Playing With Fire

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Sunday comes and goes in a blur of football and homemade chili, Dad's favorite things. My ploy at softening him up had gone unnoticed, or at least, uncommented upon. Some weirdly protective button has been switched on in my brain, and I'm nagged by the desire to do something—anything—to fix the mess he found himself in. For his part Dad seems pretty relaxed about it all. I suppose knowing the reason for the chaos had at least absolved him of the guilt that had come from thinking it was his doing. Funny how having someone to blame, someone to point a finger at, could set one at ease. Even if that person was a nameless, faceless, ghost in the machine.

I haven't asked him any more about it yet, though I've been twitchy with it, questions always on the tip of my tongue but not wanting him to realize I wasn't going to drop the matter as instructed. It'll be easier to snoop around if he doesn't know I'm still interested. It will also allow him some measure of plausible deniability if I'm caught.

Besides, he should really know better. I was one of those kids who shook their Christmas gifts to see if I could figure out what they were weeks before the event. Spending most of my down time curled on the couch with my tablet, scrolling through the social media accounts of some of his Marines, looking for the same thing he'll be looking for next week. A suspect. Someone with reason to want off the deployment cycle. Nothing is jumping out at me. By nature, soldiers aren't big on sharing personal stuff, especially online. Hours pass and my eyes sting, dry and raw from staring at the screen. I close them, pressing my thumb and forefinger on the lids until they water.

This is pointless. None of these people appear to have the means to perpetrate something like this. Ninety percent probably don't know the difference between an MD5 hash and a XOR function. I sigh, rolling my head side to side, stretching the stiff muscles.

Frustrated but trying not to let it show, I head back to my bedroom and lock myself away with a well-worn copy of Beowulf. I fall asleep on my floor reading.

When I wake up Monday, there's a tight knot in my back to match one in my chest. I'd woken up just long enough to strip to my underwear before climbing into bed and crashing out again. Now, the sun is rising, its warm glow filling my room. Kicking off my blanket I scuttle to the bathroom, showering and brushing my teeth as quickly as possible, trying to focus on the day ahead. In one weekend I've gotten close to two great guys, who just happened to hate each other.

No, this isn't going to be awkward at all.

I wished, as I slid into a pair of dark denim jeans and a faded blue tank top, that there were some obvious flaw to one of them that would make it easier on me to simply choose one or the other. But that's not the case. I like them both, in different ways and for vastly different reasons. I want them both. Maybe that makes me selfish. I'm not sure I care. I just hope I can keep their drama off me, at least for as long as possible.

When I get to the kitchen, expecting to see dad at the table, the room is empty. A yellow sticky note hands from the fridge. I snatch it off quickly.

Kid,

I had to go to work early. Why don't you come by after school?

Love, Dad

I crumple the paper and toss it into the wire trash can as I grabbed the last of the still warm coffee and poured myself a cup. Does he want me to come in and look at his computer? Has he changed his mind about wanting my advice? I let the thoughts roll around in my head. Finally, I go back to my room, rummaging around for the small, yellow firewire cable in my desk. Stuffing it and my tablet in my bag I head for the door.