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September 12th, 2021
In retrospect, it's Graham's own damn fault for shopping at Walmart.
And also for daring to set foot in Canada. How very audacious.
The move from New South Wales, Australia to Ontario was something of a slight adjustment, and Graham is still finding his footing. Especially in the cold months — which are like, unbearable and also half the year. However, his new gig in Toronto pays well, and leaving Sydney has left behind bitter, lingering memories on which he'd prefer not to dwell. One might say this is for the best.
So he's shopping at Walmart because it's like two minutes from his apartment and it's convenient, and he's got his arm in the dairy fridge when he feels someone tap on his shoulder from behind. He turns, somewhat irate at having his personal space intruded upon, and is faced with a kid about half a foot shorter than him and maybe six or seven years his junior. The kid has a real nasty scowl, and also the aura of a person who hasn't left their house in six months.
"Uh." says Graham, "can I help you-OUCH!"
He stumbles back into the fridge, knocking into shelves of milk. The noisy clatter draws the attention of onlookers, who freeze in their paths to gawk at Graham and his abused nose.
The kid had socked him!
Graham rights his balance. His free fist clutches at his side as years of bad behavior rushes his good sense and demands blood shed. He's better than that, though — a good and proper reformed individual. So when he rips his hand away from his nose to confront the swing-happy kid, it's done with the wholesome intention of tearing the kid a righteous new one.
He doesn't get the chance. The kid is gone by the time he recovers.
Ire gives way to bafflement as he scans the aisle up and down. There's no sign of him.
"What the..."
"Kid went that way," says a man carrying a shopping basket. He points in the general direction of the store's exit. "You wanna call the cops?"
Certainly not. Graham is not too fond of the police. Pardoned of all crimes under mysterious circumstances or not, he still remains an ardent cynic.
"Uh, no. No thanks, I-"
He really doesn't know what possesses him to come up with this lie, but he continues:
"That was just my little cousin. Probably getting back at me for a prank I pulled on him last week. It's fine.
The guy stares at him like an idiot. Graham thinks that's probably fair.
He smiles at the guy, shoves both his hands in his pockets, and makes a hasty retreat from Walmart.
~~~
September 19th, 2021
A week after being decked in the face by some punk in the grocery store, Graham is sitting on the stairwell outside his flat having a smoke. This is when one of his neighbors decides to have one of the most intriguing, private phone-calls that Graham has ever heard.
"Red, I'm telling you: you cannot flee the country."
The guy's footsteps echo through the stair-well, his voice growing closer. Graham figures he's a floor or two below him.
"Because! You've done it before! And did it work out?"
The foot-steps fall silent as his neighbor stops to listen. Graham flicks ash from the cigarette and prays to god that the guy doesn't find his unit before he can hear the rest of the conversation.
"Look, I can sort of understand that, but that is not what normal, well-adjusted adults do. Don't you want a relationship with your mom?"
Ooh. And the plot thickens. Graham hears his neighbor start to pace.
"I'm sorry, Carmen—"
He chokes on a cloud of smoke. He gasps quietly, pounding on his chest to keep from coughing.
How ridiculous of him. There are plenty of Carmen's out there, and—
"Do you want me to hop on a plane to Argentina? Because I can do that! No question!"
—And coincidences exist! Right?
The footsteps resume their ascent — step, step, stepping as his neighbor listens. Graham takes a long drag from his cigarette, ears pricked like a cat.
"Just talk to her, Red. Do not flee the country. If you do that, I'll track you down and sick Suhara on you."
The guy must be super close by now; Graham's sure he'll see him coming up the flight any moment. He feigns apathy in advance.
"Alright, Carmen. I'll talk to you in a few hours, okay? Talk to your mother. Alright... Mhm... Alright. Bye."
Well. That was interesting. He puts his cig out on the concrete landing and lights another. His thoughts turn to his own Carmen, and he feels a deep-cutting pang of remorse. How do you know someone so well and yet not at all? From the day that he had met her, to the last time they ever spoke, the woman had been a beautiful mystery; one he would never get the privilege of truly knowing.
