A Digital Trip

I didn't need a clock or nearby window to know I'd woken up somewhere between two or three in the morning. My mind readily woke itself, but my body was hesitant to follow and it had tried to persuade the whole of me to sleep again. Then I'd remembered the elevator ride down to the morgue. My eyes had shot open and I raced to sit up, but the motion came with pain--more than what had felt warranted. I collapsed back down and regained a semblance of composure.
I waited for my eyes to adjust to the dark and for the waves of pain to release their hold. The first thing I saw were the frayed ends of a blanket resting over half of my face. The longer I stared passed them, the further I could see--I'd realized a few inches from my face, on an end table, was a box of pizza with grease wicked up its sides. I was pretty sure it was responsible for the stale smell threatening to turn my stomach. I groaned and flopped the blanket off my face and turned my head.
There were the makings of a window with the curtains closed and beneath it a couch, only a few feet away. It was too dark to see what else was over there. I turned my head back towards the pizza box again and noted a table with several computer monitors generating lines to small to read. Their faint glow touched the edges of every surface and I could then see I was on a bed. I looked at the end of the bed, noticing a secondary light source--another monitor and what looked like stacked towers, "Wow, someone's been hitting World of Warcraft hard."
A muffled groan could be heard from my left, in the vicinity of the couch--perhaps my kind host was around? I mentally shushed myself and decided another round of escape was in-order; the last time I checked, the car-jacker wasn't only trouble himself, but had some in tow. I didn't need that. I needed to get home--to the safety of my 9 to 5 job and rental payments.
I held my breath, anticipating the pain, and began my awkward assent into the sitting-up position. It was a fairly quick process, unlike getting up on my feet-- though once I'd gotten to the point of standing, I inwardly agreed sitting wasn't an option.
Murphy's law came into play as soon as I took my first step. The floor creaked and instantly I recalled the door from the hospital. I paused, rather comically I was sure, but as the events from the hospital became less of a haze, it lost its humor. I couldn't see anyone and noone made themselves known, but my eyes kept darting back to the darkened couch. The dim glow of electronics brushed a reflection on a door knob and I crepted my way across the room with an arm extended out. On my short journey I passed the table in the middle of the room and a small kitchenette to my left that held stacks of pizza boxes. I'd drawn a conclusion that whoever lived here was likely going to be alone--for life. It was a mix between a nerdy teenager and bachelor's cave and I could tell this with the lights off.
My hand finally touched the metal knob and on a very quiet count to three I opened it quickly, went through and slammed it shut. I rushed forward only to trip on something almost knee high and fell in the dark. The ground was slimy and wet. I knew this feeling... smell... it was a shower. I sucked in a breath in disgust, though expanding my lungs only served as a reminder there'd been an extra hole my chest.

A knock on the door followed the lights flickering on. I was in an awful green-tiled bathroom, on the floor of a sludgey, brown bottomed tub. Wrong door.

"Hey, everything ok in there?" It was the car-jacker; despite the sleepiness in his voice, I could tell.

I stared at the closed door, wide eyed, unsure how to respond, "It's fine!"

"What are you doing?"

"Using the bathroom?" I tried to sound offended, maybe he'd leave me alone.

"Do you normally make this much noise?"

His question inspired a looked if disgust--did he just ask that? "I fell." Maybe honesty would get him away.

"Do you need help?" I heard the knob move. He wasn't going to open it, not yet, but his hand must have rested on it.

"No!"

"Are you trying to climb out the window?" He was casual about it.

"No!" But that wasn't a bad idea. I pulled myself up, winced and then squinted my eyes as I rose onto my feet. I rested my palms on the underside of the window by the toilet and pushed it up. I was grateful there was no screen, but it was the second floor--that was a problem.

"Did you just open the window after telling me you weren't escaping from it?" He feigned his feelings hurt. It was insulting.

Maybe the fall wouldn't kill me--but could I continue my evasion with two broken legs? "JustI go away. I'm in the bathroom!"

