Faerie Spyware

 

Recognizing the upper hand, Tinkletoes stands up. He exits the living room and crosses the hall way with reignited confidence. The self-proclaimed mercenary knocks on High Command’s door.

“Go Away.”

Knock-knock-knock.

“I know the sound of your knock. Go Away!”

Knock-knock-knock.

Writer Lady has already began talking before she opens the door. “Banned means you can’t come in, if you don’t believe me I will be happy to show you a dictionary.”

“There are no Nathans.” Tinkletoes says. “That is your argument?”

Writer Lady eyes Tinkletoes suspiciously. “Yes.”

“Would you mind stepping into the living room please.”

Writer Lady heads for the living room making it a point of closing the door to High Command behind her, just in case some Halo playing, baked good eating Neanderthal tries to pull a fast one.

“If you would turn your attention to Exhibit A and tell the jury what you see.” Tinkletoes says.

“A full living room, an empty cupcake container...”

“Anything else?” The self-proclaimed mercenary asks trying to hold back a grin.

“A whole lot of shirts and things that say ‘NATHAN’ on them.” Writer Lady responds slowly.

“A room full of NATHANS.” Tinkletoes says. “What have you got to say about that?”

“Three kids, a baby dragon, a full grown dragon, a faerie, a much loved Auntie, a demon, three cats, and an insomniac.” Her mouth begins to turn up in a smile. “If this group is a threat to your masculinity something might be wrong. You might want to get things checked.” Writer Lady looks around the room. “I’ll be in High Command if anyone needs me.” Writer Lady returns to her writing room shutting the door behind her.

Tinkletoes walks over to the empty cupcake container, picking it up, he turns it over hoping to find a few random leftover crumbs. Finding nothing, he sets the container back on the coffee table. The self-proclaimed mercenary sits down and frowns. He releases a long breath and doesn’t say anything, not a word.

Dobby approaches,  the name ‘NATHAN’ in a vibrantly glowing orange covers the ginger tabby’s snow white chest. “You wanna get back to the game?” He asks.

“Nah. I can’t...focus...Halo...while he’s in there.” Tinkletoes says looking in the direction of High Command’s door.

Dobby shakes his head. He reaches out, placing a paw on Tinkletoes’ forearm. “If Mom says she’s only writing a character with that name then she’s only writing a character with that name.”

“If only I could be as sure of that as you are. If only I could see what she was writing...”

Sensing an opportunity for mischief, TP flies over to the pair.

The door to High Command opens and Carp exits. The assassin-in-training enters the living room and approaches Diomedes. The dragon bends down and Carp whispers something in his ear. The dragon says, “Oh my, she is serious.” Diomedes takes his leave and enters High Command.

Carp joins Tinkletoes and the others. “It feels so good to be out of there.” He shakes his head. “She’s usually so calm. Now...it’s such a relief not being the one her discontent is focused on.” Carp looks at Tinkletoes. “You had to keep talking about it didn’t you? Nathan, Nathan, Nathan. You just couldn't shut up."

Tinkletoes looks at High Command’s door. “How does she do it? How can a female have so much anger?”

Carp puts a hand to his face, he lays the opposite arm across his body to cradle the elbow of the raised one. “I don’t know, why would that be...maybe, it’s your fault.” The assassin-in-training looks at the self-proclaimed mercenary pointedly.

“It’s okay. TP fix.” The faerie announces.

Carp begins to walk away.

“You’re leaving?” Dobby asks.

“Yes. I have a headache.” Carp says to TP as he gestures to everyone's ‘NATHAN.' “I’ve seen how you fix things. Not a fan.”

TP blows a raspberry as Carp turns and walks away.

Tinkletoes reaches out to TP. “Never mind him. How do I get in there?”

“You don’t.” TP giggles. “Magic does.” The faerie gestures to Dobby to open the door to High Command a little.

The ginger tabby nods and runs over to the door. Crouching so his nose is level with the bottom of the door he sniffs. The feline scratches lightly. The door has not quite latched all the way as is common in older homes. Dobby raises his head and gently pushes on it. The door opens, just a small crack, not enough to make a sound but enough for...”Ouch.” Dobby cries out as a whisker is removed from the cat’s cheek without warning. The whisker is guided into High Command by a tiny ball of light, it flutters close to the wall lowering itself slowly and comes to rest on the back of Writer Lady’s monitor.

“Dobby kitty is that you?” Writer Lady calls. “Are you hurt?”

“No. I’m fine, my tail got stuck for a minute. I’m okay now.”

Writer Lady looks at the door. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Be careful sweetie.”

“I will.” Dobby says. He creeps away from the door and returns to the living room. He looks at TP. “That hurt.”

“The magic needs a home to keep it safe.”

“A necessary sacrifice for the good of the mission.” Tinkletoes says. He looks at Dobby. “Thanks man.”

“What did my sacrifice get us?”

“A looksy.” TP responds, looking at Dobby. “Let’s go to your room.”

The threesome enter Dobby’s room. Game controllers are sitting out where they had been left earlier. The large screen television is still on but instead of the game that is usually on pause waiting for them to resume play or reset a simple white page is showing with margins at the top along with various word processing icons. Words are being typed as they enter the room. As the group locates drinks, snacks, and makes themselves comfortable they watch Writer Lady work, in real time.

“We’re spying?” Dobby asks.

“That is the mission.” Tinkletoes says not taking his eyes off the screen.

Dobby crosses the room and tries to unplug the television. The feline can’t, no thumbs. He turns around, wrapping his tail around the cord,Dobby slowly inches the end of the plug from the wall. Satisfied he has protected his mother’s privacy he struts back to the couch only to find Tinkletoes still reading.

“You’re still reading?”

“Yep. The program is magic, magic doesn’t need the assistance of something as inferior as electricity.” Tinkletoes seems fairly relaxed as he reads.

Dobby watches as the letters N-a-t-h begin to appear.

The self-proclaimed mercenary stops chewing, his body begins to tense.

Banned From High Command

 

“Are you attempting to tell me what to do not only in my own home but in High Command, my writing room, my private space?”

“Umm...ye-ah?”

“What makes you think you can do that?” Writer Lady asks.

Tinkletoes shifts his weight and looks at the floor.

“What makes you think you can do that?” She asks more emphatically.

Nothing happens.

She lowers her head to catch his eye. “My eyes are up here.” She says pointing to her face. “What was your logic?”

Tinkletoes makes a face.

“Lo-gic.”

“Umm…”

Carp leans in and whispers to the self-proclaimed mercenary, “What were you thinking when you told her what to do.”