His neighbor comes up the stairs, and Graham really does make an honest-to-god attempt at avoiding eye-contact, but before he can look literally anywhere else, he catches sight of the kid's face and—
"—It's you!"
It's that asshole from Walmart who decked him!
The kid jumps, eyes-wide as he back peddles.
"Do you live here? Why the hell did you punch me?"
"Euh." says the kid. "J'parle pas anglais. Desolé."
Graham sputters. "What'd you—? Did you say you don't speak—? Yes you do! I just heard you, and— we're not even in Québec!"
The kid glares at him. "You're ignorant and morally bankrupt. Alright? There are half a million native-french speakers in this province. It's called being franco-ontarian. Next time, try thinking before you speak."
Graham feels like he's going insane. "What?!"
"I gotta go."
The kid steps past him and scurries up the stairs. On the mid landing, he stops, looks over his shoulder, and says: "You shouldn't smoke. It's bad for you." Then he races up the rest of the stairs.
Graham relights his cigarette.
~~~
October 3rd, 2021
Graham sort of feels like a gas-lit wife in a haunted house movie. It's been two weeks since his encounter with that kid in the stairwell, and Graham is plagued by the most sickening sense of deja vu. You know that feeling you get when you're pretty sure a person you've never met knows something about you, but you've never even seen the guy? No? Well Graham does, because he used to make bad choices and now he spends every second of every day paying for them, and this fact tends to lend itself to his leading a interesting and colorful life.
He's tried looking for the kid — asked a couple of people around the complex who said they'd never seen anyone matching his description. But since that day, there'd been no sign of him. Graham couldn't even be sure that he even lives in the complex. The kid is like a ghost.
He blames himself. He should've followed the guy to see where he went. You know, put his skills to some use.
Oh, but he'd been so blind-sided thinking about Carmen! Even just the thought of her is often enough to make him freeze, or do stupid things, or act in ways he normally wouldn't. Or all of the above in that order.
He groans into his bowl of ramen, twirling the noodles on his fork. It's highly unlikely that "Punching Strangers in Walmart" kid knows the truth about him, and it's just as unlikely that his "Red" is the same as Graham's Carmen.
And yet, it isn't impossible.
It may be unlikely, but it's the only explanation his brain is willing to give him in regards to the Franco-Ontarian grocery-store fisticuffer and his country-fleeing mystery friend with mommy-issues.
"'Morally bankrupt,'" Graham grumbles, taking a bite of his food. "I'm not morally bankrupt." He gestures with his fork, ranting to no one. "I'm a totally changed guy!"
The door bell rings. Graham gets up to answer it, and—
—The gas-lit wife in the haunted house movie is vindicated!
"It's you!" Says Graham, stupidly.
The kid has messy disheveled hair, and he's wearing a red sweat-shirt that Graham recognizes from the Walmart incident. He looks young. Like the poster-child for 'grumpy teenager who just rolled out of bed.' Though, he's holding a cheap bottle of pinot like he's a home owner, and that pretty much checks with Graham's memory of his own early early-adulthood, so he figures he's at least 18/19.
"Here," says the kid, shoving the bottle at Graham. "For, uh. Punching you the other day."
"Um. Thanks? I guess? How did you know which unit I was in?"
"I wouldn't worry about it."
Graham stares at him a long moment. Then, "Are you friends with Carmen Sandiego?"
The kid nods tightly.
"Ah. Thought so. So you decked me because I—"
"—Hurt her, yes."
"Ah."
The kid stares at the floor, shuffling his feet. Graham feels the A/C getting out as they linger in the doorway, and he figures he oughta move this thing along.
"Well. I'm Graham, by the way."
He sticks his hand out to shake, but realizes One: He's still holding his bowl of ramen. And Two: The other hands got a bottle of wine.
"I'd shake your hand, but…"
"We've already met. Do you remember New Zealand?"
Graham nearly drops both glass objects. He gives the kid a once over and exclaims: "Seriously? The kid from Carmen's sham ballet? That was you?"
