Nerd flicked a switch, and his basement office lit up with the green glow of fluorescent lighting. Three of the five monitors on his black desk in the middle of the room grew to full brightness, each displaying a randomly generated picture from his favorites folder.
He took in a sniff of stale air, and a feeling of nostalgia tickled him. He would miss this place. Although he was excited about transferring to New York, and giddy about the kind of equipment he would get to tinker with at a major television station, nothing would ever be quite like his lair in the bowels of Channel Seven.
He set his mug on the table and tapped the enter key on his keyboard. The screen saver disappeared and was replaced with a key code screen. He typed the password and plopped down into his office chair. The speakers beeped, and his eyes were drawn to a flashing green dot which signaled an incoming chat request. He clicked it, and a tiny box came up on the screen. In the box were the words: “It takes you long enough to get downstairs.”
The message was from a user named Yellow.
“I’m sorry,” he typed, “do I know you?”
The response was a single word, but it was enough.
“Canary.”
Nerd rolled the name around in his head. Canary? His hacker friend? No, friend was too liberal for the likes of Canary. He was more of an asset. In the hacker community, of which they were both a part, Canary was a ghost. Nerd knew no one who had ever spoken with him directly, and Nerd was one of only a few who had a working email for him—untraceable, of course. But Canary rarely answered it. So why was he now contacting him directly? Was it about the trigger housing he had requested information on during the bomb scare six months ago? That was old news.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he typed.
“Tell me about David Chance,” was the response.
How interesting. Canary was perhaps the most proficient hacker he had ever met, certainly the most notorious. This was a guy who could access information on any person, living or deceased, and tell you intimate details about their dietary needs. What did he want to know about David Chance that he couldn’t learn from the FBI or Homeland Security?
“What specifically?” typed Nerd, his heart rate increasing.
“Does he speak to God?”
Nerd wiped his sweaty hands on his corduroys, unsure of whether or not he would answer the question directly. He owed Canary for giving him the lead on the bomb maker; this information was singularly responsible for Karen deciding to take him to New York with her. But why did he want this information about David? It was unlikely to be simple curiosity. The currency of hackers was information, and Canary was a hacker of hackers.
He decided to play it safe and give only what he was sure Canary could find on his own. “Yeah. He gets messages from God.”
“Do you think it’s really God?”
Was he hoping for a boots-on-the-ground analysis? “Yeah,” he typed, “I believe it is.” He felt comfortable giving that much. After all, Karen had done more on network television, essentially ‘outing’ David to the greater Boston area.
“Why?” popped up in the window.
“Why do I believe it is God?” he typed. “Who else would it be?”
Canary ignored the question. “What evedence do you have that it is God?”
Nerd chuckled to himself. Canary was an amazing hacker, but the same could never be said about his spelling. “The messages know the future.”
“Do you think only God can know the future?”
That was a good question. He had never thought about it. “I guess only God knows,” he responded.
“God isn’t the only one who knows.”
Nerd ran a hand through his tangled orange hair and blinked at the words on the screen. What was Canary implying? Was there someone else like David?
“What do you mean?” he typed.
After a very long pause, the answer appeared. “Never mind.”
“What? You can’t stop now.”
“I’m alredy in trouble for helping David. I shoudn’t have contacted you.”
Nerd’s fingers blazed on the keyboard. “Don’t go! You contacted me for a reason. Whatever that reason was, it was important enough to take the risk.”
After another excruciating pause, a message popped up. “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt. No one was going to get hurt, but then everything changed. I couldn’t let them kill the presedent.”
The president? Was he reading that right? Was Canary connected to the people behind the terrorist plot last year? David spoke of a secret organization controlling everything from the shadows, powerful people in high places. His pulse quickened. They were the kind of people who could, at this very moment, be intercepting this communication with Canary. No—Canary was smarter than that.
“I’m going off the grid,” said the next message, “but before I do, I need David Chance to know one thing.”
Off the grid? What did that mean? Was he on the run? Were the powerful people after him? Nerd swallowed. What had he gotten himself involved in? His breath was labored in his chest. This was bigger than big. This was bigger than colossal. This was like, Kirk-and-Spock-pushing-the-Enterprise’s-self-destruct-button big. Just reading the next line of text could put his life in danger, but he was unable to bring himself to shut it down. He waited in suspended animation, locked in a stasis of horror, till the message finally appeared, cold and silent on the screen.
His eyes ran over it several times. What did it mean? More importantly, was it worth risking his life over? It hardly seemed like it, but it obviously meant something to Canary. It was obviously something worth risking his life over.
He read it again and sounded it out in his mind. It said:
“Save Jon Blake.”
CHAPTER THREE
David Chance twisted the key in the ignition, and the engine made a clicking noise. He tried again with the same results. Yup, it was definitely dead. Really, car! he thought, gripping a fistful of his wavy, brown hair. How much money do I have to dump into you! He climbed out and slammed the door, and was immediately aware of the scene he was creating. Simmer down, David. It’s not the end of the world.
