The God Particle (20 page)

Ted Janzen: Thursday. Follow up on the recent bomb scare at DFW and investigate what measures local authorities have taken to ensure efficient response.

Kelly Smith: Friday. Cover the midnight execution of Gary Wilbur Donnell in Huntsville.

Kelly reads the assignment and then reads it again. Ted seems to notice her dismay and looks up from his monitor. His eyes are a fierce blue, and his hair would be graying if he didn’t die it ink black.

“Didn’t Pearson tell us how he liked to put decisions in the hands of the people doing the work?”

“That’s what I thought,” Kelly says. “What the hell is this? He wants me to drive to
Huntsville
? On
Friday
? To cover an
execution
?”

“I know. Looks like you drew the shit assignment this time.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“It’s bad enough,” Ted says, “that Frank thinks he’s God’s fucking gift to news directing. And now we get Pearson in here to order us around even more?”

“Hey, at least you don’t have to drive to Huntsville.”

“Not this time. I’m sure next week I’ll get the shit one.”

Kelly drops the memo back on Ted’s desk and then heads to her own. She should go back home, or maybe go run a few errands, because she’ll have to be back at two fifteen to start her regular work shift. But since she’s here, she might as well get a head start on the day’s e-mail, and maybe even do voice-over for some footage she shot on Friday, a story about local grocery stores overcharging customers. And of course what she really wants to do is read through Mike’s latest message again, and maybe even respond to it.

She powers on her computer and listens for a moment to the vague whirring and beeping sounds, knowing innately that the hard drive must be the source of some of that noise, that maybe her floppy drive does something, and supposes that Mike McNair could explain to her in artful detail each sound and the component from which it originates. He could probably tell her why she must wait nearly three minutes for her computer to stop huffing and puffing and finally be ready to accept a command. He could probably explain a whole library of things she never cared about before, that have always operated beneath her radar. That she suddenly finds intriguing and worthy of consideration.

Kelly realizes Ted just said something she missed. “I’m sorry, Ted. What did you say?”

“I asked how it was going with James. You guys still talk all the time?”

She recently made the mistake of confiding in Ted when a group from the newsroom met for drinks after a late Thursday newscast. She rarely talks about James to anyone, as if revealing details about their relationship amounts to even more betrayal, but after a few martinis her tongue sort of ran away with itself. Ted, in turn, was impressed enough with her candor to reveal doubts about the continued solvency of his twenty-year marriage. Kelly herself has little doubt, especially after his recent automobile purchase (a black convertible Corvette), but tried hard to convince him that twenty years was something worth saving. He didn’t seem particularly willing to accept her argument, and since then has begun to fish for more personal information about her.

“We talk. It’s okay, I guess.”

“I’m surprised you guys are still friends. When I was dating, I could never maintain a relationship with a girl after we broke up.”

She opens her e-mail and is surprised to find only two unread messages from last night. And right below them is Mike’s. She clicks on it, savors this line again:

But we seem to have stumbled into this profound discussion, and I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it, this thought-provoking conversation with you.

“We’re too close to cut off communication completely,” she says to Ted. “James moved here with me from Phoenix. I can’t just turn off my feelings about him.”

“But what’s your next boyfriend going to think about that?”

It’s not often that I meet someone as intelligent and attractive as you. I’d like to see you again.

“I don’t know,” Kelly says. “I suppose I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

She wants to reply to Mike, but she can’t do it right now, not with Ted asking her about James. And then she notices one of the two new messages is from [email protected], the same guy who sent the last crazy e-mail. The subject line is: Hello again. She can’t help but open it.

Don’t be an idiot Kellye open your eyes. This is unnacceptable. Cant’ you see it isn’t FAIR? When is it MY turn? Huh. He doesn’t love you I DO. I’m not accepting defeat anymore you FUCKHOLE BITCH . That’s right you are a FUCKHOLE BITCH unless you open your eyes and SEE good and evil. Unless you COME to the lord of LIGHT.

You shall see hail fall from a CLEAR sky. Everything is going extremely well, Hal said.

So I’m just telling you this for your own good Kelly.

C-ya!!

P.S. I shop at Target just like you do!

Kelly reads the message and then reads it again. She’s heard the stories, like they all have, of news personalities being stalked by fans. She’s familiar with Kathryn Dettman, who was murdered by a disturbed viewer right here in Texas. Of course you never think it will happen to you. You don’t expect to open your in-box one Tuesday morning and find someone calling you a FUCKHOLE BITCH.

“Hey, Ted. Take a look at this e-mail.”

Ted walks over. Stands behind her and reads.

“Whoa,” he says. “Freako alert.”

“I know. I got one from the same guy over the weekend. You think I should show Frank?”

“Of course you should.”

“But it’s not like he can do anything. He can’t figure out who it is. Anybody can give false information and sign up on Yahoo!”

“Yeah, but I’d show Frank anyway. Just in case the guy ever shows up here. Better safe than sorry.”

“Frank’s in there with Pearson right now,” Kelly says, and locks her computer. “I guess I’ll do it when I come back this afternoon.”

“You gonna be all right?” Ted asks her.

“I’ll be fine. Just want to get out of here for now. I’m not sure I even want to shop at Target anymore.”

This makes Ted chuckle. “I’m sure he doesn’t know where you live. You’re unlisted, right?”

“Yeah, but you never know these days. The only way to be completely safe from a stalker is to change your lifestyle, but what kind of life is that?”

4

From:
Kelly Smith ([email protected])
To:
Mike McNair ([email protected])
Subject:
RE: Hey there!