"Um. Yeah."
"No shit! That was such an audacious lie!"
The kid shrugs. "Red and I are good at those."
"I'd say," says Graham. "How's, um… How is Carmen doing? Do you wanna come in?"
"She's fine," says Player. "And no. I don't ."
He turns and he leaves without pleasantry. Graham sort of respects it.
~~~
October 13th, 2021
It takes a bit of trial and error, but eventually Graham is able to pin down the hours that the ever elusive Player leaves his apartment. He's usually at work when (or if) the kid leaves during the day, but every night, like clock work, he leaves on a walk at around three in the morning, and returns about an hour or so later.
He'd discovered this on one sleepless night where he'd been plagued by dreams of crazed and angry red-clad women who lusted for the pursuit of bloodshed. Driven from bed at the wee hours of the morning, Graham had gone outside to chain-smoke a pack of cigarettes at the same moment that Player came trotting down the stairs, fully dressed with his apartment keys jangling in his hand.
Unsure of what to do, Graham had wordlessly offered the kid a smoke. Player sneered, shook his head no, and rushed off.
From there, his methods of confirming the kid's nightly walks could perhaps be described as stalkerish, but Graham opts to call them skilled, and effective, and incredibly awesome and impressive. And also cool.
So, it's 3 A.M., and Graham should be in bed if he values his health in literally any way, shape, or form, but he's got something super important to tell the kid, so instead he's camped outside the kid's door — which had turned out to be two floors above his.
Five minutes later, the lock clicks and out comes Player. Graham says: "Hey." And the kid shouts, brandishing a can of pepper spray.
"Woah, mate! You know that stuff is illegal here, right?"
"…It's bear spray."
"Oh, fuck off. It is not."
"You can't prove that unless I use it."
"Was that a threat?"
"No. Maybe. Yes." He lowers the pepper spray and sticks it in his hoodie pocket. "Did you stalk me or something? How did you find my apartment?"
Graham smirks. "Same way you did."
"You tracked down my social insurance number, used it to find my bank where you then hacked into their customer files to find my account which lists my current home address?"
"Wait, what?"
The kid shrugs.
Graham says, "You disturb me."
"Dude! I'm not the one lurking outside of people's apartments at three in the morning! What are you even doing here?"
"I have something to tell you."
"Oh boy."
"It's nothing crazy! It's just, under no circumstances can Carmen find out about this." He gestures vaguely around their surroundings.
"Okay…?"
"Look, Carmen doesn't need me in her life screwing things up for her, so I'm trying to steer clear. But if she found out I was here? Living in the same apartment complex as her friend—"
"—Best friend."
"Yeah, sure. If she found out I was talking to you, I think that would make her feel some type of way. And maybe she'd feel like she's gotta scope things out, and… I don't know. I guess I don't want her to worry."
The kid stares at him. Graham thinks: 'Well, shit.' Had he come off poorly? He and the kid both know that his track record isn't exactly morally scrupulous. Maybe he thinks he's got some kind of ulterior motive. Maybe he's going to march right back into his apartment and call Carmen and—
"—Yeah, okay."
"What?"
"I agree with you. I think it would stress her out. She'd feel some moral obligation to come check on me and to come apologize to you — you know, for trying to kill you or whatever? But I don't want that. I've been trying to convince her not to flee the country for like the past three days now, and the last thing I need is to give her a reason. We'll give it some time before—"
"—No! She can't find out period! I'm serious!"
Player says, "Well that's stupid."
"It is not!"
"Is too! You helped her get into this whole mess! Do you know how much guilt she's carrying around these days? All because of what they did to her? She thought she killed you for a minute there, and now she's losing sleep over it! You owe it to her to talk. At the very least, she deserves some closure."
Graham groans. "Maybe you have a point."
"Of course I do. I'm always right."
"You're a real charmer, I see."
"I'm a class act. You'll talk to her?"
Graham shrugs. The thought of seeing her again is both tantalizing and terrible.
"I don't know. Maybe. Possibly. Eventually. It's a real complicated situation, you know."