“Being the alpha male within this dwelling it is my prerogative to dictate what is done in said dwelling.”

“Let’s see...you’re not my father, not my husband, and you don’t pay the bills. You don’t even live here. And even if you were one of those things you still would have no say as to how I spend my time.” Writer Lady glares, calling up the ever threatening, stink eye. “I don’t care what kind of a male you think you are you have no influence in this dwelling. Especially in this room. You don’t even live here.”

“You already said that.” Tinkletoes points out.

“Alpha male? What do you think if you stand outside and take a whiz on the siding, the house and all who reside within are yours to command?”

“I’m the biggest guy here.”

“So?”

“It could be a...thing.”

Writer Lady turns her attention to a specialist. “Carp!”

The former romance novelist and assassin-in-training startles momentarily.

“In all of your years of writing, reading, living among romantic stories and studying historic mating rituals have you ever encountered a place or time where men marked their territory by relieving themselves on the outside of a dwelling?”

“I have not.” Carp answers.

“That’s because it isn’t a thing!” Writer Lady announces.

“Does that include third world countries?” Tinkletoes asks.

“It isn’t a thing!”

Tinkletoes looks at Writer Lady, “Could you just stop it, you know with the...writing...Nathan business?”

“There is NO NATHAN!”

Tinkletoes points to the name Nathan on the monitor display and raises an eyebrow.

“There is one. It is a flat one dimensional grouping of letters, it’s not like he’s a living breathing human being or anything.”

“She does have a point.” Carp agrees.

“True but you know what,” House’s voice echoes throughout the room, “there are currently over 300,000 males named Nathan residing within the U.S. alone. Some are actors, several others are athletes.”

“That’s a whole lotta pecs…” Carp says.

“Yes that is.” House agrees.

“Not helping.” Tinkletoes calls out.

Writer Lady sighs releasing some of her frustration. She looks at Tinkletoes. “How long have you known me?”

“A long time.”

“More than five years?” She asks.

“Ten probably.”

“How many Nathans have you seen in this house?”

“None?”

“At the door?”

“None.”

“There are no Nathans here.” Writer Lady says.

Tinkletoes points to the screen.

Writer Lady ignores the gesture.“If you don’t mind I would very much like to get back to my story.” She says gently.

He nods. “I get it. When you’re concentrating on a mission you don’t mess with details like code names. That crap will get you killed. I’m sure you’ll change his name when you get to it. Being a girl and all it takes time for you to see the error of your ways.” Tinkletoes shakes his head. “You are really screwing up this time.”

“That’s it. I’ve had enough of this.” Writer Lady raises her hand and points to the door. “Good-bye.”

“What?”

“From this moment on you have been banned from High Command.”

“I have security clear…”

“Get Out!”

Carp puts a hand to Tinkletoes’ shoulder. “Let’s give her some time to calm down. You know how women are.” As Tinkletoes heads for the door Carp turns to face Writer Lady, he mouths “You tried.”

The pair enter the living room to a group of stunned faces. Some of them sticky ones. No one utters a word for several moments.

“Dude...what was going on in there? The windows were rattling.” Ray asks.

“Writer Lady was writing a story about some guy and I told her she shouldn’t be doing those things, you know, thinking, about guys.”

“Writer Lady is working on a new story and our friend here is feeling a little insecure.” Carp pulls out his expression of reassurance. “It’s all a misunderstanding.”

“There are No Nathans!” Writer Lady’s voice is heard from High Command. “No men coming over, visiting, being nice to me. Nothing has changed!”

“Nathan...rawr even the name is hot.” House says. “Can I call you Nathan, Mur?”

“You can call me anything you want darling as long as I can hold you.” Mural Man responds.

“Any-whoo as soon as some people stop stirring the pot,” Carp explains, “everything will go back to normal. For the time being…”

“For the time being I have been banned from High Command.”

“Damn right you have!”

“Whoa. She sounds mad.” Ray says.

“Yep.” Tinkletoes says looking in the direction of the writing room.

Writer Lady spies him peeking and shuts the door.

The self-proclaimed mercenary lowers his head and closes his eyes for a moment.

“If she says there’s no Nathan there must not be any Nathan.” Ray says.

When Tinkletoes looks up again, the self-proclaimed mercenary sees Ray munching away on one his Creme de Menthe cupcakes. The insomniac/junk food junkie’s favorite surf tee had been replaced by a simple baby blue t-shirt with the word NATHAN printed on it in bold white print.

The self-proclaimed mercenary does a double take. Ray is still sitting on the couch sporting the word Nathan. Tinkletoes looks around the room. Dylan is wearing the same shirt along with Peter and Paige. Every face he sees is wearing some variation of the Nathan t on their bodies. “What the…” Tinkletoes hears a familiar sound and looks in the direction of the hall. TP the faerie is fluttering in the hallway just outside the door to High Command. He hears Writer Lady call out, “He lost his mind. There is no Nathan!”

The closer TP gets,the faerie’s NATHAN t shirt comes into the self-proclaimed mercenary’s sight.

“You too?” He asks shaking his head.

“TP help. Writer Lady says there is no Nathan. Now there are Nathans everywhere.”

Tinkletoes looks around the room again, silently counting Nathans. The self-proclaimed mercenary raises an eyebrow as one corner of his mouth begins to turn up in a smile.

When A Self-Proclaimed Mercenary And A Writer Lady Butt Heads

 

Dylan pokes his head into the room. His older sister Paige’s head, appears just above his. “Ray wants to know if there are cookies.” He says.

Writer Lady situates herself so she can peer around Tinkletoes’ side. “We are out of cookies.”

“Is there anything else to snack on?” The six year old asks. “We’re hungry.”

“We are out of snack crackers, chips, and pretzels.” Writer Lady responds, as she runs through a mental list. “Chocolate and soda too.”

“There’s no food.” Dylan announces. He raises his eyes to his sister. “We’re gonna starve.”

“We’re out of junk food you big baby.” Paige responds to her brother. “There’s plenty of food in the house. Eat an apple.”

Tinkletoes turns to face the children. “Writer Lady is being naughty. Go eat your apples. I’m gonna see to it that she behaves.”

TP pops in, floating in front of Tinkletoes. “Don’t look down. You’re gonna get it now.” The faerie giggles.

Tinkletoes looks down. Writer Lady’s face is red, her eyes have deepened in color to a black shade of blue. Several moments pass and slowly… the redness dissipates and her eyes return to their natural bright cornflower blue. “Don’t be silly TP, I’m a grown woman. I would never resort to violence.” She looks at Tinkletoes then turns her attention to the open doorway, Writer Lady calls, “Dylan, tell Ray there’s a container of Creme De Menthe cupcakes in the refrigerator for everyone to snack on.”

