But I still love this story. heart
NOTE: WRITTEN LAST YEAR (2005) WITH MINIMAL EDITING.
:cue intro:
I had seen her fall.
Watching that girl throw herself off that ledge, not being able to do anything—that was the worst moment of my life.
Jessica Stevenson had been her name. The name I had shouted into my cell phone as I stared at the lifeless body, my tears dripping onto it. The name engraved on the headstone—Jessica Ashley Stevenson-1989-2005, along with the tribute “We never truly knew you.” The name shoved in my face when I went back to school a few days later.
Jessica Stevenson—the name on the sender line of an email everyone at school received precisely one week after her death.
“Elias.” Jerked from my usual state of dazedness, I looked up at the girl standing above me in an attempt to look menacing.
I grunted noncommittally in response.
“What did you do?” She glared at me.
“What?”
“To Megan! What did you do to Megan?” She flung her arm towards a girl sitting a couple of rows ahead of me. The girl was slumped over, head on her arms. She appeared to be crying.
After the initial twang of sympathy, I shrugged and replied simply, “Don’t know her.”
“Don’t know her? You damn well know her!” She fumed at me, and I sat back in my seat.
“Nope.” I slouched down more. “Don’t know her, don’t know you.”
“You’re the one that sent that hurtful prank email from Jessica’s account!”
I froze at the mention of the girl I had seen die. “Jessica….Stevenson?” was all I could manage to say.
“Yes!” She looked triumphantly at me. “I knew it was you sending it—”
"What about Jessica?” I demanded.
The girl looked surprised. “There’s an email everyone in school received, with Jessica’s account being the sender. Really, Elias, I would’ve figured you were into technology, what with your dad and all.”
I shook my head. “No, no…I’m not much for computers.”
“Oh.” She looked dejected. “Well, I’m sorry to accuse you, then.”
“It’s not a big deal. Don’t worry about it. Thanks for the info about that email, though.”
Please state your name.
The hazy light from the computer strained my eyes. For a moment, I considered turning on the light in my room, but something made me decide against it.
“Elias Martin,” I said aloud, knowing it wouldn’t do anything.
Name accepted.
I stared at the screen. Not possible.
Please state password.
“I didn’t know I had one,” I murmured, overwhelmed by this new technology.
Please state what you would like to use as a password.
“How can you understand me?” A pointless question, but one I had to ask.
Confirm password.
I blinked.
“How can you understand me,” I repeated.
Password confirmed. Welcome, Elias Martin.
I winced at the harsh sound of my name said through mechanical vocals. Something about it just seemed wrong.
Elias, you have one new message.
I watched my cursor move itself over where “New Message” was blinking; entranced as it clicked, opening the email.
[the following emails were taken from the inbox of Elias’s email account on October 13, 2005]
{October 1, 2005, 6:38 PM. Jessica Stevenson to Elias Martin.}
Welcome, Elias. I was beginning to wonder when you were going to get an account.
{October 1, 2005, 6:40 PM. Elias Martin to Jessica Stevenson.}
How is this possible? You’re dead.
{October 1, 2005, 6:41 PM. Jessica Stevenson to Elias Martin.}
The line between this world and yours is getting blurrier. It’s not as hard as you think.
{October 1, 2005, 6:44 PM. Elias Martin to Jessica Stevenson.}
My world? Where are you?
{October 1, 2005, 6:50 PM. Jessica Stevenson to Elias Martin.}
In the wired world. The network. Internet, if you will.
{October 1, 2005, 6: 53 PM. Elias Martin to Jessica Stevenson.}
What do you mean? How are you alive?
{October 1, 2005, 6:55 PM. Jessica Stevenson to Elias Martin.}
My body is gone, but my soul remains. All through the power of the wired universe.
{October 1, 2005, 6:58 PM. Elias Martin to Jessica Stevenson.}
How can you talk to me, if only your soul remains?
{October 1, 2005, 6:59 PM. Jessica Stevenson to Elias Martin.}
I told you the line between the regular world and the wired world is blurring. I’ve had my soul in here a while, but just recently have I been able to make contact.
{October 1, 2005, 7:05 PM. Elias to Jessica Stevenson.}
How do you make contact? How’d you get into that world?
{October 1, 2005, 7:07 PM. Jessica Stevenson to Elias Martin.}
I cannot answer that. You are the only one who has believed me.
{October 1, 2005, 7:09 PM. Elias Martin to Jessica Stevenson.}
Why can’t you answer?
{October 1, 2005, 7:10 PM. Jessica Stevenson to Elias Martin.}
I cannot. I have to go. I’ll see you later, though. ;D
I sat at my desk, still numb from the previous night. Thoughts meandered through my head, but I let them pass.
“Mr.…"
There was absolutely no way possible for her to be alive, much less over the Internet. For God’s sake, I had been the one to call 911! And what did she mean that the line between the two worlds was blurring?
“Mr.…”
“Mr. Martin!”
My head jerked up to see my teacher hovering over me.
“Are you taking notes, young man?” she glared at me from beneath thick-paned glasses.
“No, ma’am.” I dropped my head back to the notebook in front of me, where I had scribbled. Making out my own writing was harder than I thought…
Impossible…
Not real…
I want to go…
The last statement shocked me. What was influencing these thoughts?
I looked up at the whiteboard in an attempt to escape the somewhat significant scribbles, only to find that the writing on the board was blurry.
I blinked.
Still nothing.
I blinked again.
Before my eyes, I watched the letters rearrange themselves, squiggling across the board, spelling out three fateful words.
Check your email.
I ran home that day, skidding around corners, inciting angry yells and blaring horns from drivers on the always hectic streets from the school to my house.
