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StrAngels: Feckwraithe
The straggling grey clouds blocked out the sun as he waded through the water. When Private First Class Winterbourne looked down he could see himself ripple in the knee-deep musky brown surface. Mosquitoes buzzed around his reflection. The sight of this fooled him into thinking his face was being attacked by the bugs. He waved his hand around the front of his nose for a minute before smiling to himself realizing that the bugs weren’t by his actual face. He put his hand back on his rifle and continued through the tall grass of the swampy marsh. The other 5 members of his Squad were headed up the center of the ravaged village. Winterbourne flanked them on the outskirts of the town trying to keep pace with their movement. Soon the marsh ended and Private Winterbourne was able to walk on land just behind the tree line. The village of Ben Suc was vacant. A full Company had taken it a month ago and evacuated the surviving citizens to a nearby village. Recent intelligence reports indicated the possibility of a Viet Cong Platoon returning to the area. Winterbourne’s Squad was commissioned to sweep the smoldering huts, surrounding trees and brush to ensure that there weren’t any VCs attempting to re-take their position in the remains of what was once a humble farming community. “Operation: Sloppy Seconds”—the Sarge jokingly dubbed it when he first announced it to the Squad. About two klicks before they got to the edge of Ben Suc, the Sarge gave Private Winterbourne the assignment to flank the Squad along the east side of the village. Once the Squad got into the town he doubled back behind them and did the opposite of what the Sarge ordered him to do—he flanked them on the west. Winterbourne felt that the position made more sense strategically and he’s had a 15% better hit percentage when aiming at targets from that direction. The insubordination proved to pay off when he noticed some rustling through the trees ahead. Winterbourne slowly stepped back into the marsh. He could not see the rest of his Squad through the charred black, smoking huts and had no way to warn them of the twenty or so VC Soldiers headed their way. Winterbourne quickly switched over to his sniper’s rifle. He had an 82% accuracy rating with it. After adding a long range scope it upped his accuracy rating to 91%. He stepped back to the edge of the marsh as quietly as possible so that he did not give away his location. Before Private Winterbourne could get his sniper’s rifle in position, gun fire erupted from inside Ben Suc. He ran from the tree line past two huts before he could see his Squad retreating to the east—the position that he was supposed to be at. The crowd of VCs filed across the center of town. He looked through the scope and carefully aimed before ripping off consecutive shots. With four bullets he took down 3 VCs. The other members of the Platoon recognized this, stopped in their tracks and turned toward him. The soldier at the front shouted out and raised his arm to give some hand signals to the other VCs to rush to his position. Realizing that this was their Platoon leader, Winterbourne took him out next before firing at a group of 4 running and blasting their weapons at him. He took them out with 6 shots before they got within fifty yards of him. Winterbourne’s Squad shifted their strategy from retreat to attack and ran back to the center of the village. In less than ten minutes the entire Viet Cong Platoon was lying across the reddish dirt ground of Ben Suc. The Sarge smiled at the Private as he removed his helmet and walked over to him. A shout from the distance disrupted PFC Winterbourne’s attention… “Simonnnnnn!!! I need some help with the groceries honey!” “Gimmie a minute Ma this is a big battle here!” Simon took a sip from his can of Olde Tyme Root Beer before he used the mouse to ignite the cursor in the dialogue box at the bottom of the screen. “Put your video game on pause! It’ll only take you a minute.” She shouted up the stairs to interrupt Simon’s typed response to all the thanks he was getting from the members of his Squad. He tossed the mouse to the side and adjusted his glasses on before heading downstairs. “Looks like you’ve already got everything here already.” Simon rubbed the splotchy patches of brown whiskers on his cheek as he surveyed the full plastic grocery bags on the floor, countertop and table in the kitchen. “I left the trunk open. The water bottles and cat litter are still in there for you to grab and then you can go back up and un-pause your game.” Simon’s mom dug through the bags without looking up. “Like I told you before ma, VC Euthanizer is an MPORG—multi-player online role playing game. You play over the internet; other people are sitting at their computers waiting for me. It is live...real time. I can’t simply just ‘pause’ it.” “I’m sorry; dear…it should only take you a minute to bring them in. Just leave them over in the corner there by the cabinet and I’ll take them from there.” Her dark eyes glistened as she looked up at him—a can of green beans in her hand. “Hey ma…I just saved my Squad in a search and destroy mission. That means I’ll probably be promoted to a Lance Corporal and I’ve only been on the game for about a month!” “Good for you Simon! How exciting…a Lance Corporal under my roof!” Her smile was filled with pride as she walked over to the cabinet and put the cans inside. ***** Simon grabbed a fresh can of Olde Tyme root beer from the mini-fridge in his closet before he sat down at his desk and logged on to the Friendhouse website. He took a minute to scroll through the messages his friends and family had posted throughout the day. After clicking the thumbs up icon on a couple of them he noticed that his friend Albert posted that he had just reached 10,000 points on the Friendhouse game application “Waste Management Explorer 2”. Simon clicked on the link to see that Albert had reached this plateau by scoring 500 points along the Worth Street route. Simon pounded his fist on the desk when he recalled that he had traded him the Worth Street route two weeks ago for a part that he needed to upgrade the compactor mechanism on his garbage truck. Before clicking over to “Waste Management Explorer 2” he put a posting on his Friendhouse message board announcing how his squad had successfully re-taken the village of Ben Suc on “VC Euthanizer”. His score on “Waste Management Explorer” was at 8,700. Simon decided he would run two garbage routes to see if he could catch Albert’s 10,000. After starting out as a sunny morning, clouds rolled in to dim the sky. About ten minutes and three houses into his first route he had collected two home stereos and a Television with a cracked screen upping his discovery rate from 10% to 13%--his score from 8700 to 8820. He clicked back over to the message board to see if anyone had commented on his post about “VC Euthanizer”. Nobody had. For the next hour he continued to flip back and forth between the game and the message board. About half way through his 2nd route on Wellington Ave., Simon noticed a little red flag in the upper left hand corner of the screen. He clicked on it to find out that Patricia Eubanks had accepted his request to become Friendhouse friends. Her name didn’t ring a bell. Simon took a long slug of his Olde Tyme root beer before he stood and walked across the room to the brown book shelf next to his bed. He opened the doors of the top cabinet. He sifted through the various bags of corn chips, pretzels and sweets before selecting cheese popcorn. When he returned to the computer he clicked on the name Patricia Milton to go to her Friendhouse page. Her short red hair and perky cheeks stood out on her profile pic. He scrolled down to see that she was mutual friends with his cousin Elena. He remembered that he had seen Patricia’s picture a couple of months ago on Elena’s friend list and requested to be her friend just for the hell of it. He clicked Patricia’s picture page and started to sift through her virtual photo album. She had a great body and an amazing smile that mesmerized him. Simon sifted through pictures of her out at the bars, at family barbecues and just hanging out with her girlfriends. In less than half an hour he had become completely engulfed in the happiness of her life. ***** Simon struggled to pull the seatbelt across his mountain stomach and strap himself to the forklift. He paused to catch his breath before adjusting his glasses. He shifted the machine into drive and pressed the gas pedal. When he got to the end of aisle 949 he stopped the forklift and leaned over to the nine inch VRC monitor to the right of the steering wheel. “Good morning R-2!” Simon stated as he punched his 3 digit identification number in—pretending that the beeping of the touch screen was the mythical droid talking back to him. Once he was logged in, the screen directed him to his first pallet pull at the other end of the warehouse zone in aisle 940. “Coordinates confirmed. R-2, set the hyper-drive to warp speed!” Simon shouted out before taking his foot off the brake and slamming it down on the gas pedal. As the speed of the forklift increased the blue and orange racking on each side of the long aisle began to blur past his peripheral vision. It felt like the little white stars of the cosmos zipping by him as he hit top hyper speed. Simon was piloting an X-wing fighter through the caverns of the Death Star. He held the scan gun in his right hand pressed against the steering wheel as he flew down the aisle. Simon imagined a flurry of tie fighters in front of him. He repeatedly pressed the trigger to see the small red laser shoot ahead of the forklift to blast them into oblivion! Towards the end of the aisle he slowed his fork down and honked the horn before taking a right hand turn. Two aisles down he noticed his buddy (and chief productivity rival) Jimmy. Simon hit the brakes at the end cap. He pointed his scan gun in his direction. After closing his left eye and locking his target he squeezed the trigger three times in quick succession to let the laser plug the back of Jimmy’s unsuspecting head. “Move it R-2!!” He shouted at the VRC screen as he pressed the gas to escape the scene and jet over to his first pallet pull of the day. ***** Simon laid his sandwich on the paper towel that he set out across the break room table. He pulled the top slice of bread off and removed the cheese square. He threw the cheese into his brown lunch sack before pulling out a can of Olde Tyme Root Beer. “So, how many pallet moves do you have so far?” Jimmy asked. It was a question that he and Simon asked each other almost every day. Simon had been the number one in department productivity for the past month at a 102% performance. But the last two weeks Jimmy hit 106%. “Not sure, I guess you’ll just have to check the production sheets tomorrow.” Simon replied without looking up from the ketchup packet he was squirting across the top of his bologna. “You do know that I blasted you in the back of the head with my scanner at the start of shift, don’t you?” “No way, you’re full of it!” Jimmy opened his red lunch bag and removed a pudding cup. “You were in aisle 947.” “Damn it!! You got me!” Jimmy acknowledged the hit. Simon just smiled as he put the bread back on top to re-construct his sandwich. “So have you decided about that new MPORPG Spy Game I was telling you about? It’s going to go live in a week. It’s really cool; people from all over the world are joining. This is going to be bad ass massive espionage game on a global scale! You can join the intelligence agency of any country you want!” “What country have you joined?” Simon asked. “I haven’t chosen one yet. I just created my