burners. Can we get a trace?”
Agent Robert dispelled the hope with a shake of his head. “We think it’s a no,” he said. “There’s a theory he’s sending text messages via a Google Voice account that he established using Tor or some other proxy server. We can’t trace that.”
In a flash, the black rectangle became an all-too-familiar basement setting. And there she was, Ruby, still tied to a chair, looking impossibly weak and frail. Her head lolled limply to one side; her eyes were open only a sliver. Her lips looked desert dry, cracked like scorched earth. Her skin was slack and sallow. Without the rise and fall of her chest from each tired breath, I’d have believed the worst.
“Ruby!” I shouted, dismayed that my voice failed to rouse her.
A figure entered the frame, and I prickled at the sight. Once again, the Fiend wore the mask of Mario, those cutout eyeholes a portal into a bone-chilling evil. I could see his mouth move, but couldn’t hear a word being said. Frantic, I hit the volume button on the keyboard, but the sound level was already maxed out. I kept hitting the volume button, anyway.
“I can’t hear you!” I shouted, pantomiming the message by pointing to my ear. “I can’t hear you!”
The Fiend eyed me with curiosity, head tilted slightly to show his confusion, his masked face moving closer to the camera. Then he pointed to his ear and shook his head. He couldn’t hear me, either!
“Volume! Volume!” I screamed.
We had a video connection, but something wasn’t right with the audio transmission.
“What’s going on?” I said to Agent Bob, pleading. “Why can’t he hear me?”
“There’s a problem translating digitally compressed data packets into audio sounds. I can’t tell you any more than that without a lot more analysis.”
I set my hands on the monitor, caressing the sickly image of Ruby. Agent Robert placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder, his touch comforting. The Fiend held up a finger to the camera—“One moment please,” the gesture conveyed. I watched as he stepped out of the frame and came back moments later, holding a marker and pad of paper. I saw him write something on the paper.
Behind him, Ruby sat slumped in the chair, her wrists bound to the armrests and her ankles secured as well. I was sure it wasn’t unintentional that the rope used to bind my wife could also be used to scale a mountain.
I kept my hand on the monitor, my finger tracing the contours of Ruby’s weary face. I wanted to embrace her, relieve her suffering, but my touch could not be felt any more than my words could be heard. A vast digital ocean that could not be crossed or navigated separated us.
The Fiend showed me his pad of paper.
Technical difficulties, he wrote in a neat hand.
Another sheet of paper.
Wanted you to see Ruby was all right.
Another sheet of paper.
But she won’t be without that body.
Another sheet of paper.
You’ve got eleven hours to go.
The video conference went to black, cut off with cruel abruptness.
For a while, I don’t know how long, I sat benumbed, staring wide-eyed at the black rectangle lodged in the center of a Web page, praying it would flicker back to life again, but knowing in my heart that it would not. I heard the agents Bob talking animatedly, reviewing data packets sniffed from the session, dissecting every nuance of my nightmare in real time. All I could do was to sit and stare, feeling ashamed of my powerlessness, again asking the universe to guide me out of my darkest hour.
That was when I knew I’d come full circle. Not that long ago I’d feared the love of my life was going to die. I had tasted the bitterness, the profound sorrow, witnessed the crumbling of the future we’d planned. I imagined my life after the inevitable and thought about all the holidays and birthdays that would come and go without my beloved. I had cried and hated myself because I wasn’t the one who was dying. I thought I’d found a way to save her, but I was right back where we started, only worse. This was my private hell, so I kept my thoughts to myself, speaking them only in my head, over and over again—a mantra of sorts.
My name is John Bodine. I’m twenty-nine years old. I’m married to the love of my life. And no matter what it takes, or how far I have to go, I’m not going