by Elizabeth List

Babette Walker was considered one of the TOP newswomen of her day. She had a "hard hitting style" - - a great compliment in the news industry. Her whole life revolved around television and smut. No story was beneath her. The dirtier the better. She recognized, somewhere in the back of her mind, that the ethics of journalism had, shall we say, slipped over the years, but times change. Anyway, that's what she told herself when her conscience pricked at her, which was seldom.

This morning she was covering a rape. The woman was dirty and shabby. Her "boyfriend" was a convicted rapist. What he was doing out on the streets she didn't know, nor care. It was her kind of story. And of course, she would embelish it for the evening news.

The TV crews were crawling all over the sparse, dying lawn. The camera men called to each other, laughing. The scene had a carnival atmosphere. Babette reviewed her notes and began practicing. Her lead-in would be typical: serious face showing concern, voice strong, exuding confidence and the unwavering gaze. Yes, she would be fine. She'd try to get the woman to come out and make some comments.

"Time Babette, time!" Freddy the head camera mam cued her.

Babette took the pitiful woman by the arm and dragged her on to the grass.

"It's alright. You can do it. Say something, ANYTHING, to the TV audience. Tell them what he did to you."

"I, I can't. I don't know what happened - - what set him off."

"Fine, fine." Babette was impatient. "Just say that. Whatever comes to mind. Just remember the cameras are your friends." That line always seemed to work.

Babette had to hold the woman up. She was pale and woosy. It wouldn't take long, she assured her.

And it didn't. But, she got enough to make it "juicy."

That evening, as usual, she set her dinner tray in front of the television to watch herself on the evening news. It sill gave her a thrill to see her cool, efficient face fill the giant screen. The camera moved in to capture the woman's agony and confusion. Well done, she thought. Police cars in the background added to the drama. Then she noticed the children. They were hiding behind a tree. A boy and girl. Funny, she had't seen them anywhere at the taping. Their eyes shone with fear and hate.

Babette moved closer to her TV screen. Yes, they were there and, my God, they were staring back at her NOW - - through the television. She backed up. Something was wrong. She felt it. She felt her skin crawl. She had heard that expression before; now she knew how it felt. And she noticed something else. On the screen, she was fading. Her image alone was slowing being erased! This wasn't possible. Was there a defect in the tape? Nothing else was changing, so what was happening? Reaching for the remote control, she froze. Her hand was becoming transparent. It was fading out, along with the rest of her - - right in sequence with the television image. The children looked back and forth, smiling, as they watched both Babettes disappear into Infinity.

When Babette didn't show up for work the next morning there was concern, but not a great deal. They knew she would be around for the six o'clock news. Last night there was a murder/suicide on the east side.

A real mess. Right up Babette's alley.