El contrato – Creepypasta

20 de julio El contrato

Teddy Wilson golpeó un nudillo contra la puerta de vidrio polarizado ahumado adornada con letras blancas gastadas que anunciaban "Martin Croker: Editor" antes de meter la cabeza en la habitación.

"¿Querías verme jefe?" El hombre que se desempeñó como su supervisor inmediato durante la última década estaba hablando por teléfono con un alma infeliz recibiendo el doloroso final de uno de los golpes verbales de Martin.

"No … es inexcusable", gritó Martin enfáticamente en su iPhone antes de poner su mano en el micrófono y hacer un gesto a Teddy para que se recostara en el sofá de cuero descolorido que estaba junto a su Gran oficina. “Siéntate Teddy; está casi terminado de todos modos. Por supuesto, quien estaba en el otro extremo de la línea aún podía tener sus palabras. Martin, que había sido leal en esta oficina durante casi treinta años, estaba tan cerca de ser un experto en periodismo como cualquiera que pudiera afirmar serlo. Sin embargo, en muchos sentidos, era un dinosaurio absoluto en lo que respecta a la corriente actual de avances tecnológicos y fueron las pequeñas cosas como esta las que lo hicieron, al igual que toda la industria. palabra impresa, una raza moribunda. Fue solo gracias a la tutela de Teddy que pudo usar el dispositivo Apple.

"Te lo dije hace tres días," la dinamo de intensidad canosa continuó la llamada; "Que tienes tres días para publicar este artículo. Si no recuerdo mal, dijiste que sería la" última "extensión que necesitarías. ¿Me equivoco?" Teddy cerró la puerta en silencio. detrás de él y se acomodó en el sofá que a menudo servía como cama de Martin en aquellas noches en que Jack Daniels iba más allá de su recepción … lo que parecía cada vez más frecuente en los últimos tiempos. Teddy hubiera preferido una de las tres sillas, pero el sofá era la única parte del escritorio que no estaba enterrada en papeles, archivos y carpetas al azar; la suma total de la cual podría haberse guardado en una sola unidad flash si el hombre no tuviera que tomar drogas y gritar en la era digital.

"Has estado conmigo durante seis meses en misiones más importantes … y ahora que tienes una … bueno … digamos que este pequeño espectáculo de mierda no me da ninguna confianza". Un observador externo se habría alejado de la aparente torpeza del momento, pero para cualquiera que realmente conociera a Martin … ese no era el caso. El hombre tenía dos velocidades: intensidad e ira … y ambos estaban profundamente imbuidos de sarcasmo. Era parte de un trabajo en el South Carolina Sentinel y si no pudieras manejarlo … probablemente no deberías haber estado allí en primer lugar.

"Tienes hasta mañana. Si no recibo 400 palabras frenéticas de usted sobre el escándalo del concejal de la ciudad antes del mediodía de mañana … es posible que desee comenzar con una nueva pieza: ¡su CV! "Martin estrelló el teléfono celular sobre el escritorio para finalizar la conversación, visiblemente extrañando la satisfactoria grieta proporcionada por su viejo teléfono giratorio, y volvió su mirada de acero hacia el nuevo ocupante de la habitación.

"Tengo una nueva misión para ti". Teddy asintió, anticipando lo mismo. Cuando presentó su solicitud por primera vez hace diez años, había muy poca necesidad de un "reportero de tecnología" y apenas podía convencer a Martin de la necesidad. Ahora, como sabían los dos hombres, la única razón por la que el periódico todavía tenía audiencia se debía en gran parte a su presencia en línea y sin Teddy … nunca habría sucedido.

"Quiero que me des algo bueno en la profunda y oscura red".

"En realidad …" Tan repulsivo como era corregir a su jefe, simplemente no podía dejarlo pasar; "La" red profunda "y la" red oscura "son dos cosas diferentes".

"Está bien … bueno", Martin no parecía tan irritado como Teddy había predicho en el comentario. "No te estoy pidiendo que me lo expliques. Solo quiero una pista sólida. Quiero algo …jugoso. "Teddy suspiró." Jugoso "era la palabra clave de Martin para sensacionalismo salaz … no es el tipo de cosas que normalmente esperaba de su experto en tecnología residente.

"No sé qué quieres de mí, Martin. Estoy hablando de computadoras, teléfonos celulares y nuevas aplicaciones; no es realmente lo que consideras" jugoso "." Martin la sacudió Teddy y su cabeza se daban cuenta de que probablemente no sería capaz de hablar sobre cómo salir de él.

"He visto videos de YouTube. Esta web profunda o oscura o lo que sea que llamen es donde tiene lugar la mierda: el comercio sexual, el venta de drogas, pedofilia y cosas por el estilo. Eso es lo que quiero … y si me das algo lo suficientemente bueno, superará el fin de semana ". Eso era exactamente lo que Teddy había temido .

"Martin … es … simplemente no es lo que estoy cubriendo. Es como pedirle a un carpintero que explique las actividades que tienen lugar en una casa después de su construcción. Puedo hacer cualquier cosa le cuento sobre la construcción y el diseño … pero ¿qué sé sobre los delincuentes que se mudaron? "Martin pareció pensar en la discusión por un momento y Teddy sintió la más mínima esperanza antes. el hombre mayor lo empuja sin rodeos.

"Supongo que son dos líneas entonces. Dile a Susan que está contando la historia contigo. Tienes dos semanas; conviértela en tu máxima prioridad". Teddy podía sentir su mandíbula. cayendo caricaturalmente al suelo, pero no había nada que pudiera hacer para detenerlo. Nunca en sus sueños más salvajes había imaginado ser asignado a una historia con Susan Collins, la "Gossip Reporter" oficial de Sentinel. Después de llamarse a sí misma la "Reina de la Alta Sociedad", persiguió a celebridades menores de edad y a socialites locales como su pequeño trapo cerca de un paparazzi. Teddy nunca se equivocó al hacerle creer que trabajaba para el NY Times, el Washington Post o incluso USA Today … pero todavía tenía fuertes creencias sobre lo que constituía "noticias" y Susan representaba cualquier cosa que no perteneciera a un real periódico. Demonios … incluso su título era un oxímoron. ¿Cómo podríamos informar con precisión los chismes … uno bueno fue decir "rumores", "rumores" e "insinuaciones". Esta noción era simplemente ridícula.

Estaba a punto de decirle a Martin cuando tuvo las tres palabras que terminaron casi todas las conversaciones con el hombre rudo, que habíamos terminado con lo que ellos decían. tenía que decir o no: "Hemos terminado aquí". Teddy no estaba realmente seguro de lo que sucedería si continuaba más allá de este punto … nadie en el personal actual lo estaba. Si pudiéramos localizar a Dawn Hinton, Mark Sheffler o Jacob Gasby, empleados anteriormente, podrían obtener la respuesta a esta pregunta. No hace falta decir que "hemos terminado aquí" significaba terminamos aquí; y Teddy salió tranquilamente preguntándose cómo iba a explicarle esto a Susan, a quien no había dicho más de cien palabras en los cinco años que había trabajado allí. Si era cierto que realmente no se conocían, estaba claro que realmente no se conocían como Uno y el otro. No podría haber sucedido en peor momento tampoco; estuvo tan cerca de terminar su artículo sobre la próxima nueva versión de la plataforma Microsoft. A este ritmo, sus lectores usarían Windows 15X incluso antes de decirles que iba a suceder. Todavía tendría un enorme respeto por Martin y todo lo que había hecho en su vida … pero en momentos como este podía ayudar, pero sentía que el hombre estaba completo …

"¡IDIOTA!" Susan gritó media hora después, mientras Teddy estaba sentado en la única otra silla en su pequeña cabina. Técnicamente era una "reportera de campo" y los reporteros de campo realmente no proporcionaban mucho espacio en el antiguo edificio de oficinas que estaba en el centro de Charleston; el proceso de pensamiento es que deberían pasar la mayor parte de su tiempo fuera de la oficina, trabajando en sus historias. Teddy ya estaba ansioso por regresar a su espaciosa oficina, la segunda más grande detrás de la de Martin … gracias en gran parte a los ingresos por publicidad en línea de Sentinel. Martin nunca lo diría en voz alta, pero era mucho tiempo atrasado lo que pagaban las suscripciones y eso era, en gran parte, lo que realmente pagaba el alquiler.

"¿Por qué demonios me pondría este fósil … tú …nosotros en este tipo de historia? Ninguno de nosotros ha cubierto algo como esto … ¿y qué quiere él de nosotros? Pedofilia…comercio sexual… En serio Teddy, W. T. F.? ¿Cómo se supone que empecemos algo como esto? El ritmo de su voz se hizo más rápido y su respiración se hizo más corta. Teddy pudo ver la ansiedad que la empujaba a la hiperventilación … y eso lo sorprendió. Por alguna razón, no se lo había imaginado tan sensible a la influencia del estrés. Al otro lado de una habitación, ella siempre parecía tan tranquila, serena y en control, irradiando confianza que bordeaba el orgullo.

