TJ Clark

I

James Adall is at home on a Sunday night. He isn’t working on homework, though a high-schooler of seventeen in AP classes would have a significant amount to complete before Monday morning. He isn’t playing video games. He isn’t even looking at pornography. In fact, he isn’t being productive in the slightest. He’s on Reddit: a social media website both renowned and nefarious for the many accomplishments of its sizable user base, where some users spend hours each day discussing pictures, videos, and web articles covering a broad range of topics which the community has voted to the self-proclaimed “front page of the internet.” Some people call the site addictive, but James just enjoys the easy socialization and quick, cheap laughs.

He has spent his entire life growing up online, although the real world imposes its frequent interruptions to whisk him away to school or a short-lived career folding high-priced burritos. He was a burristo, a barista that makes hot food instead of hot drinks. Hence his online name. His first choice, burrista, was taken, but he decided he liked the masculine tone of ‘burristo,’ as well as the similar spelling it shared with ‘burrito.’ Although he only worked at the franchise shop for two months, he had become their most skillful burrito maker: efficient, affable with the customers, and always maintaining a clean workstation. Too bad his manager was such a douchebag, or he’d probably still have a job and something meaningful to do on a Sunday evening.

Despite his transient career, the resulting online name stuck and burristo remains an active member of the Reddit community. James has an appreciable quantity of ‘karma,’ a valueless currency awarded for valuable contributions to the community, whether they be comments or submissions. From time to time he’ll chance upon his counterpart, burrista, and they’ll engage in light banter for the sake of easy karma. Some speculate that the same person is behind both names, but James has always maintained that it’s just a chance meeting of like minds.

This Sunday is similar to most others on the social website. There’s adorable pictures of assorted cats, hilarious pictures of cats, and crudely drawn comics involving cats. As James scrolls through page upon page of cat pictures, he notices a little orange-red envelope icon in the top corner of his screen, indicating he’s received a message. Most often this is a response to comments he has made on the site, but occasionally it may indicate a private message directly between two users. He clicks the orange-red icon and checks the page. It’s a new message from a user he does not recognize, ‘vixxious:’

Shall we play a game? I’ve started without you and took my first move. The clock is running; you have 24 hours.

Unsure how to respond, James takes the easy route and ignores the message. Seems a bit crazy, maybe it’s a viral marketing scheme. He’s never been interested in them, alternate reality games and the like, it’s just another way to sell goods and services.

An hour passes, most of the time spent reading a single political discussion thread covering internet censorship. It’s a delicate issue, and one the online community has always taken a strong interest in arguing—primarily against, and the discussion involves a lot of dittoing.

James’s phone buzzes, he’s received an email. He pops his phone off the desk and taps the message. “Hey, it’s vixxious again.” Pulse quickening, James flies through the message, grasping for understanding. It’s brief, and there’s a video attachment.

Look, I knew you wouldn’t respond, but you can only afford to lose an hour. We’re playing ‘the game,’ whether you want to or not. It’s no thermonuclear war, but the stakes are just as high, at least for you and your family. I’ve sent a video, it’s recommended viewing.

Beads of sweat trickle down James’s face. A private message to a publicly-known username is one thing, but a private email address is something else. No automated bulk mailer would link his Reddit account to his email address, so this must come from a real person, and one who has taken enough interest in him to do some research. And there’s the overt threat to him and his family.

He downloads the video, running a quick scan for viruses to be sure it’s safe. The video file sits innocently on his desktop, as his mind races to make sense of the situation. The moment of hesitation passes and James opens the file.

The video starts zoomed onto a man’s face, the lower half masked by a simple red bandana, and the top half shaded to obscurity by an oversized grey hoody that’s pulled low, hiding his features in shadow. At most, only the glint of the man’s eyes can be seen.

The masked man speaks into the camera. “So here’s the situation. You’ve already wasted one hour by failing to respond, but I expected that. I’ve sent you this video to give you a better idea of the game we’re playing. I hope you appreciate that this is in hi-def, it’s a pretty nice camera in fact, I just picked it up. The lighting in here is poor, but you should be able to see the girl well enough.”

He turns the camera off of himself and pans the room. It’s dark, too dark to make out meaningful details, besides the odd pile of garbage. The room is otherwise empty, and the windows have been boarded up with only fractures of light squeezing through. The frame settles on the dark outline of a person seated in a lone chair.

