Playing with Fire

by Sherry D. Ficklin

  I log off and tuck my tablet away. Slipping out of the car, I walk casually along the sidewalk until I can see the rear of the building, a set of tiny, barred windows. Making a quick beeline for them, I scoop up a small rock, rise up to my tiptoes, and tap on the glass with it, which has a small corner already missing.

  “Oliver, you ok?” I ask. “Don’t turn around, there are cameras. Just stay still like nothing is happening.”

  “You gonna break me out?” He chuckles, and it’s a sad, ominous sound.

  “I’d bake you a cake with a file in it, but my skills don’t extend to the kitchen,” I offer with a snort. “But I am going to get you out of this.”

  “I’m glad you’re here,” he whispers, his voice tight. “I didn’t do this. What they’re saying. I have no idea how that stuff got in my truck.”

  I look over my shoulder, making sure no one is around. “I know,” I say firmly. “I’m going over to Bianca’s now. I’m going to get her to turn herself in. I’m going to give them everything I have.”

  And it still might not be enough. Though I don’t say it, it hangs in the air between us.

  “The worst part is, somebody went to a lot of trouble to set me up for this. I just can’t figure out why. Why me?” he asks.

  I feel myself pitch forward, resting my head on the vinyl siding. I’ve missed something.

  Something important.

  It hits me like a ton of bricks. I actually feel the color drain from my face.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” he asks.

  I open my mouth, and then close it with a snap. What can I say? I can’t just accuse someone. Not without hard proof.

  “I think I know who did this,” I hiss. “I need to get to Bianca, but I think I know who did it all.”

  It’s so obvious now. Like a huge puzzle, one piece fits, then suddenly, everything else falls into place and you step back, seeing the whole picture, feeling like an idiot for not seeing it before.

  It’s not a pretty one.

  “I have to go,” I say apologetically.

  “No, Farris. Wait! If you know who did this, go tell one of the MPs or something!” His voice is high with urgency.

  “No. I need proof first. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  I drive across base in a daze, pulling up outside Bianca’s house and slamming the car into park. I’m at her door without knowing exactly how I got there, restraining myself from pounding on it. I ring the doorbell, shifting impatiently.

  Bianca pulls the door open. “Hey, Farris. What’s up?”

  “I need to see your computer.”

  She leans back. “Excuse me?”

  I push past her and step into the house. “Oliver’s been arrested.”

  She closes the door behind me, her voice still wary. “Yeah, I heard. Gossip travels fast.”

  I turn to look at her, scanning the room as I move to make sure no one else is in earshot. “I know you’re the one that hacked the squadron, Bianca. I want to know if you planted the explosives, or if someone else did it for you,” I say flatly.

  Her expression twists, eyebrows rising. “You’re insane. I didn’t do anything.”

  She moves to walk away but I stop her with a hand on her arm, pulling the flash drive from my pocket with the other and holding it up. “I can prove it. I hacked your Omega Portal user account and traced the threatening email and the virus back to Splice. You can talk to me, or we can call the cops right now and I’ll hand them everything.”

  She stares at me for a minute, her mouth hanging half open. “I…I didn’t do any of that. I only got on to do research for that stupid paper.”

  I level a gaze at her. “The jpeg you sent had an Ouroboros virus encrypted inside it. I saw the code. It’s what infected the system, and I’m betting it’s what brought down that plane yesterday too. The only thing I can’t figure out is the explosion.”

  She walks past me into her living room, sinking onto the arm of her leather sofa. “It wasn’t me. The whole Omega Portal thing was Reid’s idea. I told him about my project idea, and he told me where I could find people who might be willing to talk. He set it all up; even let me use his username and password to access the chat rooms.” She rubs her face in her hands. “I didn’t even know about the other stuff. And I had nothing to do with the explosion.”

  My heart sinks like a lead weight in my chest. I assumed he’d set the explosion, setting Oliver up to take the blame. I never imagined he was behind everything. It’s clever, I have to admit. Basically the same principal as having multiple sets of fingerprints on a gun. Even if the Feds manage to put it all together and catch up with the hacker, all trails will lead straight back to Bianca. Too naive to cover her tracks, too smart to claim she couldn’t have done it.