Sin darse cuenta de que iba a hacerlo, Teddy extendió una mano hacia su hombro y la apretó suavemente.

"Trata de calmarte. Podremos entender eso. Va a estar bien ". Ella se encontró con su mirada, sus ojos marrones comenzaban a estallar en lágrimas.

"¿Realmente crees eso?" Los propios ojos azules de Teddy intentaron transmitir una confianza que realmente no sentía, de repente sintiéndose bastante protector de su estado emocional obviamente vulnerable. Probablemente tuvo mucho que ver con crecer con tres hermanas menores.

"Sí …" mintió; "Yo hago."

"¿Ni siquiera sé qué es la web profunda o la web oscura?" Teddy retiró la mano cuando su respiración comenzó a disminuir y asintió; la mayoría de la gente no tiene.

"Trataré de mantenerlo simple".

"Por favor."

"Trata de imaginar todo Internet como una mansión gigante". No sabía por qué quería usar tantas metáforas arquitectónicas hoy … solo que parecían apropiadas cada vez. "Los pisos principales y las áreas de estar son los lugares donde la gente común como tú y yo vamos cuando usamos Firefox o Explorer. Aquí es donde se encuentran su Facebook, Twitter y otros. Ahora … hay habitaciones en el piso de arriba que pertenecen a diferentes gobiernos, empresas o técnicos que están cerradas para la mayoría de las personas, pero si tiene la llave correcta … aún puede entrar. Estos son todos los lugares donde va el noventa por ciento de la población en línea. a. ¿Está usted conmigo hasta ahora? "Susan asintió.

"Pero no todo es Internet. Todavía hay un sótano … se llama la web" profunda "y la única forma de llegar es usar navegación especial por Internet y una idea muy clara de dónde quiere ir. De lo contrario, simplemente tropezará en la oscuridad. Este sótano fue creado originalmente por nuestro propio gobierno y ministerio de Defensa y ahí es donde dirigían el negocio que no querían que el público en general supiera: el tipo de cosas que suscitan teorías de conspiración.

Aunque pueden haber creado este sótano, sin embargo … la "red profunda" … no pasó mucho tiempo para que el software fuera requisado por la generación nacida en la era de la y rsquo; ESO. Los Millennials no solo parecían entender cómo funcionaban estas cosas mejor que sus creadores, sino que podían crear cambios que el gobierno ya no podía hacer frente. "

"No entiendo … ¿qué cambia?"

"El verdadero anonimato. Esta es la clave de lo que hace que la web profunda sea tan atractiva para los delincuentes. Han desarrollado un método que hace rebotar su conexión en múltiples servidores aleatorios en todo el mundo, por lo que es prácticamente imposible encontrar las direcciones IP originales. La mayoría de las personas piensan que son anónimas cuando están en línea … pero ese no es realmente el caso. En la web profunda …ellas son. Y eso nos lleva a la "red oscura", que es esa parte de la red profunda donde tiene lugar toda la actividad criminal y malvada. Es la mazmorra en el sótano que ninguna persona jurídica debería querer visitar. ¿Lo vas a tener ahora?

Los ojos de Susan estaban muy abiertos … pero más húmedos. De hecho, los bordes de una sonrisa parecían salir de la esquina de su boca mientras asentía "sí". La ansiedad parecía perder ante una extraña anticipación; ella estaba empezando a apasionarse por la historia. Teddy no estaba tan seguro de estar contento con eso.

"¿De qué tipo de" perversidad "estamos hablando?" Teddy solo pudo sacudir la cabeza.

"Honestamente … realmente no lo sé. Solo puedo imaginar que este es el peor tipo de cosas". Hizo una pausa por un momento antes de reflexionar; "Tengo un amigo … bueno … no es realmente un" amigo "per se, sino un contacto que he utilizado como fuente con bastante frecuencia a lo largo de los años. Es un programador de alto nivel, un analista de sistemas y un descifrador de códigos … independiente variedad ". La sonrisa de Susan se rompió por completo. Demasiadas novelas de Michael Crichton y Ernest Cline en su biblioteca personal empujaron su palabra …

"¿Pirata?" Héctor Luna se rió al día siguiente mientras los tres estaban sentados en la sala de su estudio; "No … no me llamaría un" hacker ". Es más la expresión de Hollywood. En mi campo particular, tendemos a llamarnos" crackers "".

"¿Galletas?" Susan le preguntó antes de tomar un sorbo de la lata de cerveza fría que no tenían más remedio que aceptar antes de que se les permitiera ingresar al santuario interior. de Héctor

"Esto es cierto", confirmó; “Un poco como un hacker … excepto con sistemas de seguridad complejos. Encuentro vulnerabilidades y … según mi objetivo real … las exploto. Susan sonrió, visiblemente impresionada. Héctor, conocido en línea como el infame "Moon-Hex", dirigió su atención a Teddy. "Así que Big-T … ¿en qué puedo ayudarte exactamente hoy?" Déjame adivinar … ¿quieres información sobre este troyano de Brown-hut que mantuvo el Banco de América durante tres horas el martes pasado? He oído que se han copiado casi dos millones y medio de cuentas antes de poder cerrarla. "

"Sí …" estuvo de acuerdo Teddy; "Es una locura en estos días … pero no … no es eso". De hecho, cubrí anteayer. Honestamente … Me siento un poco estúpido incluso pidiendo tu ayuda en este caso porque los dos sentimos que la misión proviene de una zona de ignorancia. "

"¿Martín?" Héctor preguntó con una risita. Teddy y Susan asintieron al unísono y se unieron a él en carcajadas. Héctor solo se había puesto en contacto con Martin algunas veces debido a su relación con Teddy, pero había escuchado historias más que suficientes para tener una aproximación mental totalmente pintada de él. # 39; hombre. "¿No me digas que quiere que expliques por qué nadie está usando más disquetes?" Desgraciadamente…no fue sarcasmo. Cuando se trata de ciencia y electrónica contemporánea … el hombre podría ser su propia línea de ataque. Demonios … una vez preguntó quinientas palabras sobre las diferencias entre "Internet" y "la World Wide Web" …en sentido propio.

En general, sin embargo, y durante la gran mayoría del tiempo de Teddy en el Sentinel, Martin realmente no le ha dado una misión a Teddy. Tiende a mostrar una enorme confianza en la capacidad de Teddy para continuar proporcionando contenido relevante a una audiencia que no conocía. En su mayor parte, esto también era cierto para Susan; Martin, como Teddy, le dio muy poca importancia al tipo de eventos que ella consideraba importantes. Sin embargo, su fuente de noticias en línea tenía el mayor número de suscriptores, por lo que pensó que probablemente ella estaba haciendo su trabajo bastante bien.

Esta tendencia se había revertido recientemente, parecía … al menos para Teddy; y en cierto modo … fue su culpa. Después de todo, fue él quien presentó a Martin al mundo de YouTube. Como la mayoría de los principiantes, las primeras semanas lo vieron progresar poco más allá de las bromas y los gatos que reaccionan ante los pepinos; pero, últimamente, el hombre se ha encontrado en el mundo de lo desconocido … sujetos distantes: fantasmas, conspiraciones, civilizaciones antiguas, extraterrestres y casi cualquier otro tema que l & # 39; Había enviado la locura ocasional del loco.

En las últimas seis semanas, le había dado a Teddy más tareas aparentemente aleatorias que en los seis años anteriores: transhumanismo, inteligencia artificial e inteligencia artificial. 39, efecto Mandela completó los fines de sus solicitudes. Teddy no había estado demasiado ocupado; solo tenía que encontrar esa delgada línea que presentaba los temas a la luz de que Martin los había querido sin parecerse demasiado a un informe de Alex Jones sobre "Infowars". Estas fueron ciertamente variaciones extremas de su ritmo regular, pero sus lectores parecían apreciar el descanso ocasional de los artículos algo secos por los que era conocido. Algunos de ellos incluso se inclinaron hacia el entretenimiento en lugar de lo que solía dibujar: informativo.

"Martin nos quiere a los dos … su reportero técnico y su … social … uh …experto, para disparar algo en la web profunda y en la web oscura: algo "jugoso". "Héctor volvió a reírse; también conocía la palabra clave de Martin.

"Jugoso dices … —Hector trajo la última cerveza antes de gritar a sus pies desde la ranura gastada de su chico perezoso. "Y pensaste en mí. Estoy afectado. "Mientras movía su marco más que un poco sobrepeso hacia el refrigerador en el área de la cocina, hizo un gesto con la caja vacía para ver si alguien más necesitaba "Una recarga; no lo hicieron". Bueno … se trata de lo más vago que se te ha ocurrido hasta ahora. Cuando tu texto decía "al azar", no estabas bromeando, ¿verdad? "Susan y Teddy compartieron una mirada de complicidad, ya habían discutido esto en el viaje en taxi." Por favor, dime ", preguntó Héctor, su cabeza parcialmente enterrada en la nevera;" ¿Qué? ¿ya tienes al menos un cierto ángulo? "Los dos periodistas sacudieron la cabeza con simetría gentil; ¿Cómo podría Martin no tener idea de qué tan lejos de su zona de confort?

