Deftly she worked. Red to red, black to black. Two expert twists of the needlenose pliers and this part of the job was almost done.
She was glad she wouldn't be around when the explosion occurred.
It was bound to be a mess. Blood and guts would pepper the room, she was sure. It was hard to even imagine what it would look like, smell like, taste like, but she ran through the possibilities in her mind, anyway. Unrecognizable globs of hair, bone, skin, and blood ... lots and lots of blood. Blood everywhere. She grimaced and suppressed a heave. It was too horrible to think of it.
If only he hadn't lied to her. That was the one thing she just could not abide. All she had ever asked of the son of a bitch was that he tell her the truth. Was that too goddamn much to ask? Carefully the slender fingers fitted the paired wires along the edge of the case, tucking them in like babes for the night. Did he think she was stupid? That she couldn't find out what the hell he was up to any time she wanted?
In her head swam visions of his vacant eyes staring back at her across the dining table. Oh, yes, his body was in the room but he was somewhere else. With someone else. Did he think his mere presence was enough? Was she supposed to be fulfilled by that? By simply having him around? By washing his clothes and cooking his meals? Was she to discover her joy like some rare pearl among the membranes of his silence and reluctant acquiescence?
She tore several short lengths of black tape off the roll and secured the wires under the casing's edge. Nice and neat. Then she reassembled the CPU and booted the system.
It had been so easy, actually, so ridiculously easy, that it made her smile. He thought he was being so cool, so secretive. Hell, his duplicity was written all over him.
It had been a snap to figure out his password. At first she thought she might have to resort to special software for that, one of those programs that grinds through every possible combination of letters and numbers until it scores. But it hadn't been necessary. His imagination left something to be desired.
The computer whirred and churned, booting up. She enjoyed the familiar sounds of the big Mac leaping to life, checking itself out, looking for all its parts. Finally, happy with the inventory, the cheery little sounds would stop and she could load "Fly".
Once she had gained access to his email, she found proof positive that he was fooling around. He was courting women from Maine to Minnesota. What a slick talker he was on the internet! No question about it, this was the medium of choice for a slimeball like him. Perusal of his email had proved extremely interesting. She'd heard about these chat groups that spring up on the internet, and it appeared he was involved in several of them. A real bon vivant. Yeah, he was a major player on the World Wide Web. Spinning weary lies, enticing equally weary prey.
She reached in her purse and extracted a small disk. It slipped into the external drive with a solid clunk. An icon appeared on the screen. Double click and the disk is open. Double click again on the "NO SOLUTIONS" folder. There it is. "Fly". She had wanted to name it "Fly on the Wall" but that name was a bit too long and far too explicit. She settled for "Fly". It was her finest creation to date. Too bad she could never tell anyone about it.
She had lurked on his chat groups for a long time before she made her presence known. Then one day he posted something and she replied to him privately. Just a little note, saying how much she had enjoyed his remarks. He liked that. He wrote back immediately. A conversation developed. Eventually a friendship. He poured out his heart to her about how miserable his life seemed, how unhappy he felt about who he was and what he had accomplished. She was very sympathetic. She could relate. She knew exactly what he was saying.
She opened the hard drive and located the system folder. Opened the system folder and scrolled to Control Panels. From the external disk she copied "Fly" into the Control Panels folder, where it belonged. "Fly" was an observer, basically. When activated, he did a little lurking himself. He knew everything that went on and recorded it. He could also be taught to execute certain commands. And just like his namesake, he left absolutely no trace of himself whatsoever. When this thing blew, there would be not one shred of evidence that Mr. Fly ever existed.
After a time he had begun to talk to her about his marriage. About how unhappy he was and how he didn't love his wife and wished she would divorce him. It had been fascinating stuff. If only he had talked to her like that face to face! Maybe they would have had a chance. But no, he couldn't tell his wife how unhappy he was. He could tell it to a perfect stranger on the internet, but not to her. Not to the person who needed to hear it.
"Fly" finished loading. She rebooted the machine and replenished her coffee while she waited, nuking the black liquid in the microwave for a minute. Coffee and computer were ready at the same time. She sat down at her workstation and grabbed the mouse. Under the Apple menu she selected Control Panels. Then "Fly". A window opened. She clicked on the little box beside "Activate". She set the attendant clock to start observations in ten minutes. The Fly was now on the wall.
She had asked him point blank so many times, and he had always lied to her. She wondered why he did that. The truth was so much easier. It might be painful, yes, but at least the wondering would be over. The hoping would be over. The silence and the loneliness and the isolation would be over. The worst kind of lonely is the kind you feel when the person you love is right there beside you. The frustration of living with someone who doesn't even like you would be over. There was kindness in that. Why couldn't he understand? There is always kindness in honesty, no matter how devastating it may seem on the surface. But he just couldn't seem to grasp the concept.
One more little task and she would be finished. She had to assign "Fly" a very important mission. He would definitely be checking his mail. He has to know where to find her. So ... okay, the next time the modem tries to dial out, "Fly" should send a command to the system clock to reset itself to 00:00:00. The same time as the clock attached to the CPU bomb. The instant both clocks reach zero hour ... K A B O O M !!!
She shuddered. Should she send him one last email message?
Naaah. Fuck it. Why waste the bandwidth?
She ejected her disk, arming the explosives.
youngblood, Sun 11 deg Aquarius 97 / Moon in Scorpio
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