avatar. His name is Agent Sullivan.” “What was the name of this game again?” “Global Insurrection.” “Cool. I’ll log on tonight and create my avatar.” “Awesome!! We make a great team, dude. Hey, Simon you really saved the day last night at Ben Suc! It was genius of you to go to the other side of the town. We would’ve been cornered and slaughtered if you hadn’t been hiding in that marsh. You really earned it Lance Corporal Winterbourne.” “Yeah, it was cool but I don’t think that I’ll get bumped up. That Sergeant of our squad is probably pissed off at me for ignoring his orders.” Simon took a sip of his root beer. “The Sarge already approved it. You’re a Lance Corporal.” “What?” “Yeah…I couldn’t sleep last night. I logged on for a few minutes and it has you listed as a Lance Corporal. The Sarge must’ve put it through for you.” “Sweet!” Simon garbled through a mouth-full of bologna sandwich. ***** The cobblestone castle was dimly illuminated by the yellow glow of the candle lamps three quarters up the sides of the grey pillars that surrounded the meeting room. As if the moon were shooting out darkness the same way the sun shot golden rays out, streams of blackness blasted through the uncovered windows. The silver metal-armored dwarf Egrillion set his axe against the wall before pulling himself up to sit on the diamond encrusted throne at the head of the table. Two elfin scouts, Marchel and Seton took seats along the west side of the table. On the east side of the table two human rangers—Crackyn and Var Grehnther—took large gulps from their metal challises as they waited for the other members of the guild to join them. A cloud of smoke popped out from the window. The dragon Feckwraithe growled and spit out a flame before civilizing herself and taking a seat next to the elves. The wizard Duplesis was the last to join them. He took a seat at the end of the long warped mahogany table across from Egrillion. “Okay. All guild members are accounted for.” Egrillion stroked his long brown beard as he began the meeting. “I’m going to divide the gold pieces we got from the raid on House Asthrachqua evenly for the most part. I have decreed that 20 extra pieces should go to Feckwraithe for her heroics at the end of the siege when she saved myself and Var Grehnther from the Mugwump attack. Is there anyone opposed to this?” The guild members remained silent. “So it is decreed. Feckwraithe will receive the bonus sum of our collected riches!” Feckwraithe shot a small flame puff into the air to celebrate. She made sure it was a couple feet to the left of the dark chain-link candle chandelier hanging above the table. “The next order of business is the location of our guild’s headquarters.” Egrillion pulled out a browning scroll map and laid it across the table. “This castle that we are in has a 30% stability rating. I was thinking about what missions we could go on to get the coins we need to repair it when I looked at this map. We’ve done a lot in this area and there are some easy pickings out here. But over in the Redlands we could build a larger fortress for the same price of upgrading this castle. And there are some beasts out there that could gain each of us some major experience points. I can see us, as a guild, moving up at least five levels within the first two months we are there. The only issue is the journey through the Dunelands. We may take some hits but if we once we’re past that area we’ll be in great shape.” Duplesis put his hands in the air and made thunder bolts shoot down from the cathedral ceiling to strike Egrillion causing him and his chair to fall back from the table. The other guild members jumped up from their chairs to stand alert. Feckwraithe shot a flame at Duplesis. Var Grehnther pulled his shiny steel sword from its holder and jumped across the table to stab Feckwraithe in the chest. This distracted the dragon long enough for Duplesis to circle the long nailed tips of his fingers to create a glowing sound field that blocked the flames from him. Egrillion got back to his feet and grabbed the steel handle of his axe. He cocked it back above his head and flung it across the table. It lodged into Duplesis’ right arm. Blue blood gushed from the wound to drip down the side of his purple robe. He was unable to continue holding up the blue sound field. Once it dropped Feckwraithe took advantage and upped the level of the. His pointed purple hat blew off the top of his head as the flames singe the old Wizard’s once pure white beard.
Simon’s cell phone rang. He ignored it as he moved the mouse and punched keys trying to shift 100% of his energy to defense mode to try and block the flames Feckwraithe was shooting at him. It wasn’t working—he didn’t have enough life-force to do it effectively. The incessant ringing of the cell phone continued… “What do you want Jimmy?” Simon finally grabbed his cell phone and flipped it open. “What are you doing, man? You’re tearing the guild apart! Stop it now!” Jimmy’s voice shook with fear. “The reason Egrillion wants to move the guild to the Redlands is because he knows that wizards have a 20% less dexterity rate than dwarfs do in those terrains. I’m not going to go along with a move like this! He’s only doing it to run me out. Egrillion knows how powerful I’m becoming within the guild.” Simon went over to the brown mini-fridge inside his closet and pulled out a can of Olde Tyme Root Beer. “How powerful you’re becoming!” Jimmy shouted. “Did you notice that I’m the only member of the guild that’s defending you in this meeting? I had to put one in Feckwraithe to protect you! Feckwraithe has been supplying me with wild Albaster eggs that I’ve been selling to parliamentary drones. My defense of your idiotic actions is gonna kill that business exchange and will probably get both of us expelled from the guild!!” “Good. I’m tired of this guild anyway. Come on! It’s run by a freakin’ dwarf! I’m a level eighteen wizard and it’s sickening that I’ve gotta take orders from him!” Simon noticed the can of root beer was warm. He went back to his closet and knelt down to open the door of the mini-fridge. All of his root beer was warm. He checked the cord to confirm that it was plugged in. It was making a faint hiss instead of its usual constant hum. Simon left his bedroom to walk down the stairs with can in hand. “No way am I going to the Redlands and loose my dexterity footing. So the guild can either stay where we are now or they can leave. I don’t think they’ll leave. They’ll never make it across the Dunelands without the protection of a minimum level ten wizard. And I am—Duplesis is not going to do it for them!” Simon struggled to catch his breath after getting down the stairs. “You’re starting to get a little too cocky. Just because you disobeyed the rules and jumped rank on one game doesn’t mean you can do it on all games! I think that promotion to Lance Corporal on ‘VC Euthanizer’ has gone straight to your head man.” “It has not! I NEVER let my emotions about any two games mix.” Simon opened the kitchen cabinet to grab a glass. He pushed it against the dispenser in the refrigerator door. A thopping was followed by the clinking of half circle ice cubes into the bottom of the glass. “I’m putting together ‘Make Your Own Taco Night’ for dinner!” Simon’s mom announced as she used the spatula to swirl the ground beef around the frying pan. “Sweeet!” Simon cracked open his can of Olde Tyme Root Beer. A pushing hiss sounded out from the brown foamy suds flowing all over the counter. He turned the can over and tried to get as much of it in the glass as possible. His mom left the stove to grab a dish towel from the rung near the sink and scuttled over to start wiping the counter of the spill. Simon lifted his can and glass to give her room to soak up the fizzing brown bubbles. “So are you going to get back online and help me try to fix this situation?” Jimmy asked. “I can’t…its ‘Make Your Own Taco Night’. I might go on later to see what I can do to find a new guild or start recruiting for my own guild. Later dude.” Simon hung up the cell phone as he walked back up the stairs. “Honey, what time is your guild meeting going to be over so I know when I should set out the fixings?” Simon’s mom called out her question while she wiped the bottom cabinet doors that had received some of the root beer spillover from the countertop. “The guild meeting is over. I’ll be right back down for my dinner.” ***** After downing 8 tacos Simon logged on to the website for the Online Role Playing Game “Global Insurrection.” He punched in his mother’s credit card number for the auto-charge option on the game’s monthly $32 fee before creating his agent character for the game:
Agent Name: Deckker. Garfield P. Deckker Aliases: Winston Winterbourne, Vin Tecktor, Armand Simon, Lester Duplesis Agent Identification Number: 47290 Agility Rating: 72% Side Arm Accuracy: 52% Charisma: 42% Influence Ability: 81% Disguise Mechanics: 29% Geographic Aptitude: 48% Vehicle: Red 1996 Dodge Viper Languages: English—100%, Spanish—82%, German 40%. Country/ Agency Affiliation: United States/ Central Intelligence Agency—100% At the bottom of the screen it gave him a training mission. He clicked on the notice balloon which then allowed him to search for another member of his agency to join the mission. It was the investigation of a murder with suspected ties to an international drug ring. His cell phone was on the night stand next to his bed. Simon scooted his chair from under the desk across the bedroom to get it. He dialed up Jimmy but got voicemail. “Hey Jimmy. I logged on to that ‘Global Insurrection’ game you were telling me about. I created an Agent. His name is Deckker. I picked the CIA as an affiliation. Once you choose an affiliation it gives you a training mission and lets you team up with another member of your group. If you want to log in and join this mission give me a shout and let’s do this thing!! Simon out.” He closed his flip phone and wheeled back over to the computer desk. After a few minutes of surfing the “Global Insurrection” website while waiting for Jimmy’s call, Simon closed the window. He logged into the Friendhouse website and started to scroll through the recent message postings. His buddy Ryan posted a short video of his car’s engine running. He had bought a new belt and was proud to show how he got the thing functional again. After clicking the thumbs up button he scrolled down to see his Uncle Mark had posted documents from his divorce proceedings with the message “This is what happens you marry a lying, back-stabbing wench!!” “Ohhh…Uncle Mark…why would you post this?” Simon shook his head and put his face to his hands. He took a deep breath and looked back up at the screen to see that he had an instant message in the bottom right corner of the screen.
Patricia: [Do you remember me?]
Simon stared at the question. He pressed his pointer finger against the flat screen near the word “me”. When he pulled it back he watched the small circular lines of his finger print gradually dissolve.
Simon: [You know my cousin Eena] Patricia: [Yeah…we went to skool 2gether back when I lived up in Minnesota. You and I met at her grad party. hahaha.] Simon: [I rememberr.] Immediately after replying Simon went back to her profile page and sifted through her pictures trying to remember her. Soon he found some pictures when she was younger and had dark hair. It all came back to him.
Simon: [You we’re a BIG Star Wars geek! J] Patricia: [Me…the Star Wars geeek? Didn’t you tell me back then to call you by your Jedi name…Vector-Gin or sumthing like that..loll…lol!!!] Simon: [Vin-Tecktor, that was my Jedi name back n the day. Yeah that was geeky but you could recite as many lines from the holy trilogy as I could if memory serves.]
