by Mike Gomes
“Let’s get one thing clear. I pay them for their work and I will say what they are called and whether they keep or lose their jobs. Not you. This is still my home, and from what I can see you have not contributed one dime to it, leaving you without a say in anything.”
“He’s against us. He doesn’t understand,” whispered the voice from the back of Calvin’s head.
“I don’t need anything to eat!”
Looking down at the desk John Wise stopped before saying what he was about to say. “Why do you have a laptop? Didn’t the lawyers make it completely clear to you that using a laptop is nothing but trouble for you? Why are you taking this kind of risk this close to winning a trial?”
“A friend got it for me, okay!” screamed Calvin standing up from his chair. “Why do you have to know everything about my life? Can’t you just trust me? I am a grown man, for god’s sake.”
“A grown man who was just on trial for killing a woman. Without me and my lawyers convincing them it was an accident you would be in prison right now!” raged the older man. “You better not be going back on one of those sites they tracked back to you. If you do, you know they will come looking for you.”
Taking a couple of steps closer to his father Calvin lifted his two hands to the side of his head. “I said I didn’t want anything to eat! Now leave me alone!”
Calming his tone and the volume of his voice Calvin’s father put his hand on the doorknob of the room. “I got you off once, saved you from a lifetime in prison. I am not going to do it again. If you kill anyone you’re going to have to face the music yourself.” Closing the door softly behind him, he left Calvin standing motionless in the room.
“He wishes you were dead. He wishes he had another son,” whispered the voice deep inside the young man’s head. “He doesn’t understand what we are doing. He doesn’t understand how we are helping, spreading love and releasing the women from the sins of their mind and body. He’s a problem.”
Picking up his glass from the table he threw it hard against the door and yelled, “Shut up! I know!”
Grabbing the laptop off the desk he ripped the charger from the wall and stormed over to his bed. Flopping down, he opened up the screen to see that it still held his place.
“Why do you bother? The girls are never interested in you. They like me. I tell you what to say and how to say it. I am like Cyrano de Bergerac. You are just the lump of clay I talk through. You’re nothing,” mocked the voice that sounded angrier with each passing word.
“I will find one and I will give her my love, and you will see who the real ladies’ man is,” Calvin insisted, flipping through the various faces on the website.
“To do that you will need some courage, and we both know you have none of that. I have all of that.”
“I can do it. Just watch and see. Then you will have to eat your words just like all the rest. No more give Calvin the easy job. Make sure Calvin is safe. That’s too much for Calvin to do. I can do stuff, and everyone is going to see that.”
Placing all his attention onto the screen of the laptop he became fully invested in what was on the display. Looking at the different faces he started to mutter to himself as if he were having conversations with the different profiles he came across.
“Whore!” he shouted, followed by, “Slut!”
“These women have no souls. They have no idea what love is. They have no idea what it is to fully give everything to your love, even down to your last heartbeat. That’s love, when you let the other person squeeze the last breath from you. They need to know.”
“Find one,” the voice whispered from far away.
Clicking from one picture to the next he finally locked his eyes on the screen and fell motionless. Raising his hand, he brushed the picture on the screen with his fingertips and then moved them up to his lips.
“I wonder if you remember me?” he said with his voice trembling. “It’s been a long time.”
The picture on the screen showed a young blonde woman with dark eyes. Her face was lightly made up and she wore a gentle, soothing smile across her face. To the side of the picture the demographic information stated she lived in Boston and grew up in the area. Her hobbies were working out and helping others. She stated that she wanted to start as friends with someone and then see what happened. Her name was Victoria and she was online.
“Oh, Victoria, do you remember me from high school? I remember you. You were smart and a cheerleader. Never had time to look at a guy like me. You just sat a few seats away, chatting with the popular kids but never turning your head to even look down your nose at me! I was nothing to you, but look at you on this site with all the other sluts and whores! You need to know what love is! You need to know how much I used to think about you, wishing you would just talk to me! You need to give me all of your love and be set free!”
Punching hard down on the bed, hot tears built up in his eyes and made it hard to see the keyboard.
“Little soldiers don’t cry. Little soldiers don’t cry. Little soldiers don’t cry...”
The cursor moved over the button that flashed with the words, “flirt now”. His hand reached up and wiped the tears still in his eyes as he continually repeated his mantra to stop them falling. His finger rested on the enter button and pushed it down, popping up a dialog box with a flashing cursor inside it.
“Hi,” he typed, waiting to see if there would be any response. He stared at the screen counting each second pass by.
Then it came.
“Hi. I like your profile pic.”
Chapter 10
With the collar of his overcoat pulled up to block the wind from chilling his neck Falau hustled across the Quad of Tridon College in downtown Boston. Fall had started to give way to winter and the trees had dropped their leaves. The city’s small animals were preparing for their annual hibernation, as would the students in a few short weeks for their winter break.
