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  Memory

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  By L. J. Breedlove

  Published by L. J. Breedlove

  Copyright 2021 L. J. Breedlove

  ISBN: 9798201200596

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase a copy. Thank you for respecting the work this author.

  Disclaimer

  This is a work of fiction. While place descriptions and news events may coincide with the real world, all characters and the plot are fictional.

  Contact Information

  For more information about this author, please visit www.ljbreedlove.com. Email address is [email protected].

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Memory

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Postscript

  Further Reading: Newsroom PDX

  Also By L.J. Breedlove

  About the Author

  Memory

  Newsroom PDX 10

  For all of us, broken in places, who manage to find love and joy anyway.

  Chapter 1

  2 P.M., THURSDAY, JUNE 3, 2021, Portland State University — Ryan Matthews was sitting in the same chair outside the Judicial Code Committee meeting room as he had been a month ago. At least he could lean back in the chair this time. He had coffee. But he also still had the pain meds in his pocket like last time, just in case. Really, he didn’t think his doctor would approve of these long days. He considered trying that as an excuse with his professor tonight, but his teacher would probably ask for a doctor’s note. He sighed.

  In truth, Ryan looked forward to class, he admitted. Master’s level courses were different. Better. Tonight’s was Modern Political Thought. He liked going to classes where he wasn’t the only one who had done the readings, when he didn’t have to hold back — much — in class discussions. He liked Wednesday’s evening seminar Critical Race Theory even better. Whining to himself was just a way to take him mind off this meeting which he fully expected to be a clusterfuck.

  J.J. sat next to him clutching the same thumb drive he’d taken to the professors on the committee last week. He looked anxious, and Ryan was reminded of how young he was. He was still 18, Ryan thought, a kid from the suburbs who was turning into one of their finest videographers. So, suck it up, he told himself, you’re the adult in the room. “You’ll do fine,” he murmured.

  “What if I screw it up? Can they kick me out of school? Kick Will out?” J.J. whispered.

  “What makes you even think that’s even a consideration?” Ryan said startled. He looked at Will Bristol, Editor-in-Chief of Eyewitness News. Will was looking at J.J. too. Ryan almost smiled. He always had to resist the urge to take Will’s glasses and clean the fingerprints off them. Give him 30 years, and he’d have the classic absent-minded, somewhat nerdy professor look down. Hell, he had it down now, complete with suburban dad clothes — corduroy pants, a bit too big, a button-down shirt, that at least, was a good color for him. Ryan had a flash of the body beneath the clothes, and he shook it way. Damn the flashbacks to that kidnapping and torture scene. Damn them all.

  “You two are the victims. The complaint isn’t against you at all,” Ryan said to reassure them both.

  “That’s not what the professor — the math prof —said,” J.J. mumbled. “He said he’d file the complaint himself if we went public about this.”

  Ryan raised an eyebrow at Will who shrugged. He hadn’t noticed that exchange either. “Didn’t see that,” Ryan said.

  “It didn’t make it into the final edit, because that’s when the committee chair showed up and tried to grab my camera. The video got all bouncy and blurry,” J.J. said. “I should have said something earlier.”

  “Not a worry,” Ryan said, comforting him. “Relax. Trust me. You’ll be fine.”

  J.J. nodded.

  He’s growing up, Ryan thought. He doesn’t trust that reassurance completely. He would have last fall. And he probably shouldn’t trust it. Ryan felt like he was going into the lions’ den, and he was supposed to be the adult? When did that happen?

  “J.J. Jones?” Dr. Noches said, as he opened the door. “Ryan Matthews. Will Bristol. We’re ready for you now.”

  The first surprise was that the student running the meeting wasn’t the same chair as last time. Probably a good sign, Ryan thought.

  “I’m Kevin Akers,” the young man said. “Thank you for coming. J.J.? Could you play the video of what you saw that night?”

  J.J. nodded. He found the audiovisual panel, plugged in the thumb drive. As it loaded, he explained how he came to be there. “I wasn’t close enough to intervene, and there were four of them,” he said. “So, I started filming. I knew Will wouldn’t go off somewhere at that time of night, not with Eugene Cathcart. I followed them. Then I lost them. I hid my camera, made enough noise for them to catch me, and they tied me up and gagged me — down in that homeless pit that Randy Daily used as a hideout. They left us there. A homeless man came down to the camp there in the early afternoon to smoke, and he cut us lose. He helped me get Will to some friends’ home. We called Ryan from there. They’d drugged Will pretty badly.”

  The video loaded, and J.J. hit play and sat back down. They watched the 20-minute film in silence.

  “Has this been edited?” the math professor asked when it was done.

  J.J. shook his head. “No, sir.”

  “Why do you say they drugged Will?” the ex-chair said. “I see no signs of that.”

  J.J. looked puzzled. “Did you see him collapse at the very beginning?” he asked. “And then periodically he stops and argues. They made him drink — beer, I think. It was laced with roofies.”