"Deseo que pudieramos." Teddy finalmente respondió una vez que Héctor había regresado a su lugar en el salón, con cerveza fría en la mano. "Deseo que pudieramos." Se detuvo para tomar un sorbo y contemplar en qué dirección podrían ir sin parecer algunos bloggers en el sitio web de la trama.

"Obviamente, nos gustaría encontrar algo único", sugirió Susan; "Pero nadie está disparando para un Pulitzer aquí. Creo que cuanto antes podamos dejar el Pulitzer detrás de nosotros, más felices estaremos los dos". Teddy le dirigió una mirada bien observable. Ciertamente estaba al límite de lo que la gente en la industria llamaba "misiones marginales".

"Sí … apuesto. Bueno … Héctor se acarició una barba imaginaria con su mano sin cerveza, los pocos mechones de pelo rojo se arrastraban entre sus dedos. "Todavía puede ir con la facilidad de acceso al camino de los productos ilegales: pida una bola ocho o un AK-47". No es terriblemente original, pero siempre será una noticia para cualquiera que nunca haya estado en YouTube. Por supuesto, tendrá que ponerse en contacto con las autoridades si lo hace y coordinar a través de ellas … de lo contrario, podría estar buscando una orden de arresto para cuando salga la historia. "

De hecho, ya habían considerado seguir este camino, pero, como señaló Héctor, no era exactamente una primicia. Casi todos los que usaban Internet regularmente, que ahora constituían la mayoría de sus lectores, conocían los mercados negros de la Web Negra. La mayoría de la gente incluso había oído hablar del sitio web de "Ruta de la Seda" en un momento u otro, el más conocido en el campo antes de ser cerrado por el FBI en 2014. Teddy había cubierto esto historia en ese momento y aunque Ross Ulbricht, el infame "Dread Pirate Roberts", pasaría el resto de su vida tras las rejas, su legado continuó mientras miles de personas habían surgido en el mundo el espacio que había dejado atrás. Los mercados eran tan vastos, variados y exponencialmente producidos … era imposible eliminarlos por completo. El lienzo negro seguía siendo "el salvaje oeste" y listo para usar. la ley reinaba suprema.

"¿Qué mas tienes?" Susan preguntó antes de derramar accidentalmente una pequeña cerveza de eructo, transformándola en un tono púrpura oscuro como resultado. "Disculpe", murmuró tímidamente, haciendo reír a Héctor y soltando su, mucho más resonante, exhalación de aire carbonatado que vibraba en las paredes. La respuesta grosera tuvo el efecto esperado e inmediatamente confortó la delicada sensibilidad de Susan.

"Es mejor salir que adentro, siempre dice mi Shrek", anunció antes de responder a su pregunta. "En cuanto a" qué más "… es difícil decirlo por el tono de The Sentinel. Todo lo demás se vuelve más y más oscuro a partir de ahí … pero eso no quiere decir decir que no hay una gran área para explotar. Haz tu elección: hay pedófilos en la transmisión en vivo, cosas sexuales locas, películas de rapé y tortura … "

"¿Así?" Teddy lo interrumpió, aunque más por curiosidad mórbida que por cualquier deseo de seguir a este último como guía.

"Como cualquier cosa que puedas imaginar. Hay personas realmente enfermas allí. Viste las películas "SAW" y "Hostel", ¿verdad? " Ninguno de ellos tenía. Aparentemente no era la taza de té de Susan desde el principio y, aunque había comenzado las dos primeras películas … Teddy no las había terminado. Claramente recordaba haber pensado en ese momento que probablemente era un perfil de personalidad realmente inquietante para alguien ver este tipo de dolor gráfico infligir a otra persona y considerarlo como entretenimiento agradable al mismo tiempo. Por supuesto que había crecido como fanático de "Viernes 13^mi"Y" Pesadilla en Elm St "y estaban llenos de sangre … pero también tenían susto, grados de suspenso y una muestra de sangre bastante poco realista. Sin embargo, estos nuevos tipos de películas de tortura estaban en un nivel completamente nuevo. Los grados de realismo en la violencia y las reacciones del torturador y la víctima combinados con la incesante concentración de nada más que la imposición de dolor … bueno …tampoco era realmente su taza de té.

"Oh hombre … sinceramente …cualquier cosa te puedes imaginar … la mayoría de los cuales no querrías. Cada uno de ustedes ha oído hablar de "The Doll-maker" o "The Chew-Chew Man" … ya sabes … escrito como "masticar". Héctor apretó los dientes varias veces para enfatizar su punto; "… ¿O incluso" Sr. Plaintoes "? Era obvio por sus expresiones que ninguno de ellos había oído hablar de sus referencias o del hecho de que ahora estaban a su disposición completamente encantados.

"Está bien … bueno …" Se levantó, se estiró y se dirigió a la nevera para tomar otra cerveza. De repente, Susan y Teddy también se sorprendieron de la velocidad discrecional con la que su anfitrión podía pulir una lata. A este ritmo, estaría en su segundo paquete de seis incluso antes de terminar sus primeras cervezas. No es que uno u otro no diría nada en voz alta. Fue realmente más impresionante que cualquier otra cosa. "Por dónde empiezo …" Tiró su vacío a la basura y regresó con un total de tres. Por un momento, ambos estuvieron listos para decir "no gracias" cuando los abrazó en la silla junto a él y se dieron cuenta de que no los habían traído para ellos.

"Entonces 'Mr. Plaintoes" es una especie de rima demoníaca que mata a la gente … piense en algo así como un cruce entre "The Ring" y "The Babadook". "Héctor hizo una pausa para el reconocimiento pero no se encontró solo dos miradas en blanco: "Ya sabes … para los periodistas, eres dolorosamente ignorante de la cultura pop". Ninguno de ellos podría discutir, si no apareciera en una revista "Wired" o "Cosmopolitan". … ellos fueron "Dolorosamente ignorante". "De todos modos … este se parece más a un" Creepypasta "que a un evento real … pero se supone que siempre debe estar allí para cualquiera que quiera probar la leyenda urbana. Sé que no seré yo ".

"¿Qué es" The Doll-maker "?" Preguntó Susan. Al tener una gran colección de muñecas antiguas, sintió mucha curiosidad en el momento en que él lo dijo, aunque sabía muy bien que no le gustaría esta respuesta.

"Oh hombre … este tipo es un trabajo real. Te digo qué … No me considero un hombre violento … pero no lo pensaría dos veces antes de poner una bala entre sus ojos perturbados. Este tipo compra mujeres y niñas jóvenes y que se realicen estas elaboradas cirugías antes de revenderlas en el mercado negro como muñecas sexuales en vivo ".

"¿Cirugías?" Teddy insistió, seguro de que realmente no quería saberlo.

"Sí … no hay cosas buenas", continuó Héctor; "Quítate los brazos y las piernas para que no puedan ir a ningún lado. Quítate la lengua para que no puedan hablar … a veces la boca se cierra por completo. Incluso pone ganchos en la espalda por poder colgarlos en la pared ". Les dio un momento para procesar la imagen inquietante.

"Cómo … cómo …" tartamudeó Susan en estado de shock; "¿Cómo se mantienen con vida?" Héctor sacudió la cabeza con gravedad.

"Afortunadamente … no lo hacen. Creo que tienen una vida útil bastante corta. No es que disuada a algunos de pagar millones de dólares cada uno".

Susan tomó su cerveza de la mesa del fondo y observó cómo las gotas de condensación fluían lentamente por sus costados; ella nunca ha estado tan agradecida por la vida segura y mimada que ha vivido hasta ahora. No era como si ignorara el hecho de que había personas, especialmente mujeres, que habían empeorado mucho más que ella … pero que ella era presentó algo tan horrible como la pesadilla que tuvieron que vivir estas pobres mujeres al ser mutiladas más allá del reconocimiento humano por ser violadas violentamente hasta la muerte. Sabiendo que había un mal así, acechando en las sombras …sólo entonces; fue suficiente para enviarle un escalofrío por la espalda y dejó la cerveza sin haber tomado una copa.

"¿Estás seguro de que Martin dijo" Susan "… y no" Sam "o" Sarah "o incluso" Marcus "?" preguntó por cuarta vez en las últimas veinticuatro horas y, cuando la broma comenzó a disminuir, Teddy se rió de nuevo antes de presionar a Héctor sobre el siguiente tema. Era obvio por el velo en el aire que todos estaban listos para pasar antes de ese.

"Incluso tengo miedo de preguntar … pero ¿qué pasa con el" Chew-Chew Man "?" Cuando la expresión de Héctor no se iluminó, Teddy tuvo la sensación de que lamentaría haber preguntado. Resulta que …él era.

"Este tipo … Dios … otro evolucionado individual."

"¿Evolucionado?" Teddy preguntó.

