Final Story

To those who know it well, “cyberspace,” as it is so aptly named, is a grotesque, disgusting place. At any given moment, one is a single mouse-click away from the sweaty stench of pornography, which seeps through each and every fiberoptic vein like a fleshy, moaning disease. Thieving and pilfering are no longer crimes committed solely by desperate shadows on the streets, but are now the hobbies of a typical American teenager, who commits felony upon felony in his parents’ den without so much as a second thought. In another dark corner lurk the black, hatred-filled cults and clans of an obscenity too outright shocking for them to risk gathering in public, in daylight, or in person. They hold nothing as sacred, save their misguided cause; not each other, not society, not life. Through and amongst all these are littered innumerable pieces of garbage; here we see a woman selling herself, here is a man broadcasting his own suicide. It is along one of the dark alleys in the metropolis of the internet that Fred Marbury makes his home. Of course, his body lives in a “real” home, if you could call it that; it is an apartment, grimy, broken-down, dying. Everything Fred Marbury needs is in his bedroom: His near-obsolete computer, his Charon between the physical and digital world, sits atop its altar - a second-hand metal desk. Sacrifices of food scraps and half-smoked cigarettes, lying in piles around it, pay their homage. Within arm’s reach of the shrine sits a mini-fridge, stocked with cheap beer and pints of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. An eternally unmade bed sits against the far wall, as if it is afraid to come any nearer to the other furniture. This is all Fred needs, because Fred is a child molester. I should not be so quick to label poor Fred. He has not, as of yet, shattered the innocence of some young virgin, and so it cannot rightly be said that he is a child molester. But he desires to do so more than anything, anything in the world,

and therefore spends all of the time that he is not sleeping or eating or – rarely – running errands in pursuit of such an opportunity. That is why, on this day, just like every other day, he sits now at his computer, peering at the screen over thickrimmed glasses, waiting in silence for his prey. It is late, very late. March rain, gray and ominous, drums against the window. In the darkness, Fred’s glasses reflect the computer screen with almost perfect clarity, like one of those hackers in a “high-tech” action film from the 90’s. However, there is, at the moment, nothing particularly exciting about this scene. The height of action occurs when Fred yawns, stretches his tree-trunk arms, scratches his full-of-ice-cream belly, and reaches for another light beer. A grunt rumbles from his throat as he twists open the bottle. After taking a long sip, he smacks his lips as he waits for something to happen. A username Fred does not recognize pops up on his screen. This is nothing particularly rare, but it is exciting, and excitement is hard to come by when you live a life like Fred’s. He speaks, making an inquiry as to the gender, age, and whereabouts of the newcomer. hi :) a/s/l hi :D 13/f/ia Fred’s eyebrows jumped towards his balding scalp. Now this is rare. The prey that he has been hunting all these years has fallen right into his lap – perhaps literally, if he plays his cards right. The blood coursing through his veins begins to pump faster, and his forehead and palms are suddenly damp and clammy. He does his best to remain cavalier.

o really? im from iowa, what city u live in? altoona His heart skips a beat, somewhere deep inside him. o cool i live like 20 mins away only yah? how old r u The game is afoot. 14 cool wuts ur name irl johnny, u?? celeste. nice to meet u lol :P Now, I have been speaking all along as if Fred is really Fred; in doing so, I might have misled you. You see, Fred does not spend most of his time being Fred, but rather, being “Johnny,” his alias, his alter-ego. For Fred realized very quickly that young teenage girls are not interested in meeting balding, overweight, 40-yearold men - and so, he became someone else. Soon enough, all of Fred’s interests, aspirations, personalities, memories, and passions (or at least, as many of these things one can have when most of their life is spent online), were replaced by Johnny’s. It was as if Johnny’s brain was trapped inside Fred’s body, with Fred trapped somewhere even deeper inside. +