They went on to have a 3 hour virtual conversation before Patricia had to log off and get some sleep for work. Simon wiped his sweaty palms on his shirt before collecting the empty Olde Tyme cans and various snack bags from his desktop. He tossed them into the garbage can next to his closet before climbing into bed. Unable to fall asleep, Simon lay on his back going through the conversation in his head. He replayed the discussion about her family moving down to Florida, Star Wars, his cousin Elena, their childhood memories and thoughts about various cool movies they had recently seen. But instead of the conversation taking place on-line, this time it was taking place at a seedy underground restaurant in the middle of Venezuela. He was Agent Deckker—dressed in a tuxedo while she was wearing a white evening gown accented with pearls. Other elegantly dressed people dined while armed guards stood at the double-door entrance of the building. He pulled out a gold plated cigarette case and opened it to offer Patricia a smoke. She took one out and placed it in a holder before he lit it for her. As she nodded he slid a cigarette into his mouth. Deckker was careful to balance his attention between their conversation about Star Wars, Florida, etc. and keeping a careful eye on the various possible agents moving about the seedy Venezuelan Club. ***** The alarm on Simon’s cell phone went off. He jumped out of bed and zipped over to the computer. He wanted to put a “good morning message” on Patricia’s board. After clicking on her Friendhouse page he noticed that her relationship status was listed as “In a Relationship”. Simon’s jaw dropped before he closed the window and flung the mouse to the side of his desktop. All of the elation and hope from the previous evening drained from him as he lumbered over to the closet to pick out a denim shirt for work.
Simon didn’t even buckle the seatbelt of his forklift. “Let’s go R-2” he solemnly stated to the VRC screen as he punched in his ID. Two aisles down, he noticed Jimmy sitting on his fork with his back to him. He picked up his scan gun from the holster and thought about plugging two into the back of Jimmy’s head. Instead he gassed forward to his first pallet pull of the day.
“I got your voicemail last night. I didn’t log on until late but I joined the CIA like you said. You want to try that training mission tonight?” Jimmy asked Simon as he pulled out a baggie full of chips from his lunch bag. “Sure.” Simon said softly with his unopened lunch sack in front of him. “You alright, dude?” “I’m fine.” “Something’s not right. I plugged you like six times in the aisles today. You look like someone killed your cat. Are you starting to regret the chaos you caused at the guild meeting the other day?” Jimmy cracked open his can of soda. “Nah. So what time do you want to hit that mission on ‘Global Insurrection’ tonight?” “Seven is a good time. But we can only work that mission for an hour. We’ve got that emergency guild meeting at 8. Man this is gonna be awesome. We’ll go through a few of these training missions to get ready. When the game goes live next week, we’ll be top agents right off the bat! I can’t wait to take down the KGB or the British Secret Service!” ***** Simon emptied the remaining warm cans of Olde Tyme Root Beer from his mini fridge and left them on the carpet outside of his closet. He pressed the brown cube against the front of his stomach and walked it through the hallway and down the stairs. Setting the fridge next to the large black plastic garbage cans along the side of the house reminded Simon that he hadn’t played “Waste Management Explorer 2” in a couple of days. Albert was sure to have pulled even further ahead of him in points. He looked at his Transformers watch to see that he still had an hour before he and Jimmy were going to meet up for the spy mission. “What happened to your little fridge?” Simon’s mom, arriving home from work, asked as she walked from the garage. “It started making a hissing noise the other day and it’s not keeping anything cold anymore.” Simon stared down at the warped contraption. “You should’ve called me at the office; I could’ve picked a new one up for you on the way home.” “It’s fine, Ma. I get paid this week and I’ll get a new one for myself.” Simon said as they walked up the deck and into the house together. “I’m too tired to cook tonight so I was thinking of getting some take-out. What do you think?” She asked as he held the door open for her. “I’ll have a triple burger with everything, no cheese and a twelve piece nugget. Just leave it on the counter I’ve got a spy mission that me and Jimmy are going to go on. It’s a murder investigation linked to an international drug ring.” “Ooohh!!! How exciting. Good for you honey!” Simon’s mom’s overly-lipsticked lips widened as she plopped her large black purse on the kitchen table.
Simon’s forehead began to sweat as he nervously logged on to Friendhouse. He avoided looking at his message boards or visiting Patricia’s—he clicked over to “Waste Management Explorer 2”. He started a new route on Selvin Street. It was a dark rainy day. The radio of his garbage truck kept him alert to thunderstorm warnings and tornado sightings. About halfway down the block he had only collected an aluminum window frame, his discovery rate dropped down to 11%. Frustrated with the way the route was going he logged out of “WME2” and started scrolling through his Friendhouse message board. There was a notice that Patricia had changed her relationship status from “In a Relationship” to “It’s Complicated”. Simon clicked on her profile and started reading through her postings. She had no recent comments pertaining to her relationship status change. He decided to flip through her message postings from the past few months. Her status change was updated about two dozen times from “Single” to “In a Relationship” to “Its Complicated” back to “Single” again and all the way through the cycle over and over. Even more alarming were the comments she had posted on her wall. It was mixture of dark quotes from songs and self-deprecating melancholy. Lyrics from “The Cure” and quotes from the likes of Edgar Allen Poe and Kurt Cobain were comingled with posts where she made statements like [I’m ready to give up] and [Sometimes I wonder if it’s all worth it.] It was an alarmingly sharp contradiction to all of the smiling happy pictures that he had seen in her photo album. Simon noticed that her name was in the “online” box at the bottom right of the screen.
