Desperate By Dusk

by Alexander Salkin

  He logged in under his usual handle, Gh0st S3r10us, an asinine title he got from a silly website which made up such handles from one's real name. He then checked who was online, mentally getting a feel for current ratio of the braggarts, shills, willfully delusional types, and people of plausible information, based on his experience with their posts. One particular name he hoped would be online was the lone overlookable sign-on of BC6. He assumed it was someone’s first and last initial with the number six being some lucky number, perhaps. Then he checked for new posts, after which followed a rehash of certain old posts. The process of filtering through new information, reactions, and responses took a good half hour. Some things could always be researched later, if warranted.

  Interestingly, a topic started by user ‘BC6‘ the other day had been deleted at the author’s request. That was in fact the very post in which Jessie had learned about the men in black suits snooping around the old military base in Dresden Port... which he thereby used to decide on yesterday’s weird little foray instead of a trip to the old mill. "Deleted, eh?" Jessie mumbled, munching on a sesame stick. He coughed and cleared his throat with some green dyed ginger soda commonly sold in stores. "Now, why would you do that, BC6?" he asked himself. "Why bother now? I printed your post up yesterday. Did something happen?"

  Just then, he got a private message on the site. Reading it over, it was untitled but the author wasn’t a mystery. Licking his teeth and looking suspicious, he clicked the link and saw the following.

  FROM:< User ‘BC6‘

  TO:< User ‘Gh0st_S3r10us‘

  CC:< ‘None‘

  RE:< _______________

  "Do all our stories seem like so much bullshit to you now? You shoot down so much of what is said here. Sometimes you’re right. Sometimes I don’t know. I had to find out. You should close your mouth more often, GS. It’s that wide open maw on the non-plussed fish that gets dragged out of the water."

  "What do you think happened last night?" –BC6

  *This message brought to you by The Akashic Memory News Net Server! Remember, don’t give anyone your passwords. You never know when there’s a devil in the wires!*

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  Jessie stared at this, before his right eye twitched. It was a set up. The whole thing, aimed right at him. He then typed a message back immediately.

  "Are you trying to antagonize me? Teach me a lesson? Do you think you're funny? Nothing about last night was a game. I don’t know how you got your information but things happened that are just as much on your hands as mine."

  "For the record, I am not trying to harass people on the forum, as you seem to suspect. And why did you delete your topic about the Green Military base?" –GS

  In minutes, a message came back and a forum mail conversation began. BC6 was a very fast typer.

  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  GS,

  "There’s a fine line between bullshit and triumph in most people, whether they recognize it or not. It doesn’t take anything to be a smart ass skeptic, a pithy modern dullard whose mother never loved them, or a Chicken Little with 'the sky is falling' routine. Most of these people here are one or more combination of those three. Sometimes, you’re more the first than anything else. But you actually try to explain why something doesn’t make sense. You demand proof. It's often not enough for you to cluck your tongue and speak from self-imagined authority. At the same time, I’ve read your posts to be more interested in probing for answers to your questions before you’ve made a judgment. That’s why I gave you the benefit of the doubt. You did not disappoint, GS."

  "The post was there for you and you alone. I wasn’t looking for anyone else’s input. And it wasn’t safe to keep that sort of thing available. You’ve heard of, ‘This message will self-destruct in such and such seconds‘? A person acts more honestly according to their nature if they don’t suspect they’re being tested. That’s why it was public and now it isn’t. That sort of information isn’t safe to leave where anyone can find it for long. I’m not responsible for what anyone else does here either."

  "I’m not looking to torment you as a motive. Knowledge will do that. You’ll never have enough. And it’ll never bring you peace. I am just the tree from which the little apple grew. I grow fruit. And other creatures eat it. Regardless if they’re supposed to or not. That does not make me bad or evil. It makes me a tree. Nor is it your fault that you are hungry. You’re just made that way."

  "I did not seek to see how much we were the same, but in what ways we shared being similar. –BC6"

  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  -BC6

  "You dodged my accusation as to whether this is a game for you. You know something happened last night. Maybe you set it up somehow. Maybe you saw details. If you think I trust you enough after that... as if you’re the spoon feeder to my intellect, you have an embarrassingly high opinion of yourself."

  "A man died yesterday! It could have been one of my friends! Would you get off on knowing that? I have a notebook in my hands filled with occult symbols and an image of the Tree of Life. How is any of that worth it? Maybe you’re just some pseudo-intellectual voyeur, yourself. Maybe you want to feel smart, o‘ apple bearing tree of enlightenment.‘

  "No, this isn’t simply about if I am willing to believe or write something off as a rule. You’re getting something out of this. I will give you one more chance to respond. If I see more flowery crap from you, consider yourself blocked from any further contact with me. THIS WAS NOT A GAME. -GS"

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  "You're being difficult, GS. Good. Whether you believe me or not is of no particular meaning to me. I have more apples on my boughs. Just because your theological ancestors took a bite doesn’t mean you or they know anything. No one eats a sliver of one apple and calls it a healthy diet, do they? Again, that’s your problem."