The man sets the camera down again and moves into the frame, standing next to the chair. He reaches out and flicks the switch of a tall floor lamp that was not previously visible in the darkness. It only manages to provide meager illumination.

The light is enough to make apparent a girl seated in the chair, a single tear frozen on her cheek. Her mouth has been wrapped with duct-tape, effectively gagging her, and her arms and legs are similarly bound to the chair preventing most movement. She doesn’t seem to be struggling against the bindings. After her eyes adjust to the light, she finds the camera and locks her gaze on the lens. Desperation pours from her eyes, reaching James on the other side of the video and filling him with an equally desperate urge to help her.

“You might not be able to tell, but I haven’t hurt her. I’m not going to hurt her. If I do anything at all, I’m going to kill her, quite plainly she will be dead one moment after being alive. Now, all you have to do is win the game, and she will remain alive and unhurt, as she is now. I bet she wants you to play my game.”

The man turns to speak directly at the girl, who does not halt her quiet pleading with the camera.

“You want him to play my game, don’t you?”

She shakes her head, ‘no,’ as obvious as if she spoke it through the thick duct-tape gag that keeps her mouth silent.

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course you do. You want to live, right?”

Her shoulders slump, but she does not give him the satisfaction of a response.

The man turns back to the camera, “She wants you to play, even if she’s too uninformed to say as much now. Give her a moment and she’ll come around to the idea, same as you. I want to show you both something.”

He picks up the camera and sets it about fifteen feet further back from the girl, revealing more of the empty, trash-filled room. On the ground in front of her is a slate grey sheet, covering a large indistinct mound. He pulls the sheet back with flair and a deadpan, “tada!”

The girl moans through her gag, as streams of tears start rolling down her face.

“Now, this boy, he was about the same age as you, I think. I brought him here from Tennessee. He was in the last game I played, but the player was a real loser. I even gave them an extra 24 hours, but the loser refused to take part. Must have thought it was all an elaborate scam. That foolish boy now has this kid’s life on his hands, and I’m sure he feels real bad about that. You’ll learn from his mistake, I hope. Play along, and this girl doesn’t have to die.”

He tosses the sheet aside, leaving the boy’s body on display.

“So, the rules of the game. There aren’t a lot of rules, but I thought you’d take them more seriously if I told you in this video. Text just doesn’t have the same impact, you know? So there are two. Rule number one! This girl’s life is forfeit if you lose. Rule number two! You win by reaching the top, the very top, of the front page of Reddit, within 24 hours. That’s it. You win if you reach the *1 spot on Reddit’s front page by this time tomorrow—well 23 hours from now—and if you win, the girl will live. I’ll let her go immediately. Ah, there’s a third rule, but I mean it’s obvious really, I shouldn’t even have to say it. Don’t go to the police, or this will all turn sour. I haven’t decided what happens if you break this one, it might mean you die, it might mean you both die. Just know, there will be consequences, so let’s not go to the police, alright? As you hopefully guessed when I sent that email, I know a lot about you, James Adall of Enid, Oklahoma.

“Wellll, I think that’s enough for now. Heed my warning; this girl will die unless you do your part. I think I’ve made it easy for the both of you. I can be far less reasonable, when I wish to be. Consider yourselves lucky, play by the rules, and no harm will be done.”

The video ends abruptly, without a credit roll. Twenty three hours remain.

II

The video imbues James with an immediate desire to save the girl. However, fools rush in, and James views himself as the antithesis of foolish. He decides to investigate the situation with a philosophical approach.

What responsibility does he have to save this girl? Vixxious has warned him of the consequences of breaking a rule, but there’s no rule requiring him to play. The last contestant didn’t play, which seems to James the most prudent course of action.

What of the girl’s life, though? The lighting in the video was enough that James could recognize her as merely a stranger. If she were friend or family he would act without thought and do what he could to save her, but a stranger is another matter. He doesn’t believe that he should be held accountable for the life of every random person. If this girl were in a burning building and he were the only person on the street to witness the fire, he would not rush in and put a second life at risk with his inexperience; he’d call 911 and let the experts handle it.

Rule number 3 prevents him from calling the police or he risks retribution in the form of harm to himself or the girl. Vixxious has already shown an uncomfortable amount of familiarity with James, and if he has a phone number, does he also have an address? Is he being watched? Calling the police is the riskiest action he could take, so the easiest means to give the girl help is unavailable to him. His alternatives are to do nothing, and watch the building burn as it were, or to play the game and put himself at risk. It seems at first glance like a simple variation of the classic trolley dilemma.

