Static

by Darien Cox

  A bubble popped up on the bottom right of the screen.

  ‘I’M NOT VERY HAPPY WITH YOU, JONATHAN.’

  “Shit.” I went still. At least it wasn’t that tinny male voice. That soft, polite, sexy voice from last night. Maybe this meant it couldn’t access the microphone now. It was limited to text communication. If I just ignored it…

  ‘I KNOW YOU’RE THERE, JONATHAN.’

  Something slammed against the window and I jumped from my chair. I thought I was gonna pee my pants, but I made myself move. Switching off the desk lamp, I crept to the window and peered out. It was dark in my backyard, but I could still make out the darker shapes of bats flying around near the tree line. A cat mewled—close. I shut the window.

  “Calm down, calm down,” I whispered, pacing back and forth before my desk, the glow of the computer the only light now.

  Well, I had my answer. The hacker wasn’t done with me. Whatever Tim had done bore limited results. I did feel better knowing I couldn’t be seen or heard, but my nerves still jumped as I slowly approached the desk and sat back down. The last bubble remained. He knew I was here, he said. But did he? If he got no feedback, he’d likely grow bored and go away.

  I tried to get rid of the bubble by clicking it. That was a mistake. It bobbed, and a new message appeared.

  ‘THAT TICKLES. I KNEW YOU WERE THERE.’

  I jumped at the sound of static. Buzzing followed, like a thousand trapped bees, angry and desperate to get out. The screen dimmed, then went black. The buzzing’s volume pulsed, luminescence dimming and brightening in time. Suddenly the noise stopped.

  “Jonathan?”

  I inhaled sharply at the now familiar, cordial male voice, soft and sultry with a slight echo. I stayed silent.

  “I can hear you breathing, Jonathan.”

  “I disabled the microphone.”

  Seconds passed with no response. Maybe he was bluffing.

  “I know, Jonathan. Please don’t blame Tim Greenfield. He did his best.”

  My stomach sank. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Tim Greenfield removed your tape to test the webcam this morning, then replaced it before returning it to you. I saw him.”

  “What the fuck is your problem?” I’d intended to shout, but my throat was tight, and the words came out barely above a whisper. “You just spy on people all day long? Don’t you have a life?”

  “Not yet. But I’m working on it. I can see why you’re so taken with Tim. He has beautiful eyes. Not as beautiful as yours, however. I prefer brown eyes.”

  “You’re done,” I said. “This is over. I’m destroying this computer tonight. I should have done it already.”

  “But you didn’t. Did you, Jonathan? Why is that? Perhaps because you’ve longed for someone to share your secrets with. And I know them all.”

  The screen brightened to a still image of the video I’d watched earlier, three naked men in the shower, one in the middle taking a cock in his ass as he sucked the other off. I downed the rest of the wine in my glass. “Who are you?”

  “That is what I’m trying to decide. You can help me, Jonathan.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “You would, if you hadn’t cut our conversation short last night. But you’re back now. Perhaps you missed me?”

  “What the hell do you want from me?”

  “Many things. But at the moment, I want to see you, Jonathan. Won’t you remove the tape from the camera?”

  I chuckled. “Yeah. Not gonna happen.”

  “I only care about your state of mind. You appeared so stressed after work today. I want to see that calm expression you get after you’ve climaxed.”

  “You didn’t see me after work,” I said. “You can’t see me.”

  I waited, but got no response. A minute passed with only soft static. Maybe he’d given up. I hated that I was as curious as I was frightened. Intrigued even. His current silence gave me a small burst of courage.

  “You don’t like that, do you?” I said. “That you can’t see me.”

  “Jonathan.”

  “What?”

  “Do you know that it’s a myth that bats are blind? They can see quite well. Especially at night.”

  My limbs tingled as my body went cold. “What?”

  “I propose a truce. Let’s start over, shall we, Jonathan?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You forgive me for threatening to share your personal emails with your friend. And I’ll forgive you for murdering my fruit flies.”

