Murdered.
And you’re implicated.
They warned me if I talked they were going to use a ball-peen hammer to put holes in the skulls of my family.
Maybe you’re reading this as a diversion. Perhaps you’re on public transport or you’re at home in bed. But however many weeks, months or years later they’ve arrived, through your Kindle you now possess the words I’m currently punching into the sticky keys of this laptop.
Whether this is an official online purchase or an illegal download, your ownership has doubtlessly been recorded. They can track you as easily as they tracked me.
Maybe they’ll find you. Maybe they are outside right now.
The police are looking for me now but they’re the least of my worries. If I believe the other threat then these words you’re about to read, this compressed and duplicated file, is all that’s left of me.
SEGMENT TWO
I’m hoping you’ve heard of me. Or at least heard of what you’re reading and how it came to be released. I’m Ted Richie, I’m 35 years old and that’s probably the age that will be in my missing persons file.
I’m against the clock and I’ve never learned how to type. I’m using one finger and I’m not very fast. I’m far sighted but my contacts have dried so I’m squinting down at the keyboard. I don’t want to drive into town again. Don’t want anyone to register me. I’ve got enough supplies to keep me away from civilisation for about a week.
This is my insurance. I don’t want to go to the police until I’ve chronicled events and have them straight in my own head. It’s going to be slow going but the days I’m going to take to do this will be condensed by the speed of your eyes.
The only practise I’ve had at this is writing a family blog for three years. Regularly outlining my thoughts for non-existent readers. I suppose I always thought that one day I might collate everything I’d written and give it to my children.
Only one person ever subscribed to my blog. When I looked at their profile the lack of photo or background details unsettled me. I was always careful not to post specific details about my family or upload any photos of Zoe and Jake. But the idea that a faceless person withholding their location had been absorbing our lives and my inner thoughts suddenly spooked me. It was a blog. I was meant to be sharing. If they’d used a photo would I have been more comfortable? Even if the photo and details could so obviously have been faked? I shut down the account. Those blog passages are now just a reminder of an ordinary life I foolishly thought was overwhelming.
Let me tell you something of my current situation. The place I’m writing this is in the middle of some woods. I can’t tell you the location. I have a significant view of water through my window but I won’t elaborate on that either. I’m freezing cold. There’s an old wood-burning stove that’s been lit since I arrived but the place still hasn’t warmed up. I’ve got a mildewed blanket draped around me and the only things exposed are my head and hands.
I’m sitting at a desk under a small window. My backless stool is higher than the bench surface and means I’m hunched over the laptop. Nobody knows I’m here. At least I hope that’s the case.
My small quarters back onto old acorn trees. My window also gives me a view of the dirt track around the water so I can see if anyone else arrives. I’ve just got a tiny lamp clipped to the laptop pointing down at the keyboard so little light is visible from outside.
I’ve got a damp and grubby desk calendar. It’s a thick one that has a life motto for every day. After I ripped off the old ones I found today’s. It says:
Tell a man there are 300 billion stars in the galaxy and he’ll believe you. Tell him a bench has wet paint on it and he’ll still have to touch it.
It’s Saturday 18th August, 2012. What’s your date? Maybe you’re reading this a year from now, maybe longer. One thing is certain; you’re not as scared as I am.
SEGMENT THREE
I know exactly where to start this account but I’m circling the moment of writing it down because I’m afraid that when I put everything into sequential order I might identify the other moments when I could have changed the course of what happened.
My first opportunity was when my computer was hijacked. I’d told myself I’d turn the computer off at 9.30 that evening. There was something on TV I wanted to catch. Repeat of a forensic drama I’d been told I shouldn’t have missed the first time round. I’d optimistically set my box to record the whole series. I very rarely catch up on viewing I’ve recorded though, so knew it was better to actually sit in front of it while it was on.