While considering this perspective, James comes to see it as an unfair assessment of the game: the three rules given are quite lenient towards him. In a trolley problem someone always dies, but if he plays there is the chance that nobody will die. He can play the game at no obvious risk to himself, besides the risks inherently involved when cooperating with a lunatic and possible serial killer. With so few rules, he expects to find loopholes aplenty to exploit. Even if he loses, his own life is not threatened, and he’ll know that he did what he could to rescue the girl. If he wins, as far as he can tell the game is over and both he and the girl are safe. The rules could change, but there is that risk whether he plays along or not.

Coming to no further conclusions, James is finally satisfied that he has a rational reason to become involved, in addition to his initial emotional response.

Resolved to save the girl, James spends the next few hours expending futile effort pushing cliche material onto Reddit. He struggles to gain recognition, and some submissions garner moderate attention, but he’s nowhere close to reaching the front page. To do so requires thousands of “upvotes” from the community, but he’s only managing to attract dozens. Despite reposting tired memes, pictures of adorable cats, and even a breaking news stories with “BREAKING:” in full caps fails to yield the necessary attention to drive his post to the front page. It’s hours past his bedtime, and the lack of progress makes sleep seem more appealing. He wants to help the girl, but he still has to go to school tomorrow.

He shuts down. The night is long, his sleep interrupted often by haunting dreams that he’s the one in the chair.

By the time he steps out of the shower the next morning, the whole fiasco is nearly forgotten. He only gives himself minutes to get ready for school, and heads off to catch the bus with a handful of walnuts and a banana. A half-dozen other groggy students join him as the city bus nears their school. Glancing at his cell phone, he checks his previous night’s submissions to see if anything has caught fire and reached the front page, but his submissions are as good as dead. There’s hardly any ongoing discussions. Typically something that reaches the front page will have hundreds, more often thousands of comments in long many-threaded discussions covering the topic from every angle.

What he needs is something that generates a lot of interest and discussion, James realizes. He’s not going to do that with something people have seen before. It needs to be something new.

He shuffles off the bus and hurries to class; the bus arrives at his school with only a few minutes to spare before his homeroom calls roll. The first few hours go by in a blur; he doesn’t retain a thing his teachers say.

In AP Calc, he whips out his phone absentmindedly and checks his previous night’s posts to see how they’re doing. No change.

She’s in that room, right now. And I’m safe here in class, James thinks to himself. What kind of asshole am I, that I’d leave her in that situation and go about my life? I didn’t put her there, but she’s relying on me to get her out. What am I doing here?

He looks up from the phone, suddenly aware the room has gone quiet and the class’s attention has been turned onto him. From the front of the room, the teacher calls his name. “James?”

“Present.”

The students snigger rudely.

“That wasn’t the question. You’re interrupting my class to check your texts? Is there something else you’d rather be doing?”

“Actually, yes. I have to go.”

“Do you. To the principal’s office, then?”

He hurries to leave, tossing the notebook he had not yet opened into his bag. “No, I’m going home. You’ll learn all about it in tomorrow’s news.”

James is normally quiet and placid in her classroom, only chiming in to provide the correct answer to a question the teacher’s posed, and often with incredible speed. She’s too astonished by his uncharacteristic behavior now to consider stopping him, settling instead on passively watching as he leaves her class.

James is lucky. He encounters no adults on his way out of the school. There’s one armed guard who paces the halls, mostly giving students tickets for the kind of anti-authoritarian misbehavior he’s currently engaging in, but James must have caught him on a coffee break.

As he leaves the building, a sudden sense of urgency strikes him. He’s wasted half the day, and there’s only about eight hours left until the constrictive deadline vixxious has left him. With urgency comes inspiration, and James pops open his phone and begins uploading the video file to a file sharing website. It’s a slow transfer over his phone’s network, but the bus ride home will take 20 minutes, assuming he doesn’t have long to wait for the bus to show up. He checks the progress bar several times on his way to the bus stop. He arrives, then stands impatiently as he stares at the bar, willing it to fill.

James has the easiest means to the front page of Reddit ever! Vixxious practically handed-delivered the solution to his own game. The bus arrives as the file transfer completes, and James mindlessly boards while pulling Reddit open on his phone’s web browser. The driver grabs his arm as he passes by, “fare’s $2, kid.”

“Of course, sorry,” as he whips out his wallet and slides his fare card through the reader.

