More Than We Can Tell

During the ambulance ride, there’s this stupid little part of me that hopes my parents will reunite in the hospital and realize how much they need each other. I keep hearing Rev’s voice saying Things happen when they’re meant to happen and wondering if that means I had to endure everything with Ethan so my parents wouldn’t get a divorce.

I must be delusional—which is possible, considering the situation I got myself into.

My fantasy does not happen. My father does not come to the hospital.

I talk to him on the phone, and he tells me he’s trying to hang on to his job, and the worst thing he can do is step away right now.

He says, “Your mom is there for you, right?”

And yes. She is.

She sits beside my gurney in the ER. She has not let go of my hand except for when they took me for a CT scan. We’ve been here for hours, but she keeps asking me the same questions. Saying the same things.

She knows everything. About Nightmare. About Ethan.

About how I saw one threat so clearly that I didn’t bother to pay attention to the other.

After she’s heard everything twice, she gets very quiet.

“I need to understand something,” she finally says.

I feel raw, cracked open. Only some of that is because of the head injury. “What?”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me you were getting those messages? From that Nightmare person?” She pauses. “Or—at the very least, your father—”

“I tried.” I swallow. “I started telling Dad, but he was so busy—”

She sighs, a sound full of disappointment. “Emma. I’m so sorry.”

“I wanted to fix it myself. It’s a very male industry.” I look away. “I just—it happens to everyone. I didn’t want to be all like I couldn’t take the heat.”

Mom sighs.

“And clearly I couldn’t,” I say disgustedly. “Since Ethan had to fix it for me.”

Now she straightens up, and her face looks fierce. “He didn’t fix anything, Emma. He could have killed you. You don’t even know that he fixed anything. He just told you he did.”

She’s right.

She’s so right. I’m such a fool.

She sighs again. “Let me tell you something about medical school.”

My eyes have filled, and I’m still stuck on the fact that I fell for Ethan so easily. This doesn’t sound like a prelude to a lecture, and I’m confused. “You want … to talk about medical school?”

“Yes.” She pauses. “I used to go through the same thing.”

“What same thing?”

“The sexism. The misogyny. The man’s world.”

“I don’t think medical school is like a computer game.”

She charges forward as if I haven’t spoken. “This one time, when I was a resident, there were these two male doctors who would turn on pornography right in front of me. When I asked them to turn it off, they mocked me for being unable to look at a human body. I felt like an idiot. I put up with it for far too long, because I believed it was just part of what women had to go through.”

I stare at her. I don’t know what to say.

“That’s all in your head, Emma.” Another pause. “You’re allowed to play a game without having to go through this. You’re allowed to design a computer game without being harassed. You’re allowed to go through life without having to put up with this, regardless of what kind of field it is. You are not weak for not wanting to look at pornography or not wanting to be called a—that disgusting word he used. I’m horrified that you thought you had to put up with any of it.”

I swipe at new tears. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

“No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry your father ever made you think that was acceptable.”

“He didn’t—”

“Emma, I think we need to come to an agreement.”

“What?”

“I’ll back off about the gaming,” she says.

“You’ll what?” Maybe I’m hopped up on painkillers because that does not sound like my mother.

“But I’m going to need to know what you’re doing. And I’m going to need to know who you’re doing it with.”

“Mom—”

“You must agree.” Her eyes fill now. “Emma, I need you to agree to this. I can’t lose you, too.”

Then I start crying. “Okay, Mom. Deal.”

A police officer knocks on the wall, then tentatively pokes her head around the curtain. She looks to be around thirty, with hair pulled back into a severe ponytail. “Emma? I’m Jennifer Stone. I’m an officer with the Anne Arundel County Police Department. Do you feel up to answering a few questions?”

I hastily swipe at my face. “Yes. Yes. I’m okay.”

She comes in and shakes hands with my mother, and then with me. Mom offers her the chair, which Officer Stone waves away. She leans against the wall between us, and pulls out a notepad.

“Would you mind telling me how you met Mr. Nash?”

It takes me a moment to realize she’s talking about Ethan. Calling him Mr. Nash makes all of this sound more serious.

But of course it’s serious.

I go through everything again. OtherLANDS. Battle Realms. The e-mails from Nightmare, and the way Ethan helped find him. As I’m talking, I realize again that I don’t even know if Ethan really found Nightmare, or if he’s still out there, waiting to do more damage. The officer promises to look into it.

My voice falters when I talk about the divorce and exchanging phone numbers, especially when Mom makes tsking noises.

“He said his mom and dad went through a divorce, too,” I say. “He said he lived with his mom. We talked about how difficult it was. I thought we were friends.”

Officer Stone makes a note on her pad. “And how old is Mr. Nash? Did he tell you?”

“He said he was a student at Old Mill.”

“So he said he was in high school?”

“It—it was on his 5Core profile.” I swallow. “I thought he was a senior.”

She makes another note. “Do you mind if we keep your phone to pull any messages?”

“But—but I need—”

“Emma,” my mother hisses. “Of course they can take it. Whatever they need to do to lock that man up.”

I swallow. “Okay. It was in Ethan’s car. It fell under the seat.”

Another note on her pad. A lot of notes.

“Can I ask a question?” I say.

She stops writing and looks at me. Her eyes are cool and analytical, but there’s compassion there, too. “Of course.”

“How old is he really? Are you allowed to tell me?”

She flips her notepad back a few pages. “He’s twenty-nine.”

My heart flutters. I have to put a hand to my chest. Beside me, my mother is doing the same thing.

Officer Stone glances back at her notes, then meets my gaze. “He lives alone, in an apartment. No mother.” A pause. “He works in IT for Anne Arundel County. That’s how he had access to their servers.”

E Nash. Information Technology.

It was literally hanging right in front of me. And I was stupid enough to believe it was his mother’s.

“He has some charges of harassment and stalking on his record,” says the officer.

“Emma.” My mother starts crying again.

I’m not crying. I’m too shocked. “But—but—”

I almost say, He was so kind. He was my friend.

He was not kind. He was not my friend.

“This happens a lot,” says Officer Stone. “These guys are smart. They take something you say and spin it in a way that you feel you have a connection. It doesn’t take much to build from there.” She hesitates. “You’re very lucky this didn’t end differently.”

“He said he and his mother went to Saint Patrick’s,” I whisper. “He said she was controlling and mean to him.”

Mom chokes on a sob. “And what did you tell him about me?”

I told him so much. The more I think back on our conversations, I realize I fed him everything he needed.

I want to curl in on myself. I feel so stupid. So foolish. They should put me in prison.

Officer Stone puts a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. Like I said, they’re savvy. This wasn’t his first time. And you’re lucky. I heard what you did about sharing your location. I wish more people knew about that.”

Rev. “Is Rev okay?”

“He was arrested—”

“What?” I demand. “Why?”

She puts a hand up. “This is a pretty clear case of self-defense, and the MTA has surveillance cameras on that lot. If your friend hasn’t been processed and released yet, it’ll be soon.”