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Victor
I pull my knees up to my chest and rest my face against them as the airport grows smaller in the rearview mirror.
Opening the top news report, I mute the video and read the subtitles.
On the heels of the WADA and USADA closing their investigation into the case of swimmer Victor Lang, their anonymous source has publicly posted images of Lang’s medical records which indicate that the original 2016 blood sample does not, in fact, match Lang’s most recent blood sample. Because the original sample is no longer available for DNA testing, we are unlikely to ever know its true identity.
The WADA spokesperson has expressed awareness of the allegations and reopened the investigation.
I squeeze my eyes shut, breathing shallowly through my mouth as my head spins. How the fuck did this happen? Dad, of all people, would never mess this up. He has too much to lose if someone finds out just how much he’s hidden to save his own ass.
Like the worst kind of dream, the video just keeps going when I open my eyes.
Another anonymous source contacted several major news outlets to distribute a compromising photograph they claim depicts Victor Lang, although this cannot be verified. Due to its disturbing nature, the photograph has not been made public and will not be broadcast without further investigation.
I’m hyperventilating now.
What did I do wrong?
What the fuck have I done wrong to deserve this?
All I did was be born.
Is that it?
Ethan
I walk to my gate in a daze, not sure where else to go. Sitting as far from other people as I can, I scroll through one news report after another that tells me everything and nothing at the same time.
The blood test results should bring me some kind of satisfaction, but I can’t stop thinking about how close I got to hearing the words from his own mouth, remembering the way his lonely eyes burned as they looked into mine.
The TV on the wall over my head plays footage of Victor from the press night in Seattle, climbing out of his Jag. Now that I know him, I can see the terror hidden behind his bright, charming smile.
When the news anchor turns her attention to the mysterious photograph, I fumble out my phone and text Nicola. She answers immediately.
The photo? Yeah, I have it.
Send it to me.
This time, I wait for almost five minutes.You owe me, I fire off.I gave you that blood test.
Chill. He’s your boyfriend, right? You might not want to see this.
Victor
When I convince the driver to pull over at a service station and tell him to buy himself a coffee, I walk around the back of the building and crouch against the concrete wall in the cold wind, trying to steady my hands long enough to connect to the Wi-Fi and open the message boards, firing off private chats to every member I see.
The photo
The photo
Where is it
Where can I see it
While I’m waiting for a reply, I call Ethan, even though I know it’s too late. I’m convinced he won’t answer, but the other end of the line clicks. He doesn't say anything; I can hear him breathing. Maybe he’s waiting for me to do the right thing.
“Whatever this picture is, it’s not me. Don’t look at it. They’re desperate. It’s a fake and they’re setting me up.” I'm losing the fight to keep my voice calm.