"Esta es la forma más reciente de nuestra evolución … dependiendo de a quién le pregunte … una forma de humanidad que habría evolucionado más allá de la necesidad de trivialidades como la moral o la ética. Sé que suena loco, pero realmente hay personas que piensan de esa manera … piensan que no hay nada como "bueno" y "malo" … solo "acción" y «réaction», «comme ci-dessus si en bas» et toutes ces conneries . Ce sont les types de personnes qui occupent les postes les plus élevés: les politiciens, les stars de cinéma et les riches générationnels. Ils voient la population en général comme des mangeurs inutiles… une population de moutons qui doit être abattue plus que tout. »

"C'est déprimant", soupira Susan.

"Oui", acquiesça Hector; «C'est en quelque sorte. Quoi qu'il en soit … le Chew-Chew Man est probablement l'un de ces S.O.B. générationnellement riches avec plus d'argent que Dieu. Je suppose qu'il est probablement aussi un de ces salauds de la société secrète, à en juger par le nombre de sycophants masqués qu'il garde autour de lui. Quoi qu'il en soit… »Hector fit une pause et soupira; "Wow … Je n'aime même pas dire ça à haute voix; Je ne vois pas à quel point ces gens doivent être vraiment malades. Quoi qu'il en soit… l'homme Chew-Chew a sa propre gare, très soigneusement décorée, ainsi que sa propre voiture à moteur ferroviaire qui ressemble à quelque chose tout droit sorti de «Death Race». " Les journalistes ont échangé un autre regard, légèrement déconcerté, et Hector a de nouveau soupiré, cette fois pour une raison entièrement différente.

«Sérieusement les gars? Pas de «Death Race» non plus? Pas l'original ni le remake? " Il secoua la tête avec incrédulité. Il était quelque peu conscient du manque de connaissances contemporaines de la culture pop de Teddy et pourtant les profondeurs auxquelles il s’étendaient encore le surprirent. Dans les salons de discussion, il fréquentait ce type d'ignorance qui serait impardonnable. «D'accord… c'est tout simplement inacceptable; Je cherche un compte Netflix pour vous deux. " Les trois d'entre eux ont partagé un petit rire et une gorgée de bière avant de permettre à leurs expressions sinistres de revenir alors que Hector continuait avec l'histoire qu'il ne voulait pas vraiment raconter et ils ne voulaient pas vraiment entendre.

"Donc je suis sûr que vous pouvez probablement imaginer où cela va partir d'ici. L'homme à mâcher et ses aides attachent plusieurs personnes nues aux rails avec des attaches spécialement conçues. Ensuite, ils prennent tous du recul et regardent le carnage. Une fois que la voiture a nettoyé la zone de mise à mort, ces hommes et femmes masqués… qui sont vêtus de smokings et de robes de bal chères, pensez-vous… tombez à genoux dans les flaques de sang chaud et passez à…consommer… Le désordre restant.

"Consommer!?" Lâcha Susan. "Comme … Oh cher Seigneur … comme des cannibales?"

Hector acquiesça. "Oui … comme des cannibales." Quelques instants de silence se sont abattus sur la pièce alors que cette horrible pensée faisait des ravages brutaux sur leur subconscient. Teddy, personnellement, n'a eu aucun scrupule à ingérer un petit Stephen King avant de sombrer dans un état de rêve, mais c'était le genre de chose qui le garderait définitivement debout la nuit. L’imagination d’un auteur pourrait être appréciée… mais sachant qu’il existe réel les monstres là-bas étaient simplement énervants.

Après avoir laissé passer une minute entière, Teddy a finalement exprimé ce à quoi ils pensaient tous.

"Um non. Ce n'est certainement pas notre histoire. " Susan acquiesça et ils redevinrent silencieux avant qu'Hector ne claque des doigts et ne procède à retirer l'un de ses nombreux ordinateurs portables du tiroir de la table basse devant lui.

«Je pense», commença-t-il en mettant l'ordinateur sous tension; "Afin que je sache quelque chose qui vous intéresserait. Franchement … Je ne sais pas pourquoi je n'y avais pas pensé auparavant. J'ai lu pour la première fois à ce sujet sur le forum de 8Chan sur l'oignon il y a quelques mois… j'ai même fait un peu d'enquête préliminaire. »

Alors que Hector se taisait et se concentrait sur l'écran de l'ordinateur portable, Susan se tourna vers Teddy et lui demanda: «8Chan dot oignon?»

«Panneau de messages Web profond», a-t-il répondu pour elle. "L'oignon point est comme dot com, dot net ou dot gov: extension web profonde." Elle hocha la tête en comprenant… ou en feignant autant; et Hector reprit sa voix, trouvant apparemment ce qu'il cherchait.

«A-ha! Et c'est parti." Rentrant son regard dans le leur et baissant la voix par conspiration, Hector demanda avec un sourire malicieux et une expression qui aurait semblé juste à la maison avant un feu de camp à minuit; "Avez-vous déjà entendu parler de le Contrat?" Immédiatement attirés, ils secouèrent tous les deux la tête, non, comme il l'avait prévu.

"Oui … je ne le pensais pas. Celui-ci est extrêmement obscur… même pour le web profond. Il y a très peu de documentation pour le sauvegarder… mais il y en a au moins pour commencer. »

"D'accord …" répondit Teddy; "Je vais mordre alors. Je connais quelques contrats différents; alors qu'est-ce qui fait celui-cile' Contrat?"

“Well…again…it’s not terribly well known…but in some circles it’s called ‘The Devil’s Contract’ or ‘The Final Contract’ and everything about it is just inexplicable.”

Over the next ninety minutes Hector proceeded to tell them a story that could’ve easily been an episode of “The Twilight Zone”, and despite finishing off another eight beers in that period, he never once slurred his words.  It was one of the longest periods Teddy had spent with the younger man and he’d never realized before what a raging alcoholic he was.

The Devil’s Contract was something of a deep web urban legend that, at least according to Hector, had some significant degrees of validity to it.  He wasn’t certain when the contract first popped up but the story had been online for a couple years now, thanks in large part to a man known simply as “Jeff the P.I.”.   Jeff had been hired by a woman to find her missing brother and the investigation had led him to the story of the contract.  When no one would believe the results he’d seemingly uncovered, he took the story online.  The gist of which was this: somewhere a shadowy party of private benefactors somehow makes contact with individuals who could best be described as…desperate. The secretive group then negotiates a payment, usually in the millions, for what Hector called “life-control”.

According to the legend, once a price is reached they are sent a digital copy of the, supposedly legally-binding, contract, as well as a bizarre questionnaire.  Once signed, the person has officially signed away their life…so to speak. It was a provision of the contract that the person’s life wouldn’t be ended or even endangered…only that they would no longer have control over the way they would live the rest of it.

“If they can no longer control their own lives,” Susan had asked at that point; “what good does the money do?”

“I thought the same thing at first,” Hector had answered; “but the money doesn’t go to them.  One of the first questions included with the contract is to whom the money should be paid.  But even that it just the tip of the weirdness of it all.  According to Jeff at least, the payments are delivered through methods which should be all but impossible.”

“Like what,” Teddy had pressed.

“Well…like the sister that hired Jeff to find her missing brother.  The only way she’d been able to hire him in the first place was because she’d just won five million dollars in the Powerball.   There’s not a lot of examples to choose from but supposedly all the payments have been through means that shouldn’t be possible to manipulate…including a government grant that was never applied for.  If any of that is true, then the people behind the contract have a nearly inconceivable reach.”

“So…” Susan prompted this time; “if the contract was non-lethal in nature…what happens to the people?”  Hector shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

“That’s the real question…isn’t it?  I’ve got theories…but who the hell really knows?  Could be slavery…sex-stuff…torture…any number of undesirable options.  My personal opinion is that it’s probably some type of medical experimentation…gene-manipulation or some such shit.  More than likely, these people are selling themselves into a state of permanent vegetation…a giant warehouse full of dangling bodies straight out of the movie “Coma”.   When both reporters nodded in recognition of his reference, Hector was more than a little shocked.

“And you actually believe that this is really happening?” Teddy finally asked once Hector had seemed to reach the end and he was answered with the same sly smile the computer expert had given them earlier before spinning his laptop around so that they could see the screen while saying; “Oh…I know it is.”

It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the smaller print and then they found themselves looking at a PDF of what appeared to be an official document of some type; the first line of which read “This is a legally-binding contract of consent.”  Of course it didn’t really say where it was legally-binding…after all, different countries had different laws.

“I told you that I did some investigating myself…remember?  It took me nearly a month to find this link…and frankly, I’m surprised it’s still up.  I locked a tracer onto the link though and, other than myself, it’s never been accessed.  That…combined with the fact that some of the questions are very specific to my personal life…it’s almost as if this contract were written just for me.”

“How’d you get the link?” Teddy asked.

“More oddness.  After a month of digging, it just showed up in my inbox one day.”

“Can we get a copy of that?” Susan asked this time and Hector shook his head again.

