Phil
The girls Jason and he had recorded were too embarrassed to come forward, but Phil wasn’t safe. He was back at home, but might as well have been in jail. The police had set his bail high, put him under house arrest, and fitted him with an ankle monitoring bracelet. He couldn’t even attend school. The university had expelled him over the information he had supposedly accessed. No one, outside of his lawyer, believed he hadn’t gotten hold of information from their database. What really looked bad was that Amelia’s information was among the girls’ files they thought he’d stolen.
“I’m tired of this crap,” he yelled in the silent room.
The only good news was that the small stash of steroids he kept on campus hadn’t been discovered. His room had become a prison cell. He only had to wander so far outside before the monitor vibrated and started making noise. Phil didn’t want to test what would happen after that. He could cut if off, if he was brave enough, but where would he go? The neighbors no longer waved at him, and none of his so-called friends bothered to answer his texts or phone calls. He was like a leper.
Aside from that, the evidence against him kept piling up. His father told him Amelia had changed her mind and was willing to testify about what Jason and he had done to her. The same reel of her outside his house had started making the rounds right before she went to the police with her parents. He was in a black hole he couldn’t climb out of or escape from.
He lowered his head to the desk as memories of his return home crowded his mind.
“You’re a disgrace to this family,” his father had declared, his voice cracking, while his sister stared in disbelief. “After the sacrifices we’ve made to give you a good life, you turn around and repay us by trampling our name in the mud.”
His mother had continued sobbing, while the vein in Dad’s forehead throbbed like a snake out to strike. “It’s bad enough that you did all of this stuff, but you attacked that girl on vacation and came home pretending it never happened? You’re a damn disgrace, you hear me? A monster in our own home.”
Phil hadn’t answered or hit back after his father whacked him across the face. Since then, he stayed out of his way. Two weeks had dragged by, and being confined wasn’t the worst of what was happening to him.
Since the day he returned home, he hadn’t slept well. At 11:00 p.m. each night, a pop-up box on the laptop woke him. The first time it happened, he nearly fell out of bed. The automated voice that filled the room still haunted him and seemed to be stuck inside his head. No matter how often he turned it off, the laptop would power up after a few minutes. He was at his wit’s end, and couldn’t think of anyone who could explain what was happening. The messages, delivered in that doomsday tone, all meant the same thing and were a mantra tattooed on his brain.
Whoever was toying with him had a mirror image of his thoughts, which frightened him. How did they know what he was thinking?
By the fifth day, he was ready to follow the advice he was being given. He removed his father’s Smith & Wesson 642 from the top shelf of the closet in his parents’ bedroom and had kept it since then.
He sat up and opened the drawer on his right side to be sure the gun was still there. Its dull chrome finish reminded him of the same nothingness his life had become. If he died, no one would care, except maybe his mother and Kendra, and even they had lost faith in him.
If he believed what Eric Randall had explained about the seriousness of his crimes, based on everything they found on Jason’s computer and in his cloud files, he would be charged with multiple counts of sexual assault. His defense that Jason masterminded their activities wouldn’t do much good. They had been careless and had also recorded themselves snickering over the fun they’d had with some of the girls.
He stared at the Smith & Wesson, then rubbed his grainy eyes.
Even if his case went to trial, he couldn’t see any way out. Maybe even God wanted him dead. That would be best for everyone. If he spoke to Mom, she would tell him different, but he was too out of it to care anymore.
What’s the point of living if I’ll be in a concrete cage for the rest of my life?
He wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction of discovering all the things Jason and he had done. With trembling hands, he pulled the laptop closer, and after two incorrect attempts to use his password, he peered at the screen, perplexed. He couldn’t access his cloud files. Using the crook of his elbow, he swiped at the sweat now raining from his forehead. How the hell could this happen? Maybe he’d made a mistake because he was nervous. He tried again with the same result.
He swore, then got up and paced the room. He shoved one hand into his hair and tugged at the roots, wondering if he had changed the password. The last time he’d done that was just after Jason’s death. He did it to be sure he wouldn’t be caught flat-footed if the police seized his laptop. After several trips around the edges of the bed, he flopped down in the chair. His mind wouldn’t settle long enough for him to concentrate.
He slid the drawer closed then stared at the ceiling, trying to slow the frantic pace of his brain. No one else was at home, so if he planned to do anything drastic, now was the time. He opened the drawer again, but didn’t take out the Smith & Wesson. Two more tries and he was frustrated by the message that his password was incorrect. Finally, it occurred to him to reset the password. He checked his email, used the new password that came, and opened his cloud account.
Welcome, Phil, you have no files saved to your cloud account.
Phil stared bug-eyed at the screen. He blinked a couple of times, then frowned at the empty space that confirmed he had zero files stored. A strong urge to empty his gut came over him, but he clenched his cheeks and tried to make sense of what was in front of him.
Someone had accessed his cloud files and deleted every picture and audio file. It had to be the same person who was tormenting him at night. What was he going to do now? Tears sprang to his eyes. Which bastard would do this to him? Maybe, it was one of those girls, or a relative of theirs.
The fact that he didn’t know who had his personal data sent him into a meltdown. They could release it at any time, and the last shred of hope he had would be gone. He lifted the computer and slammed it against the desk, then swept both hands across the desktop, scattering books, paper, pens, and the prized first-place trophy he’d won in his category in a statewide golf tournament.
The proof of his activities was somewhere in the ether and could turn up at any point. What would he do if that happened? Tears streamed down his cheeks, and he could barely see as he scrambled to pick up the gun. One deep breath helped to calm him, and he swiped away the snot draining from his nostrils. Then he attempted to tidy the desk but gave up, reminding himself that it didn’t matter anymore.
He glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It was 3:15 p.m. Mom would soon be back from grocery shopping, and Kendra would be home from school. Sniffling, he dragged himself to his feet and wrapped his shaking fist around the gun. In the bathroom, he climbed into the shower, sat in the tub, and drew the curtain.
People said cowards committed suicide, but he didn’t think so. The way he figured it, the trouble he had caused would die with him, and Mom and Dad wouldn’t have to live through the additional disgrace that a trial would bring.
Before he changed his mind and copped out, Phil closed his eyes, aimed the gun at the roof of his mouth, and pulled the trigger.