Flicking

by Lukas Oberhuber

entering between the leaves of a jungle. His fingers had flicked across the keys of his brand new computer. He peered at the lines of code. For some reason the routine that made the robot in the game move left and right didn’t work. Frustrating. Dorian had been working on that game for at least a week by them.

  Every day, when he’d come home, he’d thrown his Fila backpack into the corner. He’d spent the hours before dinner adding features.

  His father, Hugo, had come home early that day. A towering bear of a man, Hugo had slipped into Dorian’s bedroom, giving him a quick kiss on the top of his head. Dorian could still remember the power of Hugo’s hug so many years later. Like a blanket, a warm comfortable blanket. Hugo had quickly patted his head, and disappeared. Dorian had given a brief smile, his fingers never stopping.

  Of course it wasn’t cool to get a hug from daddy, but still he’d felt warm and cozy inside, at least until his attention had returned to the game.

  Something had scratched at him as he typed away. From one moment to the next, the code in front of Dorian had gone from a cool logical stream to a jumbled pile of meaningless text.

  “…lose your job. How can you think of that at all?” he’d heard Babbo say. The door to Dorian’s room was open.

  “But sweetheart,” Cassandra, Dorian’s gorgeous mother had replied, “that’s absolutely, completely stupid. I’m sorry. It is my job to question. And don’t you agree that a woman has a right to choose what happens to her body?”

  It wasn’t the first time that Dorian had heard his mother talk about abortion. It had something to do with a right to choose and babies.

  “What does a woman’s body have to do with religion?”

  “Ha! Now you have said something completely idiotic.” Dorian had sensed his mother’s arching eyebrows furrow together, her dark eyes drilling into his father. Dorian had felt uncomfortable, on edge; his parents never fought. Their voices, to an untrained ear, had sounded like participants in a typical conversation, if just slightly heated. But Dorian had known his parents’ most minute moods and the tension lifted the hairs of his forearms.

  “Please,” Hugo had retorted. “That is of course not what I meant. You are a professor of religion, not politics. Abortion is politics.”

  “It is the Catholic Church, la chiesa, that has decided this is political. I have little to do with their decision, as you know.”

  A pot had banged against the stove.

  “Your role is not political, is it? You are to study religion, not to judge.” Hugo had sighed. “Never mind. I’ve lost a deal for a building because of your political meddling. That should be enough warning for both of us.”

  “Hypocrite.”

  “You could be hurt. Your views are strident, discordant. I don’t want something to happen.” Hugo paused. “No, of course nothing will ever happen, but still.”

  Dorian had heard shuffling. He had wheeled himself over to the door to his room, stuck out his foot. “This country is simply not—“

  The door had slammed, cutting off Hugo’s sentence with a bang.

  Dorian had definitely not felt good that moment. He’d wheeled himself back to his desk, pulled a pair of giant headphones from a drawer and slipped them over his ears, so that his small head had almost disappeared between the two bowls. He’d turned up the music.

  A moment later, he’d felt a hand on his shoulder, startling him. He’d looked up to find both his parents leaning over him, his mother’s mouth moving. He’d pulled off the headphones.

  “What?” he’d asked.

  “Darling,” his mother had said, “discussions are important. That’s what Babbo and I were doing. Discussing. It’s important. It’s the only way to understand each other.”

  “But—“

  “Don’t worry darling, ok?” Mamma had put her arm around Babbo, and kissed him on the mouth, then looked down at Dorian.

  Hugo smiled. “It’s how we work, son. Nothing more.”

  “Now where is Federica?” his mother had said. “She promised to help me cook.”

  She pulled the headphones out of Dorian’s hand, and placed them back on his small head.

  “Take your time.” The words from Davide pulled Dorian back into the present. Davide’s figure perched awkwardly over Dorian.

  “They had an argument about abortion rights…once?” Dorian said, “but could that really…?”

  Would strong views on abortion have been enough to get his whole family killed seven years later? No chance. He couldn’t believe it. His mother wasn’t the only one, not by a long stretch.

  “Anything else?” the Ispettore asked, instantly dismissive.

  Was there anything else? What else could there be? Dorian wondered. What had been wrong before their deaths? Ok. So he’d been trying to reach them about the server, and they weren’t answering. So they had died before that. Or? No! Wait!