“Those are my cupcakes.”

Writer Lady looks at Tinkletoes. “They were. Now if you’ll excuse me.” She says turning back to the computer.

“No.” Tinkletoes responds.

“No?”

“You’ve already gotten away with taking off on adventures with a pirate and brief dalliances with actor guys.”

“As you know, Pirate and I were saving the world from a full scale invasion of magical beings not to mention protecting my sister. I kissed Monitor Man, one time, Carp told me to.”

“Here you are again, writing yourself into a story so you can play patty cakes with some weirdo named Nathan.”

“Nathan huh?” Carp comments as he enters High command. “A gift from God. Tell me Writer Lady how are his pecs?”

Writer Lady turns to Carp, she points to the screen in front of her, “He’s a character in a story. He wears clothes the whole time. Pecs are not a thing.”

Carp raises an eyebrow. “Pecs are always a thing.” He looks the monitor and begins reading. “Yes. Okay. Yes. Got it.” The assassin-in-training looks at Tinkletoes. “I see where Writer Lady is going with this. The handsome yet strangely private man living in the big house on the cliffs in a place that rains a lot, the ghostly woman in white. It’s your standard Gothic ghost story.”

“No ghostly...?” The self-proclaimed mercenary asks.

Carp grins slightly and his eyes brighten, “Well, it wouldn’t be difficult to spice things up a bit. I know I would have the firelight reveal a silhouette of what is under her thin nightdress. The man of the house would wake to find the mysterious woman in white watching him sleep. He happens to sleep in the buff, of course. There is a strange attraction regardless of the dimensions that separate them...”

The wheel of Writer Lady’s chair meets with Carp’s toe.

“Of course, Writer Lady would never do that.” He says.

“Of course not.” Tinkletoes says. “She knows that would upset me. She’s always a good girl.”

Writer Lady’s back stiffens, her face reddens, she glares at Tinkletoes. “Don’t be too sure of that.” Writer Lady begins typing, furiously.

“You go girl.” House exclaims.

You Don’t Own Me by Lesley Gore echoes around them.

Carp glances at the screen, pales, and changes the subject, “How are your gaming numbers these days? I bet you’re beating Dobby’s pants off, if he wore pants.”

Tinkletoes turns his back to Writer Lady and the computer. “Cats don’t wear pants but if he did they would be mine.”

“That good?”

“Yeah. You should have seen the move I pulled on him just the other day. It was this airborne kick while shooting thing. It’s not in the book. It’s not in any of the books.”

Carp’s eyes wander to the monitor and grow large. He quickly nods and smiles at Tinkletoes. “How did you do it? Make your character do the shooting kicking thing.”

“That’s it, I don’t know. I have been practicing my finger motions for days. I can’t seem to recreate it.”

“Oh girl, that’s my kind of stranger.” House comments.

Writer Lady grins and keeps typing.

Tinkletoes turns around and looks at the monitor. His head tilts up and down, turning in odd directions like the self-proclaimed mercenary can’t quite picture exactly what Writer Lady is describing.

Carp reads it as well, his mouth drops open. “Hmm...I never thought of...interesting.” He leans down and whispers, “I have to get him out of here, keep going, there are some people I’d like to introduce you to when this is finished.”

Writer Lady’s expression does not change, she keeps typing.

Tinkletoes looks at Carp. “What happened? This isn’t right. She can’t do this. Make it stop.”

He leans down and whispers to Writer Lady, “You’ve made your point you can stop now.”

Writer Lady types faster.

“No.” Tinkletoes says, “Don’t...do...that.” He cringes.

“Is someone talking? I’m so busy writing I can’t hear a thing.” She says.

Another sentence appears on the page.

“Wow.”

“Whoa.” Tinkletoes shakes his head. The self-proclaimed mercenary continues shaking his head. “That’s it, I’ve had enough.” He pulls back her chair and places himself between Writer Lady and her keyboard. “No more writing.”

Writer Lady looks at Tinkletoes and says, “Excuse me...” An eyebrow raises.

“No more writing.” He repeats.

Writer Lady stands up, quietly placing a hand to each hip, she looks Tinkletoes in the eyes.

Carp takes several steps back, “Oh no.”

“Here it comes.” TP giggles.

Nathan

*No Nathans were injured or killed during the writing of this story although one self-proclaimed mercenary might not be so lucky.

 

                                                                        Nathan

Writing out the name, she underlined it. Twice. Why it needed to be underlined two times and not just one, she wasn’t quite sure. Julia never knew where stories were headed when she began writing them and this time was no different. There she sat, pen in hand, staring at the name Nathan and its lines of emphasis.

Minutes passed. She put down her pen and picked up her coffee, cradling the warm mug between her hands, Julia raised her eyes studying the coffee shop’s other patrons.

What kind of a man is this is this character Nathan? What is his story? Is it an adventure? A mystery? A love story?

Hearing raised voices coming from the front of the restaurant, Julia turned her attention in the direction of the offending sounds. A woman was leaning across a table talking to a man. The more quickly she spoke the deeper his face would redden. When the woman closed her mouth, the man opened his. The closer the man got to the end of his response the louder his voice became. He rose from his seat as he finished yelling. Tossing money on to the table in front of him, the man turned, exiting the coffee shop completely.

Julia grimaced, scrunching her nose. Maybe not a love story, she thought.

A ghost story. What about a ghost story?

Is Nathan a ghost? Is he dead?

Julia watched as a handsome gentleman stepped up to the register at the coffee shop’s counter. He smiled at the waitress and chatted a bit as he handed her cash. Julia’s eyes followed his movements as he looked around. He waved, calling out to his fellow patrons in greeting, stopping to visit with one or two of them before walking out the door.

Nathan’s not dead, Julia decided. He’s haunted.

By whom?

Julia continued looking around, her eyes stopping at a little girl playing with her doll in the booth in front of her.

A child?

She shook her head dismissing the idea the moment it emerged.

An older man? The spirit of a relative or an ancestor?

Something flickered past the corner of Julia’s eye, she turned her attention towards movement on the far side of the display window. Leaves were falling outside in bright yellows and bold reds. She watched as a waitress set paper placemats down on a freshly wiped table. They were printed with cheerful looking vampires and werewolves. The monsters stayed in place, waiting patiently for tiny hands to color them in with crayons carefully set next to the napkin dispenser.

