Chapter 22

Heidi Sheppard

January

Even with all the fans, the computer room got hot as hell in January. The hottest month of the year. Heidi didn’t mind the heat; she didn’t mind sweating. But sweat dripped into her eyes when she was soldering circuit boards, which was often a delicate procedure. She wore a headband to help with this, but moisture still sometimes got in the wiring. Someday she would have a real workplace, cool and dry and clean.

The radio on the desk squawked. “Come in Bishop, this is Knight, over.”

Heidi switched the pliers from her right hand to her left, then without looking reached over to the radio. “This is Bishop. How far out are you? Over.” She loved the sound of the radio squeaking and the distortion of voices from the other end. It meant he was back from work.

“Just off the north beach. The swells are really coming in. Want to head out this evening? Over.”

Heidi finished clamping the wires and looked up out the window in front of her. It had a fine screen on it to keep out insects, but the jungle outside and the stony beach off to the right were visible through the mesh. The dock hid just out of view. The angle of the shadows told her that it was late afternoon. A warm, thick breeze drifted through the computer room, carrying the rich scent of the jungle and doing little to cool her off, but the treetops outside swayed to a stronger force. Yes, she remembered thinking earlier today that the waves would be good on the north shore, but she hadn’t been motivated to go take advantage of them. But then, she hadn’t known Alan was coming.

She stood and wiped her forehead. “I’ll pack us dinner,” she replied. “Over.”

“Sounds good.” And even though it was clear he didn’t intend to say more, “Over.”

Dinner? They didn’t have much good picnic food at the moment. Beer and sandwiches, she guessed.

She checked her personal computer by habit on the way out and discovered that someone had sent her an email. This was a rare occurrence; she didn’t regularly exchange emails with anybody and very little spam made it past her filters.

Her curiosity intensified when she saw that it was from herself. Or rather, her own email account. Which shouldn’t be possible, since she was logged in. Maybe it was a delayed-send from sometime in the past? But she didn’t remember leaving a message for her future self.

She sat down at the computer. If Alan was off the north shore, she still had a few minutes before he arrived.

The message read:

Hello. This is a note to myself, January 26. If you are still on the island, make sure your computer is not set to automatically delete spam. Better to disable spam filters entirely. If you have left the island, access a random public computer and check your email there.

You will soon receive an email from a girl you do not know. DO NOT DELETE THIS EMAIL. You have to trust her, and believe everything she says. Use the CHIME chat client. This is important.

Ha. This email now sounds like spam. As proof that I am you: three sets of wind chimes hang outside the window of my room. Or they used to. One was made by Alan, and it was out of tune, and it always bothered me, but I never said anything. One day I was playing saxophone and figured out that it was sort-of in the key of Eb. By the way, you should keep playing saxophone.

Maybe you will never read this. Maybe things didn’t work out. Either way, I want you all to know that we are sorry. We are so sorry. If you are reading this, just remember that.

One more thing. On this day, Alan will give you a present. Do not lose it.

Goodbye. Good luck.

- Heidi Czeslaw

Heidi read this through several times, each with mounting apprehension. She had no memory of writing this. But it did seem to be her. Who else would know about the wind chimes? Heidi had never said or written anything about that. But if it was really she who wrote this, and then somehow forgot, why on Earth would she have used her legal name, Czeslaw? She never used that name. Further proof?

Heidi leaned back in the chair and frowned. The writer of this email seemed to have written it some time in the past. The writer didn’t even know if Heidi would be on the island or not. They said “still,” as though Heidi might have left entirely. The writer made two predictions: she would receive an email from a girl she didn’t know, and Alan would give her a present. The first would be suspicious even if it did happen. After all, this email emphatically states that Heidi should trust this stranger. It had the taste of a scam. But Alan giving her a present—if that happened, then she’d have to believe something was up. She hadn’t even known today that Alan would be coming back from work. It should have been impossible to predict his schedule.

And what was all this about failing, and being sorry? And who was “we?” She supposed she could remember it, as the email said. No harm there. Something about that paragraph made her uneasy. It was probably just her imagination, but it had such a ring of sincerity to it.

Heidi decided she’d worry about this later. She had dinner to make, and Alan to surf with. She checked her spam filters before she logged out. They were set to delete spam after seven days. That would be fine; no need to disable them entirely. No recent spam seemed to be from a strange girl.

It didn’t take long for her to put together some packed dinner. Roast beef with cheddar and pickles; their favorite. She grabbed a couple cans of beer, then went out back and pumped up water from the well, filling some glass jars. The well water usually contained sediment, but it was good to drink.

She took their lunches and surfboards out to the dock. She had just waxed the boards yesterday. She sat at the end of their makeshift pier and waited for the boat, dangling sandaled feet into the gentle waves. The pier jutted out of a small rocky beach in a sheltered bay. Reefs beyond broke the waves as they came in strong with an easterly wind. The bungalow’s alignment with the bay gave it an excellent view of the sunrise. Now, in late afternoon, the shadows of the palm groves around the house stretched nearly to the water, swaying gently in the warm breeze. Weak waves lapped at the stony shore.

She heard the sound of the outboard motor, and a minute later Alan’s boat rounded the northern promontory. They waved at each other as he expertly pulled up to the pier. He tossed her a mooring line as he stepped off the boat.

“Got off early?” she asked as she loosely secured the rope.

“Yup,” he said. “Off for a few days.” Heidi slowed in the act of tying off the rope. Alan was trying to sound casual, but a certain tension in his voice told her that something had happened. She decided not to worry about it. He looked fine, and he would tell her about it if he thought she needed to know.