  “You said there were some ripped cables?” Dorian asked.

  “Oh yes, it was of no consequence. Something remaining from some earlier remodeling.”

  “But where were they again?”

  “I believe they were in a closet. They looked like the connections where a TV might have been attached.”

  “In a closet?”

  “As I told you, it was nothing of importance. Therefore asking me the whereabouts of hypothetical televisory equipment can lead to very little, Mr. Casso.”

  “No. You don’t understand.” Dorian’s leg twitched. He rubbed a damp hand across his forehead. “Were they fiber optic cables? They were in the closet in the hallway, right?”

  “Why are you so concerned about some cables I mentioned only in passing.” The Ispettore snapped his fingers and jerked his head.

  “It’s not the cables. Was there a black server in there? I mean a computer. Did you see a computer anywhere in the place?” Dorian wished him to say yes.

  “Let me think. Yes, we did.”

  Oh thank god, Dorian felt a wave of relief shoot through him.

  “We found two laptops,” the Ispettore continued, “though they weren’t in the closet. So yes, there were some computers there.”

  “Any other computers?”

  “No. None.”

  A cold wave shot through Dorian, sweat springing out on his forehead. “No, I mean a desktop computer. It would look like a black box.”

  “Oh no, of course not. Don’t be silly. Why would there be a black box in that house?” The Ispettore almost chuckled.

  “That means someone took it,” Dorian whispered.

  “Excuse me?”

  “One moment,” Dorian mumbled as he stood up and raced into the hall. He doubled up, vomit spewing out onto the Ispettore’s doorstep.

  “Oh dear. You are such a child.” The Ispettore punched a button on his phone. “We’ve got a vomiter. Send someone with a bucket. Quickly.”

  Dorian wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I am not a child.” He sat down in his seat, his legs feeling weak. How the hell could it have been this way? His fucking Deep Node Five server was the only thing missing, and this idiotic detective didn’t give a damn. Had Dorian actually caused his parents to be killed? That was totally ridiculous. All he did was download movies. Who would have stooped to this? And why?

  “Then why all the hysterics? These are actions of a child, are they not?”

  How had someone known where to find that server? Dorian had never mentioned that server to anyone ever, other than in online chats using code names and disguised identities. Even his parents had no idea what the black box did. That server had always been hidden. But still someone knew about it, as cloaked and secret as it had been, and knew where to find it.

  “Let me think,” Dorian said quietly. “I need to think.”

  The taste of vomit made him gag lightly. He hoped he wouldn’t vomit again. He rubbed his temples. He’d always promised himself, and all the other Deep Noders that, no matter what, he wouldn’t reveal his servers to anyone. Never. That had been the commitment, the ri
ght of passage.

  But his family was dead. That trumped ‘never.’ That must trump a fine from some government conspiracy to protect the greedy movie industry, didn’t it?

  “Ispettore,” Dorian looked up, his insides strangled. “I need to tell you something.” He took a deep breath, then swallowed what little saliva was left in his extremely dry mouth. “The closet you mentioned.”

  “Yes.”

  How would he say it? The words stuck. Wasn’t he crazy to tell this stupid Ispettore of Nothing about the server? His secret server? He could land himself a fine. And who would that help? Did that bring Mamma and Babbo back?

  “Yes?” the Ispettore said.

  Dorian felt the breath whistle through is teeth. “I installed a server there. The black box you insist doesn’t exist. It is a system for downloading movies.”

  “I understand.”

  “That server might have been the target.”

  Dorian winced, waiting for alarm bells. A part of him expected Carabinieri to storm into the room, guns drawn, yelling ‘we got you sucker,’ as if that mattered now.

  But instead: nothing.

  “How is that?” the Ispettore said, his face derisive. “Who would kill a family for a computer? Ridiculous.”

  “This wasn’t just any computer.” Dorian had to stay calm. He was talking about the server so that he could avenge his parents. That was all that mattered. “This computer contained movies that would be downloaded by other computers. All over the world people on the internet downloaded movies from this computer, this server.” Was there understanding in the Ispettore’s face? No, nothing.

  “Let me explain. This computer’s identity was