Julia looked down at the book sitting on the table in front of her. The House Of Seven Gables by Nathaniel Hawthorne. She picked up the book. At least I know where the name came from.

She shook her head.

No, his name is Nathan not Nathaniel.

A man who appeared to be living a quiet life.

To the outside world anyway.

At night, when he was alone, things were quite different.

After darkness had fallen and all had grown quiet, his ghostly visitor would appear.

“Really?” House’s voice echoes through High Command. She sighs. “Bor-ing.”

Writer Lady ignores the comment and continues to type. The theme song from Winnie-The-Pooh invades the room from another part of the house. She absentmindedly begins singing along. “Winnie-The-Pooh is coming out of my mouth while I’m writing a ghost story.” She shakes her head. “This is wrong. So wrong.” Writer Lady raises her eyes in the direction of the ceiling and calls out. “House. Activate sound proofing please.”

“Why?” House responds.

“So I can continue writing undisturbed.”

“I don’t like it.” House says.

“I know.”

“You’re still writing it?” House asks.

“Yes. I am aware of your opinion and I would still like to continue writing, if you would please.”

The music no longer leaks into High Command. Typing commences. “This is the song that never ends. It just goes on and on my friends...”begins echoing throughout High Command.

“House.” Writer Lady calls. Footsteps approach, she turns to the entry to find Dobby and Tinkletoes looking in.

“What’s going on? We can hear you in the furthest reaches of hyper space.” Tinkletoes asks.

Writer Lady raises her hands towards the ceiling. “I am working on a new story, I asked for silence and House is being House.”

Dobby nods. “I’ll get TP.” The ginger tabby disappears from sight.

Tinkletoes enters High Command. Writer Lady turns back to her story. The self-proclaimed mercenary watches her as she types. He leans forward studying the words on the screen.

“Who’s Nathan?” He asks.

Writer Lady’s face contorts into something unpleasant. “He’s one of the main characters of the story. Do you mind?”

“What’s he like?” Tinkletoes asks.

“He’s...a man?” She responds. “Living in a big house near the sea where there are cliffs and stuff.”

“Is he...hot?” The self-proclaimed mercenary asks.

“Does it matter?”

“If you’re looking at his name and like thinking about him more than other people…”

Writer Lady sighs and turns around. “He’s a character on paper and I’m writing a ghost story.”

“So he’s gonna die. Cool.”

Writer Lady runs a hand across her forehead, sighs and continues typing. “Just because it’s a ghost story doesn’t mean anyone is going to die. There are lots of excellent stories where no one dies or where only the...” she pauses to glare at Tinkletoes, “...most annoying of characters suffer an untimely fate.”

The self-proclaimed mercenary grins. “You hear that House. Your days are numbered!”

Writer Lady shakes her head and returns to her work.

A ghostly presence with long flowing hair and soft blue eyes.

“Don’t you have blue eyes?” Tinkletoes asks.

Writer Lady turns and fixes her eyes on his.

“Now that you're looking at me I can see there’s nothing soft about your eyes.”

She returns to her story.

The woman wore a white nightgown trimmed in delicate lace always carrying a tall, thick, white candle as she followed Nathan through his nights.

“This isn’t one of those sex books is it?”

"She's a ghost."

"Ghosts still do stuff, sometimes."

"She doesn't have a physical body."

"Can't ghosts send energy pulsing through..."

Writer Lady turns, facing Tinkletoes she sits back in the Big Writing Chair as she folds her arms in front of her.

 

 

Scammed By The Faerie

*Email address soldierboy01@TPMail is completely fictional. No soldier boys exist at TP Mail because TP Mail was created by a mischievous faerie and does not actually exist.  

  **The characters of HR Apostos' blog and the FBI guys are the heroes in this story. No FBI guys were harmed in any way during the writing of the blog because this is fiction: none of it really happened.

 

The first thing Tinkletoes, Dobby, and Ray hear is a sucking noise. A fan stops running inside Writer Lady’s computer tower.

“Dude...you okay?” Ray asks, looking at it.

“One moment please,” is heard coming from the tower’s depths along with indistinct muttering. The fan begins running again.

Dobby Cat jumps on the table and peers in through the holes on the of the tower’s cover. A strange glow illuminates the inside.

“What’s going on?” Tinkletoes asks.

The ginger tabby looks at Tinkletoes, “TP’s talking but I can’t make out the words.”

“You can hear that? That’s got to be a 34 decibel fan.” Ray says.

Tinkletoes looks at Ray. “Dobby’s a cat. They hear better than we do.”

“What’s all the racket in here.” House’s voice echoes throughout the room. “I can’t think with all the noise. I’m attending to important business, you are distracting me.”

Tinkletoes looks at the ceiling. “National security, House. This is a matter of national security.”

Ray coughs.

“How am I expected to believe that two morons, a cat, and a faerie are entrusted with securing an entire nation? Which nation is it?” House asks.

“The nation of me.” Tinkletoes replies. The self-proclaimed mercenary begins muttering. “Damn females,” and “What could she possibly be doing that’s so much more important?” were the only two discernible phrases.

“I am planning my winter wardrobe.” House responds.

“Didn’t she just…?” Tinkletoes asks, looking at Dobby. “Didn’t you just get a makeover?” He looks at the ceiling. “You just did the thing with moving rooms around, raising the ceiling, lowering the ceiling, changing the wall colors and the pillows...all that fru fru girlie stuff. I remember because you hid my…”

“Toys?” House asks. “Yes I remember that time when you lost your toys.”

“They are my collectibles and you hid them from me.” Tinkletoes says.

“I put them away.”

“I couldn’t find them.” He responds.

“Because they were safe.” House counters. “I do remember having a makeover. It was one of the happiest days…”

“Longer…”

“Weeks…”

“Longer…” Tinkletoes responds.

“Months.”

The self-proclaimed mercenary shakes his head.

“Financial quarters of my life.”

“What do you need with a winter wardrobe when you just had a makeover?” Tinkletoes asks.

“That was two years ago Diddle Brain. That was a makeover. This is just a winter wardrobe. There’s a difference.”

“Whatever it is it needs to wait.”

“A makeover in a house not only refers to its décor or aesthetics but can also refer to changes in more permanent fixtures such as cabinets, closets, plumbing, light fixtures, not to mention appliances, furnaces, and other elements that are necessities to a well built home. A winter wardrobe…”

“Who--a…” came from inside the computer tower.

“I heard that.” Tinkletoes says looking at the monitor for any indication of what is taking place inside the computer.

“I suppose we can finish the discussion later.” House says.

“Or not.”