A click and a creak caused David to look out from under tightened brows toward his neighbor’s house. As no luck would have it, his neighbor, Frank, was standing on his steps, looking in his direction.
Oh that’s just perfect.
After last night’s conversation with Frank, about letting go of his anger and moving on, this looked real good.
“Everything okay, David?”
“Yeah,” he lied, lightening his tone. “The car’s acting up again.”
Frank bobbed down his steps. “You need a jump or something? I have cables in the back of my truck.”
“No. It’s not the battery, Frank. I just had one put in it last week. The mechanic said the alternator needed replacing, but I didn’t have the money. I was kinda hoping it would last longer than a week.”
Frank came up to the other side of the dead car and gave a commiserating shake of his head. “Well then, you need a lift?”
“No, Frank. I need my car to work.” David didn’t have to explain to Frank what was going on in his head, they had had enough conversations over the last six months about the mysterious messages that could predict the future (and about God’s role in it all) to the point of nausea. David felt the price he had paid for following the messages had been too high, and things were only made worse by the fact that he hadn’t received a single message since. Not one word.
“You know, God didn’t break your car.”
“Yeah. I know. I get it. But he hasn’t done anything to get me out of this financial black hole I’m in either. Where has he been? Where are the messages now? I did my part, Frank.”
“I know, David.”
“I risked the lives of everyone I care about following those stupid things, and what did it get me? I know he can speak to me. There’s no doubt about that anymore. I was there when he need
ed me, but where is he now when my car won’t start?”
Frank grinned under his mustache. “He sent me.”
“Look, Frank. I appreciate all you’ve done for me, I really do. I’m just tired of being the guy who always needs someone to come and rescue him. I thought it would be different, you know? I thought God would...”
“Would what? Make all your problems go away?”
“No,” he growled, “but I expected more than this!”
A voice interrupted them. “Are you two boys fighting again?” David’s wife, Sharon, stood holding the door as their daughter Emily and their son Ben filed out of the house with their backpacks on.
“Frank started it,” said David, attempting to shift the mood. He didn’t want Sharon to see him grumbling again. He had put her through enough.
The kids ran across the lawn and down to the sidewalk. “Bye, Dad,” they sang.
“You two be good today and don’t give your teachers a hard time.”
“Okay,” they said in unison.
Their yellow school bus was already making its turn onto the street. He watched as they ran to meet up with their friends gathered in a clump two driveways down.
“It’s not that I’m ungrateful,” he said to Frank while still staring at his kids. “I’m just tired of struggling.”
“Then stop struggling,” said Frank. “You’re only getting tangled in the net.”
Sharon came up behind David, and he turned to include her in the mourning of the automobile.
“I’m guessing the car is broken,” she said with a light tone.
“Yeah, it’s dead again. I’ll need to drop you off at work and take your car.”
“You sure I can’t give you a lift?” said Frank. “It’s no problem.”
“I appreciate it Frank, but we’re going to handle this one on our own.”
A line of teeth appeared under his bushy ‘stache. “All right. Call me on my cell if you change your mind.”
“Will do,” said David with a lift of his chin.
Frank practically danced over to his truck and hopped up inside. That guy was odd. Nothing ever phased him. He was happy to help and happy not to help. He was happy to give advice and happy to keep his mouth shut. David was truly grateful for Frank, but secretly convinced that he was a loon.
Sharon put her hands on David’s chest and backed him against the car. “I know what you’re thinking behind those gorgeous blue eyes of yours.”
“Are you sure,” he said, wrapping his arms around her, trapping her arms between them, “because I’m thinking something different now.”
She slapped his chest. “I know you. You’re connecting God to all this.”
“And why shouldn’t I?” he said.
“God isn’t giving anyone else messages about which mechanic to go to or what car to buy. Why should we think he would do it for us?”
“You know it’s more than that.”
“I know,” she said, resting her ear against his shoulder and snuggling in his arms. “But we have to move past this. If you keep waiting for messages to appear, you’re going to see disappointment in everything.”
He put his cheek in her curly blond hair. It smelled like strawberries. “I’m trying, honey. I’m really trying.”
She slid her hands around to the small of his back. “Let’s put these messages to rest and just be grateful for what we have.”
What we have? he thought. What about what we’ve lost? How would he ever be grateful for that?
CHAPTER FOUR
A whisper woke Jon Blake from a shallow sleep.
“Hey, Jon. You want something to eat?”
In the darkness of the basement, he could barely see his friend Bruce peeking around the oil furnace. He rolled over on the lumpy mattress and spoke in a low voice. “Is your mom still home?”
“She’s getting ready in her room, but she’ll be out of here in a couple minutes.”
“I’ll wait. I don’t want her to know I’m here.”
“Okay,” he whispered, “hold tight.”
