Every Crooked Path

by Steven James

  He’ll think you’re friends.

  Francis liked that.

  Hoped it would turn out to be true.

  Once they had their drinks and were seated, Skylar said, “So, what do you do, Francis?”

  He’d thought about this on the trip over, considered how much he should really tell her about his job.

  On the one hand, he wanted to be open and honest with her, but on the other, when you worked at the ICSC, there were certain things you didn’t tell people, things they didn’t need to know.

  For example, explaining to someone that you spend eight hours a day sorting through and categorizing child pornography wasn’t probably the best way of striking up a friendship.

  “I work in technology,” he said rather vaguely. “File analysis. What about you?”

  “I’m an archivist for the Brooklyn Museum.” She sighed. “Boring, I know. But I’m hoping to start my own business someday.”

  “Really? What kind of business?”

  “I always thought it would be neat to sell beads. I don’t know if I could ever make a living at it, but just creating and selling jewelry, handmade jewelry, it’d be nice. Anyway, it’s probably too late.” She lowered her voice. “I’m coming up on thirty.”

  “That’s not too old.” Francis liked how she told him her age, something women normally don’t share. “It’s never too late to pursue your dreams,” he said, quoting one of the past development campaign slogans from the hospital.

  That campaign was Jasmine’s.

  It ended four years ago.

  Her poster was the one right above his couch.

  Skylar sipped her drink and asked Francis about his hobbies and he told her about changing the posters and doing balloon animals for the children at St. Stephen’s Research Hospital.

  “That’s awesome, helping with the kids like that.”

  “I’m not very good at the balloon tricks,” he admitted. Then he added, “Oh, and I’ve started to go on walks.”

  She remarked that she liked going on walks too, even though she didn’t have a dog like everyone else in her neighborhood seemed to have. “Do you have any pets?”

  “No. But I did when I was younger.”

  He avoided dogs at all cost, since there were bacteria in dog bites that could quickly become fatal for people who’d had a splenectomy, like he’d had when he was eleven.

  He didn’t mention that.

  And before he knew it, Francis found himself sharing things about himself he’d never told a stranger before, or even a casual acquaintance—that when he was a boy he used to have a pet turtle and had wanted to be a herpetologist when he grew up, but had gotten into computers instead. “I started off playing video games and it just moved on from there.”

  “Turtles, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  “For me, when I was a kid, it was always rabbits,” she said. “I had two of them.” Then she told him about Hopper and Nibbles and how she’d kept them in a hutch out behind her house in Ohio.

  And the whole time Francis was with Skylar, he didn’t think about missing and exploited children.

  Or even about graciousgirl4.

  43

  When we were back at the apartment, Tessa shook her head. “I seriously can’t believe you just bought an Xbox.”

  “It’s for research.”

  “Riiiiiight.”

  I held up the game I’d purchased with the console. “So, do you know anything about Exo-Skel IV?” I’d picked it out while she was distracted checking out some guy at the store who looked about four years older than her.

  “It’s pretty popular,” she replied.

  “Did you ever play it?”

  “A little.”

  “You like it?”

  “I dunno. Not really. It’s okay, I guess.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Why’d you get it if you don’t know anything about it?”

  “I’ve heard of it,” I said, leaving out any reference to the case. “I figured it was worth a try.”

  As I set up the system, she explained, “It’s a first-person shooter game where you basically play a high-tech soldier wearing this robotic exoskeleton, so you can run superfast and do all sorts of things normal people wouldn’t be able to do—tipping over cars, smashing through walls, deflecting bullets—stuff like that.”

  “And it’s interactive?”

  “Yeah, sure, I mean you create an avatar and then play against other people around the world. There are ways to chat with them. You can share files, techniques. I don’t know, exchange armor, weapons. Whatever.”

  “When I was a kid it was—”

  “Please don’t say Pac-Man.”

  “Pong.”

  “Ha. Even you’re not that old.”

  “Thanks. I guess. Anyway, I was just going to say that with video games it wasn’t such a social experience. If you played against other people at all instead of just the computer, they were right there in the room with you.”

  “Well, games today—it doesn’t matter, I mean, whether they’re first-person shooter games, or strategy games or fantasy games—they’re community-based. It’s not just how many terrorists can you blow up, it’s how many can your team take down. In South Korea they’ll get tens of thousands of people together in a stadium to watch people play video games on giant screens.”

  “That’s just . . . That never would’ve happened with Pong.”

  “Puh-lease.”

  “But it’s crazy that video games have become a spectator sport.”

  “You just say that because in the world you grew up in, football and basketball were the spectator sports. It’s still the same thing—a bunch of people in the bleachers watching a bunch of other people show how good they are at trying to beat other people at something that doesn’t ultimately matter.”

