Chapter 19
“Why can’t I bring the iPad to Nana’s house?”
“Because she wants to spend some time with you not staring at a screen.”
“The whole time?”
“No. You can still watch some TV, just… come on, Gavin, it’s only for a few hours.”
Gavin looks up sullenly at his grandmother. Judith has been lingering in the foyer for going on ten minutes now, and while she never loses patience with her grandson, she looks on the verge.
“But what will we do?” Gavin mumbles.
“I was planning on taking you to the mall to pick up a few things,” Judith says.
“What things?”
Judith raises her eyebrows, signaling innocence while unsheathing her weapon. “That depends on your attitude, mister. It could just be clothes shopping for back to you-know-where… Or your Nana might even treat you to ice cream and something from the bookstore. But not if you’d rather stare at an iPad than talk to me.”
“I wouldn’t,” Gavin says, perfectly agreeable now that he’s been bribed.
“Good. Then put your shoes on and let’s be on our way.”
In less than thirty seconds, he has mashed his feet into his sneakers and is running to his grandmother’s Subaru, shouting “Bye, Mom!” without looking back.
The car has barely disappeared around the corner of the community Rec Center when a silver Toyota pulls up in front of the house. Jessica doesn’t know the car, but she knows who’s in it. They have an appointment and he’s been waiting for Gavin to leave the house.
She feels vaguely guilty watching Gavin’s technology teacher walk up the path to the front door. His gait is slightly awkward, devoid of the athleticism, confidence, and swagger she is accustomed and attracted to in her husband and his military friends. And yet, she feels like she’s doing something indiscreet, inviting him into the house while Gavin is out with her mother. Her mother, to whom she lied about her plans for the afternoon, saying she needed the quiet time to catch up on work. It was just easier than trying to explain any of this to a woman who can barely check her email.
Jessica opens the screen door and ushers Andy in, glancing around at the street as she does so.
“Thanks for coming over. Did you have any trouble finding us?”
“Nope. I have a good GPS app.”
“Well, I appreciate it. It saves me packing up his computer and tablet on limited time.”
“No problem. More discreet, too.”
“Pardon?”
“Just that… I can understand how meeting at a coffee shop might be more complicated for you with… never mind.”
“With my husband deployed?”
“Small towns, that’s all. I didn’t mean anything. I’m… uh… better with email, where I can compose my thoughts and delete things before I say them. Better than I am at talking to people. Grown-ups, I mean. I’ll shut up now.”
Jessica laughs, walking ahead of him to the kitchen. “No, you’re right. Military families talk to each other. But no worries. I told Matt I might get in touch with you. Would you like some lemonade or a beer?”
“Lemonade sounds great, thanks.”
Ninety minutes later, Andy has completed a cursory search of Gavin’s laptop and found nothing more suspicious than the usual malware. But with Jessica’s permission, he’s plugged it into a portable hard drive and is making a backup disk image that he can search more thoroughly at home. While the data transfers, he has moved on to the iPad. Jessica watches him from the kitchen, his eyes fixed on the screen, his nappy hair standing up in tufts where he’s been running his fingers through it compulsively.
“Why do I feel like I’m betraying him?” she asks, stepping between the couch and the dark TV screen. She’s holding a glass of chilled white wine. Andy has stuck with the lemonade.
“Hmm?”
He’s as distracted by the damned thing as Gavin usually is. She reminds herself that’s what she asked him over here for: to give the devices his attention.
“Like I’m violating his privacy. Why do I feel that way?”
Andy looks up and blinks his dry eyes. “Because you respect him, of course. That’s a good thing. And it’s not as common as you might think. Some parents just lay down the law and don’t care how their kids feel about it, or what they think.”
“Maybe he’d be better off if I was like that.”
Andy sighs. “I don’t know. I don’t have all the answers. I wish I did. And I don’t mean to get all heavy on you, but I lost someone to cyber bullying when I was a teenager. A friend of mine took his own life.”
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
“Thanks. Anyway, I wish someone had invaded his privacy enough to see what was happening. But I also think your respect for Gavin gives you a foundation to talk to him about this stuff. I imagine part of why he’s so smart is because you talk to him like an adult. You probably always have, right? It’s not uncommon for single children.”
“I don’t know about always, but since he was pretty young, yeah.”
“Your husband, too?”
“Mostly. When he’s around.”
Andy looks around the living room, like he’s really seeing it for the first time. His eyes linger on a glass-fronted cabinet where a few hardcover books share shelf space with a Hummel figurine and a wedding photo—Jessica and Matt clinging to each other under a shower of falling rice. She follows his gaze and thinks, When it rains, it pours.
“They’re still reading that in eighth grade,” he says, nodding at one of the books. “To Kill A Mockingbird.”
It takes a second for Jessica to adjust to the change of subject, but then she realizes the conversation has drifted too close to home for Andy and he’s trying to steer it back to small talk. “It’s my favorite book,” Jessica says. “Matt gave me that copy for our one-year anniversary. You know that list of gift types for each year? Paper.”