But I was doing some casual surfing. Something I don’t often get a chance to do. I’d been registering myself on a number of employment network sites but after a couple of hours I was losing the will. I looked at the clock dead on 9.30 and knew that by the time I’d shut down I would have missed the vital opening minutes of the show anyway. I let the box record it and carried on surfing.
Just after 9.30 I was looking up the lyrics of a song on a website. I’d just heard it on the radio I had playing through the computer. I don’t even remember what the song was. Something I’d heard a hundred times before and had the luxury of satisfying my curiosity.
Pop-up ads for ring tones wouldn’t allow me to scroll down the page to see the particular lyric I needed and I kept clicking off them. I kept hitting the mouse with my finger and then accidentally clicked the pop-up instead of the cross. A different window opened and I tried to click it shut.
Next moment my virus protection window appeared and told me, with several exclamation marks, that my computer had become infected. Another box emerged from my taskbar saying that someone was attempting to download files from a remote location so I disconnected the computer from the phone line.
The box remained there so I plugged it back in. My virus protection ran an automatic scan and showed me the results. The box filled up with names like ‘Trojan horse,’ ‘worm virus’ but, more alarmingly, ‘child porn tracker.’ It asked me if I wanted to remove them by updating the software. I clicked ‘Yes’ and was taken to the website of my virus protection software and given the option to pay handsomely with my credit card for the privilege.
Even though the family finances were tight I pulled my wallet out of my pocket. Just having the words ‘child porn’ on my computer made me panic. Before I could enter the number though I noticed something odd. The emblem of the virus protection on the site, a blue and yellow shield, was slightly different to the one I was familiar with. I examined the shield in the virus results and taskbar and noticed that it had also changed to blue and yellow instead of its usual blue and green.
I realised when I’d clicked on the pop-up I’d downloaded malware from the Internet that had attached itself to my virus protection. The site was false. It was set up purely to extract money by scaring people into thinking their computers were infected.
I spent an hour trying to remove it, attempting to run my usual virus protection but the computer was locked. I couldn’t access any other sites on the Internet. It wouldn’t allow me to do anything until I’d paid for the bogus upgrade. At the bottom of the web page were the words Secure International, the postal address of their London office as well as their email.
‘Abi!’ I stared at the screen and waited until I heard the door to the lounge open and her crossing the hallway into my little office.
Abi and I met in 2007 and were married in 2010, although Abi never calls me husband and I never call her wife. We’re both very comfortable with Mum and Dad though. The last couple of years have been very difficult. I was made redundant less than a month after we returned from honeymoon. Since then I seemed to have spent all my time in the office trying to remedy the situation even though I knew Abi wanted me to spend more time with her, Zoe and Jake. I couldn’t relax though. Wasn’t comfortable with her being the sole breadwinner.
‘Any luck?’ She knew I’d been scavenging for employment sites I hadn’t yet subscribed to.
‘Look at
this.’
She was already in her red gingham nightshirt. It was what she was most comfortable in. She leaned forward and peered at the screen through her half specs, circling the strands of brown hair that hung down from her bob behind her ear so it wouldn’t fall in her face. I realised she was chewing something and watched her dimples appear and disappear as she read and swallowed. She sighed. ‘How did this happen?’
‘Can you do a search with your laptop for anything about this company, Secure International. There might be something on a forum about how to remove it.’
She was back half an hour later. I’d tried system restore in safe mode but the malware had appeared again as soon as the computer had connected to the Internet.
‘There’s lots of discussion about it but nobody has posted a solution.’
I rubbed my face.
‘The kids hardly saw you tonight.’
‘I saw them at dinner.’
‘No you didn’t.’
She was right. I’d spent the customary twenty minutes with them but my mind had been on the myriad employers I’d sent my CV to who still hadn’t got back to me.
‘I have to go to bed.’ She stretched and her nightshirt lifted up her body. It seemed like I hadn’t thought about making love in a long time.
That was the last time I did.
Ward 19 (A Parva Corcoran Suspense Thriller) Page 5