  I’d played sports in high school. “I’m not sure that’s quite how I’d put it.”

  “Okay, then what about concerts? You have tens of thousands of people watching someone bang on the drums or play a piano keyboard. What’s the difference between that and watching someone at a computer keyboard or game console?”

  “Entertainment value?”

  “But people are entertained by watching the games, by seeing the strategies, how they play out, all that.”

  I wanted to refute her, but, to my mild annoyance, I actually found myself admitting that she had a point.

  Once the system was connected and ready, I said, “Show me how it works.”

  She walked me through the steps of setting up my avatar.

  “So, there’s different weapons you can choose, different shielding. Every time you get hit with a bullet or something, it decreases your lifespan and when it reaches a certain level you need to get medical attention, or get a new suit, get repairs, whatever.”

  Even in the video trailer preceding the game, the graphics were stunningly realistic.

  It felt like I’d stepped right into a war zone: the bullets tracing through the air, the spray of blood when they found their target, the brutal sounds of urban warfare echoing all around us.

  She picked up one of the controllers. “On this first level there are six of us and we’re trying to find and then access a house in Baghdad where some terrorists have taken two journalists captive.”

  “And the other characters are played by real people?”

  “Just the infiltration team, not the journalists or terrorists. But if you level-up you can join other teams on other missions. Sometimes you work with them, sometimes you try to beat ’em. I don’t know. I’m not an expert.”

  “A lot of your friends at school play it?”

  “Whoever said I have a lot of friends?” Her defensive tone made it almost sound like she was upset or that I’d just accused her of doing somet
hing wrong.

  “I just mean, since it’s popular. Like you mentioned a few minutes ago.”

  “Yeah, some people are into it. Why all the questions anyway? I feel like I’m being interrogated.”

  “No, it’s just that . . . I found out some people use the game to share files that contain content that’s not . . . well, appropriate.”

  “Oh. Lemme guess: drug drops or porn.”

  “The second one in this case.” I didn’t specify that the images had to do with children.

  “And so you’re, what? Checking into this game instead of people’s cell phones?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I mean, if you wanna share porn it’s a whole lot easier to do it through your phone than through some sort of file-sharing thing from a video game.”

  “So sexting is common among your friends?”

  She looked at me with genuine confusion. “You keep referring to my friends. How many people do you see me hanging out with on a daily basis? Did I win a popularity contest somewhere that no one bothered to tell me about?”

  “I’m just wondering about the extent of sexting among other kids at school.”

  “How much does it happen? Um—all the time. Every day. So what else is new? Girls send pictures of their boobs. Guys . . . well . . . you know.”

  “Do you realize that every time that happens, it’s the illegal distribution of child pornography?”

  “I mean, I guess.” She seemed taken aback by my question. “Nobody really thinks of it like that.” I had the sense that she was going to delve more into that, but she shifted gears. “Speaking of sexting, how serious are you about being with my mom?”

  Although I wouldn’t naturally have moved from talking about sexting to the topic of serious relationships, I could understand how, to a teen today, the idea of sexting and a relationship would go hand in hand.

  “Pretty serious.”

  “Like, moving-in serious? Getting-married serious? What?”

  “It’s a little premature to start thinking about moving in or getting married.”

  What about moving across the country?

  I didn’t bring that up.

  “Is that how she sees things too?”

  “Well . . . I’m not exactly—”

  “Come on. Gimme a break. You must talk about this. You’re both single and you’re not getting any younger.”

  “We’re only in our mid-thirties, Tessa.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I mean. So, are you looking for something long term here or are you just out playing the field?”

  “I don’t play the field.”

  “Well, other guys have told me that they were serious about her too.”

  “And?”

  “And they were serious about getting into her pants, beyond that, not so much.” She folded her arms. “So, have you slept with her or have you two been chaste?”

  Now I was the one who felt I was being interrogated.

  “That’s a bit of a personal question, Tessa.”

  “Yeah? So? Have you slept with her?”

  “It’s really not—”

  “Don’t say ‘appropriate.’”

  “Well, it isn’t any—”

  “Don’t say ‘of your business.’”

  “No.”

  “No, you haven’t, or no, it’s not any of my business?”

  “No.” I figured I’d just answer her question so we could move on to another topic. “We haven’t slept together.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, as you know, your mom has strong convictions about people having intimate relations outside of marriage.”

  “She’s pretty religious, huh?”

  “I respect that about her.”

  “Uh-huh. So’s that the only reason, then? Because of her”—she made air quotes as she said the next two words—“strong convictions?”

  “Tessa, I’m not sure this is all—”

  “Do you want to make love to her?”

  “Do I . . . ?”