"I think I should have hit you harder."
~~~
October 21st, 2021
"So. How exactly did you meet Carmen?"
Graham's outside on the stairs for the fourth time that week, and Player no longer gets startled.
"Don't you have work in the morning?"
The kid is coming from downstairs; home from his nightly walk. This means that it's about four in the morning. Graham sees a copious amount of caffeine in the very near future, and wonders if he's psychic.
"That's what I call a problem for later, mate."
"Don't call me mate."
"Oh. Sore-y, bud."
"Ha-ha. Have you ever considered stand up?"
Graham takes a drag off his cigarette. "Maybe I should. So?"
"'So' what?"
"How did you meet Carmen?"
"Oh." The kid moves to the railing and leans back against it. "I was kind of just snooping around where I didn't belong. That's kind of my favorite pass time."
"Oh yeah?"
"Mm. Admittedly, I enjoy showing off. You know, doing things just to prove you can? Well, about seven years ago, I find this system that's got like, 27 layers of encryption and—"
"That was you?!"
"Boy. You catch on fast. What did you think I do for Carmen? Offer moral support?"
"I have been accused of being an idiot before."
"And, buddy? I'm your number one accuser."
Graham blows smoke at him.
"That hurts, kid." He points to his heart. "That hurts right here."
"You sure that's not just your lungs failing?"
"Hey, how old are you anyway?"
"Nineteen."
Graham runs the numbers in his head. "Wait. Hold up. You're telling me you were a twelve year old cyber-criminal?"
"And thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, and eighteen. Impressive right?"
"Actually, the word I'd use is 'scary.'"
"Really? Cause I'd use 'prodigy.'"
~~~
November 5th, 2021
Graham is starting to consider Player a crazy person. The days are getting colder, and the nights are even worse. Graham is miserably freezing his ass off, and also considering the merit of faking his own death so he might circumvent the tedium of a lease violation when he inevitably runs back to Sydney to flee the cold. But Player, the little jack ass, takes to the temperature like a champ. On more than one occasion, Graham has seen Player leave his apartment in nothing more than jeans and a light hoodie.
He's out on the stairs a little earlier tonight. It's one-thirty in the morning, and Graham is hoping trick his brain into falling back asleep sometime before three. His phone and his chattering teeth tell him that it's 3°C, so he's done the sensible thing and dragged his entire comforter outside with him.
"Dude. Just go inside."
Graham turns around to see Player coming down the stairs. He flashes his pack of cigarettes and says, "There's no smoking inside."
"Dude. Just quit."
"I've tried. What the hell are you wearing?"
Player sits down next to him on the stairs and cracks open a zero-sugar monster energy. He's wearing nothing but long sleep pants and a T-Shirt. The kid is even barefoot.
"They're called pajamas, Calloway. I believe you're wearing some right now."
"I'm talking about the fact that you're not wearing any sleeves. What's wrong with you?"
"It's only three degrees."
"I am afraid of you."
"I'm just a normal Canadian?"
Graham tells him that's debatable. Player tells him to get bent. Then he watches in horror as the kid downs his entire drink alarmingly fast, sets the empty can down beside him, and produces a second can from his pocket which he chugs half of. Graham blinks incredulously at him and says, "Is your heart okay?"
"Are your lungs okay?"
"Are you okay?"
The kid shrugs. "It's just one of those nights. Weird dreams, 's all."
"Aren't you usually up til four?"
"Carmen and I are trying this new thing where we both try to take better care of ourselves. We both went to sleep early."
"Except you couldn't stay asleep, so now you're just calling it quits for the rest of the night?"
"Yep. Don't tell Carmen."
"Don't you have like, school or a job to go to tomorrow?"
Player takes a sip of his drink. "Nope."
"Do you ever? What do you do all day?"
"Well, I'm a proud graduate of the school of 'dropping out of uni,' and—"
"—You dropped out of school?"
"Uh. Yeah."
"Really? You?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It's just that you've kind of got this, uh. What's the word… This nerd vibe going on?"
"Gee. Thanks, man."