He takes a seat towards the back of the bus, and starts a new post on Reddit. Typing on his phone isn’t easy, but he doesn’t have a lot to say:

Reddit, this girl’s life depends on us, please help!

In the body of the post he copy-pastes vixxious’s private message and text from the previous evening, and includes a link to the uploaded video. [Submit].

He returns the phone to his pocket and stares out the bus window for the rest of the ride home. As the bus follows its familiar route home, he thinks forward to how the afternoon will play out. His post will rocket to the front page, within a couple of hours it’ll certainly be at the top. The community’s discussion will examine the video thoroughly, from whether it’s a fake to determining its origin, and extracting what clues they can. Some people might make jokes, but serious comments will rise to the top of the discussion through the community’s self-moderating upvotes. At some point Reddit’s admin will become involved, but due to the subject nature they’ll certainly leave his submission untouched.

Is this how vixxious intended him to play? It all seems too easy, now. James’ll be on the front page with hours to spare, and if he follows his own rules, he’ll release the girl before 24 hours have passed. What could go wrong?

His parents won’t be home until late, around six. At least he won’t have to explain why he came home early, don’t want to get them involved. He grabs a snack from the fridge and rushes upstairs to fling his laptop open and check the discussion.

It’s on its way up the front page already, with over 1000 upvotes in half an hour. The discussion has exploded just as he expected. In addition to the massive public response, he’s received an additional half-dozen private messages. A lot of people seem bothered that he hasn’t responded in the comments yet, even though it’s only been half an hour. He starts digging through the comments to begin allaying their concerns. They need to know where he’s located: Enid, Oklahoma. They ask if he knows anything more about vixxious or why he’s been targeted: he knows nothing. They ask if he’s gone to the police: he can’t, third rule.

He finds the private messages far more interesting. One catches his attention, that of a private investigator in Oklahoma City who has already tracked him down and offered to help, his message says he’s en route to Enid.

Another message stands out, with the sender’s name highlighted in red, signifying they are a site administrator. James’s pulse quickens as he reads it.

“We’ve discussed your post internally and decided not to delete it until after the 24-hour deadline. The FBI has given us a subpoena for your account and all information pertaining to this case. We thought you should know the authorities have become involved. If we find anything that might help you with your situation, we’ll contact you further.”

Shit, the FBI? The warning stands clear in his mind now: rule number 3, don’t go to the police. He didn’t seek their help explicitly, but will vixxious interpret the situation differently? James can only hope that vixxious won’t learn they’re involved.

He doesn’t have a police record, he’s mild-mannered and has always been polite and respectful to authority. That doesn’t mean he won’t be their first suspect.

Since there isn’t much he can do until they show up, he goes back to the online discussion storming over the video he has posted. Commentators have worked out a couple of pertinent clues, identifying an Enid gas station from its logo on a cup in the garbage. The gas station only has one location in Enid. They also isolated the sound of two jets passing overhead. The video was recorded locally, James concludes. There are military aircraft flying over all the time, with a decent airbase only a few miles away. The horror sinks in as James realizes he wasn’t just a random target.

There’s another message from the private investigator: “I’m in town, think I know where the video was shot. Going to check it out.”

The girl’s clothing is identified as a school uniform, one person points out. Another spots her school ID dangling from a lanyard, occasionally peeking from under her sweater vest. The partial name appears to read “Maggie,” matching a missing person reported two days ago in Enid, a 16 year old girl by the name of Maggie Saxxon.

This is getting serious. The police aren’t just going to be curious about some video, they’ve got a missing person case to solve and he’s got fresh evidence of the kidnapping. Panic leads him to consider fleeing, but the moment passes. He doesn’t know how to escape the police, and he might need their help if vixxious has further plans for him. He needs to wait them out, convince them quickly that he’s working on their side to save the girl, and get back home.

He doesn’t have to wait for them long.

III

With a mere five hours left before vixxious’s deadline, the doorbell rings followed by a stern knock at the door. James closes his laptop and brings it with him as he heads out to meet the police. He expects to be arrested, and they’ll want the device as evidence. Help them, and maybe they’ll help him.

As he descends the stairs, he spots the flurry of activity outside his home. A SWAT team stands ready near their distinctly marked truck which has parked on the curb, with several city police cars at every angle around it. They responded quickly, clearly they suspect James has the girl tied up in his home somewhere.