“Yea…I wish I could.  By all outward appearances, this seems to be nothing more than a normal PDF file…but it doesn’t behave like one.  In fact…it doesn’t behave like anything I’ve ever encountered online.  Its drowning in advanced encryptions unlike anything I’ve seen…and bear in mind, six months ago I cracked the Pentagon’s most advanced security systems in less than an hour.  This thing though…”  Hector exhaled a loudly audible sigh.  “This thing’s on another level altogether.  It can’t be copied…not even a ‘screen-grab’.  The coding behind this…legal document…is the most advanced I’ve ever seen.  We’re talking about Bill Gates wet-dream kind-of stuff.  I don’t even know if D-Wave is using anything this complex with the Quantum computing.”

“So just take a picture of it with your cell phone,” Susan offered while wondering why the supposed computer nerds didn’t think of such a simple solution.  Hector chuckled again and she found herself liking the sound.  It made her smile reflexively each time.

“Go ahead,” he urged; “I think you should.”  By that point she could tell that the idea had probably occurred to him but she was too curious to see what would happen to not at least try.  Her new Galaxy cell-phone took amazing pictures and video, having long since replaced the Nikon and hand-held video camera she’d kept by her side for so many years and pulling it out to snap a quick picture was second-nature muscle-memory at that point.  Within a couple seconds she had taken a half dozen before rapidly switching to video mode for a few seconds of worth of an AVI.  Hector watched in anticipation as she settled back into his leather couch to review the results.  When her jaw dropped and her eyes widened, he couldn’t help but to give her a slight ‘I told you so’ look.

Teddy leaned in close and examined his new partner’s cell-phone screen before shaking his head with disbelief.  Hector already knew what they were seeing.

“How…” Teddy stammered, his voice suddenly very uneven; “How is this even possible?”  He was of course referring to the series of bizarre symbols on the small screen that had replaced the perfectly legible ones from the slightly larger one.  It was apparently an amusing moment for Hector even though he’d had very much the same reaction the first time he’d made the discovery for himself.  Somehow it was easier seeing it unfold through someone else’s eyes…not to mention the cathartic nature of just being able to discuss the subject that he generally couldn’t bring up without sounding bat-shit crazy.  Sharing the story with Teddy and Susan gave it degrees of legitimacy that did wonders for his sanity.

“Honestly…I have no friggin’ idea.  This is well beyond what should be possible.  My best guess is that there’s some type of encryption overlay that’s naked to the human eye but which somehow scrambles its output to other digital devices.  It’s only a guess though.  I’ve never really heard of anything like that existing…and I’m pretty up to date on most of DARPA’s ‘black-budget’ projects.”

“Do you know what those symbols are?” Teddy continued, unable to tear his eyes away from the tiny screen in Susan’s hands.

“It’s Sumerian.”

“Sumerian!?” Teddy and Susan both blurted out in surprised unison.

It took Teddy several seconds to find a mental shelf were that oddly shaped fact could rest without bringing the whole thing down before he asked; “What does it say?”  Hector could only shrug again.

“I don’t read Sumerian,” he replied in a dead-pan tone; “but it’s the oldest known form of written language.”

“What about film?” Susan broke in after shaking away the shock and this time she had produced an idea that hadn’t occurred to Hector.  “Surely something like that wouldn’t affect a camera from the pre-digital era?”  Hector’s lips split into a wide grin as he nodded in amazed agreement.  Unfortunately, it had been nearly two decades since he’d owned a non-digital camera and for the moment, their new investigation had come to its first roadblock.  They decided to call it a night.

Teddy had asked for a link to the contract at first but Hector had informed him that it could only be accessed from that one particular laptop and generously allowed them to take the older model DELL with them…along with a flash-drive that contained all the information he’d accumulated on the phenomenon up to that point.  Given the fact that it was only one of the nearly forty different laptops in his apartment, it wouldn’t really be missed.

After thanking Hector for being such a gracious host and sharing another cab ride back to the Sentinel, they made plans to pick up the investigation first thing in the morning with each of them having small overnight projects.  Susan was charged with the task of digging up her late-80’s Polaroid camera from the depths of her over-encumbered attic, while Teddy was responsible for breaking down the information on the flash-drive into possible tangible leads.  The laptop itself was left in Teddy’s office at the paper.  Although they wouldn’t have admitted it aloud…neither of them wanted the device inside their homes.  The entire subject was highly peculiar and could, quite possibly, turn out to be a fantastic story for the paper…but at the same time…it was a little scary. If there really were some illicit, shadow-group out there with the power to rig lotteries and control government subsidies as well as having access to technology that shouldn’t technically exist…were they really prepared to unveil their activities?  At very least it made the unease they each felt as they drove back to their respective abodes completely justifiable.

It was that same uncomfortable sensation of jangled nerves, with just a touch of paranoia, that kept each of them up well past the hour they would’ve normally ended their day, allowing each of them to be aware of the same email they both received at 2:30 in the morning.  Teddy had been sitting at his desk, joint in hand, still dissecting the flash-drive when the email announced itself…which was unusual since he hadn’t turned on any type of notification warnings.  He had no way of knowing that Susan was hearing the same announcement from the IPad on her coffee table as she was settling into her flowered couch with a glass of Merlot, having just finished her extensive search.  The camera had produced itself rather quickly…the box of unused film for the camera…not so much. It was finally found buried beneath decades’ worth of family photo-albums.

The same sense of dread came over them both as they felt compelled to check the email with the subject line: LE CONTRACT, nearly simultaneously.  When they saw who the sender of the emails was, however, the sensation ebbed considerably.  Teddy’s had been sent by Susan and vice versa.  Of course, this wasn’t actually the case and upon opening the email, they quickly realized as much.  Teddy grabbed his phone immediately and called Susan, oblivious to the late hour but before the call had an opportunity to be sent, she was calling him.  He answered.

“Teddy…”  She didn’t give him a chance to say ‘hello’.  “You’re not going to friggin’ believe this.”  She sounded frantic…scared. “I don’t know if I do.” Instinctively, he already knew what she was going to say.

“I know,” he broke in; “I got one too.”  He could hear the breath lurch in her chest.

“What the fuck is this shit Teddy?”  She estaba scared.  “Did Hector do this?  Is this some kind of sick joke?”  Teddy wished he could say that the same thought had occurred to him, but he’d quickly dismissed it.  Hector was a unique character…but he wasn’t…mean. Despite being as brilliant as he was, his humor rarely ventured beyond fart-jokes.

“No…no this isn’t Hector.  I can’t pretty much guarantee that.”  They were both silent for a moment.

“So what does that mean?  If this is…real…then what…” Susan stammered; “th…th…ils…know about us?  What the hell are we supposed to do now?”  Teddy didn’t know what to say…at first.  Then the journalist in him took hold of the reigns.

“We fill out and sign the contracts.  It’s the only way to fully investigate this story.”

“Are you insane?”  He could hear her facial expression in the tone.

“Hear me out.  There’s absolutely no way this thing’s actually a legally binding document.  Any lawyer would have a field-day with it.  That being said, I say we fill them out with aliases.  When it asks who the money should be awarded to…we choose each other, the real version of each other.  The logistics should work in our favor and we might end up with the biggest story of the year.  We joke about winning a Pulitzer…but this…this actually pourrait. "

“Why send the money to each other?”  Susan’s tone was beginning to settle and he could tell that the newsperson in her was waking up as well.

“Well…if, for any reason, the aliases don’t work then they shouldn’t be able to take both of us if they’d be required to make the payment to each of us…theoretically."

“I don’t get it.”

“Think about it.  If they can only take me if they pay you and they can only take you if they have to pay me then it’s a stalemate…a ‘Catch-22’.  If we’re smart enough we might be able to garner enough information in the process to put together a hell of a piece.”

“So you want me to fill this damn thing out…except with a fake name?”

“Yea.”

“And then defer the payment to you?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll do the same?”

“That’s correct.  In the process, keep a record of the entire process.  Run a live Facebook stream if you want to.  I’m going to stream on Twitch.  It’s not going to be exciting viewing for anyone, but at least there’ll be a record of it out there.  Read each question aloud as well as your answers.”

“I don’t know Teddy.”  She was quiet again as she considered his request.  “What about the money?”

"¿Qué quieres decir?"

“Well Hector said they’d negotiate a price but I’ll I’m seeing here is an empty spot for agreed payment.  What are we supposed to enter?”

“Hmmm…” Teddy thought aloud.  “That’s not much of a negotiating tactic.  I guess we put in a crazy amount.  How about…I don’t know…fifty-million?  I mean, surely they’re not going to spend a hundred mil on the two of us.”

“Fifty-million?” she echoed.

“Why not?”  He could hear her sighing more and more and took it as an indication of reluctant acquiescence.  They were, after all, both reporters…albeit entirely different ones…for a reason.  It was in their nature to root out the stories no matter where they laid and share them with the world.  As children their first words were “who”, “what”, “when”, “where” and “why”; which made them extremely inquisitive, if not highly annoying, children.

“Have you read through some of these questions though? Some of them are pretty messed up.” Teddy hadn’t actually read through the questionnaire portion yet, having picked up the phone the moment he’d realized what it was. "What’s your most commonly reoccurring nightmare?” she continued. "What part of the human body excites you the most sexually? What’s your least favorite type of insect to see in the mornings? What is this crap, Teddy…some kind of twisted personality test or something?”