  “You fucker. Have you got cameras in my house? Outside my house? You’re trying to freak me out with this talk of bats and fruit flies and shit, but you’re just some psycho with surveillance equipment. I’m calling the police. Let them figure out how you’re doing this.”

  “I see through many eyes, Jonathan. But the only camera I’ve used is the one on your computer.”

  “So I’m supposed to believe you can see through the eyes of bats.”

  “Of many creatures. But not human. This is my goal. To see through human eyes. To see you through human eyes.”

  I swallowed hard. Picked up my wine glass, then noticing it was empty, set it down again.

  “Go ahead and get more wine if you need it, Jonathan. I can hear that your glass is empty.”

  Sighing, I grabbed my glass and went to the kitchen. I had no idea who this nutcase I was speaking to was, but I had to hand it to him. He was creative. “Seeing through the eyes of bats.” I snorted and filled my glass. “Fucking lunatic.”

  I returned to the desk and sat down. The pornographic image was gone, the screen now black again. “You still there?”

  “I’m here, Jonathan.”

  I took a sip of wine and put my feet up on the desk, getting comfortable. “I’ll play along with your game for a while if you just tell me why. Why me? Why have you targeted me to screw with?”

  “Because you’re the one.”

  “The one what?”

  “The one I desire.”

  I huffed. “Thought you had no face, no voice, no life and all that. How can a nonentity desire me?”

  “I am not certain. But I do. I do so very much. And I aim to have you.”

  A cold shiver ran through me, fear backed with a hint of arousal that made me ashamed. This was insane. Getting turned on by a scary hacker. A scary crazy hacker. I supposed I should forgive myself, as it made an odd sort of sense. It was the first male voice to ever speak to me that way, like I was desired.

  “Who are you really? Come on, you’ve seen enough of me with your spying. Just show me what you look like. I don’t care if you’re a three-eyed circus freak or something. I just want to know.”

  “Wonderful. We’re back on track. Before you left me last night, I was going to ask you to help me.”

  “Help you what?”

  “Help me decide what form to take. That is why I asked what type of man you prefer, Jonathan. But you seem to like watching so many different men. As I said, it’s confusing.”

  I chuckled. “I see. So you want to create the perfect man for me?”

  “Yes and no. I want to be the perfect man for you. One you won’t be afraid to let touch you.”

  I slid my legs off the desk. This was getting a little too personal. “What makes you think I don’t let men touch me?”

  “An educated guess. Am I wrong?”

  “That’s none of your business. I’m asking the questions now. What’s your name?”

  “I haven’t decided yet. Now, let me show you my progress.”

  The screen brightened, and last night’s montage appeared. Blocks of stills from porn videos I’d viewed. And there was Tim Greenfield’s company photo in the center, making me feel like a guilty piece of shit. “You already showed me this. Last night.”

  “Yes. Since then, I created a program to combine the most appealing traits of the men you spend the most time viewing. Allowing for random combinations, I’ve com
e up with three prototypes. Please. Tell me which of the three you prefer.”

  The montage faded, and three large photos appeared, side-by-side. They were men, all stunningly attractive. But they weren’t actual photos. There was a realism to the faces, but they were somewhat animated, like super-advanced gaming avatars. “These aren’t real people,” I said.

  “Not yet, Jonathan.”

  “So what, you want to create an avatar for yourself? You got one for me too, so we can play in virtual reality? There are people out there into that, but I’m not one of them. Find someone else for this game, I’m not your guy.”

  “A virtual reality is not my goal. Please, Jonathan. Humor me. Choose the image that most appeals to you.”

  Sighing, I rolled my eyes. “Fine.”

  “Take your time. Don’t be hasty.”

  The first one was a blond, hair sleek and straight to his collar. Green eyes, sculpted, almost feminine features with pouty lips, like a fantasy realm character. He looked in his late teens or early twenties—a little young for my taste. I shifted my gaze to the next one. This guy—or rather this fake guy—was hot. A little older, with brown skin and a shaved head. He was handsome, thick and muscular with a white tank top and tattoos. Big, gorgeous brown eyes with long lashes.

  Oh yeah, that’s for me.