“Clever man.”
“It’s actually signed by Harper Lee.”
“Seriously? Jeez, what did that run him?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Sorry, that was rude.”
“No. No worries. Anyway, it’s not like it’s a first edition. We’re not rich. But it is my most prized possession besides my engagement ring. Matt and I don’t always agree on everything, but that book reminds me that he gets me. You know?”
Andy nods, looks mildly uncomfortable, and casts his eyes down at the tablet in his lap. He taps something.
“Do you play an instrument?” she asks.
“No. Why?”
“Just… your hands. They look like musician’s hands.”
He shrugs. “Used to dabble with the guitar, but I didn’t have the discipline for it. Besides,” he says, tapping and swiping at the glass, “everybody knows computer geeks get all the girls.”
Jessica laughs, then covers her mouth. Has she had too much chardonnay on an empty stomach? Is she laughing too loud? For the first time in weeks, she might actually be relaxing. Maybe that’s what having an ally does for you. Andy may be a little awkward, but it’s endearing. He’s the kind of man she imagines Gavin might be when he grows up—smart, sweet, and empathetic. Is that why it feels so easy to befriend him? She knows almost nothing about his personal life.
“Is there a girl?”
“Nah, nothing serious.”
A beat of silence passes with his focus on the tablet. Then he says, “He’s not really old enough to have much privacy for you to invade, anyway. I mean, at ten, we’re probably not going to stumble on his porn stash.”
“Oh God, I hope not!”
Andy blushes. “Nah, I’m joking. Sort of. He doesn’t strike me as the type.”
Jessica’s mouth is hanging open. “Is there a type of ten-year-old boy who has a porn stash?”
“Again, I’ll shut up now.”
She stares at him.
“You’d be surprised at what I find some of them pawing at through the chastity belt of the classroom web controls.”
Jessica sets her glass on the coffee table, shaking her head in disbelief. She nods at the iPad in Andy’s lap. “What are you finding? Anything?”
“Not much. His scores in Rainblocks are really impressive.”
“Great.”
“You said you limit his time on it?”
“We’re up to three twenty-minute sessions a day. I don’t think he’s sneaking extra, but you know what they say: overprotective mothers raise the best liars.”
Andy laughs. “If he’s scoring like this on an hour a day, it’s doubly impressive. It’s not an easy game to get the hang of. But, like I said, I’ve felt like my access to certain features might have been limited when I wouldn’t turn on my camera.”
“I keep thinking about that. How sure are you? I mean, it’s Rainbow fucking Dave’s creation, right? He’s rolling in advertising money, selling books and merchandise… What would someone at his level have to gain by luring kids into a secret area of a game? You don’t think…”
“Something sexual? I don’t know. He never mentions a wife or girlfriend, but of course, as a teacher, I’ll be the first to say that if that makes a man suspect, it’s witch-hunt time. So, I’d be reluctant to even suggest anything like that without hard evidence, which I don’t have. I’m far from sure he’s doing anything shady. It’s mostly just a… hunch. Based on a lot of gaming.” Andy taps his finger against the smiley face sticker covering the camera eye above the screen. “I see you took my advice. Any complaints from Gavin about it?”
“Not yet, but it’s only been on for a couple of days.”
“And you don’t think he’s tried peeling it off and putting it back on? It doesn’t look tampered with.”
“No. I don’t think he messed with it. Actually, I think he might be losing interest in the game. Maybe he’s played out the novelty of it. Do you think?”
“Maybe. Let me see if I can get a little further and prompt an exchange.”
“With who? Dave?”
Andy nods and Jessica’s heart rate kicks up a few notches. Despite the liquid lunch, she suddenly feels utterly sober.
Andy taps and swipes and rotates the tablet like a steering wheel, his eyes lost in the game world. Jessica, lulled by the familiar sounds of the music and effects, almost relaxes again, until suddenly he sits up straight, hunched over the device, his muscles tense.
“What is it?”
He holds up a finger to shush her, but his eyes remain fixed on the game.
He types something. She realizes she’s holding her breath, afraid of making any sound that might be picked up by the tablet’s microphone. Then she remembers the sticker covering the camera and she steps around behind the couch to peer over Andy’s shoulder at what he’s typed in what looks like condensation on a window:
ITS ME GAVIN
The message fades and a moment later is replaced by a reply that also only lingers for a moment before fading:
HEY BUDDY! SORRY I HAVEN’T BEEN IN THE GAME LATELY
There is no username attached to the text. Another line soon follows:
BIG PLANS FOR MY BEST AND BRIGHTEST!
Andy types: COOL! :) :) :)
Anonymous: ARE YOU IN YOUR BLANKET FORT?
Andy: YES
Anonymous: IS SOMETHING BLOCKING YOUR CAMERA?
Andy: OOPS!