Teddy couldn’t answer.  His eyes had locked onto one particular question that had his heart hammering in his chest and small tendril of sweat beginning to gather on his brow.

“Teddy?  Teddy?  Oh please God…tell me you’re still there?”

“Yea,” he muttered weakly, disbelief pulling at the hairs on the back of his neck.  “I’m here.”

“What is it Teddy?  What’s happened?”

“It’s…” He wasn’t sure he really wanted to tell her.  This whole endeavor had suddenly become much more personal than he’d been prepared to deal with.  “It’s…this question.”

"Quoi? Tell me what it says.” Her intense insistence compelled the story from his lips…but only after several long seconds of silence.

“It says, Please describe the way you felt when you choked a cat to death?"

“Is that some kind of sick joke Teddy?  I know we don’t know each other that well…but I know you wouldn’t do anything like that.  That’s serial-killer shit there.”  When more silence followed the concern became evident in her voice.  “What the fuck Teddy?  Please tell me you didn’t do that.”

“I did.”  His voice was barely audible and thick with emotion.  “It was horrible.  It was like twenty years ago.  It was the middle of the night and I was driving through a McDonald’s parking lot in the middle of a town I’d never been in.  I felt a bump and then saw the poor thing flailing in my rear-view mirror.  I wanted to help but it was too far gone.  One of its eyes had popped out and it was in obvious pain.  I cut off its air as gently as I could.  It was the only thing I could do to ease its suffering.  It was one of the worst moments of my life.”

“Oh Teddy…I’m…so sorry.  That’s just horrible.  But…how did they know about that?”

“Susan…I’ve never told anyone about that moment. No one. I don’t even like thinking about it…let alone sharing it with anyone. I have no idea how they would know about that, but it’s a little too specific to be a lucky guess.”

This time they both fell silent and, after a minute, Susan asked; “So are you still wanting to go through with this?”, feeling quite sure that she already knew the answer.  When he finally replied…she was genuinely surprised by his reaction.  Rather than drifting further into a state of panicked fear, that invasive question had pushed him in a different direction: he was pissed.

“You bet your ass, I do.”

When Susan would reflect on this moment at a later date, it would be remembered as their first major mistake.  They were both highly intelligent, university-educated adults who worked in the field of fact-gathering and information analysis.  Their entire professional careers were based on their ability to properly discern which avenues to go down and which were dead ends.  Hindsight, obviously, always provided the best viewing angle for the routes that should’ve been taken, but in this particular instance…they should’ve known better. By that point they already had more than enough information to know that they were in way over their heads on this one. Unfortunately…they both fell victim to the biggest fatal flaw a reporter could experience: their emotions.

The second major mistake came forty minutes later and was Susan’s to own entirely.  Having ended their call a half hour ago and filling out their respective contracts, it was nearly 4:00am; the adrenaline fueled fear they felt as they answered each question was more than enough to keep any signs of fatigue at bay…just not enough to keep them from going forward with the poorly conceived plan.  Had they both actually stuck to it then perhaps things might’ve turned out differently.

Susan hadn’t planned on deviating from the strategy, and in all honestly, she wasn’t really sure why she did.  When the question of who the payment of fifty million dollars would be sent to, she did type in the name “Teddy Aaron Wilson” at first before pausing a moment…and then slowly holding one finger down on the “backspace” key.  The spot remained blank for another thirty seconds before the name “Ginger Tara Collins” filled in the space, almost as though the name were writing itself.

Ginger was Susan’s younger sister who lived in Kentucky.  She was a fan of country music…which was fitting since her life could’ve easily been the lyrics to a country song.  Shortly after giving birth to her third son with Autism, Ginger’s husband of ten years, Lloyd, left her for a college-aged bartender from Louisville and disappeared into that spot where all the “dead-beat dads” seem to find refuge.  Ginger, herself, was a high-school dropout who was married and pregnant at the same time other girls her age were buying their prom dresses.  The government provided some help and Susan sent money when she could, but to say that Ginger was “struggling” would’ve been the understatement of the century.  She was the epitome of the uneducated, single-mother trope and the boys’ monthly medical bills alone were more than she could bring in.  For years now, just about any thought Susan had about her sister any more was one of pity…and perhaps shame. If there were anyone in her life that needed a financial windfall more than Ginger…they wouldn’t come to mind.

On every cognizant level, Susan knew that getting fifty-million dollars to her desperate little sis wasn’t the real objective here…especially if it came at the expense of the rest of her life as she knew it.  She loved Ginger and her sons immensely, but she loved having her own life more.  No one could see that as selfishness; it was just human nature.  Regardless, something much more subliminally motivated took control of her fingers to place Ginger’s name on the contract.  If the absolute worst-case scenario étaient to come to fruition…she needed to know that cualquier cosa good could come out of it.  If this really was more than some sick joke and she was in the process of signing her soul away in some Faustian exchange, then…for God’s sake…please let there be a happy ending in this for someone.

She wouldn’t be able to help but to wonder later, if she had only stuck with the original plan, might things have ended differently for all of them?  It wasn’t exactly like Teddy’s quickly assembled idea was inundated with airtight reasoning…but she had given his circular-logic loophole an out.  If they took him, they still had to pay her…but now the action was no longer reciprocal.  For all intents and purposes…she had just made Teddy an expendable piece in this insane puzzle which they’d become entangled in.

At just past five in the morning, an exhausted Susan Collins collapsed into her bed and finally allowed her eyes to close, having just finished filling out the contract.  An uneasy sleep was almost upon her when she suddenly remembered two things that still needed to be done and reluctantly forced herself back into an upright position.  She still needed to send the contract back to whatever realm from which it came…but more importantly…she needed to use the Polaroid camera to make a copy.

It took an even greater degree of self-motivation to push her entire body back into motion…she was so tired…but after a minute or two she was loading the ‘antique’ camera and quickly rolled through the entire package of ten.  Forcing her eyes to stay open for just a bit longer, she clicked the ‘return to sender’ option on the contract and laid the pictures out at the base of her queen-sized mattress.  Unfortunately, and due in large part to her digital-age induced Attention Deficit Disorder, she didn’t have the patience to wait for the classic form of photographical history to fade into view and the weights on her eyelids won out.  She ended up falling asleep at the edge of the bed, her feet falling off the side.  It was the last time her life bared any semblance to what she considered ‘normal’.

When her cell-phone alarm clock woke her several hours later, she screamed a short stream of profanities and looked up at the digital clock on the dresser; it was only a little after 9:00am and she had set the alarm for 11:00am.  It hadn’t been her alarm after all: her phone had been ringing…it still was. The phone had fallen off the bed to the floor and she scrambled for several seconds to firmly grasp it before looking at the identification, fully expecting it to be Teddy and wondering if the man ever actually slept. It wasn’t. It was Martin…and Martin never called her.

“Martin?” she answered finally.

“Susan?  Susan Collins?” his voice was slightly softer than she’d ever heard it before.

“Yea Martin…it’s me.  What’s going on?”

“Listen Susan…this is going to sound crazy but I’m telling you upfront…this is not a joke. I’m dead serious in what I’m about to say. Do you understand?”

“Uh-huh.  Of course Martin.”  This conversation was already starting to nauseate her and it had only just begun.  “Just tell me what the hell’s going on?”

“Okay…listen to everything before interrupting.  Got it?”  Talking to Martin sometimes was like talking to her deceased father again…and that wasn’t a good thing.

“I got it Martin.”

“I’m at the downtown police station right now and we need for you to get dressed and come down here ASAP.  There’s been an incident and they need to interview everyone at the paper.”

“An incident?” ella preguntó.

“I told you not to interrupt.”

“Sorry Martin.” She almost said “dad”.

“I’m not at liberty to say too much until you get here…but there was an explosion at The Sentinel and, at least for the time being, the paper will be going into an indefinite hiatus.”  Susan gasped and threw her fingers over her mouth to keep the disbelief from regurgitating Martin’s words back into his ears.  “It gets worse,” he continued; “Seemingly the explosion was due to an intentionally planted bomb.  Fortunately, it happened around four this morning so the building was mostly vacant.  No one died…at least.  The thing is…and this is where I’m restricted on what I can say…the bomb was apparently set by Teddy Wilson.”

“That’s bullshit!”  This time she couldn’t help herself…but Martin seemed to understand.

“I thought the same thing…but the CIA, FBI, and even the Department of Homeland Security are all here saying that he was some kind of deep cover spy; they’d had him under surveillance for a long time.  ‘Teddy’ wasn’t even his real name.  It was something like ‘Dimitri Volkoff’.”

“A Russian spy?  Are you friggin’ kidding me Martin?  That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.  What the hell was he supposed to be spying on?  For Pete’s sake Martin…Teddy didn’t even cover politics.  This is just ridiculous.”