  “And you could tell that from a distance?” the math professor said, somewhat sarcastically.

  Ryan interrupted. “Professor Callahan, were you not given the toxicology reports from the lab? I took both of them up to OHSU immediately. Will’s bloodwork was extremely compromised. He’d been hit with some kind of tranquilizer — she thought maybe a horse tranq, probably when he collapses at the beginning — and then given roofies. The doctor kept him overnight because of it, and then required that he be under observation for an additional 72 hours. I’m sure that was in the original complaint.”

  Ryan looked at Will, who nodded. “I included it,” he said. “Of course, I did. That’s key to the complaint. This wasn’t a prank. They drugged me. Dangerously so.”

  The math professor threw his pencil onto the table in disgust. “Dr. Planck, how the hell did this happen? Why weren’t we provided a complete complaint? The complaint we received was redacted, and we weren’t told? Where was the guidance on this?”

  Why you fuckers, Ryan thought coldly, looking at the ex-chair’s smirk and the guilty e
xpressions on the other two. He looked at Steve Planck and saw him start to accept the blame.

  “Will?” Ryan said gently, and Professor Callahan flinched at the sound. Ryan had taken statistics from him. He was a good teacher, Ryan had thought, especially considering Ryan hated statistics. But he was in the wrong now. And professors who had Ryan in class developed a twitch at that tone in a question. That’s right, you bastard, Ryan thought now. I’m coming for you. “Who did you deliver the complaint to?”

  “The process calls for the complaint to be delivered to the chair of the committee,” Will said. “I filled it out, attached my statement, attached J.J.’s complaint and statement. I walked it over, handed it to the Chair, Richard Cross, now the ex-chair I take it? I had him give me a receipt for it. That’s the process as laid out in the complaint.”

  “You didn’t give it to Student Affairs?” Ryan asked.

  Will shook his head. “Richard said he would take care of it. That he would make the copies so that it came out of the committee budget, not my personal budget. That seemed consistent with what the Judicial Code handbook said, so I took my receipt, and left.”

  “Do you have the receipt?”

  He nodded and pulled it out of his notebook. He handed it to the nearest committee member who happened to be Professor Callahan. “You can see the number of pages on the receipt. And his signature,” Will added. “I insisted on that.”

  Professor Callahan offered it up silently to anyone else. When no one said anything, he handed it back to Will. “Thank you, Will,” he said. “I apologize. I should have been more aware of the nuances of the procedures. I was given the impression that perhaps the document had been incomplete when it left Student Affairs for the Committee.”

  Will just nodded.

  “This process has been completely compromised,” Professor Noches said with disgust. “And it appears to have been deliberately done by the student members of the committee at the behest of their friends who are the subjects of this complaint. Is there any disagreement to that?”

  “I wasn’t in the loop,” Kevin said. “But I should have known something was up. And I shouldn’t have voted to table last month. We could have ended it then.”

  “How do we move forward?” Noches asked. He looked at Will. “Will, you’re the victim, and you as well, J.J. What do you want to see as an outcome here?”

  J.J. just looked at Will and waited. Smart boy, Ryan thought with amusement.

  Will thought about it. “I feel like this has exposed a lot of flaws in the process,” he said slowly. “I support Cinder’s call for a review of the committee by the Student Senate. I understand the Faculty Senate is looking at such a review as well. And if you’ve read our website, you can see a multiple-part story that looks at the inequities in the judgments of the committee. That too needs to be addressed by the committee. Probably should be looked at by the Student Senate and the university as a whole. But as far as my personal complaint goes?”

  Will shrugged. “They have criminal charges pending against them. The possible penalties there are much more severe than here. What is at stake here is your credibility. What do you think should be done to four students — leaders of student government, one of whom is now incoming student body president — who gave a student roofies, tied him up for the night, intending to keep him another night, with the goal of undermining his credibility by dumping him in some prominent place?”

  He looked at each of them. “That is your job to decide,” he said firmly. “Not mine. You are the ones who have other cases to compare this to. That’s why we have such a committee.”

  In the pause that followed, the ex-chair, Richard Cross, pulled out a stack of documents and passed them around. “This is a complaint that I am personally filing against Will Bristol and Jacob Jones,” he said. “For defamation of character: of me, the committee members and the student body leaders.”

  Ryan held out his hand for a copy of it. He looked through it rapidly. He sighed. “What do you allege that Will has said publicly?” he asked. “I don’t see that anywhere.”

  “He filed this complaint!” Richard said indignantly.

  “That’s not public,” Ryan pointed out. “Defamation has several components. Public. Harm to the reputation. False. You’ve not shown any evidence of that. You haven’t even tried to. This primarily says, ‘mom, they’re being mean to me, make them stop.’ That’s not a valid complaint. And you’re asking for expulsion? What was your recommended punishment for drugging a student and kidnapping?”