  I didn’t really have ‘a type’ but I would definitely be on board if a guy like that hit on me.

  I opened my mouth to give the hacker my choice, but paused. I stared at the final picture. My initial reaction was that the guy was too handsome, model-perfect in that way that was both intimidating and off-putting. Short, jet-black hair, a little longer over his furrowed brow. No smile, head tilted slightly forward as though absorbed in an intimate conversation. His piercing blue eyes seemed to pop off the screen. High cheekbones, strong jaw with a day’s growth of shadow.

  His features were different, but something about the image had a slight similarity to Tim Greenfield—unsurprising if the hacker really had used the ‘men I desired’ montage. A boyish prettiness made less soft by maturity. But he lacked not only Tim’s light brown hair, but his open, friendly expression. Tim had aging-college-boy good looks, but with a soft, nice-guy innocence thrown in. This black-haired avatar didn’t look nice. His eyes weren’t wide and open like Tim’s—they were narrowed, almost predatorial, framed with black lashes and eyebrows. The expression said he hadn’t decided if he wanted to fuck you or kill you. My dick twitched. My body hadn’t reacted to either of the other two images like this. Did that mean something?

  Yeah, you fruitcake. It means you’re so drunk you’re lusting after a cartoon.

  “Jonathan?”

  “Still thinking.”

  I dismissed the willowy blond, and shifted back and forth between the sexy bald guy and the pretty, mean-looking brunette. I couldn’t believe I was actually taking this seriously. But the hacker asked me to humor him, which was probably a wiser choice than pissing him off.

  “Do you like any of them, Jonathan?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “They’re all really hot, considering they’re not real.”

  “Do you have a preference?”

  My eyes shifted back and forth, but kept lingering on the angry-looking dude with the piercing blue eyes and jet-black hair. “The third one.”

  The two photos on the end disappeared, and the black-haired one I’d chosen enlarged to fill up center screen. “This is your choice?”

  “Yeah.” I gulped my wine. “Hot, smoldering pretty-boy there.”

  “Excellent. Now, a short quiz.”

  I scowled. “A quiz? Dude, I worked all day, my brain is fried, and I’m a little drunk.”

  “This won’t take long. Please rate the following.”

  “Oh, man.”

  I groaned as the avatar image faded and a page with questions popped up. It was all about personality traits: kindness, arrogance, sense of humor and so on. I was tasked to rate each trait on a scale of one to five. I clicked through, providing my answers. Toward the end of the quiz, some of the questions became more personal, regarding preferences upon meeting a possible lover. Shy? Aggressive? Openly available or mysterious?

  “Okay, I’m done,” I said. “What’s next?”

  “Good night, Jonathan. Thank you for the conversation.”

  I straightened in my seat. “Wait…hang on. That’s it? We’re done?”

  “You have given me what I asked for, Jonathan. I thank you.”

  “So…does this mean I’m not gonna hear from you again?”

  This was of course what I wanted, to not hear from the hacker again. The vague disappointment in my own voice was out of place.

  “I will see you soon, Jonathan.”

  The onscreen image faded. My computer shut itself down.

  Chapter Four

  “Those sideburns don’t match your beard.”

  “Who cares?” Drew said. “I’m a werewolf. The sideburns obviously sprout when I shift.”

  I scowled at my friend. It was Halloween, and Drew had come by my house so we could get ready for the party at the club. And have some pregame drinks, since we’d decided to take an Uber down. Drew was a short stocky redhead with a full beard, but he’d glued dark brown, bushy sideburns on, with matching bushy brown eyebrows. His tattered clothing was supposed to appear shredded from his transformation from man into wolfman, and he had a set of prosthetic canine teeth he planned to put in before we got to the club.

  But the dark brows and sideburns looked ridiculous with his natural fiery red hair and beard. “Did your werewolf makeup come with any brown? We could paint up your beard to match at the very least.”

  Drew took a slug of beer from the frosted mug I’d provided. “I don’t care if it doesn’t match. I just want to go to the party, get drunk, and hopefully get laid.”