Simon: [Is everything okay? J] He waited and waited for a response. The sweat at the top of his forehead got to the point where it was starting to drip onto the lenses of his glasses. He struggled to catch his breath as he arrived in the bathroom. “Simon honey! You’re triple burger is on the counter. I put your chocolate milkshake in the freezer to keep it cold until you’re ready to eat!” Simon’s mom shouted up the stairs. “Thanks Ma!!” He yelled down to her before splashing some water on his face. A sigh of relief at the sight of a response to his instant message: Patricia: [Not really…but I’ll be okayL] Simon: [Iz there anything I kan do to help you? You didn’t say 2 me last night that u had a boyfriend.]
Patricia: [Sorry bout that. I thought u read my status. Is okay, I don
think I’ll be with Roger much longer based on wut he’s been doing to me.] Simon: [Is he hitting you?] Patricia: [Kinda…sumtimes…not really though. The mental torture is wurse. I’ll b okay.] Simon slammed his fist down on the desktop before jumping up from the chair. He locked his fingers together at the back of his neck as he paced around his bedroom. The bling of a new message sounded from the computer bringing him back to the desk chair. Patricia: [You still there????] Simon: [Yeah I’m here. Why don’t u just leave him?] Simon’s cell phone began ringing. He snatched it up from next to his printer to see that it was Jimmy calling. A quick glance at his watch revealed that it was almost seven thirty. He had completely forgotten about logging into “Global Insurrection” for their murder investigation training mission. Simon switched the ring tone volume of his cell phone from high to vibrate only. Patricia: [I will b. I just need 2 get a few things back from him first. Am thinking about moving back up to Minnesota—right round u!] Simon scooted his chair back from the computer desk. As cool as cool could be, he put the pointer and middle fingers of his left hand up to his lips as if he was smoking a cigarette. He was Agent Deckker sitting across the table from Patricia in the seedy Venezuela Club. “I will make it my prime directive to help you escape your situation.” He said aloud to the computer screen staring at her thumbnail profile photo next to the dialogue box. He shook off the imaginary scene and scooted back up to the desk to blurt his response. Simon: [e9 708 2qn5 m3 59 d9j3 e92h 59 y3o0 708;] He had his fingers on the row above the home row of the keyboard while typing out the gibberish code. Simon noticed this before hitting enter to post the response and was able to erase it before typing out his intended message… Simon: [Do you want me 2 come down to help u?] The phone started vibrating on the side of his desk. Simon looked at the bottom corner of his monitor to see that it was past eight o’clock. Patricia: [That wood b gr8!! J You are sooooo cooool 2 offer that!! It will be a great chance to get 2 get to re-introduce ourselves to eachother!] Simon: [AWESOME!! I have three weeks of vacation left. When I go in 2 work tomorrow I’ll put in 4 next week off.] Patricia: [Good deal. Thank you so much for this. Hey…we’ll talk more 2morrow about me giving u directions and where you’re going to stay. I’m going to need to log off right now. I’ve got a guild meeting that I need to attend.] Simon: [Guild Meeting? Are you a freemason or something? LOL!] Patricia: [No! Actually it’s 4 the Online role playing game “Medieval Alliance”] Simon’s phone began vibrating again…Jimmy calling him to the guild meeting. He looked at the time to see it was almost ten after eight. Simon: [Your character on MA wouldn’t happen to be a dragon named Feckwraithe?] Patricia: [YESS IT IS! How did U know that????????] Simon: [Because I am the Wizard Duplesis] Patricia: [That’s crazyyyyy!!! I can’t believe u r the asshole I was roasting yesterday? Why did you attack Egrillion anyway?] Simon: [He’s trying to run me out of the guild. Plus I don’t want to move to the Redlands. We’re fine where we are at. On top of everything I don’t really want to be in a guild that’s run by a dwarf. Why did you defend him?] Patricia: [Duhhh…he had just given me twenty pieces of gold on top of my share. What did you think I was going 2 do?] Simon: [Var Grehnther is a buddy of mine. He said that you’ve been supplying him with wild Albaster eggs to sell to parliamentary drones. He’d like to keep that business partnership going with you. If we go after Egrillion in this meeting do u have our backs?] Patricia: [For sure! J] ***** A small beam of light from a crack in his “Lord of the Rings” themed curtains hit Simon’s eye as the alarm on his cell phone buzzed him to full alert. He smiled as he rolled his large frame off the mattress and put his glasses on. He scurried over to the computer to log on to Friendhouse. He clicked over to Patricia’s profile to see that she had updated her relationship status to “Single”. Simon smiled as he typed “Good Morning!!! See you Monday!” on her message board.