  “We recommend it be ruled a prank, and that the students be cautioned against such pranks in the future,” said the third student who had been silent until now.

  “Were you a part of this complaint Richard Cross just handed out?” Ryan asked.

  The student shook his head.

  “Kevin?”

  He shook his head as well.

  Ryan shrugged. He tore it up. “It is incorrectly filed,” he said. “It wasn’t submitted to the committee chair. It didn’t follow the timeline stated in the handbook. It isn’t a complaint; it is the whining of an ignorant and malicious fool. Will may not have a recommendation for what is a proper conclusion to this mess, but I do — the resignations of all the committee members, and the suspension of the committee until the Student Senate completes its review of the committee and its recent judgments. I would also recommend that the complaint Will and J.J. filed — correctly, I might add — be sent to the university president for adjudication with no recommendation. It is obvious this committee is incapable of rendering an impartial verdict.”

  “Sure, send it to your pederast,” Cross muttered.

  “And Steve? Would someone please give your student government execs a history lesson on pederasty, and the correct usage of the term? I am fucking done with hearing it!” Ryan said with disgust.

  Steve Planck’s lips twitched as if he was trying not to laugh, and Ryan glared at him. “That can be done,” he said quietly.

  “I move we adopt the recommendations of Ryan Matthews as presented,” Professor Noches said. “That this board be dissolved, pending a review of procedures and past judgments. That this particular case be forwarded to the president for his determination with no recommendation. And that full cooperation be given to the Student Senate and Faculty Senate inquiries.”

  “I second it,” said Professor Corrigan.

  “Any discussion?” Kevin asked as chair.

  “Call for the question,” Noches said.

  “All in favor, say aye,” Kevin said.

  There were three ayes — from the three professors.

  “Nays?”

  Two nays — from the student members.

  “With a vote of 3-2, the Ayes, have it,” Kevin said. “However, as chair? I cast my vote in support of the motion. I would not have it go forward from here looking like a student-faculty split. The minutes will reflect a 4-2 vote. The committee is disbanded, and the case will be sent to the president’s office.”

  Ryan got up and walked out.

  Behind him, Will and J.J. looked at each other. J.J. got his thumb drive and retrieved his camera. “My editor asked if I could collect an interview with the committee chair about this,” he said. “Do you have anything to say?”

  Kevin Akers hesitated, and then he nodded. “It won’t be much,” he warned. “But I will give you the motion that was just passed.”

  Will watched as J.J. conducted the interview. So did everyone else.

  “Anyone else?” J.J. said. “I’m happy to let anyone else speak.”

  Everyone shook their heads, except for Richard Cross. But when he opened his mouth, Kevin cut him off. “Richard? Shut up.”

  Will started laughing, and he walked out. He was surprised, however, that Ryan wasn’t waiting for them. Planck followed him out. “Where did he go?” Planck murmured.

  “I don’t know,” Will said, troubled.

  “It wasn’t an act then?” Planck asked softly.

 
“I guess not.”

  Planck chewed on his lip. “Call me if you hear from him?”

  Will nodded. He looked at the time.

  “Shit,” Will said. “Editor’s meeting. Gotta go.”

  He and J.J. headed for the door. Will paused, pulled out his phone. Sent a text to Cage: Ryan’s upset. Find him?

  Chapter 2

  4 P.M., THURSDAY, JUNE 3, 2021, Portland State University — Cage Washington didn’t have far to look to find Ryan. He was sitting on the front steps of Cage’s apartment when he got home. “This time it was Will who called out the troops to find you,” Cage observed. He sat down on the step next to him. “What happened?”

  Ryan shook his head. He tried to speak, but his throat was tight. He swallowed. “Made a fool of myself,” he said.

  “Not according to Will,” Cage said, who had called the EIC back when he got his text. “The committee adopted your suggestions. J.J. thinks you’re the smartest thing since sliced bread — which may be true, given bread’s pretty stupid when you think about it — and most everyone thinks you did it as an act to get your point across. Having a reputation as a devious bastard has its uses.”

  Ryan smiled briefly.

  “So, what pushed you over the edge?”

  “The pure maliciousness of the students in student government,” Ryan said tiredly.

  Cage looked at him for a moment. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go for a run.”

  Ryan followed him into the apartment, then shook his head. “Shit, I can’t,” he said. “I have class at 6:30 p.m. at Reed.”

  “You can, for a half-hour,” Cage countered. “You’re in no shape to go to class like this. They can put up with some fresh sweat. Hell, at Reed? It will be the cleanest scent in the room.”

  Ryan smiled at the standard PSU jab at Reed students, who were perceived as pot-smoking young men who wore too much black and talked about Proust. Which, except for the Proust bit, wasn’t all that different than PSU students. But still.

  Ryan obediently changed into some of Cage’s sweats, and they headed out for a loop around campus. Cage didn’t talk, just set a pace that kept Ryan too occupied with breathing to brood.