Assured Destruction

by Stewart, Michael F.

  “You all right?” he asks.

  “I still can’t believe you follow me on Twitter,” I say to change the subject.

  He shakes his head slowly. “I don’t.”

  “Then how’d you find out where I—”

  “Jonny called your mom. He was worried when you didn’t meet him.”

  “Jonny,” I whisper and look around for him as if he should be here. Into my mind flashes an image of Karl’s strong jaw, his blue eyes. I can still feel the power in his arms as he carried me.

  “Your mom was furious that you’d lied again and asked for my help to find you. I hacked your account.” Peter had the decency to wince in apology. “I looked through your last emails, saw the one about the app, and uploaded it to my iPhone. It did the rest.”

  “So you’re a hacker?”

  “I like to call it Internet security specialist, but yes, one of the best ways to test your security is to have a hackfest on it. I’ve hacked some of the biggest sites in the world.”

  “Ha! Can I maybe join a hackfest sometime? It sounds like fun.”

  “Lots of pizza,” he says.

  “Mom said you didn’t do pizza.”

  “There’s a lot your mom doesn’t know about me,” he says with a smile, which turns to a grimace as his face clenches in pain.

  “Let’s let Peter get some rest,” my mom says and he doesn’t try to dissuade us from leaving.

  As I hustle along in my wheelchair, my mom keeps easy pace in hers. “You know, honey.” She begins. “When the police officer comes back, you have a chance to come clean on everything else. Shadownet.”

  I stop wheeling and turn to her. “What about Fenwick’s threat?”

  “If the police can arrest Fenwick on the child pornography charges, we don’t need to worry about that.”

  It’s true—I can’t think of a way he could trace the police finding child porn on his server to me. That was his dumb move.

  “But if they found out I didn’t destroy hard drives, you lose Assured Destruction.”

  “We all have to take responsibility for our actions, Janus.” She kisses me goodbye at the elevator and I continue on to my room, but before I reach it I turn back.

  “Mom, will you ever tell me what happened to you and Dad?” I ask.

  She’s counting the floors illuminated on the digital display. When the doors open, she smiles and says, “Is it okay to have some secrets, love?” She rolls into the elevator car and cranes her neck to look back over her shoulder. “You’ll just have to trust me too.” And the doors shut.

  Back in my bed, it’s getting late in the day, and dinner is peas, mashed potato, and Salisbury steak. I flick through TV channels to distract myself from the taste of the starchy goo, and later a nurse changes the dressings on my arms. I start rereading The Bell Jar, but the nurse must have given me something in the IV because I don’t remember anything more until I wake up with Constable Williams nearly sitting in my lap. She’s smiling.

  “I’ve got an idea,” she says.

  I rub my eyes.

  “You’re pretty handy with computers, I take it.”

  “I … uh …”

  “I interviewed your computer science teacher, says you’re the smartest student he’s ever had. You make him nervous.”

  I don’t know why, but this makes me sad. Here I was, trying to figure out ways to torment the guy, and I make him nervous?

  “Did you find—?”

  “The pornography?” She nods her head up and down and looks far off in the distance. “Sure did. Including Astrid’s picture. We’ve enough to convict him, Boris Kniezev, if we can find him.”

  “And you can’t.” So he’d used an alias. I figured this might happen, but my stomach does a little flip at the prospect of Assured Destruction being ours again. It’s not much, but it’s ours.

  “I’m supposed to ask you questions about what you were doing in his house.” She eyes me and I wait for the shoe to drop.

  I remember what my mom said. About it being my choice and about taking responsibility. I figure there really is a right way and wrong way to do this. I shake my head.

  “Can I tell you everything that happened? What I did?” I ask.

  She grows serious and takes out her notepad again. I look at it and then begin. I tell her everything. Everything up to the kidnapping because I don’t want Fenwick—Boris—to have some way of coming back at us—for wanting revenge. I’ve had my revenge. It was poetic enough for me.

  When I’m done, Williams’s smile expands further. “You’re even better than I thought. To set the trap on the blog you would have had to write the trojan virus in an hour.”

  Twenty minutes, actually, but I keep my mouth shut.

  “I won’t say there won’t be any repercussions for all of this, but I’m glad you told me. I wouldn’t have decided to help you otherwise.”

  “It clears Harry and Astrid, right?” I struggle to sit up in the bed.

  “Yes, and it might help us find the possessions of the Wise family.”

  “What punishment do you think I’ll get?” I ask. “Will I do time?”

  She chuckles. “Yes, you will, but how about we come up with a plan to present to the judge?”

  “Sure,” I say, not understanding, but glad for the help and scared to death of the word judge.

  “I need to talk to my lieutenant, so you’ll have to wait a bit.” She pats my leg. “It won’t be easy.”

  I still have no idea what she’s talking about, but the image of court bangs around in my head, causing havoc.

  Chapter 25

  We all stand as the judge enters. I’m trembling, glad for the crutches under my armpits that keep me from falling. My mom couldn’t be here, but she asked Peter to pick me up. I’m all alone and in some ways I guess that makes sense to me. This is my crime. My justice.