He opens the door, inwardly nervous but outwardly calm. The two officers, one male and one female, are both noticeably surprised when he answers after the first knock, and he’s unarmed to boot.

“Are you James Adall?” the male officer asks, authoritatively pounding the words out one by one.

“Yes, sir,” James dutifully responds. He observes as the two officers share an inquisitive glance with one another, as if to ask ‘he’s just a kid?’

“And are you known as,” the officer checks a slip of paper held in his right hand, “‘burristo’ on the website ‘Reddit?’”

James takes a deep breath and thanks his lucky stars that he’s in a fairly small town, with small town police. “Yes sir, that is me. I know why you’re here and I’ll fully cooperate. You’re welcome to search the house, but this laptop has all the evidence you’ll need.”

“We have a warrant to search the premises, but we appreciate your offer. Are your parents home?”

“No sir, they both work at the plant, they won’t be home until late.”

“Please go with Officer Jenny. She will log your laptop as evidence. We will have to cuff you, now, for your protection as well as ours.”

Officer Jenny directs him to turn around and reads James his rights while she cuffs him. They’re loose, and he thinks he could squeeze out of them if he felt like running.

“Do you understand your rights as I’ve read them to you?”

“Yes. I mean to cooperate, we’re mutually interested in finding Maggie. Look, there’s not a lot of time left, can I speak to the officer in charge here before we go?”

“Uhh-mmm,” Jenny seems a little unsure, she has far more experience handling uncooperative perps than cooperative ones. It’s so much easier when she can throw them around a little bit. “I guess we can do that. Come with me please,” she says, as she directs him towards the cluster of police cars through subtle nudges to his back.

“Captain Smith, our suspect is in custody. He would like to speak with you.”

The police captain is shorter than James by an inch or two, but he makes up for it in weight. He squints as he glares at James. “What’s this about kid? Do you know where the girl is?”

“No sir, but I’d like to share what I do know with you. I was contacted online by an unknown individual about twenty hours ago with regards to this missing girl, whom I’ve since learned is named Maggie Saxxon. I was sent a video with simple instructions, and told to follow them within twenty-four hours or she would be killed.”

James pauses, unsure how to continue. The captain looks to Jenny and a few of the nearby officers that have gathered to listen, but nobody speaks.

“I don’t know where she is, sir. I brought Officer Jenny my laptop, it has all the information that I have. Did you watch the video that started this?”

“No, son, I haven’t. The feds sent us out to pick you up, weren’t big on details other than you were somehow involved in the Maggie case.”

“In under five hours, Maggie will die unless I satisfy this anonymous individual’s demands. He calls himself vixxious, and is somewhere here in Enid. I don’t know who he is, and I don’t believe I’ve had any contact with him.”

“What do you mean, you don’t believe you have,” the captain asks with suspicion.

“Well, I find it hard to believe that this person, whom I’ve only had contact with online, and the missing girl are both in Enid by chance alone. He seems to know a lot about me, but like I’ve said, he’s only contacted me anonymously, so I don’t know who he is or how he knows me.”

“Fair enough. What’s this video, then.”

“It’s on my laptop. Can I show you?”

“Ahh, no, we can’t let you tamper with the evidence.”

James’s heart sinks, the blood rushes from his head. He’s lost.

“Excuse me, captain?” A plainclothes officer standing in the small crowd steps forward. “If it would hasten our investigation, I can access files on the boy’s computer.”

“Hmm, alright let’s see it then.”

Jenny passes the laptop to the man, who sets it on the roof of the nearest car. He logs in with the password James gives him, writing it down for later investigation.

“Okay, it’s going to be in my downloads folder. It’s the one right there,” James describes, as the officer awkwardly navigates through his files, “it’s in the folder to the right of that one. Yeah. Alright, it’s the first file, the video.”

The officer runs the video, and they watch in silence. The speakers carry only so far, and some in the back of the crowd whisper, asking one another what was said, but the captain shushes them and directs the plainclothes officer—he calls him Patrick—to skip back.

When the video ends, they remain in silence for another moment. Patrick closes the video file, visibly shaken by what he’s seen.

“You’ve never seen this man? Or heard his voice? Think hard, does it sound at all familiar?”

“I…no sir. I don’t recognize any of it. I’ve shared the video online, which is how the FBI became involved, and there has been a very active ongoing discussion primarily involved with the video’s analysis. They have uncovered clues that indicate it was filmed here in Enid. One man, a private investigator at Oklahoma City is in town and says he might know where it was filmed. He said he’d get back to me. Um,” he points with his head at Patrick, “could you open the web browser and check if he’s responded?”

