by Nic Tatano
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I go cold in an instant and drop the phone on the table like it’s on fire. Roxanne’s fork is suspended in midair as she spots the picture on my phone.
Only now it’s not a picture. It’s moving. My father shoots a sinister smile at me, seeming to look right at me.
“God, turn it off!” says Roxanne.
I start to reach for it when the screen changes to the texting feature. The letters on the electronic keyboard begin to enlarge as they do when they’re touched.
Only I’m not touching the phone.
He is.
He’s texting me. On my phone.
Good morning, Jillian…
I’m paralyzed with fear, my eyes locked on the screen.
You… look… good… in… blue.
Roxanne finally grabs the phone, turns it over, opens the back and pulls out the battery. The screen goes black. Then she reaches across the table and grabs my shaking hands. “Okay, he’s gone.”
I know I must look totally freaked out as I look away from the phone. “He got in my cell.”
“Well, that’s his second power. He must have connected with it when you met the other day.”
I begin to tremble at the thought of the other option. “Or maybe he’s close by.”
***
“Jillian, your father no longer exists.”
Fuzzball’s words greet me as I arrive home from school and stop me in the doorway. “He’s dead?”
The detective is sitting on the couch and shakes his head. “No. But Devlin Spectre is gone. He has a new identity.”
I enter the living room and close the door behind me. “Excuse me?”
Mom walks in from the kitchen carrying a bottle of beer and a can of soda. She hands the beer to the detective. “I noticed your father looked very different in Ryan’s photos,” she says, giving me the soda, which turns out to be a Dr. Browns creme. “But it didn’t have anything to do with aging. His nose was shorter, the jawline was too strong. The eye color had changed. If he’d walked into this house I wouldn’t have recognized him.”
“He’s had some plastic surgery,” says Fuzzball. “Obviously to cover his tracks and establish a new life. So I took the photos your boyfriend shot over to the FBI and used their facial recognition software.” He opens a manila folder on his lap, pulls out a sheet of paper and hands it to me. “Now we know his new identity and everything about him. Get ready for a shock.”
I take the paper, which has one of Ryan’s photos stapled to the top. I flip the photo up so I can read, and what I see makes my jaw drop. “J.T. Decker? You mean, he’s the J.T. Decker?”
Fuzzball nods. “One and the same. The country’s heir apparent to Steve Jobs. The most influential man in technology.”
“I’ve seen him on TV,” I say. “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize him when we met.”
“You were expecting your father, not a celebrity,” says Mom. “I never made the connection either when I saw the photos.”
“He’s the mastermind behind DeckTech,” says the detective. “Every time there’s a new product, he’s the face of the company announcing it.”
“So what does this mean?” I ask.
“Well,” says Mom, “It means that we finally know his exact location and The Summit can now monitor his movements. Possibly figure out what he’s up to.”
I pull my cell phone from my purse and hand it to the detective. “I can tell you what he’s up to. He locked onto my damn phone today.” I explain what happened as Fuzzball looks at the phone. “I turned it off. Please don’t turn it back on. Throw it in water and short it out.”
“No,” says the detective. “This could be useful in the future.”
My jaw drops. “Useful? You think I want my father sending me creepy stalker messages through my phone? I’m never turning that thing on again.”
“No, Jillian, but there may come a time when we need to feed him information. And this may be the perfect way to do it.”
Meanwhile, I’m wondering if my father knows we’re on to him.
I’m betting he does.
And if that’s the case, he’ll no doubt launch whatever devious plan he has in mind.
***
Two days later I’m going through serious withdrawal. I must be the only teenage girl on the planet who wants nothing to do with a cell phone.
I haven’t turned on my computer either.
But being “technology celibate” isn’t as bad as the thought of my father’s face popping up on whatever means of communication I’m using. I’ll deal with it. Mom says I should go “old school” and start passing notes in class.
I actually woke up before my alarm went off this morning so I’m doing a little extra primping (for Ryan, natch) when my Mom’s voice makes me jump.
“Jillian!”
“What?”
“Getcha ass down here! Now!”
I get up and head to the top of the stairs. I see her at the bottom, facing the television. “What?”
She looks up at me. “It’s your father. On TV.”
“He hacked the flat screen?” I race down the stairs and whip my head toward the television as soon as I reach the bottom.
There he is, smiling and talking to the female host of a network morning show.
“What the hell is this?”
“He’s announcing a new product,” says Mom, who’s holding the remote.
“Turn it up.”
Mom fires the remote and my father’s voice fills the room for the first time in sixteen years.
“This will change life as we know it,” he says. The anchorwoman is seated in a high director’s chair next to a large monitor and a bunch of wires. The DeckTech logo is visible in the background, as they’re at his corporate headquarters in the research and development lab. “Now, don’t be scared,” he says, with a charm that must be making my mother’s heart break. Mom grabs the back of a chair and squeezes the life out of it. He grabs what looks like a bicycle helmet attached to the wires and places it on the anchor’s head.
“So, this is going to do my exercise for me?” asks the blonde bimbo who for some reason has dyed her roots brown.
“No,” says my father. “It’s going to record your brainwaves and interface them with this cell phone.”
