Lighthouse Nights

4

a new message appeared in the room: 

john-ff7 has joined the chat.

“asian-john signed on,” trevor said.

“i see him,” jules replied.

*  *  *

john-ff7 has joined the chat.

gabe scanned the new text on his computer screen and smiled. between the constant talk of death, depression and loneliness in the suicide chat room, john was a breath of fresh air. whenever the guy joined the chat, gabe stopped watching the drama from the sidelines and piped up.

he zipped his fingers across the keys, pressed return, and watched his message appear:

dante_fire18: johhhhn! what’s up my brotha?

00sexboy00: look who it is! asian-john! whats up asian-john?

“sexboy,” gabe muttered to himself, “such a dick.”

john didn’t respond to either greeting. the last time they talked online was saturday evening when john encouraged gabe to give the invitation to rose and gabe encouraged john to live another day.

he dipped a cracker in a smudge of peanut butter and ate it. he took another cracker, leaned over his computer desk, slipped it through the vertical metal bars, and dropped it in edgar’s food dish. (gabe was aware that poe wrote about a RAVEN and not a CROW, but the name “edgar” fit his pet’s personality so he ignored the technicality.)

edgar hopped around his floor-to-ceiling cage and snatched the cracker in his beak.

“enjoy it, little man,” gabe said.

his bedroom layout was defined in the darkness by dusky patches of light. a desk lamp and computer screen created the amber aura at his workspace, spilling just enough light to catch the sheen of edgar’s feathers and the bars of the cage. broken moonlight spilled through the second-story windows on both sides of his desk. a digital projector was mounted to the ceiling above his head and threw a mirrored image of his computer screen on the far wall; the image of chat-room text was as tall as the bedroom and more than eleven feet wide. bounced light from the projector touched the foosball table on the right, the bookshelves on the left, and the couch--separating the desk from the massive screen--in the center.

gabe watched his bird peck the cracker, then swiveled in his aeron chair and refocused on the chat between emma and butterfly.

“gothic butterfly” wanted to kill herself. she talked about suicide pacts every night since gabe stumbled into the room three weeks ago. now she was determined to find a partner in death despite gabe’s pleas to reconsider.

the conversations gabe witnessed in this digital world almost made him wish he had a reason to kill himself too. if he could understand that darkness, he would be a better artist.

he bit another cracker in half and typed again.

dante_fire18: john? you here? i have good news!

*  *  *

“where the hell is asian-john?” trevor asked.

jules was transfixed on her screen. “don’t know, don’t care. we’re so close to emma...”

john_ff7: hey dante... sup sexboy...