The door popped open and he strode in and folded his arms at the sight of me scrambling to close the window. I put an arm out, "Look, I don't want any trouble-"

He smirked and fiddled with the thumb-holes on his sweater, "Oh? You ignored every direction. You went through my phone. Where is the part that you don't want trouble?" His face was placid, but his voice said it all: he was pissed.

I pressed my back into the wall and now had both hands out, trying to keep him away as, "What do you mean 'went through your phone'?" I thought about what he could possibly be referring to, "You mean super secret lolz?" That stupid thing?

"That would be the one." He put a hand out onto my shoulder and his grip tightened, "It's corrupted, it's one use, and you used it." He started to move me forward.

"Look," I unsuccessfully tried to shrug out of his grasp, "I'll get you a new one. Those things are just as common as pot--I can find-"

"Not this one. This is what your friends from the Loop were after."

"Loop?"

"The alley where you left your car." He'd guided me out of the bathroom, turned off the light and let me go into the room.

I thought about arguing his claim that I'd left my car, but the idea that of all the things I looked at on his phone--it was the one he was going to be killed over, overwhelmed my train of thought. "Why would you have it there casually with all your apps?" It was a good question.

He sighed, "I couldn't break the encryption from my phone, so I waited for it to be done at the transfer. The file is, was, a digital trip, so that's where it's stored."

"Seems kinda careless." I say on the edge of the bed, my eyes once again adjusting to the dark. Though as soon as I said those words, I remembered I was talking to a killer, not a friend out even an acquaintance. He had this way of speaking familiarly. It was a good technique. I'd have to try it sometime.

"I don't often part with my phone. You could have done some serious damage with it," He plopped down beside me, "if you haven't already."

"There was nothing worth a car chase on it," I stared at the three monitors, "it's just blue, everything."

"I don't think so."

"I'm serious. Everything was blue and slow and I ended up someplace weird, but there's nothing worth-" I pointed to the epicenter of hurt in my chest, "what's it supposed to be?"

"Hmm," he laid back, "all the dirt that Defalt had on DedSec, it's affiliates, pet projects."

"Uh?"

"DedSec is a group of hacktivists, Defalt, JB Marcowicz, was turned down by DedSec, too flashy."

"So, revenge?" I went to lay back but found passed a certain point I wouldn't be able to control the descent.

"More like blackmail. Except he's dead."

"So, why do you want it?"

He sat up, "Have you considered that asking all of these questions will only get you into more trouble?" He stood up and went to the table with the monitors and flopped a switch. A light hit the wall and a collage of paranoia appeared.

I struggled to stand up for a few moments and then walked over near the table. There were pictures, words, articles. A young woman's face appeared a few times, but over one picture it read "dead". "What is all of this?"

"Questions," he walked up to the wall the projector shone upon "and leads."

It was a picture in the right that caught my eye. I knew him. Like deja vu or something. "Jordi?" It was an Asian man in a white suit. I could hear his voice in my memory, but nothing distinct was being said.

He turned to face me, an amused look of disbelief, "You know him?" He pointed to the picture.

"Yeah," even I was shocked. The more looked at him and the more I could focus on the sound of his sarcasm, the more I could remember.

"Where did you meet?" It sounded like a challenge.

"I don't think we have," it was confusing to say the least. He shut off the projector and flipped on the lights. My eyes stung, "I don't know--"

"I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but it's over." He walked to a door on the other side of a built-in partition and opened it. The sound of conversations filtered through and I knew it was outside.

"I can go?" I took a step to the door and hesitated. This was the first time I'd seen the car-jacker in the light. No hat. No scarf. He had a bit of scruff growing where a beard would soon follow if he let it go too long, and his eyes were a darker blue--they were angry.

"Yeah. What did you think?"

"You were going to kill me." I was at the door at this point, walking out of it backwards, still looking at him. I had that odd sense of familiarity with him, then again we'd seen a lot of each other. But it was more than that. I held onto looking at him for a few moments longer and I recalled him and Nicky hugging each other goodbye and Jackson. No, Jacks. They called him Jacks. They left Chicago and went--

I must have stared too long or made a face because his expression changed dramatically and I couldn't tell what it meant, "I might if you keep staring like that." He broke into a small grin.