The big man was doing his best to look the part of the college professor. Wearing a button-up shirt and a sports jacket with jeans and boat shoes gave him the perfect cover for the out-of-touch and out-of-style perennially challenged college lifer. He even sported wire-rimmed glasses, a la John Lennon. His hair was slicked back, his face unshaven for one day. A simple black backpack was slung over his shoulder. Crossing in front of a window he caught sight of himself and smiled, thinking that if it were not for so many things, maybe he could have turned out this way. But he doubted it.
Cutting across the grass towards the library he hopped over a small sign that read, Keep off the Grass. A few students shot dirty looks his way, and one chirped up, “Read the sign.”
Stopping in his tracks he turned and looked at the sign then back to the students. “Why don’t you go form some kind of protest against us grass walkers before someone forces you into the real world.”
The students froze, staring at who they assumed to be a professor, but his disposition was all wrong. He was aggressive and confrontational, and clearly had no interest in appeasing them or apologizing for what they felt was wrong.
“If you don’t have anything to say you shouldn’t just stand there. You might catch a cold,” shot Falau, pressing on the students as he saw them visibly struggle to comprehend what he was saying.
“Come on,” said one of the kids, and the others followed, muttering expletives about the man they’d just met and his sin against the college.
Watching them walk away Falau realized he could have just blown his cover. He knew the confrontation was a mistake and that he had to gain control of his emotions. The cover of being a college professor had to go beyond just his appearance, and he had to be able to pull it off in one-on-one conversations. If he were to be successful at this, he knew he had to play the part in every way.
“No need to let Tyler know about that one,” he muttered to himself while climbing the steps of the library.
Entering the building he was met with a beehive of activity. It was far from the old-town librar
ies he was used to. The building was modern with natural light coming in from all sides. Just inside the front door the ceiling rose four floors, creating balconies on each floor retained by glass rails. Stairways and elevators rose from the central lobby area. To Falau the room felt more like a business office than a library, but he knew that this level of education and school was always out of his reach, both socially and financially.
Flashing his faculty ID at the student sitting at the desk reading a textbook, he walked by without pausing, just as Tyler had instructed him to do. The plan was simply to act like he owned the place so nobody would stop him. Falau smiled, remembering that Tyler added that the same behavior worked when traveling and when needing to use the restroom in a restaurant you weren’t eating at.
Entering the elevator he hit the button for the fourth floor and stood silently with a few students, who smelled of marijuana and did their best not to make eye contact with him. The doors opened and they burst through the opening, not offering to let the older man go first. Falau sighed at the indiscretion and exited the elevator.
Strolling around the mezzanine perimeter of the floor Falau could see that there were students in all areas. A few were complaining about a final they had the next day, shedding light on why the library was so full in the first place.
Coming upon a door marked ‘Electrical Closet’, he reached for the door, only to find it was locked. However, the pull on the door from Falau’s strong arm shattered the silence of the room and caused some of the students to look up at the man trying to enter a closet.
Flashing a quick smile and nodding his head as if to say sorry for the disturbance, his hands searched his pockets for the key. Finding it, he slipped it into the door and turned, as the heads of the students shook with disgust.
Closing the door behind him he quickly took inventory of everything in the small room. A locked circuit breaker. Exposed wire. A tall stool. A thin desk and a pair of pliers left by one of the maintenance men working at the university.
Placing his backpack on the desk he pulled the zipper open to expose the full inside of the pack. At first glance it looked as if the pack was filled with files and student papers. Under the papers were the tools of his trade for the night. A lock picking kit, soldering iron, various cables, clamps, and his 9mm handgun.
Looking at the electrical box he saw that the lock was simple in design and picked up the lock picking kit. Sliding in the two wire strands he slowly felt his way, depressing the areas that would fit the design of the proper key. Bracing the metal strands, he twisted the lock and it popped open without a problem.
“Not bad for the first time in fifteen years,” whispered Falau, smiling at the easily completed job.
Looking over the insides of the electrical box he made out wires for basic lights and outlets, but there were also wires for computers and satellite links. The library was fully equipped with state-of-the-art technology at every turn, making life for the students easier.
Pulling open the outside pocket of his back he fished out a small earpiece that was no larger than the tip of a pen and triangular in shape. He slid it into his ear and pulled his cellphone from his pocket. Extracting the number from deep inside his mind he started typing it into the phone, hoping it was right. Tyler refused to let him write it down, even in code, saying it was too valuable.
Without it even ringing Tyler’s voice popped up in a happy tone. “Sorry you have missed me, Falau, but that’s what I intended in the first place. The recording you’re listening to can be played only once. You cannot rewind the information, but you can pause it by pressing pound. So, pay attention and everything will go as smooth as silk.”
Falau rubbed his chin with his hand, feeling the unshaved scruff. He hit the pound button, pausing Tyler’s words, and laid out his equipment in front of him for easy access, before placing the pack on the floor. Pulling his head close to the door he heard the muttering of students just outside.
Hitting the pound button on the phone again Tyler’s voice came back to life. “Your phone is not just a phone, but can function as a laptop computer. I made some adjustments, so you can do everything you need to. Gathering information on our little friend in college is not going to be a problem if you do what you’re told. Wise is still considered an enrolled student, so the information on the ID has already been entered into the school’s system. They think you’re really a teacher there.”