  “Here’s what you’re going to do,” I say, handing her the drive. “You’re going to go over to the Provost Marshal’s office right now and tell them exactly what you just told me. Give them this.”

  She shakes her head. “What if they don’t believe me?”

  “I’ll be there soon to back you up, I promise. But first, I’m going to go over to Reid’s house and see if I can get my hands on his computer. If he accessed the Omega Portal at all, there may still be evidence on his hard drive. But if he thinks someone might be onto him, he could wipe the whole thing, and then it’s his word against yours.”

  Nodding slowly, she takes the drive. “Yeah, ok.”

  I put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s gonna be alright.”

  She wipes away a tear as it falls from her eye. “I never thought he’d do something like this to me. I thought he was a nice guy.”

  I offer her what I hope is a reassuring smile. “We all did.”

  Me most of all.

  ***

  My mouth is dry as I walk up the front steps and knock on Reid’s door. No answer. No cars in the driveway. Walking over to where the garage is attached to the house, I peek in the window. No sign of Reid’s scooter, no movement of any kind. His parents, probably still out of town, will have no idea what their son has done.

  My frustration spiking, I kick the garage door and it shakes with the impact. I should have seen it sooner, should have at least suspected. But he’d won me over with his story of being shunned and bullied, making himself a kindred spirit, someone who could understand me in ways other people can’t. Now, I can’t help but wonder if it’d all been a lie. Every moment we spent together rides through my brain and I find myself questioning each word, each look, each subtle tick, searching for some warning sign.

  Trying not to look suspicious, I walk over to the side yard and reach over the fence, feeling for the lock on the other side. I slide the bolt to the side and the gate swings open. Closing it behind me, I sneak around the house. The sliding glass door in the kitchen is unlocked. Lucky me.

  I move quickly through the house and into Reid’s bedroom. It’s neat, recently cleaned and vacuumed, his blankets draped perfectly across his bed, his pillows just so. But there’s no computer on the desk. I swear out loud and hastily begin opening drawers, rummaging through the clothes inside. I open his closet, his perfectly stacked shoe boxes, and then crouch down to look under his bed. Nothing. I roll back on my heels, folding my hands under my chin, still crouched beside his bed.

  Something catches my eye as I start to stand up. It’s the corner of a yellow notebook sticking out from under the mattress.

  I run my hand under the mattress and come out with a legal pad.

  Moving to his desk, I pull out the chair and sit down, flipping through pages and pages of chemistry notes. About halfway through, I find what I’m looking for. It is a page folded neatly in half. I unfold it and struggle to understand what I’m seeing. It is a chemical formula with intricate instructions for inducing crystallization.

  My mouth forms a silent O as I realize what the formula is for. It’s directions for making ammonium chloride, a combination of chlorine and ammonia. A very dangerous combination.

&nbs
p; A voice from the doorway startles me. “If you wanted to spend time in my bedroom, you could have just asked.”

  Nearly falling out of the chair, I leap to my feet, clutching the notebook and pushing the chair between us. Reid leans against the doorjamb, picking at the paint with his fingernail. His expression is placid in a way that manages to be both neutral and absolutely terrifying. Unsure how to handle the situation, I decide to try for humor.

  “Jeez, Reid, why can’t you just keep porn under your bed like every other teenage boy on the planet?”

  He looks at me flatly, his face flushing with the beginnings of real anger. “Why are you here, Farris?”

  “I talked to Bianca today. She told me the whole story. What I really don’t get is why?” I ask, backing away slowly until the bump of my back against the wall tells me I have nowhere else to go. Reaching into my pocket, I feel for my phone and hit what I pray is the redial button as he starts talking again.

  He rolls his eyes. “Sometimes you can be really dense, you know that?”

  I narrow my eyes. “Is this because I chose Oliver?”