“I get it.  That doesn’t change what’s going on here.  You need to get down her quickly and then you can get all the answers you want.  I have to go.”  With that…the conversation had ended and Susan flung the cellphone down onto the bed in frustration.  When the Polaroid pictures bounced up from the reverberation, they drew her attention and suddenly the entirety of the previous day’s surreal events came flooding back: everything from being made partners with a man she barely knew to participating in a shared, secret pact that could be putting both their lives in jeopardy.

Torn by what to do, Susan first swiped her laptop back to life; The Contract was gone.  From there she fell onto the bed and carefully examined the Polaroids.  Her first impression was that her eyes were too tired and she wasn’t seeing properly.  A quick jaunt to the bathroom for some re-wetting drops and she was back at it.  Unfortunately, her eyes hadn’t been the problem and for several long seconds she struggled to comprehend exactly what it was that she estaba seeing.  Once it did finally click, her stomach lurched and she found herself back in the bathroom depositing the three glasses of Merlot from the night before into the porcelain toilet.  There were still words on the pages she recorded with the photographs…they were just in a different language.  One which she wasn’t familiar with…and not the logographic form of Sumerian they’d seen at Hector’s earlier.

Once her stomach had settled and after several moments spent debating her next steps, Susan loaded the pictures into the printer/scanner and, while the older machine slowly scanned the photos, tried to call Teddy.  After a couple of rings, she received the familiar, automated voice informing her that the number was no longer in service.  For some reason, she’d half expected as much. The scanner took its sweet time and she cursed herself for not having a newer machine but, before too long, she was looking up the images online. It was actually an odd combination of two languages: Arabic and Hebrew…very unusual.

Because the two alphabets were blended in such an unnatural way, deciphering it became tedious at best and borderline impossible.  She managed to translate one sentence from one photograph and to the best of her limited abilities came up with the phrase: henceforth relinquish my vessel. It was more than enough to send a chill down her spine and when her phone rang she nearly jumped out of her seat. It was Hector…and she couldn’t have been happier to see that it was.

“Hector?”

“Susan…what the hell is going on?  The NSA just called me about Teddy.”

“I know Hector.  I’m supposed to be heading to the police station now.  They’re saying Teddy was some kind of spy and that he set off a bomb at the paper.”

“That’s insane.”

"Je connais. Listen Hector…I know this is going to sound crazy, believe me…but I’m pretty sure that this has something to do with those damned contracts.”

“Contractsss?  Plural?  What are you talking about?”

“Oh Hector…”  Her voice was getting thick with emotion and she had to fight to stave off the tears.  If she started crying now…she wouldn’t be able to stop. “I’m so scared right now. I…nous…both were sent contracts last night and…ohhh…” she sobbed; “why did I listen to him?  We filled them out and sent them back.”

“You did what!?” It was true that Susan didn’t know Hector that well, having only just met the day before, but it was the first time she’d heard his voice with any kind of edge to it; she did not like it.  “Why in the holy hell would you guys do that?”

“I don’t know Hector!” she snapped back at him.  “It was Teddy’s plan.  He thought we could get a great story out of it.  We were using fake names and then having the payments sent to each other so that they couldn’t pay and abduct both of us if that was their end game.  I was so tired…it seemed…reasonable. I went along.” She didn’t tell him the part about having her money sent to Ginger. “He said something about recording himself filling out the contract and putting it online.”

“Where online?”

“I…I can’t…it was something weird like ‘Twist’ or ‘Tremor’ or…”

“Twitch?” Hector interrupted.

“Yea…that’s it.”

“Okay…I can find that.”

“Then I’m coming over,” she informed him.

“I thought you had to get to the police station or something?”

“Dammit Hector…I’m terrified and I have to know what’s going on here.  Besides…you might be the only person in the world that will believe me if this is…them. "

As quickly as she could, she exchanged her pajamas and ‘footies’ for a track suit and tennis shoes and began hunting for her keys and purse.  She figured, assuming she could avoid a speeding ticket, that she could make it to Hector’s in just under an hour; and she was just about out the door when a familiar sound froze her in her tracks.  It was that same damn email notification from the night before: the one that signified The Contract.

There was nothing in her being that wanted to go to her laptop and open the new email but she knew she had no choice; she was playing in a game she didn’t know by rules she didn’t understand.  This time, rather than the sender being listed as Teddy, it was her own email address from which the email emanated. One reluctant sigh and a double-click later and she was reading the single sentence that made up the whole of the transmission: Contract accepted; owed funds deferred to next eligible candidate.

“Owed funds deferred to next eligible candidate?” she repeated aloud…and yet to herself.  “What the hell does that mean?”  Sadly, there was no time to stand there and ponder the odd communication so she grabbed the laptop, tucked it under her arm and headed out the door.  Hopefully, Hector would be able to help with that as well.

Thirty minutes into her drive down the interstate, traffic came to a halt and became backed up in both directions as far as the eye could see.  Most likely an accident much further down the highway.  Through her Bluetooth connected car speakers, she called Hector to let him know that she would be running behind.

“I was just about to call you too.”  He informed her.

“Why?  What’s up?”

“I found the video and I’m watching it now.  This is weird.  He’s reading off the questions out loud and guess what?”  He didn’t give her a chance to guess.  “The fake name he used was ‘Dimitri Volkoff’; sound familiar?”

“That was his supposedly ‘real’ Russian-spy name,” she agreed.

“Wait a sec.  What the hell is that?”  She could hear his tone change dramatically, less ‘Hardy Boys’ and more ‘Scooby-Doo’.

“What?” Susan urged; "¿Qué es?"

“I…I don’t know…it’s…he’s got the camera at a bad angle to tell but it kind of looks like someone has walked into the room behind him…sort of…”

“Sort of?”

“Well…I don’t know how to describe it.  It looks like a solid thing in the shape of a person but there’s no…n'importe quoi. It’s like they’re wearing one of those black body-sock things you see on certain idiots in the stands for NFL games. Completely black…like a solid shadow.” His breath froze for a second before, “Oh shit.”

“What?” Susan screamed at her Prius. “What?”

“There’s another one…and another…and another.  There’s a whole crowd of those fuckers standing behind him.  How can he not see them?  Can’t he hear them?”

“I don’t understand!  What are you saying…there’s someone in the room with him?”

“Yes dammit!” Hector screamed, nearly hysterical.  “Oh God no…don’t do it Teddy!  He’s about to send The Contract back!  No Teddy!  Please God…”  Hector went completely silent and Susan suddenly realized that her cheeks were moist with salty, warm tears.

“Hector?”  Her voice was feeble, barely capable of producing syllables.  There was nothing for a full ten seconds and Susan was afraid that he’d hung up when he did finally speak again.

“I had to pause the video.”  Even though she knew he was a sizable man, he sounded, in that moment, as frail and weak as she felt.  “I got…sick.  Too much beer, I guess.”  He gave a weak chuckle, devoid of any real happiness.  “Okay…so listen…at this point he’s just sent The Contract back and there are several sets of solid black hand taking hold of his shoulders.  His eyes are wide with fear and…I’m sorry…I can’t watch the rest.”

“You have to!” she begged; “I…I have to know what happens next.”  She could hear the man in her speakers’ sigh and it filled her tiny car with a resolute sadness.

“This is the best I can do Susan.  I will turn up the volume so you can listen and push play…but I’m not going to watch this; I can’t. In fact…I’m going back to the bathroom to throw up some more; there’s at least a sixer left to come, I’d estimate.” He didn’t fake a chuckle this time as they both knew he was dead serious. Apparently neither of them had much of a constitution for this kind of business.

“Thank you Hector.  I understand.” She did too.

“Are you still coming here?” he asked before leaving her to the remainder of the video.  Something in his voice said that he needed her company right now as much as she needed his.

“I’m stuck in a jam…accident or something.  I’ll get there as quickly as I can.”

“Okay…good.”  He sighed yet again and she found that she hated the way its echo reverberated off her windows.  “I’m going to leave the phone here next to the speaker and press play now.  When it’s over…I guess I’ll be back.  Please hurry.”  With that he was gone and she could hear the clank of the phone being laid on Hector’s desk, the click of a button and then suddenly…the volume was way too loud.  She had to quickly adjust the difference with her car’s volume knob but not before Teddy’s fear stricken scream was penetrating her eardrums.

“NOOOOO!”  He only barely sounded like the same man she’d spent the prior day with, but rather a cartoonish version of him.  It was as if someone were trying to do a ‘Teddy’ impression but weren’t quite getting it.  “I WAS WRONG!  I was wrong…I was wrong…I was wrong!”  She could hear the sounds of a struggle.  Teddy sounded winded.  Something crashes to the floor…his chair? He’s panting and then; “I take it back! JUST STOP! I take it all back!” His voice is audibly becoming further and further from the microphone…as though he were being drug away. “PLEASE…I’M BEGGING YOU! I was so wrong!” Then a door slams and the audio becomes deathly quiet with a suddenness that makes it more penetrating than Teddy’s pleas had been.