"Right," I slowly nodded, "I'm going to go now." I pointed out the door.

The door closed quietly behind me and I smiled at my new-found freedom. I walked down some metal stairs and wandered away from the brick motel and its sign "newly renovated." I felt relaxed, even. Now I knew he wasn't coming for me--he let me leave. I touched my back pocket and felt my wallet still there. "Good, now I can get out of here, for real."

I managed to flag down a taxi and get myself to the airport. I'd only been about a half hour away, even with the steady stream of traffic. The driver was a man of few words--I was thinking English wasn't his first language and he'd somehow knew it was my only one. We communicated with awkwardly big smiles; to show we were being honorable, and nods; to say yes.

I went in through the rotating door and made my way up an escalator and to the front desk. I passed a series of big screens all displaying a part of a bigger picture and eyed the United Aeroway kiosk across the way. Home was so close--'just a few more hours' I kept telling myself.
I stepped up to the kiosk and waited for someone to appear, it was likely they were out back this time of night... morning...whenever. My jaw dropped when of all the people to come strolling out from behind the swinging door, it was Southern Belle Barbie.
First she smiled, and then she made the "recognition" face. It mirrored the face I'd imagined I'd made when I had felt she was a bitch--it must have left an impression. "Oh you," she paused and then recovered, "dear."

"Uh, yeah... me." I offered her my best fake smile without reservation. I was likely never going to see her again, why care now?

"What flight are you looking to board?" She resorted to being professional and it made me frown a bit.

"Boston, as soon as possible."

"There's a 7:15 A.M. , non-stop, or a 6:30 A.M., but with two lay-overs."

"What's the price difference?" I rested my elbows on the counter top.

"They're the same." Her accent was heavy on the "s".

"So, obviously the one without the lay-overs." Was it true what they'd said about blondes?

"Well my momma always told me to never assume," oh god, "like you'd think if there was a line, you'd go to end, not the beginning..." she was still being a bitch.

"The non lay-over." Anger laced on every syllable.

"What a great choice." She took my card and license, printed my ticket, handed them to me and then, "Do you have any bags you wanna check in?"

I looked at the empty space on both sides of me, "nope."

"Travel light, dontcha?"

"Somehow I feel like I'm taking more baggage back than I'd brought," and with that, I'd left her puzzled and went through the check-point.

I'd sat at the quiet airport for about two hours when the panels on the walls collectively flashed a WKZ report about a murder in "the Loop." My head shot up as that had been a familiar phrase.

" This morning WKZ news is the first to bring you the startling report on a shooting in the Loop that took place almost two days ago. "

I froze when I saw DumpTruck wedged in an alley with holes in him.


"Police are reporting the crime happened somewhere in the early hours of Saturday, but the investigation has been kept from the public as the crime occurred out of CTos' view "

I stood abruptly when I saw video of me leaving the alley, merging in with the crowd, and then looking backwards. Hell, even I thought I had looked guilty.

" Police have identified the shooter as 28 year old SydneyKate Tristatt originally from Boston. She's been on the run but is believed to be hiding in Chicago..."

I looked away from the screens, passed the other side of the check-point to see Southern Belle Barbie on the other side, frantically pointing me out to two officers she was talking to. I looked up at the screens, one in the corner changed to "you better run." I stood, was it talking about me? Then one by one, each screen blacked out and read "run!"

I searched around for a way out and looked back at the police officers passing through the check point, clearly staring me down. I took a few steps away and continued searching until a queue-board turned from its bright blue to black "go left, gate 25."

I looked back at the police officer, cautiously gaining ground, "Hold it right there." He'd put an arm out, as if he'd use the force to hold me in place. I booked it, running left and skimming the signs for gate 25. Every time my foot smacked against the tiles it would send pressure up my back, pressing into my wounds, and clanking my teeth together because I was breathing out of my mouth. When I'd spotted it,
; gate 25, I ran past the desk, down the tarmac and paused at the gaping opening. It was about an 8 foot drop, maybe more. I was a poor judge of distance. I could hear the echo of my pursuers' feet slaming against the tarmac floor.

I jumped.