Andy looks up at Jessica and mouths the word, “Blanket.” She plucks a folded afghan from the stuffed chair beside the couch and hands it to him. Andy drapes it over his head and the tablet and Jessica suppresses a shudder at the image. Even in the daylight of a Saturday afternoon in the living room, the shrouded figure recalls her terror at finding Gavin sitting up in his bed with the blanket over his head on the night of the seizure. And if some puppet master orchestrated that… Fear and anger commingle in her skin like a hot skillet hissing under cold water.
She looks at the clock on the living room wall. There’s no second hand, but it feels like an eternity passes with her not knowing what Andy is typing or reading or deciding to gamble under the blanket. The big hand finally clicks forward a notch. A few seconds more and Andy sweeps the blanket aside, blinking at the light from the window. The screen in his lap is dark, the smiley sticker gone from the lens. His hair is even more mussed than it was, and his eyes are alive with the exhilaration of whatever just passed between him and the mysterious stranger at the other end of the chat.
Was it a stranger? Or someone whose voice I’ve been living with for well over a year?
“What happened?” she asks.
“I kept my head out of the way and showed the camera the blanket with the light passing through it. You saw the message about the blanket fort?”
“Yes. Gavin made one in his room. You saw it.”
“I think this guy in the game wants him in it when they video chat. For privacy, so you won’t catch on.”
“Was it Dave? Did you see him?”
“No, I couldn’t see. He was off camera, too. And he wouldn’t talk. I saw a white wall, but he was waiting for me to go first. I waited him out, thinking maybe I’d at least hear his voice if I waited, but I think the quiet spooked him.”
“Did he log out?”
“No. The iPad flickered and died.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I know it had at least thirty percent on the battery when I started the game. Does Gavin complain about it doing that? Maybe the battery’s shot and not holding a charge?”
“No. You can bet he’d be complaining about it if it was blacking out on him.”
Andy is on his feet, looking around the room. “Where’s the charger?”
Jessica picks through the assorted clutter on the bookshelf Gavin has claimed near the power outlet and fishes a white cable out from between the dusty Lego fragments and the Harry Potter books. “Here.”
Andy takes the cable. His fingers brush against hers and if he notices she’s trembling from the shot of adrenaline that just got dumped into her system, he doesn’t comment on it. Instead he focuses on the task at hand, plugging one end into the iPad and the other into the wall.
The battery icon fails to appear on the screen.
“Was it Rainbow Dave?” Jessica asks.
Andy looks at her. She can’t tell what he’s searching for in her eyes. “I don’t know. Like I said: whoever it was didn’t show his face or speak.”
“But do you think it was him?”
He exhales heavily, looking like he might be ready for that beer now. “I don’t know. Millions of people are playing Rainblocks. Dave personally playing cat and mouse with Gavin? You’re right, it would be a pretty far-fetched explanation for whatever just happened.”
“Are you trying to convince me or you?”
Andy laughs, but there’s no humor in it. He makes short, shy eye contact again. “I’m sorry, Jessica. I wanted to help, but I might have just made things worse. I’m supposed to be the expert here, but I feel like I’m in over my head.”
Her mouth is dry when she asks, “How did you make it worse?”
“I don’t know exactly what just happened, and there won’t be a log of it we can look at in any kind of chat window, but whoever that was trying to pick up a private conversation with Gavin… they probably know an adult is on to them now.”
“Good.”
“Not good. I just blew our one chance of luring him out and getting a look at him.”
Jessica doesn’t argue the point or attempt to console him about the consequences. He’s right.
Andy shakes his head in frustration. “We should have talked to Gavin and had him log in with us watching.”
“Are we sure it’s an adult? Could it be a kid? Are we freaking out over nothing?”
He gives this some consideration. “I don’t think so. That game hasn’t smelled right to me since the first time I played it. And it gets my hackles up now more than ever after what I just saw.”
Jessica is pacing. She turns to him and takes his wrist in her hand, gives it a shake. “It’s a relief to confide in someone who doesn’t think I’m being paranoid, but…”
“What?”
“Am I rubbing off on you? My fear, I mean: is it contagious?”
“I don’t think so. Someone was texting. Did they not act like a predator?”
“Is it possible that whoever’s on the other end killed the tablet somehow when he realized you weren’t Gavin? Is that even possible? Killing someone’s device from a distance?”
“I don’t know. It would require skills that are beyond me. Beyond most hackers.”
She nods and rakes her hair back from her face with clawed fingers. “Then maybe we are getting carried away.”
“You really don’t want to believe any of this, do you?”
“Of course I don’t. It’s terrifying. But we can’t prove anything.”
On a whim, Andy taps the home button again. The screen lights up, showing the unlock code prompt. He types the four digits Jessica gave him earlier and the home screen loads, displaying a half-full battery icon. “Weird. It’s back to a little more power than it had before it fritzed. Like the battery never drained in the first place.”
Without unplugging the device from the power cable, he swipes to the games page and launches Rainblocks. Within seconds, the familiar opening graphic is lashing digital rain and lightning over the stock message:
WELCOME BACK, KRISPY NINJA!
“We’re in. The saved game is intact.”
Jessica doesn’t know if she’s relieved or not.