| |
TOM SAT AT HIS DESK and pulled the paper out of his pocket, staring at it and glanced at his computer and switched it on. With a few searches, he found software that allowed text to speech on both incoming and more importantly, outgoing messages.
He installed it and after playing around with it on Skype and finding the right voice, he entered her phone number and held his breath with his finger over the salutation he typed asking for Raven.
“Hello, Adams residence,” a deep clipped voice answered.
Tom hit the button. “Hello, is Raven available?”
“May I ask who’s calling?”
Tom typed and pressed enter. “Tom Ryan.”
“Hold on one moment,” the voice said and Tom bit his nail, listening to the muffled sound of the phone being passed.
“Tom?” Raven’s voice filled the line.
“Hi, Raven,” he typed and hit enter.
Silence. “This isn’t Tom,” she said after a moment.
Tom typed fast. “Skype, text to voice,” the monitor said.
“How did you get my number?” Accusation filled the line.
“You gave it to Steve when he dropped you off.”
“Holy crap, it is you,” she said, her attitude changing from suspicion to excitement.
“Yes. I found this program that works with Skype, so any time I type, it reads it to you.”
“That’s fantastic! I didn’t think he was serious when he said you would figure something out. I thought he was just kind of humoring me,” she said.
“Despite my average grades, I am a smart guy,” he typed. “Not as smart as CJ, but I hold my own.”
Her laughter rang through the speakers and he smiled.
“So, how’s your night going?”
His smile disappeared. “Shitty. Steve was arrested.”
Silence carried over the line and he heard her sigh. “What happened?”
“They arrested him for extortion, reckless endangerment and for aiding and abetting a known criminal.”
“What criminal?”
Tom smiled a little. “My father.”
“The angel?”
“Yes.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Shoot,” he typed.
“I heard he wasn’t your real father.”
Tom looked out the window and then over at the shelf holding the Oscar. “No, he wasn’t my biological father, but he raised me like he was.”
“Do you know who your real father was?”
“Yes, Tom Whitman was my biological father. He starred in the movie Survival Games that came out when I was little. I actually met him the night of the premiere.”
Silence filled the line.
“Are you still there?” he typed.
“Yes. I think I saw that movie on television,” she said.
“The really screwed up thing about that movie, it was based on what happened with the three of them while they were in Albany.”
“Huh?”
“Ty kidnapped my mother. That’s where it all started,” he typed.
“Ty? I thought your father was Chris Ryan?”
Tom pulled his hands off the keyboard and cracked his knuckles and then typed, “No. The man who raised us was Ty Ryan, better known as Ty Aris. He assumed his brother’s identity when he escaped.”
“Holy shit,” she said, and Tom heard someone scold her in the background. “Sorry,” she said.
“So, if you remember that movie, it was the story of how my parents met.”
“Really? I cried at the end of that movie,” she said.
“CJ and I rented it once and watched it without my parents knowing. It scared the shit out of us; especially finding out our dad actually did those bad things. My dad could be a scary son of a bitch when he wanted to, but we never knew exactly what happened to him. I overheard him say Tom did an uncanny and accurate job portraying him in that movie and Tom won the Academy Award for that performance,” he typed and felt a measure of pride as he glanced at the dust-laden award.
“Really?”
“Yep. I can show it to you the next time you’re over.”
“Cool.”
“So, I have one father that was famous and another who is infamous.” He grinned at his wit.
“Oh, please,” she said, and he even imagined the eye roll that accompanied the sarcasm.
“Sorry,” he typed. “Just trying to see the humor in all this, otherwise I might just take a dive out my window or off the cliff behind our house.”
“You’re pretty upset by all this, aren’t you,” she said, her voice soft and caring and it hit a nerve.
Tom’s vision blurred and he squeezed his eyes shut, irritated at the surge of emotion.
“Yes. Steve didn’t deserve to be handcuffed and paraded out in front of the media like a common criminal. He’s a good man and a really good cop, and they’re shitting on his record.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“The crap going on with me is bad enough,” he typed and paused with his finger over the send. He didn’t want her feeling sorry for him and he deleted the note. Instead, he typed, “No, I’m sorry. You don’t need to hear me whining about the shit storm here.”
“I’m here any time you need to vent,” she said.
“I wish you were here right now.”
Silence filled the line. “I was serious about the fire and water signs,” she said.
“So, you don’t have any feelings whatsoever where I’m concerned?”
“I never said that,” she whispered. “But you’re on the rebound and I just happened to be there, so I’m not sure that what’s going on inside you is authentic.”
His stomach dropped, and Tom pushed away from the computer running his hands through his hair. Her words punched a hole through his chest, leaving emptiness in their wake.
“Are you still there,” she asked.
“Yes,” he typed and bit his lip wondering if she was right and he was only paying attention to her because of the timing.
“Are you mad?”
He sighed. “No, not mad, just digesting what you said.”
“Let me ask you a question,” she started and took a breath. “When all of this blows over and you go back to your old life, will you even give me the time of day?”
Tom clenched his teeth together, “I’m not like that.”
“So, when you’re back on the football team, and the cheerleaders are throwing themselves at you, you’ll just smile and say ‘sorry I’ve already got a girlfriend’ like your brother does?”
“Is that what you want? To be my girlfriend?” he typed and pressed send before he chickened out.
Silence filled the line. “Damn fire sign,” she muttered.
“You know I might go to jail, right?”
“You’re not going to jail,” she said so softly that he almost didn’t catch it.
“If I do, will you come for conjugal visits?”
“Oh my god, you’re such a slut!”
He burst out laughing. “Yeah, I guess that’s pretty accurate.”
She chuckled. “So, you admit to that?”
“Yeah. But it’s only because I’ve been trying to find someone like you. You know the saying, you gotta screw a lot of frogs...”
“Kiss not screw,” she whispered.
“Well, shit, I guess I got THAT fairytale wrong,” he typed with a big grin.
Her laughter rang through the line, lightening his mood. “You’re incorrigible,” she said through the laughter.
“I try.” He pressed send and then typed, “Seriously, is that what you want, because I can tell you, right now it’s what I want.” His finger hovered over the send button and he curled his hand into a fist pulling away from the keyboard. Tom shook his head and pressed delete, too afraid of the answer to just throw it out there.
“I need to get some homework done,” she said when she wound down.
“Did you want to come over tomorrow after school and study for the history test?” Tom asked and held his breath while he waited for the answer.
“We’ll see,” she said. “Thanks for calling.”
“Thanks for giving Steve the number,” he typed. “See you at school tomorrow.”
“See you,” she said and then the phone clicked off.
Tom sighed at the disconnect sign on Skype and closed down the application. He stared out the window marveling at how much things could change in just twenty-four hours. His gaze dropped to the computer and he typed Wicca in the search box and began to read through the search results to gain an understanding of Raven and her beliefs.