“All is okay.” TP calls out. “TP is ready.”

“It looks like something is happening.” Tinkletoes says.

Dobby and Ray join the self-proclaimed mercenary at the display. A browser window opens. Next the login screen for email.

“Is this what Tinkletoes uses?” The faeries asks.

“Yes.”

“Where is naughty mail?”

“I deleted it.”

“Pull it out of trash.”

“This is safe?” Tinkletoes asks.

“TP will keep you safe,” can be heard coming from the computer tower. Easy listening music begins to play, a chorus sings, “TP will keep you safe...oh yes...TP keeps you safe.”

“Open email. Respond. Say email has changed to please send all future messages to soldierboy1atTPmail.”

“TP Mail?” Dobby asks.

“TP create.Spammers come to TP. TP has fun.”

Another browser window is opened to the TP Mail page. TP Mail is vibrant with lively colors. Unicorns, dragons, and other enchanted beings take turns jumping over a rainbow bright with glittering digital faerie dust. The group sits and waits for soldierboy01 to be contacted. It is only a few minutes. The first email notifies the receiver a change has been successfully made and invites him to click on a link and type Yes to confirm he wants a year long subscription to a magazine full of bullets and babes. The response box pops up and information begins typing itself in. Tinkletoes’ first and last name, date of birth, home address.

The self-proclaimed mercenary erases the information and closes the response box.

“Hey!” TP’s voice calls out.

“Hey yourself. If you want to sign up for a $250.00/year magazine subscription do it with your information.” Tinkletoes says. “I didn’t roll onto base this morning.”

“Hmm!” The faerie responds.

A new response box pops up and begins auto filling for Ninja Ray.

Ray points to the box. “It’s okay man. Only the name Ray is mine. The rest is false information. Different house number, street address, city, state, fake phone number...”

“How are you going to pay for it?” Tinkletoes asks.

“Faerie money.”

“Faerie money?”

“Faerie money. Guaranteed to bring the bad guys to justice.”

The box finishes filling in. Send is clicked.

“How is that going to happen?”

“Faerie money comes from the big bosses’ account.”

“Big boss?”

“Money from FBI guy. FBI guy sees unauthorized charge on account. Scammer goes to jail...fast.”

“Won’t the email be traced back to Writer Lady?”

“No, it’s TP Mail. TP Mail comes from Faerie. Nothing to trace.”

Carp walks into High Command. “House wants to know if you’re done playing Tinkletoes’ internet games yet.”

Tinkletoes’ face grows red.

Carp looks at Tinkletoes. “You are not.” The assassin-in-training looks at the email box on the screen. “TP Mail. What’s TP Mail?”

“It’s a money trap.” A thump is heard from inside the computer tower and a grunt.

“You okay dude.” Ray asks.

“O-kay. TP okay.”

Smoke comes out of the back of the computer tower. There is another puff of smoke above it. The faerie re-appears. His hat is missing a chunk and his coat tails are shredded. He flutters in front of the monitor and wiggles his fingers, a new browser window appears. The faerie pulls up the news. There is breaking news.

The newscaster’s voice is heard:

Moments ago FBI agents entered a home in this quiet neighborhood in the city. The agents found young men and women working at over a dozen computer stations spread throughout the house bringing an end to a scamming ring which has been terrorizing smaller towns in rural parts of the country in recent months.

Another newscaster asks:

This was sudden what tipped law enforcement off?

She responds:

One of the scammers made the mistake of allowing a charge to be put to the account of the supervising agent who leads the FBI’s task force in Cybersecurity. The internet activity coming from this address was already on their watch list but it was the charge to the agent himself which got a warrant immediately issued subsequently leading to their arrests.

Her co-anchor counters:

I thought it was going to be a slow Saturday night.

Thanks for listening.

May your cyber surfing feel a little bit safer tonight.

Tinkletoes looks at TP. “Excellent work soldier.”

TP spins around, when he stops the previous outfit has been replaced with a military uniform. The faerie salutes the self-proclaimed mercenary. “Glad to be of service sir.”

“So does this mean you’re done?” Carp asks. “I can tell House she can go back to picking out her winter wardrobe?”

TP shakes his head. The faerie flutters up and whispers in Tinkletoes’ ear.

“TP found something called a bot.” The whispering continues. “He found lots of bots. He has an idea.”

The faerie spins again. He is now dressed as a female in a sparkling evening dress. He has long dark hair and plump lips. “TP’s a very rich cat lady who’s terribly lonely.”

Carp looks at Ray, Dobby, TP and Tinkletoes. “Sounds like fun. Where should we begin?”

Trouble In The Communications Tower

 

Writer Lady walks into the kitchen, forgetting why she needed to be there, she returns to the living room. She stops in the living room and looks at her empty hands. Remembering she wanted a cup of coffee, she growls in frustration and returns to the kitchen. Feeling a bit lighter, she sits down in High Command and opens her email.

“No...no...no...NO!”

The last ‘no’ echoes throughout the house waking children, animals, and creatures of Faerie alike. Dobby and Tinkletoes both hit the Pause button on their controllers at the same time. As they exit Dobby’s room, the door disappears behind them. The pair find Writer Lady with her head on her desk muttering incoherently. She is surrounded by the other occupants of the house.

Tinkletoes enters the room gently putting his hand to a shoulder here, saying “excuse me” there, parting the crowd.

“Mom?” Dobby asks, following the self-proclaimed mercenary. “Mom are you okay?”

“No Dobby I’m not okay. I got another appliance warranty email.”

“I’ve got this.” Tinkletoes says clicking on it.

“No!” Several characters call out. “You aren’t supposed to click it. It only encourages them.”

Tinkletoes ignores everyone and reads the email. “Do you own one of those Edsel refrigerators?”

“There’s no such thing as an Edsel refrigerator.” Writer Lady rolls her eyes. She looks at Tinkletoes. “Thank you but don’t do it again. It just encourages more of it. More of the crap.”

“If it’s crap why are you so...you know...tense?” He asks.

“Because, I’m tired of wasting so much of my time trying to weed out the real email from the garbage. How is this stuff even getting here? Why haven’t these people been stopped?”

Dobby begins to respond.

Writer Lady raises a hand in a ‘stop’ gesture. “It’s okay kitty I already know the answer. There is so much other stuff going on in the world.”

Tinkletoes looks at Dobby, “Since this is just girl stuff. I’ll leave you to it.”

“Don’t touch a single button until I get back.” Dobby responds.

Tinkletoes holds both hands up. “It’s me. Have I ever done anything like that?”

“Yes.” Everyone in the room answers.