Susan wasn’t terribly surprised to find herself shaking uncontrollably in her seat and teetering on the verge of joining Hector in some more involuntary purging.  She rolled down the windows, praying for just the smallest breeze that might help alleviate the sensation, but was only met with the oppressive and unnaturally hot morning air which only aided in making her swoon a bit more.  She was just about to try her luck with the air conditioner, which, on most days, was about fifty/ fifty, when the tiny car’s speakers notified her of another incoming call.  At first, not wanting to hang up on Hector, she wasn’t going to answer it but when she saw who it was…she knew she had to. Hector would understand.

“Ginger?  Is that really you?”  Susan hadn’t actually spoken to her sister in over a year…more out of guilt than anything.

“Hey Big-Sis…how are you?”

“Wow…Ginger…I really wasn’t expecting to hear from you right now.  Listen…Ginge…I’m gonna need to call you back later tonight.  Some crazy things are going on right now and…”

“No…” her sister cut her off.  “You listen.  You think you got crazy shit…Baby…you don’t even know.  Guess what?”  She hadn’t spoken to her in over twelve months and within the first three seconds she was already becoming irritated with her younger sister.

“I don’t know Ginge…what?”  She worked hard to keep the frustration from her voice.

“We’re rich!  Whooo hooo!”  Ginger hooted so loud the windows vibrated in their frames.

“What are you talking about?”  Susan was becoming more and more certain that this call needed to be ended sooner rather than later.  Hell…the girl was probably still drunk from the night before.

“I’m talkin’ about that ‘Publisher’s Clearinghouse’ contest thingy…is what I’m talkin’ about.  I just won that shit.  We’re freakin’ millionaires now bitches!”  It would’ve been laughable if it weren’t so damn sad.

“Listen…Ginger please.  This is not a good time for this.  I love you Sweetie, but you got scammed.  I promise you that you didn’t win the ‘Publisher’s Clearinghouse’ sweepstakes.  Now, I’m really sorry but…”

“Oh yea,” Ginger interrupted yet again; “then why did the TV crew just leave the apartment?”

“What the hell are you talking about Ginger?”

“Tell you what,” her little sister had never sounded so smug, “I’ll let you hear it from Big Joe.”

“Wha?  Who the hell is ‘Big Joe’?”  The frustration was coming through quite clearly now but Ginger was no longer on the line to hear it.  She’d already handed the phone to someone else.

“Miss Collins?”

“Yes…who is this?”

“My name is Joe Parlatano.  Your sister has taken to calling me ‘Big Joe’; I do not mind.”

“Okay Mister Parla…”

“Tano,” the man offered; “Joe Parlatano.  Please…call me ‘Joe’; or ‘Big Joe’ if you prefer.”  She could hear her sister giggle in the background.

“Okay…Joe…who are you and why are you at my sister’s house…and what’s this about a ‘TV crew’?”

“All fair questions, Miss Collins.”  He paused for a moment as if to give her a chance to say, “Call me ‘Susan’”.  She didn’t.  “And I’m happy to answer them for you.  I’m a professional finance attorney and I’ve been hired by your sister to aid her in all the taxation and legal matters that come with her winning the tremendous sums of money that she has.”

“Wait a sec…”  Ginger was never one for pulling practical jokes…but this one was still hard to swallow.  “You’re tell me Ginger really won…what the ‘Publisher’s Clearinghouse’?”

“That’s correct, Miss Collins.  In point of fact, it’s the largest prize given in the history of the company.”

The blood began to freeze in her veins and, as if seeing it happen from outside of herself, Susan could hear her own voice asking in slow motion, “How…much…did…she…win?”  In her heart, she already knew what the answer would be; it didn’t stop her from praying otherwise, however.

“After penalties, taxes and legal fees, your sister will be receiving right at one hundred million dollars.  It will actually be paid out in two lump sums of fifty million dollars apiece.”  Susan began to struggle for breath.  She could hear Ginger blurt out in the background, “Tell her about the cool code-words.”  When the lawyer spoke again, Susan could tell he wasn’t speaking to her.

“Are you sure you want me to do that, Miss Ginger?  Those are private words so that only you can officially claim the prize?”

“That’s my sister…” Ginger informed him with no lack of conviction.  “What’s mine is hers and that includes half the money.  We have no secrets from each other.”   The guilt she felt for being so irritated with her little sister just a few minutes before was tangible…but it was still playing second fiddle to the apprehensive dread she was feeling, watching this surreal reality unfold before her from behind the wheel of a car she actually hated.

“Very well Miss Ginger.  You’re the boss.”  Ginger giggled again.  “The payments are labeled under private code names which your sister seems to find…cool. The first payment is labeled as the ‘Carol Cline Donation’ and the one to come sometime later is labeled as the ‘Dimitri Volkoff Donation’. I’m still at a loss as to why your sister finds them so amusing.” Without warning Ginger was back on the line, obviously having snatched the phone from Big Joe’s hands.

“Carol Cline…it’s crazy right.”  There was a happiness in the younger woman’s voice that Susan couldn’t remember hearing since she was a little girl and for a split-second…it almost made her happy.  “Like Mom’s two favorites: Carol Burnett and Patsy Cline.  It’s almost like Mom made this happen from beyond the grave. It’s too much to be a coincidence…don’t you think?”

Susan didn’t just think…she knew; although it had nothing to do with their mother’s ghost. Ginger came to that conclusion for the same reason Susan had chosen that as her alias on The Contract in the first place and the revelation forced her stomach into her chest cavity. The whole world seemed to be slowing down at an exponential rate.

“Ginger…” Susan thought she heard herself saying.  It was hard to be sure; the interior of the car had taken on a dream-like quality where everything shimmered with hazy edges.  “I have to go now.”

“Go?” her little sis cried from a million miles away with a voice that seemed to be fading.  “Go where?  We’re rich now.  All we gotta do…”

“I’m…happy…for…you.”  The version of Susan still sitting behind the wheel…the one she wasn’t seemingly in control of…ended the call.  For the first time in at least fifteen minutes she took in the environment outside of her vehicle.  She was still sitting, bumper to bumper, stuck in traffic…but something wasn’t quite right.  For starters…it was too quiet. There were no running engines, frustrated honks, frat-boy’s blasting their stereos…or even a chirping bird for that matter. Other than the gentle hum of her own car’s little motor…there was nothing; and the windows were still down.

The ‘Auto-pilot Susan’ turned off the Toyota, grabbed her cellphone…some things were too ingrained, she guessed…and stepped out of the car.  It didn’t take more than a few steps to see that the other cars around her were all completely unoccupied.  A frightened, thirty-yard dash further down indicated that the anomaly seemed to continue as far as the endless line of cars did.  The fear was intense and legitimate, but it did deliver the shot of adrenaline needed to put her back in control of her full facilities…even if it did somewhat inhibit her ability to think as clearly as she surely needed to be.

Really, only one thought came through with any clarity at all: Hector. She needed to call Hector back. Maybe he could come get her…help her…somehow.  She brought her cell phone screen up to her face to verbally request his number be dialed when her own phone rang with a ‘face-time’ call. It was Hector; he’d beaten her to the punch. She swiped the screen and Hector’s pudgy cheeks filled the screen from side to side. His face was red and his eyes were blood-shot. It looked as though he’d been throwing up…or crying…ou les deux.

“Susan?” His voice sounded different than it did when he was speaking over the phone-line: tinnier.  “I was worried about you.  You hung up.”  She tried to force a smile for the screen but there was nothing genuine about it.

“I’m sorry…I’m just…” She didn’t know. “Something really messed up is going on here.  I’m out here in this traffic jam but all the people have disappeared.  It’s just me…and the cars.  I’m more than a little freaked out here.”

“Let me see,” Hector asked; “Turn the camera around.”  Susan accommodated and spun her cellphone around so that Hector could see the unreal scenario she’d suddenly found herself in.  She’d only waved it around for a few seconds when she could hear him screaming for her to turn the camera back around.

She was planning on saying, “Make up your mind,” but the instant she saw the unbridled terror in Hector’s face, the sentence was all but frozen in her mouth; “Muah,” being the only sound that actually escaped.

“Susan…” She could tell he was struggling to keep his voice even.  “Those cars aren’t empty.  It’s…it’s them. The dark people that took Teddy. There’s hundreds of them…they’re all around you. " Hector’s face began to tremble in her hands as she fought to keep the device in her grasp. Her eyes were as wide as saucers but she couldn’t bring herself to look up from the tiny screen. If she looked back up…she would see them. They would be there, plain as day…yet black and formless, living shadows that not even the morning sunlight could penetrate. Somehow she knew…she just knew…that looking back up would be the only catalyst needed for hell to engulf her; and yet…she did. The phone fell from her hands.

Somewhere in another world, a voice was crying out in the distance…small and inconsequential.  “You need to run,” it was saying; “Susan…You need to run.”  It might’ve been someone she knew in another life but that didn’t really matter now; nothing like that was important anymore.  “Please Susan…Oh God, not again!”  The voice seemed so frantic…so full of emotion; it made no sense…inutile. Why it was even telling a ‘Susan’ to run somewhere in the first place was just as baffling. That poor, tormented creature obviously had no idea that that ship had sailed. Susan was already gone.

---

Credit: Shannon Higdon

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