James goes through the complicated process of guiding a computer novice to the website, then through his private messages, until he finds a recent message from the private investigator. It’s brief, apparently written from a cell phone. Patrick reads it out loud for the crowd to hear: “I’m in Enid. Think I’m being followed. Black van, no markings”

Ominous. The officers look from one another, not sure how to use all of this new information. The Federal agents will expect James to be delivered upon their arrival, but if his story is true then he can’t be held as a suspect, he’s clearly a victim of sorts.

Captain Smith finally speaks up. “Alright son, we need to detain you for further questioning, but we’d like to get you out to err…handle this situation…before it’s too late. Unfortunately our hands are tied, pardon the pun, until the Feds arrive and decide how to proceed. We’re required to act in their absence, and they asked that we bring you in.”

“I understand. Did they say how long you had to keep me in?” James asks, with a mix of jest and hope.

“You know…they didn’t. Ha! I like the way you think. Alright let’s get this over with. We’re going to take you in, book you, have you sign a statement verifying everything you’ve shown and told us here. We’ll leave a few officers behind to keep an eye on things, make sure you don’t try to run or this vixxious character doesn’t drop by.” He turns to Officer Jenny, directing her. “Will you write that report up and fax it to HQ now? I’d like him to sign it as soon as we get there.” Turning to speak to the crowd of officers, he bellows, “Let’s get moving people, we don’t have a lot of time left to find this girl!”

The caravan moves out, and despite their aid, James can’t shake the feeling that he’s already lost. He’s broken rule 3, the police are as involved as they could be. He’s worried about what the FBI will do to him when they have to come arrest him themselves, but his most immediate concern is still for the girl’s safety. Will she be punished for his mistake?

As the caravan moves toward police headquarters, cars break formation to head back to their respective patrols. Finally, it’s down to his car and one other as they arrive at the station. Captain Smith opens his door and helps him get out safely; he’s still cuffed and it’s a struggle to stand up. He’s guided to an interrogation room, and the Captain leaves for a minute, returning with the papers as he had earlier described.

“Sign these and you’re free to go.”

James skims the testimony to verify it doesn’t make any claims of his guilt. He knows enough to not immediately trust he isn’t being framed for the kidnapping, but a quick read satisfies him that it’s only a rough accounting of the events that occurred outside his home. He then signs the other, a notice that informs him that he may be contacted by police again for further questioning.

“The two fellows from the FBI will show up in a little bit, so don’t be alarmed. They may arrest you, but hopefully you’ll have the situation sorted out before they arrive. We’ll keep them here as long as we can, but eventually I’ll have to tell them that we didn’t keep you.”

“I understand. Win or lose, I think this game is just about over.”

“Oh yeah?” the captain asks inquisitively.

“When we were checking my laptop, I noticed the post that started your involvement was at the top of the front page…I passed his test. The only question is whether your involvement means I broke a rule. I didn’t directly ask for police help, and he said the third rule was don’t go to the police. But you’re helping, and he might not be aware that I didn’t request your assistance.”

“Well we’ll have officers on the scene to provide protection, so he’ll have a hard time punishing you directly. We’re worried about the girl, too, but he’s holding all the cards until we can locate him. That tip you provided us should help, all officers are on alert for a black van.”

“Do me a favor and keep my protection inside the house? I don’t want him snooping around and spotting police, he might not know you’re involved yet.”

“That’s a great idea. You’ve got it, kid. Alright, let’s get you home. I guess you’ll need your laptop,” Smith says, and nods at the officer standing at the door. “It’ll be returned to you outside. Stand up and I’ll remove your cuffs.”

The captain leaves James with two officers who escort him to a car in silence. Neither seems aware of the situation, at least enough to show any signs of urgency. James asks them to pick it up, and the two officers share a quick look, one shrugs to the other, and the car flips its lights on and accelerates, gaining an additional 15 MPH. James taps his fingers nervously on the laptop, but it’s functionally useless until he’s home and able to reconnect to wifi. He glances at the car’s clock in the front seat. There are two hours and fifteen minutes left.

IV

They arrive at his home within minutes. James pops out of the vehicle and opens the garage door for them, effectively concealing any police presence. His parents should be home soon.