“I promise. I won’t touch a thing.” Tinkletoes says, turning to leave.

“He won’t touch a thing Dobby. He can’t get in. The door is gone and it is staying gone until you return.” House says.

“Um...thanks.” The ginger tabby says.

“You’re welcome kitty.” She croons. “If Tinkleboob wants to get back to his game I suggest he help. NOW.”

Tinkletoes stops walking and turns back to the activity behind him. “Yeah, since I’m here, might as well.” The self-proclaimed mercenary works his way back through the crowd. He leans down to Dobby and whispers, “All we have to do is train her to stop being such a girl. You’ve got to have a thick skin when it comes to this stuff.” Tinkletoes’ phone pings. He swipes and looks at his email. “Someone just logged into my Facebook account.” He clicks on the email link and begins typing a message to the senders.

Writer Lady turns around, she stills his typing hand with her own, “Wait, I thought you closed that account last year.”

He looks at Writer Lady, his mouth drops open, “I did.” Tinkletoes cancels the email he was composing.

“Dude that was close.” Ray says.

“Too close.” Tinkletoes responded. “We are at Defcon Two Ladies and Gentleman. The enemy must be disabled. Now!”

Tinkletoes leans down and whispers in Writer Lady’s ear. “I need you to close your email and step away from the computer, get yourself and the others to safety, Dobby will come for you when the mission is complete.”

Writer Lady listens, nods, takes a moment to pause, gives Tinkletoes a sideways glance and deciding she is too tired to fight this fight today she turns High Command over to the self-proclaimed mercenary, the ginger tabby, and an insomniac who eats entirely too much junk food. “So much for Sunday being a day of rest,” she mutters as she quietly guides everyone else from the room.

Tinkletoes looks at Ray. “I believe this is your department. What do we do?”

Ray is standing in one spot with his eyes closed. Droll begins to run down his chin.

“Ray!”

Ray opens his eyes, startled. “Dude.”

“How do we catch the scammers?” Tinkletoes asks.

Ray shakes his head, “I’m a game designer.”

Tinkletoes looks at Ray sternly.

“I don’t know call the Internet Police?” Ray suggests paling.

“There are no Internet Police are there?” Tinkletoes asks.

“There’s somebody out there...doing stuff...to protect and stuff.” Ray continues. “I don’t know them.”

“Why are you here?”

“The games. I come to fix the games. Mostly I’m here for the cheese puffs, potato chips, nachos when I time it just right.”

Tinkletoes looks at Dobby.

"After you finish talking about the savories you have to move on to the sweets. Writer Lady bakes great sweets." Ray continues. 

“Do we know anyone a bit more street wise?” The self-proclaimed mercenary asks looking at the ginger tabby.

“No. But you know someone who’s sneakier!” A voice calls out. There is a puff of smoke, as it dissipates a tiny winged man appears with bright blue eyes and a mischievous smile. “You know TP!” The faerie somersaults through the air, stopping to float in front of Tinkletoes and Dobby. TP somersaults again repeatedly, spinning in front of them.

“You know how scammers work?” Tinkletoes asks.

TP stops spinning. “No. TP has magic, TP can learn.” The faerie floats down to the desk, looks at Writer Lady’s computer tower and says, “Permission to enter.” A feathered Musketeer hat appears in the faerie’s hand. He bows with flourish to the tower as he holds the hat in front of him.

“Go ahead.” Tinkletoes says.

TP looks at the self-proclaimed mercenary, “Not you. Her.” He says gesturing to the tower. The tower’s indicator lights blink several times. “Thank you Milady.”

TP floats into the computer tower and disappears.

Ascension XIV: Secrets In The Pool House

*For Mom: Some of the background information you have been waiting for.

 

Myra entered the media room slowly. She closed the door studying the back of it. Her eyes searched along the door’s length, stopping to rest at the ceiling. No cameras.

She turned to inspect Wyatt’s work station. Everything was turned off. Something Myra guessed must be a camera was fastened to his monitor’s upper edge. Wyatt had covered it with a sock.

He knew. He knew I would find my way in here.

Myra looked at the wall on the far side of the room. Relieved to once again to find no cameras, she looked at the remaining walls and checked all of the furniture. Nothing. She opened the supply closet. There was nothing there either.

“It appears there is only one camera.”

Myra’s eyes perused the surface of Wyatt’s desk. “If he expected me to find my way here, he would have left instructions.” She whispered. It took little time to spot the gift. A small brightly wrapped box sat on the desk near the far corner. The front of the tag read “M.” She lifted the lid to find a USB drive resting on a scrap of paper inside with the words, “Read Me” showing in small print. If the writing had been much smaller she might not have recognized it as writing at all. Myra smiled to herself, the studio heads who had clearance to enter the media room both had trouble reading smaller fonts. She didn’t. Wyatt knew it and used the information to their advantage. Myra picked up the USB drive, the label on the back read, “Pool House.”

Understanding the USB drive was the entirety of Wyatt’s offering, not knowing what she would find on it, Myra spent another twenty minutes searching the room for anything Wyatt might have inadvertently left sitting out and found nothing. Wyatt had a knack for following the rules. She removed the drive from her hoodie pocket and studied it. “Most of the rules. Let’s see what’s in the pool house.”

Myra slowly went back to the exercise room. Taking off the sweats and the hoodie she put them away. The next time the hallway cameras picked her up she was wearing the same shorts and top she had been wearing earlier. Myra walked slowly stretching a bit and looking into the camera as she yawned. The lady of the house had returned to her bedroom for a brief nap, she was now up and heading outside to enjoy the view.

Myra walked across the patio in the direction of the beach, stopping at the gate, she looked across the water. She turned her head. Spotting something in the distance, she slowly followed the gate and disappeared from camera range.

Myra started walking backwards the moment she was out of range and did not stop until she felt her back meet with the outer wall of the pool house. She looked up. A camera was positioned directly above her head. Realizing she didn’t have much time before it found her, she squatted down and moved as quickly as she could. Myra continued running until she reached the maintenance door. If there was a computer on site it would have to be in there. She stilled her hand when she noticed a newly installed control panel. “Great,” she muttered, one corner of her mouth turned up in a smile, something about the new access panel looked familiar. It was identical to the one to the media room. Myra pulled the key Wyatt left for her from her pocket. “Here’s to hoping this key opens more than one door.”