“I lost count of how many times I plugged you with my scan gun in the aisles today. And I’m sure I’m smoking you on productivity—I’ve got over 100 pallet moves already!” Simon stated as he peeled the cheese slice from his bologna sandwich and crumbled it into a ball within a napkin. “Wow, you seem like a whole different person today than you were yesterday. That new appointment to the head of the guild must really have you on cloud nine, buddy. Just don’t forget what I…what Var Grehnther did to help you take Egrillion down.” Jimmy examined the smile across Simon’s face. “Actually, Jimmy…the reason I’m happy is because I’ve got me a girl.” Simon winked at him before putting his sandwich back together. “Really? That’s cool, who is she?” “Well, Feckwraithe…” “The dragon!” Jimmy interrupted. “Hey, just because she flipped sides and helped you raise some ruckus within the guild last night that she’s gonna hop in the sack with you all of the sudden.” “Hear me out. It just so happens that I became friends with this chick on Friendhouse.” “Friendhouse is gay.” “Her real name is Patricia and she’s friends with my cousin Elena. We’ve been talking online the past few days and last night we found out that we both had the guild meeting. Thus forged the alliance of Duplesis and Feckwraithe!! What are the odds of that? It’s fate! So she’s having some problems and wants me to come down to Florida and help her pack to move back up here to Minnesota. I just got next week off approved by Gerald.” “Wait a minute. You can’t be running down to Florida next week. Now that you’ve taken over the guild you’re going to have to run the meetings next week. If we don’t get that castle up to par we’re going to be sitting ducks. House Asthrachqua is going to have their eyes set on us now. Not just for revenge after we sacked them but with a new leader and deteriorating castle we’re ripe for an attack by any group. On top of that in ‘VC Euthanizer’ we have to meet up with our company on the North Side of Saigon this week for instructions on our next offensive. Remember you’re a Lance Corporal now.” “Don’t worry dude…I got it. I will find a way to fulfill my responsibilities.” ***** The luscious spaghetti sauce started bubbling inside the large silver pot on the front burner of the stove. The 5-star Master Chef picked up the long wooden spoon from the rack and began to stir the chunky red pool. He carefully lifted the spoon to his nose and inhaled deeply before tapping the tip against the side so that the contents fell off into the pot. The meatballs had been done for a few minutes and he had just turned off the burner under the boiling pot of noodles. Looking through the doorway across the dining room area the Chef scanned the tables for any one of the known Mafioso who frequently patronized the establishment. There wasn’t a hit planned for this evening—if there were he would have known about it. 90% of the time when an assassination was to take place he was one of the first to be informed. Nights like this were ideal for hits—76% of recent rub outs had taken place on Friday nights at restaurants of this type. And with the way things were heating up between the Montecelli and Stragguzio factions the situation could unexpectedly blow up at any moment. The Master Chef stayed conscious of this as he tore off the top of a long roll of Italian bread. He dipped the open side of the bread into the sauce a couple of times before putting it to his lips and blowing hard on it. After digging his teeth into the saucy side of the bread he knew the concoction was ready. “Simon, dear! Are you sure that you don’t need my help in there??” Simon’s mother shouted out from the dining room table. “No ma, I told you I got it….I got it.”
Simon fiddled with his fork trying to get a good swirl of noodles to stuff into his mouth. He intently watched his mother’s face waiting for the right moment. “You spoil me so much! I don’t know what to say about all this!” “It’s nothing ma, you deserve it!” “Stop it Simon!” She blushed as she picked up her wine glass and took a small sip before digging her fork into a meatball. “Hey, ma…” “Yes son.” “I’ve got next week off from work.” “Good!!! You can help me plan your 30th birthday celebration for next month. Also, you can work on finally clearing out that damned bush in the yard and clean the garage.” “Actually I took off of work for something else. I…I’m going to drive down to Florida for the week.” “Ohhh…how exciting! Is this another spy investigation or are you going there for some mysterious archeological dig?” “Ma.” Simon reached over and put his hand on the back of her wrist. “I’m actually really truly going to Florida. I’m going to drive down there to see someone.” “Preposterous!” She pulled her hand off the table. “It’s like a day’s drive from here. There’s no way you’re going to make it all the way.” She frowned and turned her head back down to the last few strands of noodles on her plate. “Look Ma, I was wondering if I could borrow your laptop and internet card for the trip.” Simon pulled his hand back from her. “So…what are you really planning on doing while your off?” She flashed an unconvincing smile before putting the glass to her lips and downing the rest of her wine. “There’s this girl I met. I’m going to go down and help her pack to move back up here. I think we have a good connection. You’re going to love her ma!!” Simon smiled as he reached his hand across the table and flipped it over to offer his palm. “Her name is Patricia. She’s a friend of Cousin Elena’s.” Simon’s mom stared at him for a couple seconds—the ends of her dark eyebrows tilted upwards. She ripped her cloth napkin from her lap before tossing it on top of her plate. Her wrinkled hands shook as she scooted her chair back, picked up her plate and left the dining room. “Ma! What’s wrong?” Simon followed her into the kitchen. She began scraping her plate with a fork above the sink without looking back at him. “Are you going to let me use your laptop or not?” Simon folded his arms and pouted. “Your cousin Elena’s a dirty little whore just like her mother!” She flipped the switch on the garbage disposal. “Maaa!!!! That’s