  "Let me clue you in something, JESSIE. Did you know I was in your Fix-It shop at one point? You even saw me or maybe you just glanced up, too caught up in your work behind the counter. And yes, it was you- the sausage fingered one. Not that aging Asian gentleman with prostate cancer from a life time of cigarette abuse."

  "You ever talk to a tree before, Jessie? No expects it to move. That was the problem. You think I’m playing games? Let’s play a game right now then. It’s called GUESS MY NAME. You can play this with your friends, especially since you’re brave enough to run recklessly into an abandoned military base together. You want a bit of brain jousting to see if you're smart enough to dance on my level? Let’s do an opening foxtrot, boy."

  "You’ve seen my handle. It refers to a name, but I’ve only got one, and the obvious one isn’t it. The apple is hiding in plain sight, Jessie. Find my first and only name. I’ll ignore anything else you send after this that isn’t the right response. Then we’ll see who needs what, hungry man."

  "P.S. Before you get any 'funny' ideas, it isn’t Rumplestiltskin. I thought I’d save us some time on that one. –BC6"

  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Jessie stared at the screen uncomfortably. This was more than he was expecting to find right now. The fact that this strange individual from his site knew him all this time and baited him based on an approximation of his posts on a single forum... what would the guys think if they knew what had been set into motion and everything that had happened as a result? And this person didn’t seem to care about the man who died last night either. Maybe he didn’t believe Jessie. Or just didn’t see it as a big thing, like Ramone. I’m getting in over my head here, aren’t I, he thought.

  Confidence usually had not been an issue in his life. It was
often low but he had a certain ambivalence about it, too. After the exchange with BC6, he felt foolish. Not ‘bad at volleyball so why did he even bother’ foolish, the normal kind. If he didn’t have his mind and wits, what did he have?

  Having been scouted, identified, and led by some random online stranger did not sit well with him. Jessie valued his privacy. Straightening up after a moment of feeling bad about himself, he printed the transcripts he had with BC6, a sneer building on his face. "Nothing on the internet is personal. Maybe I will find out who you are. If you knew anything about me, last night would have shown it. I can’t run from a personal challenge. So I won’t." Jessie brought out a fresh bottle of caffeinated soda. It was time to crack the puzzle. "You want to push me? Fine. Let’s go."

  Simon had made it back to his van without being seen. He pulled off the street completely and went to the far side of town. Hopefully, the other black Lincolns weren’t looking for his Vandura. He considered dropping the rest of his work load today, but in reflection, he’d only get in more trouble for it. Running from boogeymen didn't pay the obnoxious property tax bills, after all. One problem was enough. Dresden Port was easy enough to get lost in if you weren’t local. That came about naturally at the street level, as it wasn’t designed to be an ergonomic grid. Really, it was a town composed mostly of unpaved back roads and rural locations. Jessie once said the layout was like the internal overlapping coils of a boiler engine. Simon never researched what one looked like, but he took his friend's implication that it was a bit visually complex.

  Simon would lay low for a while, passing the time with the low fi radio and checking his phone for messages. Still, no one responded. It was raining less now, hardly even a drizzle. Finishing up would make for a much more doable walk at this point. He guessed whoever was looking for him on his route wouldn't seek him out in the same place on the same day at a different time. And it was almost three in the afternoon. If he hurried...

  Getting back into his delivery area, he put a hustle in his step as he machine gunned the ad circulars out with solid throws onto people’s porches, although he had enough wisdom not to toss if people were sitting outside their house. Folks considered it rude. Fortunately, these people weren’t too chatty either and didn't care if their neighbors had a thrown circular. Most were just watching the storm with a withering bit of cigarette for a few minutes, before ducking back inside for a B movie from the eighties on television or whatever else might occupy them on a crummy day.

  He just managed to clear the crest of the hill in the street when he gazed down at the very end. It was not a black Lincoln he was looking at this time, but the old train track, long having fallen out of use like everything else around in town. It was built for a locomotive, maybe to carry anthracite coal or compressed cranberry bog berries from one of the other towns. Now the tracks sat rusting with bits of field straw and weeds poking up through the spokes, daring the non-existent train to make them as low as the loose gravel surrounding the ties.

  And right on time, with the sun slowly peeking through the storm clouds behind her, the burgundy haired girl. It was a little dim outside still, but he recognized her red and black clothes even at a distance. Today, she was carrying an umbrella, just following the tracks like she often did on several occasions out of the month. Simon was thankful today was amongst them.