  “No, Miss Egomaniac. But that didn’t win you any points. No, this is about much more than that.”

  “Enlighten me then.”

  He looks at me like I’m dumb. “If you’re looking for a tedious villainy monologue, you’re not going to get one.”

  “You could have killed your own parents.”

  He shrugs. “They aren’t really here anyway. Losing them wouldn’t alter my life at all, except that I wouldn’t have to listen to their constant whining about how much they miss their carefree, pre-Reid lives.”

  The last puzzle piece clicks into place. The two chairs in the theater room, the lack of family photos in the house. I wonder what else they had done that had made him like this—to push him to this point. He isn’t just being pushed around at school—that’s bad enough. He’s an outcast, unwanted in his own home.

  “Couldn’t you just be a normal human being and talk to them about it?” My voice rises now. “I mean, I get it. They hurt your feelings, but damn, dude.”

  “Oh, I tried that. It earned me a slap in the face and a lecture about being ungrateful. You know officers aren’t supposed to fraternize. When my mom found out she was carrying me, it was too late to terminate the pregnancy. She and my dad got married, but neither of them were about to retire. They love flying. It’s all they ever wanted to do. I was just a complication in their lives.”

  His face falls and for the briefest flicker of a moment, I feel sorry for him. Then I stiffen. “Oh please, spare me your sob story. Everybody has issues. Not all of us resort to crashing seventy-million-dollar airplanes for attention.”

  He glares at me, so I continue. “Derek’s stepdad beats the shit out of him, Bianca is miserably in love with the girl who can’t keep her eyes off you, and Oliver’s trying to keep people from finding out he’s got bipolar disorder. Life is shitty, Reid. Get over it.”

  Reid clenches his fists. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

  “Well, cry me a river. Do you feel better now that you’ve had your little Oprah moment? News flash, I give zero fucks why you did this. But I’m damn sure going to make sure you never do it again,” I fire back.

  He continues as if I hadn’t spoken. “You know, maybe if you’d picked me, I would have been more careful about making sure your dad didn’t get hurt.”

  I’m genuinely stunned for a minute, then I want nothing more than to lunge for him and scratch his eyes out. Only the memory of him putting the ninja on Oliver stops me. In hand-to-hand, I’m outmatched. I need an exit, or a weapon.

  My eyes dart around the room, searching. The only way out is the door behind Reid. Not good.

  “Look, Reid, you have to turn yourself in.” I let my voice drop into a soft, almost concerned tone, not so much because I think he’ll listen to me, but because I’m trying to formulate an escape plan.

  “Why? The police have their man.” He smiles cruelly. “And once things go back to normal, I’ll do it all again. Only this time, there won’t be any warnings. And there won’t be any mistakes.”

  My mind reels. “Except Bianca is already at the Provost Marshal’s office, with her laptop and my file, telling them everything. By now, they already know what you did. They could be here any minute.”

  God, I hope that’s true.

  His face falls, rage flickering behind his glasses. He obviously hadn’t counted on that.

  “I’ll figure something out,” he says confidently. “Besides, it’s her word against mine.”

  “What am I? Chopped liver?” I ask, holding up the notepad. “Oh yeah, and I have this.”

  He shakes his head. “Sorry, Farris. But neither you nor that are leaving this house.”

  Then he lunges, his fingers slicing through the air like talons, grasping for the notebook. I lean to the left, rolling onto his bed and trying to spring over him. Just when I think I’ll make it to the door, his hand clamps down around my ankle and pulls me down mid-jump. I hit the edge of the bed and roll off, smacking my head on the frame as I go down.

  Stars explode behind my eyes as the concussion reverberates though my skull. I can’t see, but I feel his weight on top of me. He’s fast, too fast. I try in vain to smack him away.

  “You can’t beat me, Farris.” Leaning forward so I can feel his breath on my face, he hisses. “You’re only hurting yourself.”

  I wedge my arms under his chest and try without success to push him off me.