“Can you guys watch out for my mom and dad? They’ll be in a white four-door sedan. Let me know when they show up, I don’t want them to open the garage door and see your car or they’ll flip out.”

The officers chuckle, and one nods with a “sure thing.” They head up to his room, where James plugs in his laptop and boots it up. One of the officers takes a seat on his bed and pulls out a cell phone, losing himself in the screen. The other stands near the window, discretely keeping watch over the cul-de-sac below. Seems like a lopsided balance of responsibilities, but officers always work in pairs when the situation calls for danger, and there’s not much else for them to do besides watch the street. He’s not sure which is having less fun. At least they’ll only be here for a couple of hours, at the most.

James logs into his account and checks for new messages. There are an overwhelming number of them, and it takes a quarter of an hour to sort them. Most can be discarded at a glance, those wishing him luck, prayers, or offering whatever other assistance they can provide from Nowhere, ID, or Toofar, GA.

Two messages catch his attention, one from the private investigator and another from vixxious. He takes a deep breath and decides to read the PI’s message first while he calms back down. It’s terse, likely still from a cell phone.

“He’s not here. I’m standing over the chair where your video was shot, but they’ve left. Looks recent, light was still on, no dust collected on the seat.”

It doesn’t really help his anxiety, but it’s probably better than the next message. He opens the one from vixxious.

“I’m not happy that you’ve flaunted my rules. I only gave you three. So you got the police involved, even if you didn’t ask them. What am I supposed to do with you, now? We had an agreement, James. I’m going to let the girl live, but you? What do I do about you?”

James waves the idle cop over to read the message, who then reads it aloud to the lookout. They look a little disturbed, apparently they hadn’t realized the kid they were protecting was in any real danger. James notices the lookout unbuckle his gun, so that it’s loose in his holster.

“Should I call the Captain?” James asks them.

“No, we don’t want to alert this vixxious character that you’re under protection, if we bring more cars down he might not show up, with or without the girl. This could be our only chance to catch him.”

James nods, then sits back at his desk. He can’t do anything now, but wait. He pulls his cell phone out and fiddles with it. There’s a notifier alerting him to a text message from his mom that he must not have heard. His parents are heading home, and might pick up McDonalds if he wants anything. The timestamp is thirty minutes old! Fear grips him, it’s only a 15 minute drive from there. Would vixxious go after his parents, if he knew James was under protection?

He’s about to bring this news to the attention of the two cops when the lookout gives a sudden hand gesture to the other, who stands immediately and draws his weapon.

“Black van,” the cop whispers from the corner of his mouth as he keeps his eyes on the street below. “Just pulled into the cul-de-sac. It’s stopping in front of your house.”

The other officer calls in the details, holding the cell phone with his left hand, but keeping the gun ready in his right.

“Are you going to go down and arrest him?” James asks naively.

“No, we can’t leave the house and chase him, there’s no way we’d keep up. We’ll have to rely on our support. There are other vehicles in the area that can respond.”

A voice comes back over the officer’s phone, but it’s too quiet for James to pick up. The officer nods as he listens, then pockets the phone. “They’re going to send what backup they can, but some officers in the area are responding to a serious accident.”

James gulps, but the swallow catches in his throat. His parents? It’s not possible.

He rushes to the window and throws the curtain open. The side door of the van is open and a girl is stumbling out, her eyes are covered but she’s otherwise unrestrained. Blond hair, it must be Maggie. Lost in the moment, he suddenly remembers why he’s watching the scene and looks the vehicle over, but doesn’t spot any damage: it hasn’t been in an accident. Maybe it’s coincidence, he dares to hope.

He sees a driver through the front window, but he’s too shaded and distant to make out any identifiable details. The girl walks forward testing each step, nearly blundering into the mailbox. She’s headed towards the house. The van door suddenly slams shut, and a noisy puff of smoke bursts from the tailpipe as the van starts, jolting forward. The two cops race out of the room, leaving James alone. He’s not sure if he’s supposed to follow them or not, so he does. They race down the stairs, James taking a more casual pace. The first cop fumbles the lock as he tries to open the door. The latch slides open and he pulls the door open, just as Maggie reaches the front porch. She’s removed the blindfold, and is looking around the neighborhood, apparently trying to get her bearings.

“Are you really a police officer?” she finally asks him with some skepticism.

“Yes m’am,” he smiles at her.

“You won’t catch him. He told me to tell you that, if I wanted to. It’s not safe, and you shouldn’t try.”

“We’re very good at what we do, Miss. Don’t you worry about us.”