She entered the maintenance office and found nothing but tools, pool chemicals and other supplies. “Where else can it be. This is a pool house. Where else can you hide a computer, under water?” Stepping through an unlocked door she entered the sitting area and looked around, “If I were Wyatt where would I put you…” Myra’s eyes stopped at the built in benches lining the wall. They kept extra towels stored inside. “In plain sight...Wyatt you smart ass.” She crossed the room to the bank of benches. At the bench’s far end, out of camera range, and conveniently, only steps from the ladies’ locker room Myra found an old laptop under a pile of brightly colored towels. The words “Pool House,” were painted across the top with cheap nail polish. It was one Wyatt had cleared a couple of summers ago for her nieces to play games on while the two were visiting. Cleaning up her mess, Myra lowered the lid to the bench and disappeared into the camera free locker area with her new treasure.

She turned on the computer and pushed the USB drive into a port. Myra found several files on the drive. The first one she opened was simply named “M.”She clicked on its only document.

Myra,

If you are opening this a lot of things have gone wrong. I don’t know if I am still alive. If I am I have a very good reason for sharing this with you. On this drive you will find the most pertinent information regarding what has been going on during the last several months. I hope the enclosed gives you everything you’ll need to navigate whatever is coming.

I am sorry I had to keep so much from you. It was necessary. You couldn’t have done Sunny Days, with this information and still accomplished what we set out to do. After you have read everything you will understand.

Love,

Wyatt

P.S. Get a bottle of wine out of the cooler because you’re going to need it sweetie. This is a real life Pandora’s box.

Myra dismissed the wine comment, pointed and clicked. Opening a file named, The Box, she read about the unknown virus and how it began spreading seemingly in all directions from Mexico and Central America, the origins being traced back to the populated areas nearest Mayan ruins in what was known as Mesoamerica during ancient times.

Thousands fell ill and hundreds died before the virus had been named. The virus, GRMN2, was named for its genome which could not be identified. It was completely alien to the epidemiologists studying it.

Within days the internet was flooded with speculation from scientists, doctors, journalists, and politicians as to what kind of virus it was and what could be done to eradicate it.

Before long everyone including the general public was weighing in on it. Mother Nature was punishing us for our foolhardy ways. It was Montezuma's final revenge. God was punishing us for our foolhardy ways. Someone found the virus in the bunker Hitler had hidden in at the end of World War II. It was the dictator’s wild card. One he never had the chance to use. It was the beginning of the zombie apocalypse. It was the end of days.

A few days later the first ascension story emerged. A doctor claimed he treated several software developers with the GRMN2 virus and none of them had died. They had all gone through physiological changes unlike anything humankind had ever seen. The government panicked and faked their deaths, going as far as transporting them from local hospitals to one on a military base in Nevada, notifying the families the men were no longer alive. The government then convinced those families to donate their loved one’s bodies to research for the sake of public health. This doctor knew for a fact that none of the men died because he was on staff at that base hospital and helped them all escape.

According to this doctor, the men had evolved. He hypothesized that the virus was not of this planet. It was a gift from an alien race. A physiological leg up to aid the human race on their next step up the evolutionary ladder. The doctor stayed with the software developers and worked with his patients as they changed. Some developed “super” powers; all experienced increased mental capacity, as well as more strength along with improved senses overall.

The doctor’s story spread at lightning speed. Within days, a group of followers emerged. People cheering the survivors of the virus on eager for any new morsel of information, and looking forward to getting their chance to ascend to this new life form.

It was not long before a more aggressive group of sympathizers branched off. They were no longer interested in waiting their turn. They wanted their new alien powers. Now. These people, known as Knoblickers would follow internet buzz obsessively, looking for signs of Infecteds hidden among the rest of the population. Drinking from their abandoned glasses, eating with their forks, following them into bathrooms and licking toilet levers. Some hiding in hospital wards. A few going as far as kidnapping them, their assailants would take turns taunting them until the GRMN2 carrier had sneezed, coughed, or shared a bodily fluid with them. One man broke into a morgue looking for GRMN2 victims. They eventually found him licking the fingers of corpses muttering to himself and crying out, begging to the unseen aliens to make him one of them.

Myra skimmed the next article and decided a glass of wine might be a good idea after all.

The Greater Good

Hello.

It’s nice to see you.

Come in.

Sit down.

Would you like a cuppa?

I have chamomile but I can make anything you like.

(Nodding)

Okay. Maybe later. Sit down. Let’s talk. Yes it is true. I asked you here today because I would like to talk to you about something. Something important. (Quiet even voice. Kind in tone.) How are you feeling these days? I see that look on your face. We all seem to have it lately. These times we are living in are difficult. It’s one thing to read about times which shape our world. Times which become part of our planet’s major points in history. It is quite another to be living in them. (Looking into visitor’s eyes.) None of us wanted this. No one wants to be living through this. The alternative is death. I am not in any hurry to die. (Nodding.) I know that you aren’t either.

I know. It makes me angry too. And sad. And scared. We have to keep going. We have to work together. No, it’s okay. Don’t leave. I did not ask you here to tell you protecting your freedoms is wrong. The world is swirling about with people yelling in every direction...we have to decide what is important to us. We have every right to be free. If our freedoms were being infringed upon you would know it. You know how you’d know it? Because I would be angry too. I would be cheering you on. Sweetie, if you want to keep exercising your freedoms. If you want to get that job, have that career, buy that yacht, have those babies, build that life...we all need to work together. Now.

It is the one thing we have been missing. If you look into history. It is right there. The moment that the tide was turned was the moment that people stopped fighting amongst each other and began working together for the greater good. We all need to start working together towards that greater good.

I am not going to ignore the hard truths. I am not going to avoid telling you what you don’t want to hear.

Here is the truth:

Humanity is at war with an unseen enemy: COVID 19 and its variants.

Hospitals are filling up to the point they are calling other hospitals that are also filled to capacity looking for empty beds.

In order for us to turn the tide and begin winning we are all going to have to face our fears including the fear of losing our freedom. Not all of them. The freedom to not mask at this crucial moment. The freedom to say whether our children have to wear masks. We may have to surrender our freedom to kill time perusing stores and going to the movies for a few weeks too.

I know. Trust me I know. I have been limiting my interactions for close to a year and a half. I am getting tired of it. Damn tired of it.

What we can get back if we give up these freedoms?

Knowing we are safe from an unseen enemy.

Birthdays, graduations, weddings and births of new loved ones.

Climbing that mountain we were convinced we never would.

Falling in love.

Watching family and friends grow up and achieve their dreams.

Looking outside at your neighbors and knowing they are not at risk of dying a horrible death.

Getting a chance to see the world.

If we are lucky giving Mother Nature some much needed love in return for all she has given us.