Relationships tend to progress quickly when at least one party is driven to develop it, and even more so when they know how to push the proper buttons. Johnny knew exactly what he was doing. So, as you might imagine, Celeste and Johnny’s friendship quickly outgrew the chat room where they met. Within just a week or two, vaguely romantic e-mails were being sent back and forth between them. Hey :) i just read your last e-mail. you are soooo sweet!!! i mean my mom always says I’m her little angel (lol) but nobody has ever really said…the sort of things you did ;) but anyway, I think its really cool that ur going to give it a shot!!! I was just thinking a couple days ago bout how like “you only live once” (lol :P) so you might as well try and make it really awesome right!?!? keep that in mind stud! ttyl xox :) love celeste :) Excitement rushed through Johnny’s veins as he scanned this e-mail. He liked Celeste. She was outgoing, friendly. Every time he imagined her, she was smiling. He was intrigued by her “carpe diem” attitude – it was as if she believed that the world was hers to conquer, and so it was. After he finished reading through the letter a few more times – once carefully, once quickly, then carefully again – he typed his reply. hey bby ;) lol, nobody has ever hit on u befor? but ur like super hot lol!!! :P

yeah ur right “u only live once” haha, so im thinkin maybe we could hang out soon, like this fri maybe? I rlly wanna meet u in person lol ;) later A satisfied, yet expectant smile crept onto Johnny’s face as he hit “Send.” He hoped the reply would not take long, and it didn’t. Within minutes, there was a new message in his inbox. hi :D omg yeah!!! I want to meet you (like for real lol) so bad!!! friday is like perfect for me cause my parents won’t let me have boys over but they will be gone all day that day so we can get away with it lol ;) so yah come over at like 3, i will c u then!!!!!! ahhh celeste :) Johnny laughed aloud. He was impressed and amused by Celeste’s audacity. He turned from his computer for a moment to gaze out of his window. Thoughts flew like leaves through his mind. What’s not to love about this girl? Fred laughed again - but this laugh was not lighted-hearted or amused; it was as if Fred had suddenly been possessed by evil spirits who were laughing through him. It was too easy. His prey was cornered, yet completely unaware of its imminent victimization. Finally, finally, he would taste what he had hungered for, year after year. Johnny frowned. He wasn’t sure that he was as agreeable to Fred’s plan as he used to be. He cared about Celeste, whether he intended to or not. And he knew full

well what Fred intended to do with her, and that he would be forced to watch. He thought about how, afterwards, Celeste would never be the same again; she would never be quite so blissful, innocent, radiant. Her life would fall into a tailspin. She would learn to hate the world, and herself along with it. “Will you shut up?!” Fred screamed. “Just shut up! I’m in control now! You can’t stop me! Nobody can stop me!” His voice grew in volume and desperation, eyes darting around the room as if he expected an invisible assailant to reveal himself. “She’s mine! MINE!” His hands trembled. His entire body was damp. “She’s mine.” And then it was silent. It felt like the room was even quieter than before. In a daze, Fred got up from his chair, walked to his bed, lay down and closed his eyes. + Two FBI agents – both from the Cyber Division, assigned to track down online predators - sit in front of a computer. The one of the left turns to his counterpart, whose eyes remain fixed on the screen. “Got ‘im. Tell the boss we got a rendezvous.” + Friday. 2:47 PM. Johnny sits in a blue run-down Chevy, parked a block or two away from Celeste’s door. It is unusually hot. He has showered, which is rare. However, there was no shampoo, nor soap, but at least he felt clean. Cleaner, at least. Luckily, a few cologne samples had fallen out of that morning’s paper, so he smelled a little nicer than usual, too. The bright sun scalded his eyes, but if he squinted hard enough, he could see the large window at the front of Celeste’s house. A shadow whisked through the window’s frame. Fred licked his lips. He was

so close. He glanced at the clock. 2:51 now. The next few moments passed by as if he was dreaming. Turn the key. Press the gas. Accelerate. Go go go. Suddenly, there he was on her doorstep. He pressed a fat finger against the doorbell, and heard its long, drawn-out tones resonate through the house. The door opened. There she was. + Now, this story could end in two different ways. In the first ending, Fred enters the house, and after plainly stating his intention to sexually assault Celeste, he is ambushed by armed FBI agents and taken into custody. Perhaps this was the ending you hoped for: it is exciting, simple, satisfactory. You are free to accept and believe ending if you so choose. But if you are curious about the second ending, then continue reading. + The moment was not as beautiful as Johnny expected. He thought that perhaps she would throw open the door and fling herself into his waiting arms, they would embrace, hold each other for a wonderfully lingering moment. But no, she simply opened the door. A lingering moment did, indeed, pass, but not of the sort Johnny hoped. He cleared his throat. “Uh, hi. It’s me. Johnny,” he mumbled. She blinked. “You’re not Johnny.” God, her voice was heavenly. Johnny avoided her cautious gaze. “Listen…I know I haven’t been completely honest with you. But everything I said about you is true. Every word.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “May I please