Shaking his head at Tyler’s ability to go off topic even at a time like this frustrated Falau. He had no idea when someone might come to the door and see what was happening inside. How could he ever convince someone that a professor was in the electrical closet? But Tyler insisted, explaining that people stopped maintenance men to ask for help all the time. Being stand-offish was perfect for a professor in New England.
“Alright. Take the yellow cables I put in the pack and clip one to each lower corner of the phone. Wiggle them into the grooves on the phone and you will hear them click.”
Again, Falau hit pound and did as he was told, then reactivated the phone.
“Now look into the electrical box and find a thick wire with telecommunications markings.”
Falau could see that all the wires had been labeled inside the electrical box, making his job easier than he’d anticipated.
“Shave off some of the wire’s coating and attach the red cable to it.”
Following the instructions Falau felt everything was going without a hitch, when suddenly he heard the knob begin to turn on the closet door. Before he could reach out to hold the door shut, it opened to reveal a young Asian man looking in the opposite direction and talking to a friend.
Falau hit pound on the phone and looked at the back of the young man’s head. “Can I help you?” he asked, attempting to sound frustrated.
The young man’s head spun around and stared at the man with cables rigged up in his hands. “Oh, sorry... bathroom please... no bathroom now,” he said, struggling to find the words to a new language and pushing them out in broken English.
Falau smiled at the young man. “No bathroom. Down there. Two doors,” said Falau, motioning to the right and holding up two fingers attempting to bridge the language barrier in some easier way.
The young man bowed and moved away from the door with purpose. Falau closed the door as he walked away and went back to his work. Hitting pound again Tyler’s voice rang out. “Now, just clip the yellow and the red together, give it about thirty seconds, and the link will be complete. See... it wasn’t that hard after all. Mostly because my software is doing all the work, but you had to get in there, so we are even. See ya later. Over and out.”
Clipping the cables together the phone screen launched into a frenzy of activity, with numbers and letters crossing the screen. As fast as it had started the screen lit up with a headline that read, “Internal records access accepted.” The next line down read, “Student’s name:” with a blinking cursor after it.
“Okay, Calvin Wise, let’s see what your college career can tell me. Any clues about where you like to go.”
Entering the name and pressing GO, full access to the academic history of Calvin Wise appeared on Falau’s phone.
“Let’s see,” Falau mumbled, being sure to keep his voice low so the students outside wouldn’t hear him. Clicking on academic records showed poor to fair grades. Two semesters of academic probation. What’s this? One year out of school after his sophomore year for medical reasons?
Drilling down deeper into the file a series of prompts for passwords popped up, and without having to enter a thing the password was auto-filled, leading him to the file containing the reasons for the leave of absence.
Clicking the file to open a scanned document popped up, first from Tridon Psychiatric Department. Written by Dr. Barrett Webber. “Well look at this,” he mumbled. The Patient is diagnosed with intermittent explosive disorder, antisocial personality and a rule out of schizophrenia. It is the recommendation that the student Calvin Wise be sent to
an inpatient psychiatric facility for clarification of diagnosis and medical evaluation. “Interesting.”
Scrolling through the records revealed the inpatient record for a five-day stay at the Garden View Psychiatric Hospital. Falau moved to the section listing behavioral issues, where a string of events in his college career were listed and confirmed by Calvin’s father. “You were a bad boy, Calvin,” whispered Falau. “Kicked out of a fraternity for hazing your second semester freshman year. Four cases of assault before the disciplinary committee. Accused of exposing himself to a female teacher during office hours, causing her to mace him? You are one sick puppy, Calvin. You just can’t stop yourself, can you.”
Reading deeper into the file Falau found the impressions from the psychiatrist who worked with him, and froze, staring at a single line. “Appears to be responding to internal stimuli.”
Reading the line several times before moving on the big man knew exactly what it meant. Calvin was psychotic. Hearing voices or seeing things. The killing was not just for sport, it was part of a condition that was beyond his control. He quietly read on. “The patient has a preoccupation with sexual issues. He continues to expose himself to nurses and has been placed on a one-to-one observation schedule after cornering a nurse in his room and removing his clothing. The patient then demanded she remove her clothing and he would show her true love. During this episode he held his hands in a choking motion as he moved toward her. The nurse screamed, alerting staff who restrained the patient physically and chemically while he was attempting to grab their crotches and breasts.”
Scrolling to the bottom of the page Falau read a list of medications that were advised for Calvin Wise to take upon discharge, as well as the name of a therapist and psychiatrist in the community. The final paragraph of the report stared up at Falau, helping him understand the man he was after:
“The Patient has a sense of entitlement fostered from the time of early childhood. Behavioral indiscretions have consistently been handled by the father, with a financial contribution to the school the patient attends. This is true for college, high school, and even grade school. His behavior is unpredictable. He lacks remorse for anything he has done. He is recommended for long-term residential treatment. Patient is refusing all medication and treatment. He is signing himself out of treatment, against all mental advice. Attempt for legal commitment via section 12 made, but declined by judge.”