  “Oh, come on. You wanted me to kiss you, remember?” he says, breathlessly. “That night at the park. I saw it in your eyes. That’s the night I thought that maybe, just maybe, you could understand. But then it was over. But you understand now, don’t you?”

  When he presses his mouth over mine, I gag. I grab his hair to pull his face off me, but he catches my wrists and holds them in a viselike grip. So I do the only thing I can think of. I open my mouth just a fraction, suck in his bottom lip, and bite down. Hard.

  The taste of copper pennies floods my mouth as he screams and pulls back. Blood flows down his chin and drips onto my chest. I cough and spit the blood out, turning onto my side. In the scuffle, my cell phone has fallen out of my pocket and landed on the floor across from me. I reach out for it.

  I don’t get far.

  I don’t see the punch coming. It hits me on the right cheek and pain explodes, as if the impact has shattered every bone in my face. There’s more blood in my mouth, but this time, it’s my own.

  Another punch, this time to the other side of my face, sends me reeling. The pain is sharp and relentless. Tears well up in my eyes, flowing down my cheeks as he grabs my T-shirt from the front. I bring my hands up to try to fight him off, scratching and punching, but my arms are like jelly. No matter how hard I try, I can’t defend myself. He nuzzles his face into my neck as he holds my shirt, stretching the fabric as he wraps it around his fists. He kisses me. Licks me. Somehow, I find my voice and I scream. I scream and scream, until my throat is raw and no more sound will come, praying someone will hear, praying someone will help me.

  I don’t actually expect someone to.

  He eases back just a fraction, just enough for me to see the morbid smile on his face. There’s a loud crack, right before Reid slumps forward onto me, dead weight. Through my watery eyes, I make out the shape of a person standing over him like an avenging angel. She’s holding a long, wooden baseball bat.

  Georgia.

  Her golden hair hangs loose around her flushed face. Together, we roll him off me. She pulls me up to standing, hugging me tightly and rubbing my back while I wipe the blood and tears from my face with the back of my hands.

  “Shhh. It’s okay. Shhh,” she soothes.

  When I’m finally able to breathe again, I lean back. Reid lies crumpled on the floor, his glasses askew. There’s blood on his face and dripping down the back of his neck where Georgia smashed him with the bat she still holds in her left hand.<
br />
  “I thought he was going to kill me! How’d you find me?” I ask, still shaky but quickly recovering.

  She shakes her head. “I was in the office, waiting to see Oliver, when Bianca came in. As soon as she came in, she told me what was happening before they even took her statement. I rushed right over,” she explains. “Saw your car, heard you screaming. Luckily, I had this in the trunk.”

  “Very luckily,” I say, bending to retrieve the notebook from where it’s fallen on the floor. I straighten my clothes as best I can and rake my fingers through my hair, wincing at the pain in my face.

  “It’s not.” She hesitates, frowning. “It’s my fault. Oliver wanted to tell you, but I wouldn’t let him.”

  I look at her, not sure if it is the concussion, or if she’s just not making sense.

  She sighs. “The thing is, two years ago, Reid had come over. I was used to it. We were friends; he came over all the time. I never thought he’d…” She bites her lip. “He tried to force himself on me. Oliver came home just in time.” The side of her mouth perks up. “And he beat the living shit out of him. He wanted me to tell someone, press charges, but I was too embarrassed. I made him promise never to tell anyone.”

  She looks up, her eyes searching mine. “So it’s partly my fault. If I’d let Ollie tell you the truth, you’d have known what he was really like. I’m sorry for that.”

  “Oliver knew Reid was dangerous and he tried to warn me. I just didn’t listen. That’s on me, not you,” I say, tapping the notebook on my leg. “But right now, we need to get this to the MPs.”

  She turns, stepping out of the room just ahead of me.

  Without warning, a hand grabs my shoulder from behind and spins me around. Reflexively, I draw my arm back and let it uncoil into Reid’s already bloody face. He falls backward into his dresser and slides down onto the floor.

  Georgia is back in the doorway, bat firmly in her grasp. “Oh. Nice right hook.”