"He's assuming she has brainwaves," I say.
Her blue eyes bug out and her Barbie doll voice goes up. “Really? So that only I can use it?”
“Not only that, but it will know what you’re thinking.”
“Oh, come on. How’s it gonna know that?”
“Just watch. The days of texting and dialing with your fingers are over.” He throws a switch and the monitor lights up, filling the screen with what looks like a hospital EKG. “It’s recording your brainwave patterns now. It’ll just take a few seconds for the information to download to the phone.”
“So basically anyone who buys this phone will go through this set-up process?”
He nods. “Yes and no. Yes, you’ll have to go through the process, but no one’s going to buy the phone. It’ll be free with a service contract.”
“Wow, free?”
“You bet. And the service is very reasonable, probably less than what you’re paying now.” He looks at the monitor. “Okay, we’re done.” He removes the helmet and hands her a gold cell phone. “Okay, the phone is now connected to you and you alone. And please hold it so the camera can get a close-up of the screen.”
The video cuts to a tight shot of the phone, then back to a wide shot showing my father and the anchor.
“Okay,” says my father, “now I want you to simply think of someone you want to send a text message to. Don’t say it, and don’t tell me who it is, just think it.”
The anchor nods and the phone lights up. She looks at it and her eyes grow wide. “Oh my God. It knew I wanted to text my husband.”
“Of course. It’s attuned to your brainwaves. It knows what you’re thinking, like an extension of yo
ur brain. Now think about the message you want to send. Don’t say anything, just think it. And this time don’t look at the phone, keep it turned toward the camera.”
The video cuts to a tight shot of the phone as invisible fingers begin to type a message.
Just like my phone did a few days earlier.
The message fills the screen. What do you want for dinner?
The video cuts back to a wide shot. “Now,” says my father, “you haven’t looked at the phone. Tell me the message you wanted to send to your husband.”
“What do you want for dinner?”
My father smiles. “Take a look.”
The anchor turns the phone around and her jaw drops. “That’s incredible!”
My father puts up one finger like a game show host. “But wait, there’s more! It also knows who you should talk to, who you shouldn’t.” He turns back toward the anchor. “Now I want you to ask yourself this question: who do I need to call that I haven’t talked to in awhile? Don’t try to think of any names, just ask the question.”
“Okay,” says the anchor. A few seconds pass and then the screen lights up with a list of five names. “That’s unbelievable! There are some people here I really need to touch base with and I’ve just forgotten.”
My father nods as he flashes that smile. “That’s because it’s locked into your subconscious, and isn’t affected by your emotions. This phone is a very sophisticated computer, and its decisions are based on common sense. But it’s a computer that now has a part of your personality, your essence. That’s what takes this technology to the next level. It has many other features but it would take an hour to explain them all. But you’ll be able to get your phone, starting at midnight, tomorrow night, at electronics stores around the country.”
“This is terrific,” says the anchor, staring at the phone. “Can I keep this one?”
“Absolutely. It’s already programmed for you.”
The anchor smiles as she runs her fingers across the gold metal of the phone. “By the way, what’s it called?”
“I gave it a really cool name,” says my father, eyes slightly narrowed. “The Spectre.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Pretty cool that the phone has your name on it.”
I’ve heard that comment more than once this morning, as the school is buzzing about the new mind controlled cell phone which goes on sale tonight at midnight. And you can bet just about everyone in this school will be camped out waiting to get one.
As for having my name on it, well, that means one thing to millions of people and something chilling to me.
Of course my father sweetened the pot before he went off the air. Not only is the phone free, but if you’ve got one of those pesky two year contracts with another carrier, his company will pay the penalty to switch. And, oh yeah, this phone is designed for adults, and if you do decide to get one for your kids, make sure your child is responsible enough to handle it.
Something for adults? Of course that means teenagers have to have it. We know adults can’t say no lest they be thought of as bad parents. And, of course, all parents will insist their little darlings are special and therefore mature enough to handle a cell phone.
Then there’s the slogan for the phone.
Just think… and it does the rest.
My father has every base covered. Even using my last name, which, if you look it up in the dictionary, means a dark spirit.
But hey, teenagers loves stuff that’s dark, right?
And if what my father did to Ryan is any indication, his “master plan” is pretty clear. With access to millions of minds and a young generation obsessed with cell phones, he can implant whatever he desires into what could become a collective hive mind.
Just think… and you’ll have the devil on speed dial.
I’m putting books in my locker when Ryan wraps an arm lightly around my waist and pulls me close. “You okay, Sparks?”
I shake my head. “Not really, but at least we’ve flushed him out and know his plan. How are you feeling?”
“Still not sleeping great, but I’ll live. So what’s our plan?”
“Sebastien called Mom just as I was leaving this morning so I’m sure a trip to The Summit is in store this weekend.”
Ryan frowns. “I was really looking forward to our date tomorrow night.”
“We’ll be together. That’s all that matters right now.”
“We could move it to tonight…”
Sometimes the girl who’s supposed to save the world really misses the obvious.