In silence they brought in the groceries and supplies. He had a bag of things he’d brought for her: some tools, wire, old circuit boards, saxophone reeds although she hadn’t used the last ones yet, hot sauce, tampons, and an old Sylvester Stallone movie she’d never heard of that he probably picked up in a bargain bin somewhere, which they would get a kick out of watching together and then add to their hoard of cheesy 80’s action flicks. They loaded the surfboards and packed dinner. Alan refueled the boat, used the washroom, and then they were off.

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Heidi enjoyed riding in boats more than driving them. It allowed her to relax and watch the scenery. The coast of their little island drifted by on the left as Alan took them to the north beach. In the distance in other directions lay a multitude of similar islands, many of them too small to be inhabited. Alan worked security at a research center on a larger island close to the mainland. October Industries.

They made it to the beach, and when they had pulled up the boat and planted their dinner in the sand Alan held something out to her. “Got something for you,” he said. “Little souvenir from the lab.”

Heidi approached and took the object with care. It was a pendant, some kind of teardrop-shaped glass or crystal the size of a quarter attached to a leather cord. The glass or crystal was cloudy, but there appeared to be an impurity within, a sinuous black shape trapped inside. The gift was interesting and pretty without being gaudy. She liked it.

“What is it?” She tied it around her neck.

“Not sure,” he replied. “Just something the guys at the lab didn’t need anymore.”

“Is it important?” Heidi decided the risk of it coming off her neck while surfing was too great. She removed it and tied it around her left wrist.

“Not anymore. It’s used up, or flawed or something. Why?”

They both sat in the sand to put on the ankle-straps. “I got an email today saying you would give me a present, and not to lose it.”

Alan scratched his short graying beard as he considered this.

“It also said a girl would email me, and I should trust her. The email came from my own account, and I think it really was me who wrote it, but I don’t remember.” They began walking into the surf.

“Interesting,” said Alan.

“It wasn’t you, was it?” she asked.

“Nope. But if the girl does email you, I’d like to know what it says.”

Heidi nodded. They lay down on their boards and began paddling.

Later, they sat on the beach and watched the waves come in as they ate sandwiches and sipped beer. When they had finished, Heidi showed Alan a paper target full of bullet holes. The fist-sized red dot in the center had nearly disintegrated. “Nine millimeter,” she said. “twenty paces.”

“Your paces or mine?” said Alan with a smile. Heidi punched him in the arm. It was like punching a sandbag. But Alan nodded in approval of her marksmanship.

They retrieved a .308 Winchester rifle from the boat and spent some time shooting coconuts on the beach and picking them off distant trees.

They put out as the sun began to set and drove home in choppy waters, beneath a golden sky. Alan let Heidi drive the boat, and she navigated using the brass compass he had given her for her birthday even though it was completely unnecessary for just going along the coast.

Alan set up a chess board when they got home, but Heidi suggested that they work out instead. They went out back to the shed where the weights were kept, and Alan put on some music: classic big-band jazz. Duke Ellington and the rest. He liked that she played saxophone—he had never been musical—and this was his way of trying to encourage her. She didn’t play that much anymore. Maybe the email was right; maybe she should start practicing again.

The weights never stopped rusting, but that was okay. Now that she had a spotter she could safely reach her limit on bench. Her limit was roughly a third of Alan’s but that was okay too. He was, after all, a big ex-military man, whereas she was a fifteen-year-old girl. They both did upper body workouts. Heidi had to jump to reach the pull-up bar, which she was always a little embarrassed about, especially in front of Alan. Just a little. It was okay. She would grow. She was sure of it. There was no way in hell she would remain this short.

They took turns showering when they had finished, and then sat down for a game of chess. Alan made tea and whittled absent-mindedly while watching the board as though it might make a sudden move. Alan won.

Afterward they both sat down to read in two comfy chairs—the only two comfy chairs in the bungalow, situated together in the small living room. Heidi read using an electronic reader. There weren’t many physical books at the bungalow, and the ones that existed she had read already. She was working on the Dark Tower series by Stephen King.

Alan read a battered paperback copy of The Stand in a spirited effort to understand Heidi’s taste in literature. He kept leaving it at the bungalow and just picking up where he had left off days or weeks before. He kept forgetting characters and plot points.

After an hour or so they wordlessly closed their books and stood up from their chairs and stretched. They said goodnight, and Alan slipped through the curtain into his bedroom. Heidi had one thing to do first.

She went to the computer room and checked her email. She had a new one, and it had not been blocked by any spam filter. It was from “lepidoptera_hunter.” Before opening it, Heidi looked up the word “lepidoptera.” Moths and butterflies. The subject line read “Hello!!” with two exclamation points.

The body of the email was brief:

Hi! I’m Kaitlyn Carter. I know you don’t know me, but I think it would be great if we could be friends! Or at least be pen pals and talk to each other and stuff. What things do you like? Tell me about yourself! I like butterflies and science and music and my friends. (Actually I like all animals, not just butterflies!) I live in England. Okay, I hope I can talk to you later!

Heidi read this carefully several times, seeking hidden meanings and finding none. This? This is what was so important that she couldn’t delete it? And she was supposed to ‘trust’ this Kaitlyn girl? She hadn’t said anything! Maybe it was a mistake? It was hard to imagine how this might be important. But on the other hand, if she hadn’t received an email from her past self…yes, she probably would have marked this email as spam and not bothered to respond. So, she supposed she should trust her past self and at least give this Kaitlyn a chance.

But she wouldn’t reply right away. First she would track down Kaitlyn Carter online and see what she could learn about her. Tomorrow.

A knock came at the door, and Heidi turned as Alan poked his head through. “Better put up the shutters,” he said. And he was right; now that Heidi paid attention, she realized the wind was really picking up outside.

So in the darkness outside the two of them fixed the storm shutters over all of the windows and secured everything tightly in position, especially the boats.

Then, after a long and interesting and generally great day, the two of them went to bed.