  Upright, my foot throbs. After four weeks, my dressings are off, but skin still sheds from my arms. The doctors don’t think there will be scarring, but for now I’m scaly and molting.

  The judge sits in his big pine pedestal box and everyone else settles into their seats. The two witness boxes on either side of him are empty, but a group of prisoners await trial on the far left hand side. Behind me half the seats are filled with people, most of whom I don’t know with the exception of Constable Williams.

  The first trial on the docket, I stand before the judge. The timing is a small gift since my nerves are already shot—except it looks as though this judge just woke up. He runs his hand across bag-saddled eyes and then puts on a pair of wire-rimmed reading glasses that make him look like an evil cartoon character.

  Another woman in uniform—the clerk, I guess—hands him a case file and the judge rubs his hands together. I wonder if he’s wearing underwear beneath his robes. I wouldn’t. He glares down at me. It’s already been a day of judgment. I had time to stop by school and meet with Principal Wolzowski before heading to court.

  That meeting could have been worse. By confessing to everything, I’m cleared of the cyberbullying and neither Astrid’s nor Harry’s families will press charges. Ellie’s, on the other hand, wants their paperback books and everything back and I can’t help them. I didn’t rob them! Half of it might have gone up in flames for all I know. This is what insurance is for, isn’t it?

  Wolzowski says I can’t shake the plagiarism charge, but my suspension is over following my weeks of convalescence. At least I’m not expelled. The principal even made a little joke. He claimed that my new essay was plagiarized too, said it came from a conversation amongst people on Twitter, a blogger, and other social network updates. I couldn’t believe it and objected, but he started laughing, admitting he followed Heckleena too.

  I left the school a bit dumbstruck and actually looking for
ward to going back. I even caught sight of Karl, who waved and looked like he wanted to talk to me, but I kept going—not wanting to be late for court. I caught his text thirty seconds later: Good luck today.

  I still haven’t replied. I wonder for a moment if I’ve made the wrong decision. Unfortunately Jonny’s already made up his mind. He called me a freak and hasn’t spoken to me since. Which reminds me—he hadn’t gone to the police, had he? Not even after I missed his deadline.

  “Ms. Rose?” The judge is glowering at me.

  “Yes, ma’am. Sir, I mean,” I say. Someone chuckles.

  “I asked you a question.”

  I have no idea what he asked. “Yes,” I say.

  “Yes, then go ahead.”

  “Yes, can you repeat the question, please?”

  “Would you care to sit down?”

  I gratefully fold on to the chair. I don’t have a lawyer or anything. I’ve already pled guilty to the charges of mischief.

  “Is Constable Williams here?” the judge asks, peering around.

  She stands and he nods, urging her forward with a finger.

  “You’ve agreed to sponsor the community service hours of Ms. Rose?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” She glances back to me as she says so.

  “Would you tell the court what this will entail?”

  I lean forward because to be honest I don’t even know. All the constable and I discussed was that I’d be helping her out. I assume filing and stuff. Maybe I’ll need to shine everyone’s shoes? Clean toilets?

  “Janus Rose is a computer expert.”

  I blink.

  “She will be working under me in the cyber security task force, rebuilding computers to create profiles of our suspects and designing software that will help us bring them down.”

  The judge sits back and takes off his glasses, peering at her as if to determine if she’s sane. He then cocks his head a little.

  “Well, who am I to stand in the way of fighting crime.” He points a long finger at me. “You agree to this?”

  It’s tough to see through the tears filling my eyes, and a knot twists in my stomach so hard that I can’t speak. I manage a vigorous nod.

  “You’ve committed some serious missteps, Ms. Rose, broken privacy regulations, caused the distribution of intensely private information by retaining it when it should have been destroyed, or at the very least recycled.”

  And here it comes. The judgment.

  “But this is all in the context of bringing down your very first criminal, I take it?”

  The constable nods the affirmative. “Two, in fact. They are still at large.”

  “I don’t want to see you headed in the wrong direction, Ms. Rose.” The judge scratches out something on a legal pad. It looks like he’s struggling with the math, finally he looks up. “I sentence you to two thousand hours of community service to be served after school hours and on weekends under the direction of Constable Williams or whosoever she determines to be appropriate.” The gavel slams down. “Welcome, Ms. Rose, to the right side of the law.” The clerk hands a new manila folder to the judge.

  Everything is a blur. Williams helps me to my foot, and I crutch out of the court room in silence. Two thousand hours. I didn’t expect the judge to be lenient, but two thousand hours? There was the small matter of obstruction of justice and my fake tip to the so-called anonymous tip line. But this seemed a bit stiff. If I manage two hours a day and five on each weekend day, it’ll take me … I do the math … two years! I’ll finish up somewhere around my high school graduation.

  “Welcome to the force,” Williams says.

  I have never been a slave before. How am I supposed to help my mom with the business, especially now that Fenwick is gone? I start to grow angry, but then I remember what the constable said to the judge. I’d be profiling suspects, bringing them down.

  I design apps. I create people out of their hard drives, but I never really knew why. I had no real purpose. And now I do. I’m like a geeky superhero.

