I laid in my bed staring at the ceiling. I hadn’t been able to sleep for hours, instead, only capable of lying still, overwhelmed, thinking of nothing and everything at the same time. I hadn’t had the capability to talk to anyone, outside of dropping Alyss off at her apartment before coming home, and sending a text to Mea that just said

I’m sorry

I couldn’t do much else. Eventually, I must have fallen asleep, some sort of restless slumber akin to just closing my eyes for a mere second, because the next thing I knew, it was the following morning. Nearing afternoon, even. It had been nothing except a late night.

My eyes, puffy and dry, ached. I remembered I hadn’t eaten since yesterday at the restaurant, and now it was almost three pm. I should probably eat something, but my stomach roiled at the thought. I couldn’t do anything except sit there and stew, and acknowledge the fact that either I was indirectly responsible for my father’s death, or my stepmother was. Neither answer was much of an answer at all.

I rolled over in my bed, blinking. My brain was at war, screaming at myself to move, to get out of the bed and do something, anything, while the other half screamed back, shouting that all we wanted to do was curl up into a ball so tight, we no longer existed. It was such an attractive thought, not existing. I wouldn't have to deal with this overload, this overwhelming sense of grief and shock, this guilt. I didn’t know what to do with it.

Suddenly, the side pushing me to get up won, and I tumbled out of bed. I guess I should make coffee. But the thought of doing anything loomed over me, intimidating, simply too much energy required to do something so complex. Instead, I traipsed over the couch in the living room, and plopped down onto it. I tossed my head back against the cushions, my eyes swollen again.

I realized I hadn’t cried yet. It still didn’t feel real. When I woke up, there was a moment of bliss beforeI realized what had happened the night before. I hadn’t even seen my father yet. There was still plausible deniability, but my gut told me something I didn’t want to admit. It was true. He was dead. I just couldn't wrap my head around that just yet.

If I went to see my father, that would confirm my worst fears. Even though at my core, I already knew them. But if I didn’t go see my father, what kind of son was I? I would continue to live in this uncertainty, this purgatory. I turned on the wallscreen, eager to dull out any and every sense, drown it in the overload of useless information.

A few hours went by, or maybe days. I had no way of knowing, and no molecule of me could be bothered to care. My eyes were still dry and red, but they had never even begun to improve since I'd come home from the hospital. I was beginning to think this would be their permanent state. My wrist vibrated, which confused me. What the hell was that? I lifted my wrist in front of my face, investigating.

Ah, stupid. That’s my WaComm. I rarely had it on that signal, but it was fortunate that it was. It looked like Sheen was trying to get a hold of me. Numbly, I answered.

“Hey, bro, you doing okay?”

I blinked. How the fuck am I stupposed to answer that?

“I know, stupid question. Sorry. Mind if I come over? I’ve got all this extra food.”

He was being nice, being a good friend. Obviously he’d heard the news - everyone in the country would know by now. The mention of food awoke in me the hunger that had been lying dormant all day. “Oh, uh. Yeah sure. That’s probably a good idea.” I finally managed to say.

“Good cause I’m at your apartment. See you in a sec.”

The next thing I knew, Sheen was at my door. I was able to pull myself off of the couch, a feat much more difficult than I’d anticipated, and answered the door, letting him in.

He was carrying a large bag of something that smelled fried and delicious. The bag steamed, the grease sinking through the paper in his hands.

“Shit, this is heavy,” he said, setting the food down unceremoniously on the counter. “Help me eat this.”

The rest of our meal was in silence. I devoured the fried pork that he had brought so quickly, that we never had a chance to speak. Whenever my mouth was open, it was to fill it with fried, crunchy goodness.

Eventually, my stomach protested. I took another bite, however, to my immediate regret. We sat at the counter bar, our fingers coated in oils and grease, the mess of sauces everywhere else. I sighed, heavily and happily. For a moment, all I could think of were these delicacies, and it was a wondrous retreat from reality. I felt so grateful that Sheen was there.

My eyes flicked over to the end of the counter, where a glass bowl sat nondescript. Inside it was my father’s WaComm. I knew I wanted Sheen to take a look at it, but I had completely forgotten for a while. Of course, now he was here, and I had no excuse.

“Hey, Sheen, I’ve got a favor to ask of you.”

“It’s Dr. Fisher to you, Montgomery,” Sheen said, a wry smile on his face. “What’s up?”

I cleared my throat. “Do you think you could hack something for me?”

He raised his eyebrows and set down his last morsel of fried pork. “Oh, we’re doing that again, are we? What, your girl give you the slip?”

My eyes pleaded with him; immediately, I think he saw how desperate this moment was, because he turned serious as soon as I looked at him.

“Oh. Um, maybe. I need more information. Like, what am I hacking? And why?” He swallowed hard. “Perhaps even a who?”

“That’s what I’d like you to find out.” I got up to grab the WaComm from the bowl, only a few feet away from us. “This is my father’s. I need you to find out who he last spoke with.”

Sheen took the WaComm carefully, as if his fingers might damage the WaComm. He turned it over in his hands, examining it. “You want me… to hack your father’s WaComm… a cabinet member? To see who he was chatting with?”

“I think he might have been on the WaComm when… when it happened. I need to know who.”

Sheen licked his lips. “I see. Well, we have one big problem, first. His WaComm is encrypted beyond belief. It’s going to take a lot of firepower to get into it to begin with.”

“But you can do it?”

“I can do it. It’ll take a while, though.”

“...How long is a while?”

“I don’t know man, I won’t know until I get neck deep into it. But maybe a couple months? Or less. Don’t know. But... that’s not even the worst of it, buddy.”

I stared down at him, my future sanity hanging in the balance of his next words.

“once I get in, I assume whoever he may have been talking to, probably had stupid crazy encryption on their ID. I would. And that’ll probably take another few months to crack, minimum.”

I sighed. Of course, I should have known. Cybersecurity - even though it was a specialty of Sheen, was a time consuming effort. And whoever my father was talking to, wouldn’t want to be identified. On top of that, I knew how encrypted his WaComm was. Hell, he was my father. I knew exactly what he did for a living, quite intimately.

Maybe I could help crack the WaComm, at least.

“Sheen, if you knew his password…?”

Sheen blinked at me. “Well, yeah I guess. It’s a bit more complicated than that, though. Looks like a bio sensor or something. Several layers worth, probably. It’s not just a passphrase, although that’s probably a part of it. I’ll take a look and let you know dude. That’s all I got.”

I suppose it would have to be enough. I couldn’t risk going to the police, not with the culprit either being my stepmother, or god forbid anyone else in the cabinet. Until I knew more, I would have to keep it to myself. ourselves, I suppose, as I was involving Sheen. But I knew he would be discreet. I could count on him.

“Do you have an idea of what you’re looking for? Or rather, who?” Sheen asked.

I chewed my lip before answering. “Yeah. I do.”

Sheen nodded, rocking his head back and forth as he did so. “Right. Don’t wanna ruin the surprise. Alright, keep your secrets.”

Though I knew I could trust Sheen, I didn’t want to give the theories in my head more weight by speaking them aloud. And if it was Cerise, then she was craftier than I thought. I would have to be careful around her, and everyone else. I couldn’t afford to be this numb, useless grief-stricken thing. I would have to pull out of it, at least enough to function and plan. My survival might depend on it.