  “Want. To make love. To my mom.”

  “She’s very special to me. I wouldn’t want to ruin that by pushing things in a direction she’s not comfortable with.”

  “Uh-huh. But you do want to, right? Just tell me.”

  I could see I wasn’t getting anywhere with this and gave up. “When the time is right.”

  She looked satisfied. “Thought so.”

  I couldn’t tell if that was her way of judging me or her way of giving my attraction to her mother her seal of approval.

  An incoming text caught my attention: Tobin was back in the area and wanted to know if I could come over tonight to discuss the case. Sixish? he wrote.

  You can work on the geoprofile there. No one else knows as much about the missing children as he does. Maybe he can help you with it.

  I was replying that that’d be fine when Tessa said, “Tomorrow’s Father’s Day.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” I set the phone down. The fact of it being Father’s Day tomorrow wasn’t really on my radar screen and I’d forgotten about it until she brought it up.

  “I sometimes think about him on Father’s Day, my dad, you know.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  “And how much I hate him.”

  Oh.

  “I guess you’re wondering what the deal is with him, though, huh? I mean, why he’s not around. And, if Mom’s so into being chaste, well, how did she end up pregnant as a teenager?”

  She didn’t wait for a reply. “It was consensual—I mean, she wasn’t raped. She doesn’t talk about it much. She’s never really told me the whole story, but basically he bailed on us. End of story.”

  Despite her obvious disdain for her father, I sensed that she wished that he would have stayed a part of her life. She said she hated him, but by the way she said it, I got the feeling that she wished she would have at least been given the opportunity to love him.

  “You know.” She picked up her controller. “Let’s play for a while. I think I’ve had about all the soul-baring crap I can handle.”

  44

  Christie came in to find us playing Exo-Skel IV.

  “Hey,” I called.

  “Hey.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw her set a few shopping bags onto the kitchen counter. When I glanced her way, I failed to see an enemy combatant leap up from behind an empty oil drum and he got a shot off at me before I could take him down.

  His bullet slammed into the side of my neck, and my life points took a major hit. If it hadn’t been for the exoskeleton’s energy-infused Kevlar shielding, I would have been in serious trouble.

  “What’s this?” she said.

  “Patrick bought an Xbox,” Tessa informed her.

  “Really?”

  “It’s for research,” I explained.

  “I see.”

  “We went to the Field Office.” Tessa didn’t look away from the screen. “To the museum there.”

  “Well, that sounds nice.”

  “It didn’t completely suck,” Tessa admitted somewhat amiably.

  “How are you?” I asked Christie.

  “Good.” She gestured toward her bedroom. “Hey, can I talk with you for a sec?”

  “Sure.”

  I set the controller down and when we were alone in the bedroom I anticipated what she might want to talk about.

  The Xbox.

  “It seemed like a way we could connect,” I said. “I’m trying to enter into the mindset of someone in one of my cases. I guess I should have asked you first before we started playing this game, though, huh? It’s pretty graphic, pretty violent. Sorry, I wasn’t thinking. I was just—”

  “No, no. It’s okay. I’m sure it’s not any worse than what�
��s on TV.” She seemed distracted. “I’m not mad. I was just surprised.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m going to tell Tessa.”

  “About Omaha?”

  “About the possibility of it. Yes. This isn’t to put any pressure on you. Like I said earlier, I stuck you in an impossible situation and it wasn’t right. But I need to talk it through with her. I probably should have spoken with her right away.”

  “Tell you what, I’ll clear out, give you two some space. Tobin wanted to get together at six or so. Maybe I’ll just head over there a little early to work on the geoprofile and get him caught up on the case.”

  I told her about his situation: that his wife and daughter were gone, and that it looked like his mother was dying.

  “Is there anything we can do for him?” she asked concernedly.

  “I’m not sure. I’ll ask him.”

  “Let me send some food along.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’ll pick up some wings or something on the way.”

  “Please tell him I’ll be praying for him and for his mother.”

  And see? This was one of the reasons I liked this woman so much.

  “I will.”

  “And you’ll be back later, then?”

  “Yeah. I’m not sure when.”

  “I’ll be up.”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  After a quick kiss good-bye, I gathered my things, and as I was passing out the door I heard Christie say, “Tessa, pause the game for a minute. We need to talk.”

  PART III

  Dark Web

  45

  Tobin greeted me at the door to his house, which lay across the river in New Jersey where home prices weren’t quite as stratospheric as they were in the city.

  “How’s your mom doing?” I asked him.

  “Her condition hasn’t worsened.”

  Inside the living room I told him about Christie’s sentiments and that she would be praying for him and his mother.

  He said nothing and I wasn’t sure how to take that.