jerry was
standing in the doorway, watching her with hollow eyes.
“Who were you talking to?”
“Daniel.”
His jaw clenched. “Don’t trust him.”
“Jerry, what did you bring back?”
He didn’t answer. He just walked past her, muttering under
his breath.
That afternoon, Ava’s school called.
“A man came asking for her,” the receptionist said. “He said
he was a family friend.”
Tiffany’s knees nearly gave out.
That night, she confronted Jerry.
“What did you bring back from Sambora?”
He stared at the floor. “Evidence.”
“What kind of evidence?”
“War crimes. Executions. Things they wanted buried.”
“Where is it?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. Someone switched my bag at
the airport.”
Before she could respond, a crash echoed from the living
room. Tiffany grabbed Ava and ran to the hallway. Jerry sprinted ahead,
tackling a shadowy figure near the window. They struggled, knocking over a
lamp. The intruder’s sleeve rolled up, revealing a tattoo.
The same symbol as Jerry’s.
Jerry froze.
The intruder slipped away, disappearing into the night.
Jerry sank to the floor, shaking. “They marked me,” he
whispered. “I’m one of them now.”
Tiffany didn’t sleep. She sat at the kitchen table, staring
at Jerry’s notebook. One phrase repeated over and over:
Trust no one. Not even me.
Her hands trembled as she opened Ava’s toy box to pack a bag.
A small wooden doll fell out — Ava’s favourite. Something rattled inside it.
She pried it open.
A microchip slid into her palm.
A label etched on its surface: Operation Geronimo.
Her breath hitched. Jerry hadn’t hidden the files in his bag.
He’d hidden them in their daughter’s toy.
By morning, the authorities arrived — suits, badges, cold
eyes.
“We need the chip,” one said. “It’s a matter of national
security.”
Jerry stepped between them and Tiffany. “Don’t give it to
them.”
“They’ll kill us,” she whispered.
“They’ll kill us either way.”
Ava clung to Tiffany’s leg, crying.
The officer stepped forward. “Mrs. Clarke, hand it over.”
Tiffany looked at Jerry — the man she loved, the man she
feared, the man she no longer fully recognised.
Then she grabbed Ava, bolted through the back door, and ran.
Sirens wailed behind them. Jerry didn’t chase her. He just
stood in the doorway, a faint, broken smile on his lips.
“Now they’ll know too much,” he whispered.
Weeks later, the footage leaked online — massacres, torture,
political executions. Sambora’s regime collapsed under global outrage.
Jerry was found dead in his apartment, a note beside him.
Freedom has a price.
Tiffany watched the news broadcast from a motel room, Ava
asleep beside her. The world finally knew the truth.
But she would never know whether Jerry had betrayed them…
…or saved them.
✒️🖋️ Author’s Note This story is a work of fiction.
All characters, places, governments, and events are entirely imaginary. Any
resemblance to real people or situations is purely coincidental.
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