  He was nervous about approaching her. He had a general feeling when she could be around, but he didn’t want to seem like a stalker. Had he shown up too many times lately? He couldn’t remember. He stood there atop the unpaved hill of the cottage style houses on Hawthorne Street, gazing serenely. Time seemed to cease for him when Vikktorea started crossing through Dresden Port from wherever she came from to wherever she was going. Simon considered trying to figure out where the tracks led in either direction, but again, it seemed too stalkerish. He was very scared of chasing her away. Or being quickly turned down, like Ramone was. Not that he asked. He just didn’t know much about making small talk with the unfamiliar persona he was attracted to- not that such a trait was unique to him alone.

  He forced his legs to move. He could justify himself heading down there a bit closer since he still had houses left, timing it juuust right. He certainly couldn’t make it seem like he was just sitting there waiting. Maybe some guys could pull that off, but he knew it wasn’t him. How did anyone flirt anymore without seeming obsessive, he had long wondered?

  Be cool, he told himself. Ask her out, he gritted from behind his teeth. Ramone’s rejection from her honestly shocked the hell out of Simon. Ramone was a flirt when he wanted to be (which was often), but maybe he came on to her too strong? He was able to date almost anyone he set his eyes on if he had the mind to and a bit of time. The man could small talk and make boring things sound interesting. It didn’t hurt that he was naturally cool. But Simon wasn’t Ramone. He wondered if that meant he had more or less of a chance in this situation as a result. All he knew was his palms were a little hot, and not from just holding plastic bagged circulars for a couple hours. He wiped his hands casually on his jean clad hips as if shaking the dust off.

  He approached closer, and it was perhaps more so than he had done in all the time he could recall when he wasn’t hiding behind his van door when she looked his way. Maybe the run in not long ago as well as the one from yesterday raised his boldness a little- who could say? Nervously, he rubbed the back of head and smiled. And BAM! She looked at him with those brightly lit up eyes and smiled. He almost choked. And he was still a good fifteen feet away before he stopped.

  "H-hey," he struggled out.

  "Hey," she returned with bright eyes and serenity. As usual, she continued to walk. Simon almost lost his focus watching her go. To him, she was achingly beautiful.

  "Not letting the weather slow you down?" Kill me now, he thought. Mentioning the weather was the ultimate in disinterested small talk, from coast to coast. No! No! Bad Simon! he thought irritably to himself.

  "It’s not that bad. A little rain is good, right?" She responded with more than just a quick response. It wasn’t amazingly involved but it was a good sign! He was sure of it. However, she was past halfway in his vision now. Soon, she would be out of polite earshot.

  "I, uh... I don’t... um..." Simon stammered. She was glancing back, trying to make out what he was saying. He gritted his teeth and had a quick internal argument with himself. Come on asshole, speak! You got a mouth! Just try! You were shot at eight times last night, you can handle this! You gonna wait a whole other week where you might not even see her just so you can pretend you have dyslexia again. JUST ASK HER ALREADY. Live a life worth bothering with!

  "Uh.. fuck it..." he mumbled with a grimace.

  "What?" she asked, slowing for a second.

  "Oh... do you... think you’d like to have a coffee with me sometime?" I did it, he thought. I actually did it...

  "Sure."

  Simon’s jaw dropped almost cartoonishly. "You- wha-... you do?"

  "Thought you’d never ask me," she said in a voice composed of melodic birds and sweet chiming bells. She then she stopped walking and turned around. "What’s your name? I’ve seen you so many times, I feel like I should know it. I’m Vikktorea with two k’s."

  Is this really happening? To me? This weekend is unreal...

  "Simon," he said, feeling himself in the eye of some non-existent storm. "It’s nice to meet you. You, uh... when would you be free? I’m pretty flexible. Time-wise." Hold it together, just a little longer.

  "I’m good tomorrow evening. How about five?" she suggested.

  "Five’s good!" If she suggested the thirtieth hour of Smarch the seventy second, in the year of nineteen thirty two, he would have found a way to be there on time. "Cool. Uh, you want me to pick you up somewhere? There’s a nice lil Mediterranean coffee house up in Heiowah..."

  "I think I’ve heard of it... I was hoping we could stay local. You know, first time thing."

  "Right, right. That makes sense. All right, um... anything in mi
nd? Dresden Port doesn’t have a lot open on a Sunday evening," he mentioned, racing possibilities of where they could go. He heard there were some dinosaur blue laws on record in State which had lots of places closing down early on Sundays. He hated whatever the current cause of it was right now.

  "Isn’t there some Shuck’s Convenience store or something by that name open late night? Maybe we could just hang out and talk in the parking lot with a cup?"

  He blinked. The place with the Indian guys they stopped at before last night’s run? That would be the first date? Well... okay. Lady’s choice. "Sure, we can do that. Want I should pick you up?"

  She smiled. "I know where it is. I’ll meet you there at five, okay? You seem like a nice enough guy, Simon. Don’t feel you need to overthink it all. Just be there and be yourself, all right? I’m not interested in people who try too hard to impress me." An image of Ramone getting cut off during his pick up line immediately ran through his mind. Simon realized she could probably pick up easily on his anxiety.