7

            When Anthony clicked the link, a new browser window opened, filling his screen.  Quickly, the browser rendered a page comprised of a large dialogue box with a light, grayish background.

            It was a chat room, but it was hosted on a web site with an indecipherable web address.  A secure site, presumably, though Anthony had no clue exactly who might be interested in this chat.

            TRUTHGIVER15 was already in the room.  Anthony’s own chat room handle was already selected for him: GHOSTWRITER79.

            “Funny,” Anthony said.

            Staring at the screen, he bent forward in the chair.  He typed a message, fingers tingling.

            GHOSTWRITER79: WHO R U?

            TRUTHGIVER15: DID YOU READ PSALM 37:32?

            GHOSTWRITER79: YES. WHO R U?

            TRUTHGIVER15: A FRIEND WHO KNOWS THE TRUTH.

            “We’ll see about that,” Anthony said under his breath.  “The jury’s still out.”

GHOSTWRITER79: HOW DO I KNOW THIS ISN’T A JOKE? 

            TRUTHGIVER15: DID YOU FIND THE LURE? 

            GHOSTWRITER79: HOW DID U KNOW ABOUT THAT?

            TRUTHGIVER15: I WAS THERE WHEN THEY FOUND YOUR FATHER’S BODY.

            Anthony rocked backward in the chair.  He felt as if someone had kicked him in the stomach.         

            Old memories flooded his mind.  Staring at his father’s lifeless body on the floor of the boat.  Pulling his dad into his arms, blood drenching his clothes, his hands.  Screaming, screaming, screaming . . .  Somehow managing to start the motor and steer the boat across the lake and back to the docks, gaze straight ahead, refusing to look at his dad for he knew if he did he would lose it . . .

            That was where his mind hit a wall.  He couldn’t remember what had happened after he reached the docks, as if the part of his brain that stored events in memory had simply switched off like an overloaded circuit.  All he could remember happening afterward was sitting on a hard plastic chair in the local police station, waiting for his mom and sister to arrive.

            If this guy was saying he’d been there when they’d found Dad’s body ashore, maybe he was telling the truth. 

            Anthony blotted his damp palms on his lap, and typed again:

            GHOSTWRITER79: PROVE 2 ME U WERE THERE.

            TRUTHGIVER15: YOUR DAD WAS WEARING A GEORGIA TECH CAP. THERE WAS A STEEL THERMOS OF COFFEE IN THE BOAT.  HE WORE A SILVER SPORTS WATCH, THE SAME WATCH YOU WEAR TODAY.

            As the words filled the screen, Anthony was twisting the watch around his wrist.  Jesus.  Only someone who had been there would know these details.  None of these things had ever been printed in the newspaper, weren’t included even in the official police report.  Anthony had read the documents himself, using his relative celebrity to convince the cops to let him take a peek at the case file.

            Whoever TRUTHGIVER15 was, he had been there.

            TRUTHGIVER15: NOT AN ACCIDENT, ANTHONY.  IT WAS A COVER UP.

            “Of course it was,” Anthony whispered.  “Don’t you think I know that?”

            He pounded the keys:

            GHOSTWRITER79: WHO DID IT?

            TRUTHGIVER15:  I’M SORRY YOU HAD TO SEE THAT HAPPEN. YOU WERE ONLY A KID.  IT WAS A TERRIBLE THING.

            GHOSTWRITER79: TELL ME WHO DID IT!

            TRUTHGIVER15: NOT ON HERE.  NOT SAFE.

            GHOSTWRITER15: WERE U INVOLVED?

            Anthony waited.  The messenger did not respond—and his silence was an answer in itself.

            “Sonofabitch,” Anthony said. 

            He shot out of the chair, paced around the desk.  Hands clenched into fists.  He had a strong and entirely irrational urge to smash his hand through the screen, as if he could grab the so-called “friend” by the throat on the other side of the Web connection and strangle a confession out of him.

            The computer beeped.

            TRUTHGIVER15: I WANT TO HELP YOU FIND OUT THE TRUTH.

            “Now you want to do the right thing, asshole?” Anthony said.  “Fifteen fucking years later?”

            He sat down hard and hammered the keyboard:

            GHOSTWRITER79: WHY DO U CARE?  THAT WAS 15 YEARS AGO!

            TRUTHGIVER15: JUSTICE NEEDS TO BE DONE.

            GHOSTWRITER79: U COULD HAVE DONE JUSTICE THEN.  TELL ME THE TRUTH!!!!

            TRUTHGIVER15: NOT ON HERE. NOT SAFE.

            GHOSTWRITER79: NOT SAFE FROM WHO?

            TRUTHGIVER15: VERY POWERFUL ORGANIZATION.

            GHOSTWRITER79: GIVE ME A NAME.

            TRUTHGIVER15:  TOO DANGEROUS. THEY MONITOR THE WEB.

            It made no sense at all.  Why would an organization as powerful as this person was suggesting mastermind his dad’s murder?  His father had written about sports, for God’s sake.  He hadn’t been some investigative political reporter, digging up explosive stories that would topple the White House.  He’d just been Dad, devoted husband, great father, an all-around ordinary guy.

            All that was true, but he’d always suspected there was someone big behind Dad’s murder, hadn’t he?  A conspiracy.  The question was: why?      

            The computer beeped again.

            TRUTHGIVER15: READ MATTHEW 7:15.

            Anthony ripped open a drawer, grabbed a steno pad and pen, and jotted down the scripture.

            GHOSTWRITER79: MORE BIBLE VERSES? WHAT ARE YOU, A PRIEST?

            TRUTHGIVER15: FAR FROM IT.  WE MUST MEET.      

            GHOSTWRITER79: NAME A TIME AND PLACE.

            TRUTHGIVER15: GO WHERE YOUR FATHER WOULD TAKE YOU AFTER GT BALL GAMES.  22:00 TONIGHT.     

            How could this guy know about that place?  Anthony hadn’t visited it in well over a decade.

            GHOSTWRITER79: I’LL BE THERE.  HOW WILL I KNOW U?

            TRUTHGIVER15: I KNOW YOU.

            GHOSTWRITER79: YOU’VE BEEN WATCHING ME.  THAT’S HOW U GOT THE LETTER IN MY TRUCK.  WHO THE HELL ARE U?  GIVE ME A NAME, SOMETHING.

            TRUTHGIVER15: CALL ME BOB.

Bob?  Hi, and I’m John Doe, nice to meet you.

            GHOSTWRITER79: LAST NAME? 

            TRUTHGIVER15: BARKER.

            Anthony laughed out loud.  Bob Barker.  Sure, man.       

            TRUTHGIVER15: KEEP THIS SECRET, ANTHONY. THEY ARE EVERYWHERE.  SEE YOU @ 22:00.

            TRUTHGIVER15 left the chat.  The chat room vanished, the browser window closing, as if the guy’s exit triggered a session deactivation.    

            His tongue felt like a board.  He grabbed the bottle of water and chugged the rest of it in a few big gulps.

            Glancing at the notepad, he found a Web site that contained the full text of the Bible.  He pulled up Matthew 7:15.

Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep’s clothing,
but inwardly they are ravening wolves.

            What the hell was that supposed to mean?           

            The security system chirped, signaling that a door or window had been opened somewhere in the house.  He heard feather-light footsteps traveling across the floor upstairs. 

            Rising, he flipped up the edge of his shirt and grasped the Beretta.  He stepped into the hallway outside the office and edged toward the staircase.

            “Lisa?  That you up there?”

            “The one and only!” she said.

            He slid his hand off the gun.