come in?” Celeste said nothing, just stood in the doorway, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. After another long moment, she finally speaks. “Okay, I guess.” She catches his eye. “But you have some explaining to do, mister.” She walks back into the house, and Johnny follows. She tells him to close and lock the door behind him, and so he does. They enter a spacious living room, where Celeste takes a seat upon one of the couches. Johnny follows suit. “I thought you were somebody I could fall in love with, Johnny,” Celeste sighs. “Why did you lie?” Johnny sucked in his breath. That was a difficult question. But her eyes pleaded with him. And so he told her. He fashioned reasons for doing this, for doing that. He told her the conclusions he had come to while rationalizing his actions. He went on to say how much more beautiful she was in person, and that he truly cared about her. Celeste’s young, naïve teenage mind drank it all in. She told Johnny that although she was confused at first, she’d decided that she still cared about him, too, and that maybe she could get over the fact that he was so much older. And then she smiled. Smiled! The moment that Johnny had dreamed of made its entrance. He could not help but smile in return. He chuckled. She giggled. A short, giddy laugh blasted open the gates of his teeth. Out of the corner of his eye, Johnny noticed his reflection in the window: think glasses, balding head, stubble. When he turned back to Celeste, he no longer saw a girl whom he cared deeply about. Fred only saw the red short-shorts, the tank top, blond hair, her young, soft body. His hand lashed out like a cobra, taking hold of her right thigh. “Johnny? What are you doing?” Celeste questioned, with a hint of incredulity. Fred slowly raised his head to face her, and the two locked eyes.

“Johnny is dead,” Fred stated matter-of-factly. “I brought him to life, and now I’ve killed him.” Celeste, eyes widening with fear, tried to wriggle free of his grasp. He tightened his hold, and grabbed her other thigh with his free hand. “He was never really alive, anyway.” Fred’s pudgy hand moved up her leg, hooking her waistband with its fingers. Her own fingers dug into the couch. “I made him up. He isn’t real.” Both hands had captured her waistband now. “Johnny is dead.” He pulled her shorts down to her ankles, revealing pink undergarments. With rainbows. “Nobody can stop me now.” Celeste began to protest loudly, asking him what the hell he was doing, yet was too stunned to make a move at her attacker. Fred’s breaths were coming in quick bursts. His hands hovered above Celeste’s midsection, unsure of what to do next. Taking advantage of Fred’s uncertainty, Celeste whisked her legs away from him, wrapping her arms around her bent knees. “Listen, I don’t know who you are, and I don’t care. Just stop. Please stop,” she whimpered, eyes brimming with bewildered tears. “You’re seriously freaking me out, Johnny.” “I’m not Johnny!” Fred screamed. “Then who is?!” Celeste screamed back. There was a pause. Fred opened and closed his mouth a few times, as if his jaw was ready to speak but his mind had not yet delivered the words. Celeste continued. “You said you were Johnny. You said I was gorgeous. You said you cared.” Fred leaned back against the couch. He could see his reflection in the window again. And he wept. Celeste watched in silence as salty rivers ran down his cheeks. After several minutes, he sniffed loudly, and collected himself. “Call the police,” Johnny directed. “Tell them I tried to rape you.”

“But…you stopped,” Celeste retorted. Fred glanced at her. “I know. But tell them I tried to rape you.” He pointed towards the phone. “Do it.” Confused, yet complacent, Celeste rose from the couch and walked to the phone. Johnny looked away as her still-half-naked hips passed by his face. He sat, motionless, with his hands clasped between his knees, listening as Celeste answered the 911 operator’s questions. “Tell them to hurry.” “…And please hurry. Thank you.” She hung up the phone, and then gave Johnny an “I-demand-an-explanation” look. Fred shrugged. “I’m a predator. I belong in jail. It’s destined,” he offered. He slowly rose to his feet. “I’m sorry I pretended to be the sort of boy you could fall in love with.” Celeste hung her head. “Well, I’m sure there are other boys in the world. Who are actually boys,” she spat. Fred nodded. “Touché.” He gave an exasperated sigh. Police sirens blared in the distance. + Fred was arrested, and charged with attempted rape of a minor. Having been found guilty, he was registered as a sex offender, and will be considered as such by the government for the rest of his life. When Celeste was being interviewed by the police, they asked how she had been able to fend off the suspect by herself. She replied, “I wasn’t alone. My friend Johnny saved me.” She watched the cop car with Fred in the back seat drive off. “Johnny’s a good guy.”