“Some things just never made sense to me,” she went on. “At first I thought, the death of a loved one never makes sense. But I can’t get over the fact that some little things just don’t add up.” Her voice was getting a little choked up, and I quickly looked at the floor again. But she wasn’t finished. “It’s been keeping me awake at nights, it’s been keeping me from functioning normally, it’s caused problems between your father and me.” I looked at her quickly, shocked into concern. Her eyes were brimming with tears as she looked at me. “Please,” she said. “I really need to know.”
I’d never thought of my mother as a real person before, and it was a very unnerving thought. I stared at her as my mind reeled to adjust to this new reality. Suddenly, I realized what a relief it would be if I could just tell somebody about it.
“Somebody killed Grampa,” I blurted. “He was murdered. And I’m going after whoever did it.”
I thought she’d ground me for a year. I thought she’d call the police. I thought she’d forbid me from ever touching a computer again. I thought she’d do a lot of things, but I never thought I’d sit there and watch as her face crumpled into the most horrible grief I’d ever seen.
It seemed like hours. It seemed like weeks. It seemed like it was forever as she sat on my bed and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. I sat next to her and didn’t know what to do. I finally put my arm around her, which was the first time in months that I’d touched either of my parents willingly, and I tried to think of what my dad did when she cried, but I didn’t know because I’d never seen anyone cry like this before, much less my mom. After awhile I realized that she was crying because Grampa was gone, and someone had taken him away from us before it was time, and I’d been so busy plotting my revenge that I’d kind of forgotten that, then I started crying too.
After awhile, she got up and brought back a box of tissue. We both sat quietly for awhile, sniffing and blowing our noses, and then she asked, “How do you know he was murdered? And what do you mean, you’re going after the people who did it?”
I told her the whole story, and let her see some of the stuff I’d collected. It didn’t take long to convince her I wasn’t making it up.
“What’s your plan?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “When I get enough proof, I guess I’ll turn it over to the cops.”
“You’re dealing with killers,” Mom pointed out. “This can’t be safe.”
“It’s completely safe,” I insisted, realizing why I hadn’t told anyone about it before. “Grampa rigged it so I’m completely invisible. They don’t have any idea that I’m there. And I’m recording everything so I’ll have some solid proof. And if anything goes wrong, I just turn off my computer, and—poof!—I’m gone.”
“Shouldn’t we tell someone about it now? And then supply the evidence when we get it?”
“I’ve given this a lot of thought, Mom,” I said. “If there’s the slightest hint that someone is on to them, they’ll bail out. Go somewhere else, someplace where Grampa doesn’t have a bug. And then we’ll never be able to catch his killer.”
“But a computer professional of some kind could help out,” Mom insisted.
“Name one you could trust not to rat on us,” I challenged.
She didn’t answer.
“Face it,” I said. “We’re messing with a big company, with lots and lots of money. You said they own half the senators in Washington. I don’t trust anybody to be on our side. Nobody.”
She sat in silence for awhile, and then nodded. “You’re right. See, I keep telling you, you’re a very bright boy.” I grimaced, and she continued. “You can keep on doing this,” she decided. “I’ll tell your dad about it, but nobody else. Just keep me informed and for heaven’s sake, be careful!”
“There’s no risk here,” I assured her.
“Just so you’re careful,” she repeated.
“I promise.”
“One more thing,” she said, and stood up. “Get the bastard who killed your Grampa.” She tossed the notes on the bed and walked out of the room.
Another memory I have of Grampa involves a fire truck he gave me for my seventh birthday. It was the neatest fire truck I’d ever seen, because it had two detachable hoses. One of them would fit a water faucet, and you could turn on the water and use the other hose to aim the water flow. I thought it was just absolutely the coolest thing in the world.
Mom would never let me play with the hose attachment, but once when Grampa was babysitting while my parents went out, he had me take it out to the garage. Then while I hooked it up, he got a cardboard box and used a magic marker to draw doors and windows and a roof onto the box. And then he set it on fire! It was up to me and my cool fire truck to put out the fire in the “house.” It was the biggest thrill I’d ever had.
When my parents came home and I told them about it with high excitement, my mom was mortified. She’d envisioned all kinds of fire catastrophes I would cause because Grampa had done that. So I had to put up with a lecture on fire safety. Sitting there sandwiched between my mom and dad, I looked over at Grampa, sitting across the room. And he smiled crinkly-eyed at me, and I smiled back, and we both knew that the thrill of the fire was worth any kind of lecture we got.
I kept on monitoring the high security channel. I was especially interested because Klemhauser and Gunderson had summoned Hawkey and Van Ives to a face-to-face meeting at their office. I had no way of knowing what they talked about, so I was eager to eavesdrop on the post-meeting messages.
They all seemed pretty routine, and I didn’t understand a lot of them. But I was pleased to see that they were scheduling another teleconference. I figured I could catch up on where they were in the ad campaign when I monitored that.
I was pretty sure that my electronic nightmares would have had some effect by now, and they’d talk about Grampa in more detail tomorrow. Then I’d have all of the evidence I needed. I’d have to skip school again, which was fine with me. The nice thing about my mom knowing what was going on was I didn’t have to fake an illness.
I told my mom about the teleconference the next day, and she granted permission to stay home and monitor it. She wanted to stay home too, but I assured her that it wasn’t necessary. She would have insisted, but she had some big project at work.
So I was alone in the house again, which was the way I liked it, when the teleconference began. I was pretty used to the setup now, and sat smugly in my invisibility as the others gathered around the table.
“Let’s get this underway,” Klemhauser said abruptly, bringing the meeting to order. I glanced around at the others. They all looked haggard and tense.
“We all know why we’re here,” Klemhauser continued. “None of us has been sleeping well. We’ve all been having nightmares. As a matter of fact, we’ve all been having the same kind of nightmares. And we’ve all been seeing the same images. Exactly the same.” He paused for dramatic effect, while I listened breathlessly. He reached under the table and brought out some kind of switch. “Yesterday, we found out why. And now, let’s find out who!”
I watched uncomprehendingly as he flicked the switch. Then they all cried out in surprise. Hawkey jumped a foot, Gunderson and Van Ives swore, and they all stared directly at me!
“Oh, Jesus!” Hawkey yelled. “He’s right next to me!”
“Shit!” cried Klemhauser at the same time. “There really is somebody!”
I sat rooted, immobile with shock. I stared back at them and just about crapped in my pants.
Gunderson was looking behind me. “Hold him!” he roared. Hawkey and Van Ives each grabbed one of my arms and held me immobile. I wasn’t really there—I was sitting alone in my room—but I couldn’t move—I couldn’t get away—the only thing my brain knew was that someone was holding my arms!