The door opened at the top of the stairs—as if on cue. “Bruce? Are you in the cellar?”
Bruce almost smacked his head on the maze of pipes just above his head. “Yeah!”
“You have your lunch packed?”
“Yeah, Ma. I’m all set.”
“Did you brush your teeth?”
“I’m seventeen, Ma! I think I can handle it!”
The light flicked on, and Jon’s heart constricted.
“Why are you down there in the dark?” The top stair creaked.
Bruce moved to the bottom of the stairs. “I was just grabbing some socks off the laundry table. I don’t need a light to grab socks.”
Jon could see her feet starting to come down the stairs. “You’ll break your neck coming down here in the dark. It doesn’t take any effort to flip a switch, for Pete’s sake.” She turned and went back up into the kitchen, and Bruce jogged up after her, closing the door behind him.
Their muffled voices could be heard arguing, then the cellar door opened again. “You go down there in the dark, then you leave the light on when you leave. You want to pay the electric...” The door closed. Jon listened until finally the front door thumped and the clop of high-heels could be heard on the front wooden stairs. Jon fished around in the dark for his shoes and pulled them on.
The light flicked on and Bruce called down, “It’s clear. She’s gone.”
He grabbed Julius from a plastic container near the edge of the mattress, gently placed him back into his jacket pocket, then picked up his iPad and climbed the stairs into the kitchen. Bruce was at the window, looking out into the driveway.
“Do you think she suspects anything?”
“Nah, she’s got this thing at work today. She’s been talking about it for days.”
Jon’s shoulders relaxed. He opened the fridge and grabbed a baby carrot from a bag on the second shelf and unzipped his pocket. Whiskers and a wiggling nose popped out. He dangled the carrot over the opening, and two little clawed hands reached up and pulled it down into the dark orifice. That would give Julius something to chew on besides his pocket liner. The little rodent had done a number on the other pocket the night before in the short time it took Jon to ditch his father’s truck and get to his friend’s house.
“So,” said Bruce, “you never did tell me why you’re hiding from your dad.” He opened the bread box and pulled out a loaf. “Want some toast?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“What do you want on it?”
“Jelly, I guess.”
“So what happened? Did he come home drunk and get belligerent on you again?”
“No. This was different,” he said. “Worse.”
“I’m sorry, man. That sucks.”
Jon stared at the back of his friend’s fat head, with its fine black jags, and contemplated his choice of words. He would have to tell him at some point. The proverbial Band-Aid had to be pulled off, and it was probably best to pull it quick.
Bruce turned and leaned back against the counter, waiting for the toast to be done.
“My dad murdered Sandra last night.”
Bruce’s mouth dropped open. “Y- You’re kidding. Tell me you’re kidding.”
“No. He shot her. In our living room. With his Colt.”
Bruce bent slightly, as though kicked in the belly. “You must be freaking out, man. Have you gone to the police?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Dude, you gotta go to the police!”
“I know, but I don’t know if I can face him.”
“Who? Your dad?”
“Yeah. They have to be holding him in lockup, and if they think I had something to do with it, they’ll probably throw me in there with him.”
“Why would they think you had anything to do with it?”
“I don’t know!” he said, trying to sort it out in his head. “Maybe they don’t, but I don’t want to take the chance.” He squeezed
the edge of the kitchen sink in a grip of death; his whole body tightened. “It’s just so MESSED UP, man!”
His outburst caused them both to get quiet.
“Maybe this is your chance,” said Bruce meekly. “You’ve been talking about getting out of there. Maybe this is your chance to break free for good.”
“What about school?” he said. “What about college? I was already accepted to Brown.”
“You can still do that. There’s only like four weeks left to the school year. Just stay here till you graduate.”
“My dad had a college fund for me. He set it up when my grandfather died. I need that money.” He pounded his fist on the counter. “Whatever, man! My dad is a murderer, and I’m standing here talking about college money! Who cares anyway?!”
The phone rang behind Bruce, but he ignored it. He just stood staring with the dopey expression he always had when he didn’t know what to say.
Jon eyed the phone. “You gonna get that?”
Bruce’s face curdled. “I’m supposed to be at school.”
Riiiiinnnngg.
“Are you gonna go?”
He shrugged his round shoulders. “Not if you need me.”
Riiiinnnngg.
Jon gritted his teeth. “Well press the button and dump it to the answering machine or something.”
“It’s done.”
BEEEEEEP.
A familiar voice filled the kitchen. “Bruce. Dude, pick up. Are you there?” It was their friend Jared.
“Do you want me to answer?” Bruce hovered a hand over the receiver.
“No. I don’t want anyone else pulled into this.”
“Bruce,” said Jared. “Come on, dude, pick up. Jon was on the news this morning. They say he killed his dad’s girlfriend. The police are looking for him.”
VOICES: Book 2 in the David Chance series (Suspense, Mystery, Thriller) Page 2