***
Despite the impending cellular Armageddon at midnight, I have a little spring in my step as Roxanne and I walk home together. An evening with Ryan (dinner, movie, couch) is something I desperately need; not necessarily for the romantic aspects that could lead to the confessional if Mom weren’t home, but to simply get away from having the weight of the world on my shoulders for a few hours. I want to be a guy’s best girl for one night.
Roxanne notices. “You sure are in a good mood considering we’re at DEFCON ONE.”
“I need a break, Rox. I’m sure we’ll all be spending tomorrow and Sunday saving the world. Tonight I just wanna enjoy a quiet dinner, watch a rom-com, and…”
She raises one eyebrow. “Let me guess. You need more than a hug from a cute guy.”
“A girl has her needs. Speaking of which, do you have plans tonight?”
“Nope. Two invites from those who are TSTL that I turned down.”
“Wow, what’s it been, three weeks without a date? You’re turning into a camel.”
“I have my standards.”
I roll my eyes as we walk past a fragrant gardenia bush. “Right, until a certain football player with a future as a crash test dummy asks you out.”
“Hey, I said I had standards. I didn’t say they were all-encompassing. A girl can make exceptions.”
“Uh-huh.”
We turn the corner toward my house and she points at a large package leaning against my front door. “Hey, check out your porch. Your Mom must not be home. Expecting anything?”
“Nope. But Mom’s birthday is next week. Could be something from the relatives.”
“Maybe Ryan sent you a giant candygram.”
“If that’s true, it’s not big enough.”
We turn onto the front walk and since I love mail, I bound up the stairs, eager to see what’s in the box, which I now see is from an overnight delivery company. I crouch down to pick it up and see it’s addressed to me. “Hey, it’s mine.”
“Who’s it from?”
I look at the return address, which is simply a street address in Manhattan. “No idea. No name.”
“Your mom still addicted to the Home Shopping Network?”
“Unfortunately.” I pull my house key from my purse and open the door, then we head for the kitchen where I plop the box down on the table. I pull the zip tab across the top of the box to open it as Roxanne pulls back the flaps.
What we see makes us both stop dead in our tracks.
A gold cell phone.
***
As it turns out, Ryan was wise to move our date to this evening, as we’re heading to The Summit tomorrow for what Sebastien described as “a summit.”
Which Mom says means only one thing. The shit has hit the fan.
Meanwhile, that little golden nugget my father sent sits in the delivery box. I didn’t even want it in the house, so I threw it in the trunk of the car. No doubt it is configured a little differently than the millions that will be sold tonight at the witching hour. The Summit’s geek squad will go over it with a fine tooth comb and hopefully disengage whatever mental Bluetooth device is in it.
Right now stress is burning through calories like you wouldn’t believe. It’s all-you-can-eat shrimp night at the local seafood restaurant, a casual joint with a roll of paper towels on every table in lieu of napkins. Despite the cheap plates and plastic red-and-white tablecloths the food is killer, and the place a
lways packed. I’m attempting to set a record for a size four which, at the current rate, could land me on The Biggest Loser or get me harpooned on the Jersey Shore. The waitress shakes her head as she deposits the third heaping plate of fried crustaceans in front of me.
“I don’t know where she puts it,” she says to Ryan, before walking away.
Ryan, who’s finishing up his first plate, smiles at me while I devour everything in my path. “You know, at this rate I won’t be able to carry you inside if you pass out again.”
“I’m eating for two,” I say, then watch the color drain instantly from his face and realize I’ve hit him with every teenage boy’s worst fear. “Not that, for God’s sake. Me and the dopplegänger.”
“Dammit, Sparks, don’t joke about stuff like that. You had me worried for a moment.” His color returns. “I wish you would try to relax tonight.”
“I’m not sure that’s possible. I was doing okay until that phone arrived.”
“Well, you’re never gonna use it, so don’t let it worry you.”
“I know, but the fact that it’s around… creeps me out. Along with the thought that my father will be getting into everyone’s head at midnight.”
He gives me his now familiar soulful look. “I thought tonight was about getting away from things? Just you and me. No mind control, no visions of hell. Just us. The rest of the world doesn’t exist tonight. Okay?”
I stop eating for a moment and exhale. “I’m sorry, Ryan.” Suddenly I realize I’m about to burst. I slide the half-eaten plate toward him. “Finish these and then I can waddle over to the movie theater.”
“You sure? I wouldn’t want you to starve.” He grabs a shrimp and pops it in his mouth.
“I’m saving room for popcorn. I also want Raisinettes. And a big I-hate-Mayor-Bloomberg soda.”
Fifteen minutes later we’re walking toward the theater when we see it.
A line around the block.
Mostly teenagers and young adults.
They’re not waiting for a movie.
My walk slows. Ryan notices, takes my hand and pulls me along. “C’mon, Sparks, we expected this. It happens every time they release a new iPhone.”
Somehow that doesn’t comfort me. I wrap my arms tight around him. He puts one arm around my shoulder as we’re walking, side by side. Suddenly I’m a scared little girl, and I can’t let go of him. He looks down at me, sees that my eyes are clouded with fear, and brushes my hair back with his free hand. “I’ll never let anything hurt you, Sparks. Never.”