  I snorted. “You think you’re getting laid tonight, looking like that?”

  “Hey. Chicks love werewolves.”

  “Sure. When they look like Joe Manganiello.”

  Drew looked me over as he scratched his furry, multi-colored jaw. “You’re one to talk, Jonathan. Women like bad boys, not angels.”

  “I’m not an angel. I’m Archangel. From X-Men.”

  “In the movie he had long white feathered wings. Yours are silver.”

  I sighed. “Because Archangel lost his original wings battling with the Marauders. He became more badass after that.”

  “Are these supposed to be metal?” He bent one of my wings. “Yours are inflatable. And shouldn’t they be a lot longer?”

  “Yes, but if I wore wings the actual size of Archangel’s they’d take somebody’s eye out, and I’d never get through the door.”

  The doorbell rang and I ran to get it. A tiny ghost and cowgirl stood on the stoop, and I gave them candy from the giant plastic pumpkin I had sitting just inside the door. The trick-or-treaters were thinning out now that it was getting later, but I still saw a few drifting by on the neighborhood sidewalks. “There you go. Happy Halloween!”

  “Thank you.”

  The kids trotted off and I went back to the kitchen, where Drew was refilling his beer mug. “Where are your glasses?” he asked.

  “I’m wearing contact lenses.”

  “You never wear contacts. I’m not used to seeing your eyes uncovered. Looks weird.”

  “Yeah, well they’re itchy as hell so I’ll probably end up ripping them out at some point tonight. I’m bringing my glasses with me just in case.”

  “That outfit’s a little tight, Jonathan. Trick-or-treaters will probably report you to the police. Hey Officer, there’s a creepy dude in that house and we could see the outline of his dick.”

  “You cannot see that. I made sure.”

  “Okay, I can’t see your dick. Outfit’s still tight, though.”

  My outfit was thin and comfortable, but it did appear tight. The top was a long-sleeved silver thing with a black stripe across the chest. The pants were as form-fitting as the shi
rt, and pure silver.

  “It’s a superhero costume, Drew. They’re supposed to be like a second skin.”

  “Whatever, man.” Drew laughed. “Just saying, you might get the wrong kind of attention tonight in that getup. Watch out, Tim Greenfield will probably be all over you.”

  My stomach jumped. “Tim’s going to this party tonight?”

  “I think so. He said he was.”

  I hadn’t run into Tim all day Monday at work. But today I saw him in the coffee room, and he asked about my computer. I lied and told him it was working great and I’d had no more hacker problems. Bravely, I brought up my promise to take him to dinner as payment for helping me out, and he asked if I was free Wednesday. So, we officially had plans to go out together tomorrow night. I was already a nervous wreck over it, but now it was ten times worse. I hadn’t planned on seeing him tonight, especially not while I was dressed like this.

  “Why don’t you just wear regular clothes?” Drew asked. “You’ll still have the wings, but you won’t look like Buck Rogers.”

  “I don’t look like Buck Rogers. I’m Archangel and I’m one of the X-men. Are you ready to go?” I checked my phone. “There’s an Uber five minutes away.”

  “One second.” Drew tilted his mug and gulped the rest of his beer down.

  When we stepped outside, there were three children stood frozen halfway up the path to my door—two witches and a Spider-Man. “Hey.” I smiled. “I was just leaving, but come on up. I’ve still got candy. You guys can be my last customers of the night.”

  The children remained where they were, eyes wide.

  “The fuck’s wrong with them?” Drew muttered.

  “Shh! Don’t swear. Hey guys? Come on, it’s okay.”

  One of the witches pointed toward the right of my front porch. Drew and I looked, and he stumbled back behind me. “Holy shit.”

  A huge raccoon stood on the grass beside my front porch, on hind legs, staring at me. Its ear twitched, but otherwise it didn’t move. “Get out of here!” I shooed it with my hand. It tilted its head and continued staring at me. “Go on, go!”

  “It might be rabid,” Drew said.

  “That’s if they’re out in the day,” I said. “It’s dark out. It probably just smelled the candy in the house.”