Part 16 (1/2)
The suicide notes were to be handwritten, photographed, and uploaded to the site. A link she could click on led to ”examples of the most effective notes.” Effective for whom? In what way? She wished she understood the psychology of the site administrator. She hesitated to click on the ”examples.” She'd looked at more than enough already in the suicide gallery.
What she should do was write ShastaM's suicide note.
Sophie seldom had any use for paper and a pen, so none were immediately handy. She looked around her works.p.a.ce-as usual, nothing there but the keyboard, the monitors, the mouse pad, and a mug of cold tea from the morning. She got up, went to her bill-paying area at the other end of the desk. She did most of that online too, but some vendors continued to send paper bills, and in a file drawer she found a yellow legal pad and a ballpoint pen.
She paused. Would ShastaM use a yellow legal pad?
No. The ident.i.ty she'd been developing was more feminine and girly, traditional even. She needed a card of some kind. She remembered her father's desk, a formal affair in one corner of the living room. She went across the room, pulled out drawers until she found a stack of embossed all-occasion cards. One of them would work.
She sat on the gilt chair at the s.h.i.+ny black lacquer desk, the card open, one of her father's black rolling-ball gel pens in her hand, poised above the creamy paper.
It felt real, this note. Maybe it was all those dead faces she'd pored over in the last few days; maybe it was the depression and loneliness that had dogged her in spite of all her efforts to outrun it, outfight it. But when she put the pen to the paper, the words flowed easily.
Dear family, First of all, you need to know this was never about anything you did or didn't do. I always knew you loved me the best you could. It was my fault I never felt it, never took it in, and somehow landed on this planet feeling alone and different.
I take responsibility for that and even for how this choice to escape my pain and loneliness is, at the heart, a selfish one.
This once, I choose me and what's best for me and trust that you will understand someday. And even if you don't, that you come to accept that I did what I had to do.
I love you.
Shasta (Mom) She signed it with the series of three smileys she'd been using as an online signature. If there was a part of the note that felt faked, it was that.
She spread the note open and used her phone to photograph it. Sent it from the phone to Kamala's hard drive. She'd have to upload it to the site from there, behind the masking program, or KevorkianFan, as she'd come to think of the system administrator, could track it to her phone. She sat up, feeling disembodied, as she often did lately, looking around the s.p.a.cious, elegant s.p.a.ce.
It would probably bother her father to know what she'd just done at his desk. It had been overlong since she called him, and a pang of guilt made her thumb to his number on the phone and call it. She tore the card into thin strips and dropped them in the wastebasket.
”h.e.l.lo.” Her father had a resonant voice that had reminded her of Morgan Freeman.
”h.e.l.lo, Papa. How are you?”
”My girl.” His voice felt like a long-distance hug. ”Having wild parties in my apartment?”
She gave a little bark of laughter. ”Hardly. Your Internet bandwidth is always tapped out, though. How's Was.h.i.+ngton?”
”Crazy people, crazy traffic, crazy politics, but I'm doing my tour of duty.” An amba.s.sador, he had rotations between Southeast Asia and Was.h.i.+ngton. ”Looking forward to retirement. In fact, either we're going to be roommates or I'll be kicking you out next May.”
”Really, Papa? You always say that, then don't do it.”
”Really. I put my papers in. It's not like I need the money, and lately, I really don't need the stress.”
”Well, good. I hope you do it this time.” Sophie looked out at the view-perhaps she would miss it more than she thought. Or, they'd try being roommates. The thought made her smile.
”So what's up that you called?”
”Nothing. Just hadn't talked with you in a while and . . . I wanted to tell you I love you.”
A pause. She racked her brain. Had she ever said that to him before on the phone? She didn't think so.
”Are you all right?” he asked, voice sharp with alarm. No, apparently, she hadn't.
”Fine. Really.” She reached up, played with a bit of hair, rolling it between her fingers. ”Just wanted to tell you that. Also I found a new sport, and it's fun.” She told him about run hiking. ”I want to take you when you come.”
”That can be my first project. Getting in shape,” he said. ”Well, I'm glad there's nothing wrong. And in case you didn't know it and I don't say it enough-I love you too. There's something in the mail for you.”
He was a gift giver. Always had been. ”Great, Papa. I'll look forward to it, and the apartment is clean and beautiful whenever you decide to drop on in.”
”I kind of wish you'd mess things up,” he said. ”It feels like no one lives there but your computers whenever I come. Mess the place up for me, will you? Really live in it.”
She smiled. ”Okay. I'm having a rave here this weekend. I'll tell everyone you said so.”
”You better.” She heard the smile in his voice. ”Have fun. And I love you.” He rang off.
And she really felt his love, for the first time in a long time. She was beginning to suspect that was her fault, not his. Sophie walked over to the formal couch with its cream leather cus.h.i.+ons and velvety throw pillows and tossed them around. One landed on the floor, and she left it there.
”There. Someone lives here,” she said aloud and walked into the bedroom to fill out the rest of her suicide contract.
Sophie got up in the pitch-dark of her room at the beeping tone of her phone alarm, which she'd set to wake her at five a.m. Dressed in the silky tee she wore to bed, she padded over to her computer bay and turned Kamala on, apprehension and antic.i.p.ation clenching her belly. Today was the day; she just knew it.
Sophie walked into the living room and immediately spotted the cus.h.i.+on on the floor. ”No, I'm not going to pick you up,” she said aloud, and went into the kitchen, turned her electric kettle on, and walked to the bank of windows.
Sunrise was just beginning to gild the silhouette of Diamond Head with a rime of gold against cobalt-purple sky. Night was pulling back, yielding its hold, but the full moon still hung over the ocean-a silver sequin on the dress of a new day.
Sophie began a sun salutation: Inhale, arms up in a point above her head. Exhale slowly as she spread them, fingers wide, bending over to touch the floor with her palms. Inhale as she put one foot all the way back in a runner's lunge, exhale as she extended the other and hoisted her b.u.t.t high, arms straight so she formed the pyramid shape of Downward Dog. Inhale as she brought the right leg in, keeping the left out in lunge position. Exhale as she brought that leg in, staying doubled up over straight legs, face between her knees. Inhale, unrolling the spine one vertebra at a time, lifting the arms arrow straight above her head, palms together. Exhale as she spread them wide in a fan, bringing them open, down, and back to center.
Palms touching.
Breathing.
Feasting her eyes on the morning.
Filling her eyes with beauty and her mind with peace.
Calm settled over her. She would know what to do when the system admin revealed himself, and she could finish her double life as ShastaM with its haunting overtones. She couldn't wait to be done with this case.
Her teakettle whistled.
Sophie broke the pose and poured her tea, returning to Kamala, who hummed with readiness to work. She opened her e-mail.
The system admin had responded, and she immediately set her trace program working on his message even as she read it. It appeared to be a personalized note.
”Dear Shasta, Your decision to join those who have partic.i.p.ated in the ultimate solution is not an easy one, I'm sure. I found your note moving and a true declaration of liberty. Since you have chosen peaceful means of departure from this world, take that note out and leave it somewhere prominent. Live with it in the days to come. Make sure it says exactly what you want it to say, and revise it if you need to. The personal details, location, and means of departure of someone in your area will be e-mailed to you as soon as they are available. When you've a.s.sisted them on their journey, you will be met by another member of DyingFriends.com who will a.s.sist you on yours.