The Cold Room

Twenty-Two

The basement was so empty.

Gavin sat at his corner desk, staring unseeing at his computer screen. The vast black space behind him seemed to grow and breathe, the shadows lengthening ominously. He didn’t like to be alone in the basement.

So lonely.

He woke from his reverie when his IM chimed. He glanced at the screen. Morte had opened a private chat with him.

Hey, Morte. Good timing. I was just sitting here by myself. I’m alone again. They’re both gone.

The response came immediately.

WHAT IN THE NAME OF GOD DO YOU THINK YOU’RE PLAYING AT?

Morte was furious, Gavin could read that clearly. But why? The last time Morte had gotten angry with him was about the car. No, it wasn’t smart of him, but he was still learning. What else could have set Morte off? Oh, the music. He shouldn’t have told him about the music. Morte had been very clear in his instructions, in how the scene should look. But Gavin was an artist, and the music was so lovely, so necessary. He needed to hear the flowing, building crescendos as he worked. He couldn’t help himself. He decided to play dumb.

What are you talking about?

You know exactly what I’m talking about. How dare you contact me in the real world?

Gavin’s brow furrowed. Contact Morte in the real world? What?

Morte, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t been in contact with anyone.

As he typed the period, a moment of insanity passed through him. He had been in touch with someone. Someone very far away. Someone unattainable. A slow burn began in his chest. He started to type, stopped himself. No. That was crazy. There was no way.

Another message flashed into the chat room.

Listen to me, little Gavin. You have absolutely no right to cross the line. NO RIGHT! Haven’t I given you everything you’ve always dreamed of? Friends, a home for your basest desires, a family, the benefit of my vast knowledge?

Oh, my God. He couldn’t lose Morte. He just couldn’t. He typed frantically.

Of course you have. I appreciate everything that you’ve done for me, Morte. But I don’t understand. What have I done?

There was nothing for a moment. The online equivalent of dead silence. It took Gavin a second to realize Morte had called him by his real name, not his screen name. How would Morte know his real name? Then the words came, flowing onto the screen in quick succession.

You really don’t know who I am? You’re saying the e-mail was a coincidence? I don’t believe in coincidences, Gavin. I’m afraid our relationship has come to an end.

NO!

Gavin felt the despair showering through his system. He couldn’t give Morte up. He was one of the only people in the world who understood him. Who cared for him. But it was too late. Morte had left the chat room. Gavin was alone again. He began to cry, typing desperately through his tears.

Please, Morte, please don’t go. I swear I didn’t know. I still don’t know.

Gavin stayed logged in for an hour, waiting, but there was no answer. Morte was gone. He sat there crying, feeling a loss so deep that he could barely breathe, like half of his soul had been sheared away. He was again incomplete.