The joy of knowing we made it through a very dark time.

(Nodding.)

No I’m not mad. I see that you aren’t convinced. I know...Freedom. I agree it is what this country was built on. But how was it built? It was built because people worked together through dark and difficult times. (Nodding. Listening.)

Okay. I won’t say more. I understand you are angry and need to leave.

Do me a favor?

When you get home and things are quiet, turn off the TV, the radio, the phone. Close your eyes for one minute, two, five...open them and walk through your home. Look at the pictures of loved ones, your spouse, your children asleep in their beds. Look at them and say, “It’s okay if you die.” (Eyes tear up.)

 You don’t want that. I knew that.

We don’t want them to die. There is so much death. Too much death.

It is really scary what’s happening. All any of us is looking for is a world we recognize. A bit of peace.

Slowing and eventually ending the spread of this disease will help us get there.

Lately I have been thinking of the song, “We Are The World,” do you remember it? Did you know those lyrics apply today? To what’s been happening. To what we can do in order to get through this.

Listen and decide for yourself.

We can make a better day. It has to be more than just you and me.

Because we are the world. We need each other.

Ascension Part XIII - Bread Crumb

 

After a nap, another hour on the couch with “Our Mutual Friend” and a cup of Chai tea, Myra was bored. She told herself one of the benefits of great literature was it was written during a time when reading was a major source of entertainment. Authors took pains to take two or three thousand words to say what could have been said in one making it the perfect thing to read during a pandemic. What could be better than taking time in one’s life to appreciate great literature?

“I’m more than happy to appreciate something as long as it isn’t boring me to death.” She muttered, turning off the movie. Picking up a different remote, Myra found one of her mother’s favorite albums and turned up the music. She was taken back to the early days of her childhood. A time when her mother always seemed to be wearing a smile and her father would come home from work ready to listen to anything and everything she wanted to tell him. He always had plenty of energy for a game of chase and was readily available with new bedtime stories.

Myra found herself slowly walking around the living room looked at framed photos wondering where that world had gone.

No moping. - W.

I wasn’t moping. I was remembering my father and his stories. - M.

Riddle me this, Robin—what has four feet, thirteen eyes and six ears?

A monster? - M.

No. - W.

A small pod of dolphins and their trainers? - She tried, knowing that answer hadn’t even made sense.

Sweetie, that answer didn’t even make sense. - He texted back. – The solution will lead you to what you asked me for. It is five pm. You have three hours to solve the riddle. GO.

Myra smiled at the text on the screen. Wyatt noticed she was bored and gave her something to do. She sat down on the couch with pen and notepad.

What has four feet?

She scribbled down the words : tables, chairs, couches, two people, ducks. Thirteen eyes. Potatoes? Six ears. Six ears of corn? “Is he telling me what’s for dinner? Knowing the dinner menu is nice but it does not wave at the information I seek.”

I asked for disclosure. Full disclosure.

With that realization, Myra’s phone became her most treasured possession. “It’s not a riddle it’s a clue.” She whispered. “What was I doing when Wyatt texted me?” She looked around the room. “I was standing, there.” She looked at the built-in bookshelves on either side of the entertainment system in front of her. She rose from her seat and walked over to the awards, photos, and random bric-a-brac on the shelves.

Myra and Wyatt had chosen these pieces together. They had done it while all the remaining space in the house had been taken over by the contractors, decorators, and media specialists called in by the studio to prepare Myra’s house for remote production during lockdown. They put out cherished memories of happier days as recommended by the mental health consulting firm the studio had hired to keep her and Wyatt in good spirits as the two of them helped the rest of the world remain in good spirits during the difficult days to come.

She looked at each piece closely, paying special attention to items added by Wyatt. A picture taken of only their feet as they stood on a warm white sandy beach in Bora Bora between takes of a film she had a supporting role in.

“Four feet.”

She heard a voice from many years ago, it was dialogue from a political thriller she had starred in, “Three professionals equals six ears. Six ears and forty-eight hours should tell us everything we need to know.”

“Six.” Myra whispered. “That’s where the six ears come from. Thirteen eyes where are you?” She took a step back from the bookshelf, perusing the contents slowly and more closely. She knew what she was looking for, Myra just needed to spot it. Her eyes stopped at a small plastic toy near the front of the lowest shelf.

“Wyatt, you shit.” Myra picked up a bobble head, one with her likeness, in a russet brown body suit, short heeled knee boots, with the tangerine colored hair the movie was famous for. An independent film by an aspiring director she starred in just for fun after she had finished her first motion picture with a major worldwide studio. It was a super hero film made years before Marvel jumped into the movie business, changing the way the world looked at super heroes forever. Myra had played Lisa, the shy daughter of a potato farmer during The Great Depression who was kidnapped by space aliens and bestowed with super powers. “All Eyes On You,” was strong, fast, quick-witted and could see in all directions, hence the brown body suit covered in eyeballs. Myra shook her head at the memory. The film was an utter flop in most circles but became a cult classic. One that had ironically led her to the break out role which launched her career and into stardom.

She was not fond of that particular listing on her CV, Wyatt always said if she had not been Miss Super Potato Head they never would have met. As far as he was concerned it made the brown eyeball bodysuit worth it. Myra reached out, gently stroking the outside of the toy’s bobbing head.

“It was worth it. Completely worth it.” Myra picked up the figurine counting the eyeballs. “Thirteen eyes.” Running her fingertip along the outside she noticed a protrusion. She pushed on it. Something small and heavy fell into the palm of her hand. It was all Myra could do not to say a word. She closed her hand as she placed the bobble head back on the shelf.

Say nothing. No exclamations, no squeals of joy. Not a sound. Look at the floor---hold. Myra thought giving herself stage direction. This was the most important role of her life. Right now. In this moment. One slip up...she didn’t want to think about what might happen if she made a mistake. That’s good. When you look up let out a sigh and sit down on the couch. Pick up the remote. Flip through channels for ten minutes. Good. Quietly turn off the television. Leave the room.

Myra used the restroom to string things out a bit longer. She had a passcode and a key. What was she to do about the camera?

They have to believe I’m Wyatt. I wonder if any of his sweats are still in the exercise room.

Finding a pair of Wyatt’s sweats and an old hoodie she snuck them into another bathroom and put them on over her clothes. She pulled the hood over her head as Wyatt had been doing in recent weeks and returned to the media room door. Myra put the key into the lock and turned it. The screen prompted her to enter a passcode. She typed 04-13-06 and pressed Enter. The display turned green and the word WELCOME appeared. Myra quickly turned the knob and walked through the door.