"What?" Says Graham. "Nerds can be cool! Sometimes."
"You know, I am so glad you moved to Toronto. When are you leaving?"
"Well if it bothers you so much that I'm here, then, uh…" He pretends to think about it. "Probably never."
"Wonderful."
"You said it, mate, not me. So, how did your family react to you dropping out? Were they pissed?"
Player slouches, ducking his head. "I haven't actually told anyone."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously. I did it over a month ago, and I've just been pretending ever since. My parents would freak out, and Carmen would worry, and there'd be questions. So many questions! And I just—! I don't want to have to explain to everyone that I'm—!"
The half empty can crumples in his hands and he explains no further.
"—Not doing so well?" Graham finishes.
"Yeah."
Graham sighs, leaning back on his elbows. "I can understand that. You wanna talk about it?"
"Not really, no."
He nods, lighting up a cigarette.
"Yeah. Me neither."
~~~
November 14th, 2021
"You'll freeze out here." Player sing-songs, coming up the stairs. He's home about an hour later than usual, and Graham's been wondering when he'd show up.
"Well, well, where have you been? I've had half the town out looking for you!"
"I took a longer walk than usual. Sue me." He glances at the time on his phone. "You're up late. Don't you have—"
"—Called out." He fakes a cough. "I'm sick."
"That was convincing."
"You wouldn't get it. You get to work from home all day. Penetrating things and what not."
The kid flushes beet red. "Dude. I told you to stop saying it like that."
"But why? You're a penetration expert!"
"Pen. Tester. Pentester."
Recently, Graham had learned that Player gets paid to test computer systems, networks and data-banks for vulnerabilities in security. The job had sounded cool enough until the kid had let slip the official title — a penetration tester — and all hell broke loose. Player had not known a single day of peace since.
"No." Graham fakes a scowl. "You don't get paid to test BICs all day. You get paid to see if you can penetrate things. A penetration professional!"
"I hate you and I cannot stand you. Pentester."
"Penetrator."
"Pentester."
"Penetration, penetration, penetration!"
"Pentester, pentester, pentester!"
"Penet—"
"—Shut up!"
Graham and Player freeze as their neighbor Dave sticks his head out the door to yell at them.
"Shut up about penetration! For the love of— I've got to go to my fuck ass dead-end job in two hours, and I'd like to enjoy what little is left of my sleep! Go scream at each other inside! And Parker, for the love of god, get a real job!"
"Sorry, Dave." They say in unison. Dave slams the door in their face.
A long, drawn out moment passes between them. Graham turns to Player and says: "Your name is Parker?"
~~~
December 1st, 2021
It's been just under three months since Player punched Graham in the dairy aisle at Walmart, and in that time, the kid had somehow managed to make a friend of him. He does still wonder sometimes if the kid wants him to fall off a building and die, but in the past two weeks, they've graduated from hanging out solely on the stairs to sometimes hanging out on Player's couch, and that has to count for something.
So it's Wednesday night, and Graham has off tomorrow, and Player has invited him to play Fortnite Battle Royale for seven hours straight. Only, he suspects that the kid doesn't really have his heart in it, and that suspicion is confirmed when Graham hears something clatter to the floor, looks over, and sees that it was the kid's game controller.
"Dude!" Says Graham.
Player is busy texting. "Huh? Oh. Sorry." He starts patting around blindly for the controller.
Graham reaches down to grab it for him. "Hey, kid. I'm gonna need you to get your head in the game, here. Who else is going to kick my ass?"
"Any of the other ninety-eight players?" He takes the controller, tracks down Graham, and kills him. "Happy?"
"Ecstatic. Who are you texting?"
Player huffs. "No one, actually. Seeing as Carmen hasn't texted all day."
"She's giving you the cold shoulder?" He sucks in through his teeth. "That's rough, man."
"Who says she's giving me the cold shoulder? Hm? What if something terrible happened to her?"
"Uh…"
"What? It's a valid fear! Do you know how often this happens to me?"
Graham sets the controller down on the couch. He turns to Player and says, "But Vile's gone, dude. Don't you think it's possible that maybe she's just busy?"