family you’re talking about.” Simon spoke loudly over the grumbling of the garbage disposal as she ran the dish under the faucet water. “I’m just telling it like it is.” She put the plate in the drainer and flipped the garbage disposal off. The dish towel from the rung seemed to magnetically jump into her hand as she turned around. “I love your cousin Elena to death but there is no denying that she’s no good! The pain and misery that she and her mother have brought to your Uncle Mark and our family, with her antics, is immeasurable, unforgivable if you ask me. Any friend of hers must be the same kind of trouble and I don’t…I just don’t want you to get wrapped up in something that’s going to make you miserable…that’s all.” She rattled off as she twisted her hands within the towel. “Ma…they were friends in high school. Cousin Elena lives in Idaho. I don’t even know when the last time they talked to each other was. I only met this girl through Elena on Friendhouse. Patricia is a wonderful person Ma. You’ll see when I get her back up here and you get to meet her. Trust me.” Simon leaned over to look through his thick glasses at her dark eyes. “Okay. But there’s no way you can make a day’s trip on your own. I’ll call Mr. Jenkins and see if I can get next week off. I need to go with you to help for the drive.” She tossed the dish towel into the sink and turned to pull the cordless phone off the receiver on the wall. “Ma…” Simon put his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll be alright.” Simon put his hand on her other shoulder and turned her so that they were looking eye to eye. “Well….okay….fine. But you need to call your cousin Randy, ask if you can borrow his truck. There’s no way your car will make it that far.” She started punching the numbers on the phone. “My car will make it there without issue.” Simon carefully put his hand around the cordless phone to take it from her and place it on the counter next to the sink. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close to her as she buried her face in his chest. Simon leaned over. He rested his chin on the top of her head. “30% of all traffic fatalities are due to fatigue.” Simon’s mom sniffled through her statement. He could feel his shirt moisten from her tears. “I’ll put an itinerary together for you. Promise me that you’ll take a break every four hours—stay overnight at a hotel somewhere around Missouri or Tennessee. Promise me that you won’t try to squeeze the drive into a single day, that you’ll follow the itinerary.” “I promise.” Simon pushed back her scattered mess of grey and black hair and kissed her forehead. ***** The battered suitcases were hand-me-downs from his father. The last time Simon used them was 18 years ago. It was at his final summer camp before he refused to attend another one after some hazing he received by some boys on his canoe team. His dad had used the bags on nearly every trip he took. The only journey that he didn’t use them on was when he disappeared from Simon and his mother’s lives without a trace. The smell of the scuffed up leather helped him jump to better memories—those of his father smoking one his signature stogies in the den while reading the newspaper. Simon’s addition of a stack of comic books completed his packing duties. The 24-pack of Olde Tyme root beer was perfectly chilled in the downstairs fridge. He hauled that along with a bag of ice from the freezer into the garage. Behind a stack of dusty boxes Simon found the cooler. Its warped green lid was covered with strands of spider webs. The dirt caked in the rough topographically patterned outside of the cooler didn’t budge for the wet rag that he ran across the sides. Simon walked quickly through the yard to the kitchen. He snatched the bottle of dish soap from kitchen counter. The utility sink in the garage was barely large enough for him to wash the inside of the cooler. Simon filled it with the case of Olde Tyme and ice. 25% of the ice in the plastic bag wouldn’t fit. He tied it up and tossed it in the sink. It took him a couple minutes to position the cooler in the right spot on the back seat where he could reach it from the driver’s seat. The warped green lid wasn’t attached to the cooler itself. He practiced his maneuvering of the lid to grab himself a fresh Olde Tyme without taking his eyes off the road. After 5 tries he had the move down 100%. Simon looked up at the second floor window that belonged to his mother’s bedroom as he put the keys in the ignition. She knew what time he was leaving but hadn’t wakened to give him a proper good bye. The night before, she had given him a teary hug and a sign of the cross above his forehead accompanied by a short prayer to bless his journey. Simon accepted that as his send off as he cranked the ignition. He adjusted the rearview mirror before picking up the ten page itinerary. Item number four was the first rest stop. She listed what percentage of the trip he would be at, the exit number, notices to check the percentage of gas tank and the mileage he was at in relation to oil change needs and a reminder to call her at the stop. She even listed their home phone number for him. Simon flipped the page to see what lie ahead in the plans. The second stop was slated take place 32% of the way into the trip at exit number 375b. At that point if he started with a full tank and refilled at the other suggested points of the itinerary his gas tank would be at 62% full. The percent of trip to oil change need would be down to 16%. The home phone number was listed again. He looked up at her bedroom window before placing the itinerary on the passenger’s seat. Simon punched the addresses that Patricia gave him into the GPS screen that was suctioned to the windshield right above the center point of the dashboard. After selecting her apartment building the bottom left hand of the screen posted the estimated time of arrival for 8:23 am Monday morning. He pulled slowly out of the driveway before pressing the gas to speed down Winterbourne Street through the first moments of his journey to the sunshine state.
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