I leapt a fence in and attempt to get home more quickly; unfortunately, this involved crossing the busy train tracks. It was something of an art form in my neighborhood. Today, however, I sprinted across the tracks, taking no notice of any oncoming traffic.
Skidding around the corner, I stopped dead in my tracks. Standing in front of me was Jessica Stevenson.
She watched me, hair lifting in an invisible breeze. I stepped forward hesitantly, reaching out my hand for hers.
“Jessica,” I whispered.
She smiled, and flipped her hair over her shoulder, before literally dissolving into thin air, leaving only a faint wisp of some sticky substance.
I stared at the empty area where she had been a heartbeat ago. My arm, still outstretched, began to tremble. I pulled it back against my chest, feeling my heart beat rapidly.
I ran for my life.
Welcome, Elias Martin. You have one new message.
[The following emails were also taken from Elias Martin’s inbox on October 15, 2005, but were identified as a different conversation]
{October 2, 2005, 3:13 PM. Jessica Stevenson to Elias Martin.}
Did I scare you today after school? I’m sorry if I did…I’m also sorry about the whiteboard today, but I figured I had to remind you.
{October 2, 2005, 3:17 PM. Elias Martin to Jessica Stevenson.}
What the hell were you thinking? Anyone could’ve seen you! How did you show up? How did you do that thing with the whiteboard? Why are you only talking to me???
{October 2, 2005, 3:20 PM. Jessica Stevenson to Elias__.}
I thought you would’ve liked to see me again. Sorry if I was wrong. As for how I got there, I went through the wires, of course. The whiteboard was with the wires, too.
And you’re the only person who believes my story.
Not only believes, but wants to be a part of.
{October 2, 2005, 3:24 PM. Elias Martin to Jessica Stevenson.}
How did you know?
{October 2, 2005, 3:25 PM. Jessica Stevenson to Elias Martin.}
Know what? That you wanted to come here?
That’s simple. It’s as plain as the nose on your face. The way you doze off in class...it’s clear you’d rather be somewhere else.
{October 2, 2005, 3: 28 PM. Elias Martin to Jessica Stevenson.}
If I could get there—I mean, if I wanted to go—would you take me?
{October 2, 2005, 3:35 PM. Jessica Stevenson to Elias Martin.}
Of course.
“Elias! Are you doing your homework?” My dad’s voice startled me out of oblivion.
“Of course, dad!” I yelled back, swiveling in my chair to turn off the computer. I couldn’t take anymore of that stupid electronic—thing.
That last comment I had made had surprised me. I thought I lived a relatively contented life. I didn’t have any reason to commit suicide.
Right?
Memories from the past week whirled through my head: my mother yelling at my father, my father yelling at me, my brother running away from home, my girlfriend—Jessica Stevenson—dying.
Perhaps I did have a few legitimate reasons.
[The following email were identified as the final conversation between Jessica Stevenson and Elias Martin]
{October 8, 2005, 7:26 PM. Jessica Stevenson to Elias Martin.}
How was school?
{October 8, 2005, 7:31 PM. Elias Martin to Jessica Stevenson.}
It’s fine. I still can’t get over how trippy this is…GOD, you’re dead.
{October 8, 2005, 7:33 PM. Jessica Stevenson to Elias Martin.}
biggrin Yeah, I know, isn’t it? I mean, when I first realized that I was really dead, it was quite an interesting concept to think about, to say the least.
{October 8, 2005, 7:36 PM. Elias Martin to Jessica Stevenson.}
Which brings up the eternal question: How’d you get in there?
{October 8, 2005, 7:37 PM. Jessica Stevenson to Elias Martin.}
Elias, you know I can’t answer that.
{October 8, 2005, 7:40 PM. Elias Martin to Jessica Stevenson.}
And why not? If I’m planning to go in there, shouldn’t I know how?
{October 8, 2005, 7:42 PM. Jessica Stevenson to Elias Martin.}
I take it you’ve made your choice, then?
{October 8, 2005, 7:46 PM. Elias Martin to Jessica Stevenson.}
More or less.
{October 8, 2005, 7:47 PM. Jessica Stevenson to Elias Stevenson.}
What do you mean by that?
{October 8, 2005, 7:52 PM. Elias Martin to Jessica Stevenson.}
Well, I really do want to go, but, it just seems so…FINAL. Absolute.
{October 8. 2005, 7:54 PM. Jessica Stevenson to Elias Martin.}
Of course it does. It’s death, after all.
{October 8, 2005, 7:57 PM. Elias Martin to Jessica Stevenson.}
But I don’t know if I’m really prepared to just, you know, finish it.
{October 8, 2005, 7:59 PM. Jessica Stevenson to Elias Martin.}
You’ll have to make your choice soon.
{October 8, 2005, 8:06 PM. Elias Martin to Jessica Stevenson.}
I know.
My teacher’s voice permeated my daze—again.
“Mr. Martin, are you going to do your work or not?”
My conversation with Jessica the night before had led me to a decision, and obviously that had priority over school.
“No. No, I don’t think I will.”
The teacher gaped at me.
“I’m going to go home.”
As I gathered my things, I threw a look over my shoulder at the whiteboard. The lines were already rearranging themselves.
Thank you.
I poised myself on the same ledge that Jessica had fallen off exactly two weeks prior.
I took a wavering breath, curled my toes over the edge like a diver, and plunged.
Dropping was eternity.
Hitting the ground was numbing.
Dying was strangely satisfying.
And Jessica was right there to greet me.
[Police Investigation Report Conclusions]
In the death of Elias Martin, the evidence points to suicide. His family was falling apart, he was flunking school, and his girlfriend had just committed suicide.
There is nothing to show that he was murdered.
{October 16, 2005, 4:32 PM. Elias Martin to Commander Davis of the Police Investigations Department}
Hello, Commander. How would you like to be immortal?