Player looks taken a back — like he genuinely hadn't considered it. "I mean. I guess that could be a possibility."
"You guess?"
"Well, yeah!" Frustrated, he drops his phone and stands. "You just don't get it. Carmen would tell me if she was going to be away from her phone all day. Maybe I sound paranoid, but any time I don't hear from her, it's because something is up."
Scowling, he stomps off for the kitchen and throws open the fridge.
Graham says: "Aw, come on, man. Try giving it a rest with the energy drinks, yeah? You're wired enough as it is."
"They help me relax."
"Come off it, mate. They do not."
"You don't get to talk, Calloway. You chain smoke like you're actively trying to shave time off your life span."
"This isn't about me. This is about—"
"—Dang it!" Player closes the door with a huff.
"All out, huh? See? That there's a sign that—"
"—I'm going to go get more." He snatches his keys off the counter and steps into a pair of shoes waiting by the doorway. "Keep your hands to yourself while I'm out. Don't steal anything."
"Dude. I'm not that guy anymore. I am a changed and reformed individu—hey, will you pick me up a pack of Du Mauriers? The ones in the red packet?"
"Absolutely not."
~~~
Player's apartment is unnervingly quiet when the kid isn't there. Twenty minutes have passed. The TV Screen has fallen asleep, and the two game controllers lie forgotten; one on the couch, one on the floor. Graham is deep in thought as he stares at his phone, thumbs hovering above the keyboard open in the empty chat between him and the new number that Graham had just lifted from Player's contacts.
He'd told Player that he would contact her eventually. Graham isn't sure if he wants that day to be today, but admittedly, the kid's stressing had gotten him stressing, and now—
—The door opens. Graham swipes out of the messenger app.
"Okay, so I've been thinking and—Woah!"
Somebody vaults over the back of the couch, slams into Graham, and tackles him to the floor. He grunts, twisting beneath the intruder as he attempts to throw them off.
"Get the fuck off me, mate. I'm not the guy to—Carmen?"
"You."
"Uh oh."
Graham's pretty sure he's had this exact nightmare like three times just this past week. Next, she's gonna pull out a crackle rod and fry his ass.
"Where is he?" she growls. "What did you do with Player?"
"Wait, what?"
She gets up and yanks him with her by the collar of his shirt.
"What are you doing here? I thought you— I thought you had changed! Where's Player?"
"Woah." says Graham, throwing his hands up in surrender. "You two are seriously codependent. What are you doing here?""
"Where. Is. He."
"He just popped out to the shop, mate! You know those stupid energy drinks he drinks? I keep telling him he's gotta quit, but does he listen to me? No!"
Her grip on his collar loosens. "What?"
"He's fine, Carmen. There's nothing nefarious happening."
"No, but— he— you… Wha—Shouldn't you be in Sydney right now?"
"Shouldn't you be in Buenos Aires?"
"Why are you in Player's apartment?"
"So that's actually a really funny story. Basically, I—"
Player walks in at that exact moment. "Sorry, dude. They were all out of reds, so I got you the blue ones. That's like the same thing, right?"
"Player?"
"Red?!"
Oh, boy. Graham really needs a smoke right about now. And that's unfortunate. The blue ones are not the same as the red ones.
Carmen lets go of his shirt and stumbles back. She looks back and forth between Graham and Player like she's following a ping-pong match. "I… I don't understand."
Player says, "Wow, um. Okay. So. You know how you always hated it when I would talk smack about Graham?"
Graham says, "You were talking smack?"
"I punched you in a random walmart, Calloway. I didn't like you!"
"You punched Gray?"
"It's kind of a long story."
"It is not! I was minding my business, and you smacked me into a shelf of milk."
"Wait, are you two friends?"
"Yes." says Graham.
"No." says Player.
"I am so lost." says Carmen.
Player promises to explain themselves. Graham says, yes, yes, that's all well and good, but he really needs a cigarette like right now. So, they take her outside to the stairs, sit down, and tell her everything.