“Oh I know. He said you’ll think twice, though. I’m not sure what he meant by it.”

The second officer speaks up, “Are you hurt? Did he harm you in any way? We can call an ambulance.”

“No sir, thank you. It wasn’t that bad, just dark and he wouldn’t let me talk. I’m sorry I even cried. You must be James?” she asks as she notices James lingering between the two cops.

“Yes, I am.”

“I’m burrista. From Reddit.”

“No shit? Is that what this is about?”

“Vixxious said he found it amusing, that we had similar names and both lived in Enid. He’s a bad person. This wasn’t some harmless game. Both of our lives were in danger. But I don’t think we are anymore, you won.”

“Do you know if my parents are okay?” James dares to ask her.

“What? I…I don’t know. I mean, I was blindfolded, but I don’t think he had time to do anything, unless it was before yesterday. Although, we had a very rough ride over here.”

The officers turn to James now, suddenly alarmed. “Do you have information that suggests your parents are in danger?”

“Well, they should have been home by now. About half an hour ago, I think. And vixxious threatened me again since I got you guys involved. I…I don’t really know what he did, or will do.”

“What kind of vehicle do they drive?” the nearer officer with the cell phone asks, as he pulls it back from his pocket.

“Um, it’s a white sedan.”

The officer places a call as they all watch, James showing only the slightest indication of the tension he’s feeling.

“Hello, this is Officer Rinkley. Could you connect me to an officer at the scene of that accident? Sure, I’ll wait.”

He taps his foot while he’s on hold, until a tinny voice comes through the phone, again too quiet for James to catch any details.

“Is this Phil? Hey, it’s Rinkley. I was hoping you could describe the vehicle involved in that accident for me.”

The officer watches James as he listens to the voice on the other end. His eyes grow wide with surprise as he hears the description.

“Would you say that again?” the officer asks, as he finally puts the phone on speaker so they can all listen.

“I said, the vehicle is an FBI car. Those two feds coming from Oklahoma City were involved in some sort of accident, they ran their vehicle right into the side of a building. Nobody else was hurt, but the two agents, and now they’re both dead. They must have been going at least 70 when they smashed into the wall. We had to close half the city block to figure it all out, but it turns out a witness saw them get run down by a black van.”

“Is that the same van the perp in Maggie Saxxon’s case is driving?”

“Seems like it. How’d he know the FBI was coming up, and where to find them? It’s strange, isn’t it?”

“Those questions are outside our league. I’m sure the FBI will be swarming over the town to try and figure that one out, now that their own are involved. All we can do is keep these two kids safe, and take care of their dead. Thanks for your help, Phil.” Rinkley hangs up the phone, and looks to his partner for ideas, draws a blank, then looks to James. “Well kid, your folks aren’t in that car, at least.”

As he says it, the lookout officer at the door gestures at James to come over, just as his parents’ white sedan turns into the cul-de-sac. James pushes past the officer and rushes out to the street to meet them. His parents pull into the driveway, and his father steps out to open the garage.

“Wow son, are you that hungry? It’s a little stale, there was an accident downtown and we got stopped in traffic.”

“I know all about it, Dad. Before you open the garage, there’s something I need you to know.”

James’s father looks to his wife still sitting in the car. As if telepathically, she kills the engine and steps out. He looks back to James and asks, “Well, what is it son? You’re not hiding a goat in there or something, are you?”

“Umm… no. Not exactly. The police are here. I’m not—“

“What?!” his mom exclaims with alarm. “Is everybody alright?”

“Yes, Mom! Everything’s fine, now. Please come inside, and I’ll tell you the whole story. There’s a girl here, too. It’s the missing girl that was on the news.”

His parents exchange a glance, uninterpretable by anybody but them. “Alright, but let me grab your dinner,” his mom says as she pulls the bag of fast food from the front seat, and they both quietly follow James back to the house.

As James reaches the front door, his phone vibrates in his pocket. Doing his best not to alert his family or the officers, he nonchalantly draws the phone from his pocket and checks the text.

“You played well. I can’t blame you for the pigs sticking their noses where they don’t belong. I’m on my way out of town, but maybe we’ll play again sometime?”

 

 

TJ Clark is a lifelong reader that is now working to find a foothold in the burgeoning self-publishing marketplace. He has one short story already published on Kindle, with several more in various stages of development. He lives alone (+1 cat) in Minneapolis, Minnesota.