Hey Mike,

Thanks for writing back. You are very sweet. I’m not sure I’m smart enough to keep up this conversation with you, but I’ll try!

First: full disclosure here. At my church we don’t really get into the Genesis debate. I didn’t say this before because I was curious how you would respond (quite emphatically, I might add!!) to my comments about Twain, but I’m Unitarian. Our church has roots in Christianity, but we no longer regard the Bible as the ultimate authority in matters of faith (I copied that line off our website!). We think personal integrity comes first and foremost, we don’t believe you are born in sin, we believe in the worth and dignity possible in every person. We believe in love and acceptance, in the democratic process, and we believe in an interdependent web of all existence of which humans are only a part.

So you can see how I was pretty interested to hear about those “fringe” physicists who think there could be some kind of collective reality. That sounds a lot like our ideas. See there, my beliefs aren’t as far away from physics as you might think!

But I have to be honest with you, Mike. When I said I wasn’t available, that wasn’t exactly the truth. I’m not dating anyone, but I broke up with someone very special several months ago. I still talk to him quite a bit, and when guys ask me out I tend to say no. But I really enjoyed talking to you on the plane. You are a very nice and intelligent man, and you seem to be very passionate about your work and about life. (And it doesn’t hurt that you have a beautiful smile!)

It’s sort of ironic that we’re even having this e-mail exchange b/c I get a lot of fan mail and some of it is not very nice. I’ve received a couple of disturbing messages from this one guy just since I met you. But I guess that comes with the job, huh? As long as he doesn’t “cross the line” and make contact in person.

Well, I’m going to hit this e-mail ball back into your court. I appreciate you being patient (and persistent) with me. And I’d like to hear more about that collective reality thing if you get a chance.

Best, K

From:
Mike McNair ([email protected])
To:
Kelly Smith ([email protected])
Subject:
RE: Hey there!

Hi again Kelly,

That was interesting what you told me about Unitarians. You’re right—we’re not as far apart as I thought. I don’t know how much more I can tell you about the collective reality thing, though. We certainly haven’t found it at the NTSSC! Ha ha. I guess the idea is analogous to what we talked about on the plane, though, how the universe is just a bunch of jiggling particles bathed in force fields. Since there are only a few kinds of particles, and they make up everything from brain tissue to lead to the core of the sun, since they all exist in our same universe and affect each other in some small way, then we’re all part of this collective reality (or web of existence, whichever you prefer). The difference between proven physics (like the work I do) and more metaphysical ideas (like the supposition of a collective reality that can be accessed by human consciousness) is evidence. I can prove that two hydrogen atoms and one oxygen atom make up water. But I can’t prove that my mind and yours can influence each other at great distances, other than to write you emails or talk to you on the phone. People cite twins with “shared pain” and other examples of telepathic communication as evidence, but no controlled study has ever proven the existence of any kind of real telepathy (at least none that I’m aware of). So even though I would love the idea to be true, I’m not holding my breath to find it any time soon.

As far as your ex-boyfriend, I appreciate your honesty and I understand. When I came to Texas I left someone behind in Chicago, a girl I had dated, on and off, since college. She is a tenured professor of anthropology at U of I in Chicago and for various reasons we weren’t able to maintain our relationship after I moved away. It was a difficult transition back into the “single” world, because I wasn’t used to meeting girls and was never very good at it in the first place. But I’m glad I met you.

I understand if you’re hesitant to meet new people because of your feelings for your ex, but I don’t bite. In fact, I give tours of our facility all the time and would love to give you one. Or maybe you could come do a story on us. Either way, I’d like to see you again. Hopefully sometime soon.

Take care,
Mike

5

Tuesday afternoon and Larry’s in his office, absently browsing around the Internet. Happens across a website with a list of the ninety-nine hottest women celebrities, and while he disagrees with the order, he does find a couple of new women he hasn’t heard of before. Googles those women and bookmarks a few new sites chock full of hi-res photos. Fields a call from Gerald Miles, who’d like to add a block of code to the trigger, something he thinks might augment Mike’s idea for the rejection sample. Lies to Gerald. Hangs up and goes back to the Internet, searching for a good hangover remedy, because water and Advil haven’t put a dent in this one. Would rather not have to reach into the desk and take a swig of his emergency Crown.

He was pretty drunk by the time he finally typed the e-mail to Kelly last night, and the result was a nearly incoherent message that even he found somewhat distasteful. Which is stupid, because she could easily forward e-mail threats to her boss or even the police. And maybe he’s somewhat safe behind his anonymous e-mail address, but he’s not perfectly safe, not if the FBI gets involved and tracks down the IP address from which the e-mail originated.

The knowledge of this, and of Mike’s continued interest in Kelly, led to a blackout evening. Because the only way to deal with the cruelty and injustice of this world is to not deal with it at all. Blot the whole thing out with half a bottle of Crown Royal.

There is work to do. New action items from staff meetings, like problems with the middleware (again) and complaints about network speed. There are always problems. The world is full of them. He doesn’t understand how it got this way, how
he
got this way, and he doesn’t really see any way out of it that’s not going to injure someone. Especially since he doesn’t care for the idea of injuring himself.

A knock on the door. It’s Samantha, smiling. He smiles back, in spite of himself. Decides he shouldn’t have been so harsh on her last night, since she was by far the high point of his Monday.

“Hey, Larry,” she says. “Can I talk to you a minute?”

“Sure. Have a seat.”

He closes his browser and turns to face her.

“I had a good time last night,” she says to him.

“Me, too. It was . . .”

“Surprising?”

“Yeah. I mean, when we went for the drink, I certainly didn’t think we’d end up back at my place.”