  “Do I get a gun?”

  “Only digital ones. Do you realize the computing power we have access to?” There’s a sly smile on her face.

  “Let’s go fight crime,” I say.

  I laugh, and we push through the doors to the court house, where I freeze.

  “Can I give you a ride home in my cruiser?” Constable Williams asks.

  I’m staring at Jonny. He’s skipping class again.

  “Or … would you like to make your own way home,” she adds. I know she sees what I see. Jonny’s got something in his hand, something wrapped up.

  “Own way, please,” I manage.

  I crutch toward him, he’s staring at me.

  “Hey,” I say—brilliant conversationalist that I am, but this guy’s last word to me was freak.

  “What’d the judge give you?” He holds out the gift. It’s a small cylinder and I guess what it is without opening it.

  “Is that yellow?” I ask. I don’t have anywhere to put it, but grab hold of the present anyways.

  He blushes.

  “Thanks—sweet,” I say. “I got two thousand hours of community service with the police.”

  “Whoa, bummer, eh?”

  “No, I deserve it,” I say. “I’m going to be their White Hat Hacker.” It’s not a job title Williams gave me, but I like it.

  “Drive you home?” he asks.

  I look around. “Peter’s supposed to pick me up.”

  “Your mom called and asked me to.”

  “Wha—I mean, cool.” I can’t believe my mom set this up. I’m going to kill her.

  We don’t talk as I crutch to his car; it’s tough going and the foot still hurts. But he must have been stewing the whole time we walked, wanting to say something, because when we reach his car he suddenly bursts out with: “Are you and Karl?”

  I’ve got both my crutches in one hand and I lose my balance and tumble, waving my arms toward the car.

  Pain lances through my foot. “Am I and Karl what?” I ask from the ground.

  “You know—together.” He bends down to grab my hand. It’s the first time he’s touched me since a rainy night weeks ago. I’ve had time to get over Jonny. Karl even sent a teddy bear with the flowers instead of spray paint—although spray paint is definitely cooler.

  “We’re not together,” I say.

  And he pulls me up, staying close. I see the stubble around his jaw and above his lip. It’s cute, and his lip protrudes in a way that makes me want to kiss it. He backs up a step and I wobble again, but at least I manage to lean on the car while he opens the back door to help me inside.

  The whole scenario is a bit pathetic, because it’s easier for me to lie down in the back than it is to climb into the front seat. So we pass the drive with me feeling like my mother is driving me home rather than my … what?

  We’re close to home when I remember a question: “How did Fenwick get your computer?”

  He looks at me in the rearview mirror and his eyes are just like Paradise57’s.

  “When I came around to see you a few months ago. A big guy chased me away, but I dropped my backpack. I wasn’t totally sure what was in it, and I was so embarrassed I couldn’t ask you at school. The guy had said he’d drop me in the shredder if he caught me.”

  I cringed, hearing my orders repeated from Jonny.

  “It was really old anyways,” he continued. “I just told my mom it had stopped working.”

  “If I’d only come clean sooner …” I said, half to myself.

  He parks well away from the front entry, on the opposite side of Assured Destruction’s lot. I wonder why; doing so forces me to crutch an extra hundred yards I’d rather not have to cross.

  “I want to s
how you something,” he says.

  He pulls out his iPhone and I catch the icon for Canvas, which looks like a Jackson Pollock painting. When it’s loaded he hands the phone over to me.

  “What you did for me,” he says and wrenches his lips back and forth as if sampling the words. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “What I’m trying to say is, people don’t do nice things for me. This—” He chokes on the word and motions to the phone.

  I tap the viewer and bring it up, scanning for graffiti. I don’t need to look far.

  “—it’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me,” he says. “You’ve made the whole world my canvas.”

  I’m looking out the back window of his car, unable to speak. Great stems grow up from the pavement and burst over the wall in a firework of petals and colors. Amongst the foliage, elves and gnomes play. He’s turned our drab block of a warehouse into a wild, fantastic jungle. My mom’s there in her wheelchair, and I am too, swinging on a vine with flowers in my hair and eyes shining. My home is a paradise. I guess it always has been.

  “We’re even,” I say. “This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

  I turn back to him and his eyes hold me. I nearly fall off the back seat but manage to shift forward enough to give him an indication of what I want. I lean forward and touch my lips to his. It’s a dry brush, but it’s wonderful. It’s a real kiss, our first shared kiss and there’s only ever one. I smile and do something I’ve always wanted to do. I run my fingers into his hair.

  We kiss deeply until I pull back. My gut tells me this is right. Or maybe it’s not my gut, maybe it’s my heart.

  “Your mural’s missing something, though,” I say. I turn to the app and zoom in on a bare area of the mural. Then I choose my color—yellow. And proceed to draw a yellow stickman, with shaggy brown hair and a spray can in one hand.

  I choose Jonny; after all, I am now a representative of the police, and I think they’d prefer I go for the boy who likes me for me, rather than for being a bad girl—an image I might have trouble keeping up. We make out a little longer until I see my mom knocking on the storefront window so hard I’m afraid she’ll break it.