Isolated in the Dark

46:27.

The watch’s display felt like some form of deceit, a hidden rule of the game added by Gallagher for whatever reason. The time since he’d arrived at his home had felt much shorter than an hour and a half, yet the time since he’d heard the rules of this “game” had felt like a lifetime ago. Despite this feeling of his, he knew within the recesses of his mind that the watch was all too accurate. A man like Gallagher wouldn’t break the rules he’d set forth like that. If there was anything he didn’t know about the ART on his wrist, it was likely hidden underneath the display, not directly on it.

46:26.

The more he focused on the timepiece which adorned his wrist, the more time itself seemed to slow down. The more the passage of time slowed down, the more horrific images of his family meeting with terrible fates filled his mind. He had to change the tracks his train of thought was heading down before those images began to impair his judgement. He glanced down next to him and saw the remote to the television. Without thinking much, he turned it on.

“Reports have just come in that Lieutenant Hendrickson has led an arrest on Mishka Gomez and several of his associates,” were the first words he heard from the television set. Evidently, Rebecca had been watching the news before he’d arrived. He didn’t bother hiding the smile that crossed his face as the news showed more details about the arrest, particularly when he saw Gomez’s irritated face being dragged out of his home by the Lieutenant (the same man he’d worked with when writing his exposé all those years ago), screaming about wanting to see his lawyer.

“At least something good can come out of this,” he mumbled to himself.

“Our sources have also confirmed the legitimacy of the video which was released from Gallagher Technologies mere hours ago alongside the terabytes of information regarding a variety of prominent figures…”

John’s focus faded away from the news. Terabytes? He’d assumed that the information would’ve included just enough rile up the public and to get each of them arrested for whatever crimes they’d committed. Terabytes meant that his family truly could be in danger, that he could truly be in danger. He tried to focus on the news again, hoping that it would calm his thoughts a bit.

“Gallagher himself has been unavailable for comment regarding this video or the data he unleashed upon the internet. Police have yet to make any other arrests, but civilian protests and violence against these individuals have broken out across the country.” John wasn’t surprised by the fact that the authorities had taken Gomez in before investigating anyone else first. His connections had kept him from facing any sort of long-term form of justice for all too long, but with those taken from him (alongside enough evidence to convict the people he was connected to), Gomez finally had no legs to stand on. The reporter continued, “Already we have reports of at least two accounts of murder and four accounts of assault on individuals who attempted to flee from their homes after the video went public.”

John had to turn his head away before he saw anything, but his mind could already fill in the blanks. He knew that the news was likely showing bodies, mugshots of the assailants, and so on. The sad part was, those who had committed murder were the “winners” of this sick game, as far as Gallagher was concerned. They now had access to enough resources to pay off the right people and be seen as morally correct – as heroes, even – in the eyes of the law and public alike.

The money he had was not adequate for that sort of turnaround. Anyone who came after him would be coming for purely ideological reasons. A hatred of journalists, of his work, of what he had done; a hatred of what his specific crimes stood for, of how they spat in the face of what little remained of the idea of journalistic integrity. He stood up from the couch and made his way back to the garage, trying his best not to notice how his footsteps seemed to echo as he moved.

John had always kept spare bits and pieces from various projects he’d had to do over the years. His time in the military had made him stubborn enough to try to do just about anything himself before he’d call someone else to do it for him. That left him with enough supplies to attempt to board up his front door, at the very least, a remnant from a failed attempt to fix the fence that ran the perimeter of the house. He grabbed a few thick wooden planks, some nails, and a hammer. He averted his gaze away from where the family car had been moments before. If someone had an out for him, they had that much more reason to try and hurt his family, but he had to hope that they’d go for him first. He had to trust that his in-laws would be able to keep them safe.

He tried to focus on keeping his hands steady as he nailed the boards in front of the door, but his mind and heart still wandered in tandem. He felt like a coward for hiding away in his house and boarding up the front entrance, especially with how much his fear for his family consumed him. He should have gone with Rebecca and Matthew or, better yet, had them stay with him so that they’d be staying with him. They were arguably being braver than he was, leaving the safety of their home amidst uncertainty, going out into the dangers of the unknown, hoping that their destination might be even more safe than the home that they left.

As he finished nailing the first board down, he had to dismiss the thought. They were safer at Rebecca’s parents’ house, after all. There was strength in numbers and it wasn’t a guarantee that the address of his in-laws was in that giant mass of data.

A second board. The anxiety returned. In the event that the address was within that chunk of data, it possible that anyone who had a bone to pick with him would go down the same line of thinking he had and assume that he’d retreated to the home of a family member and would visit his in-laws’ house before even attempting to visit the house he was in now. It was even possible that the other people who’d been assaulted and even (he hated to even think of the word) died could have been thinking along similar lines, attempting to shelter themselves with family members when opportunistic strangers jumped them.

The third and final board. John wiped sweat from his brow, surprised at how much had accumulated on his forehead relative to the amount of work he had done. He took a deep breath as he moved away from the door, trying to examine the reasons why he was panicking so much. The primary reason was obvious: lack of information. As a journalist, of course, he knew how to obtain information more easily than anyone else. He would compensate for his lack of knowledge as soon as he reached his computer, which was located in his personal office.

As he passed through the living room to make his way towards his office, he heard another reporter on the television – he hadn’t realized that he’d forgotten to turn it off – say, “We now have received reports of at least one break-in from one of the individuals mentioned in Scott Gallagher’s recently released video…”

He decided that he would board up the garage door and back gate before he went to his office. Better safe than sorry.