A/N:

Sorry for the delay in this novel. My other novel "The Insanity of a Wallflower" was stolen multiple times and even listed on Goodreads under a fraudulent author's name, before being removed. I ended up giving up on writing these stories due to the hurt and betrayal. But its been a long while, I have since resumed "The Insanity of a Wallflower" and "Handle Name: UNKNOWN" due to the love and encouragement from my readers.

I still might struggle with upload times, I post as very often as I can but I work two jobs, but I will be resuming those stories at least and hope you all stick with me.

Thank you.

-Helium

Emelia startled to a stop, the swaying of her body half a second behind her mind, and she almost stumbled and collapsed. Her mind was playing tricks on her. That's it.

She gingerly approached her laptop, unease and fear polluting her already manic heartbeat; she was alarmed to see her eyes had not, in fact, betrayed her.

A black CMD command prompt box was all her eyes could see.

PLEASE DON'T flickered as the first line.

"What is happening?" her voice was hoarse, she turned and looked around the room as if this was some sick joke, as if a studio audience would suddenly jump out and laugh "surprise!".

No, this wasn't fake, whatever this was. She was finally ready to end it all. This bullshit world. Yet those two words dared interfere. How was her laptop even talking to her? Who was on it?

Emmy realized the bottle of Crown was about to slip loose from her grip. Reluctantly, she approached the table and set it there next to the screened device. "Fuck you." She whispered, somewhat slurred, but the lack of clear speech did not represent the lack of emotions racing through her mind.

Hurt. Anger. Betrayal. And now to add to the overload of torment within her brain- utter confusion.

Tears started down her face. She sat down at the chair, glaring at the words, before hesitantly letting her fingers rise.

Whoo is thdissvs? She typed back into the CP blinking line. She didn't push enter, it was a live text, and she didn't want it to process a command and error out her computer. She shouldn't even be typing back, but she still did. She eyed the misspelled words, damning her inaccurate fingers and inebriated mind for not coordinating.

I'M GLAD YOU ARE STILL HERE replied instantly, the letters rolling across the screen swiftly. Clearly Emelia's hesitation at replying had been an unnerving silence on her end.

"What is happening..." her heartbeat was a frenzy. She leaned her head into her hands, choking back the tears- still trying to understand the swarming of her thoughts and the blurring of her vision.

She didn't reply- she couldn't even if she wanted to. Too many tears blurred her sight and her fingers felt loose and uncontrollable. Anything she typed would be impossible to read. And fuck it all- she didn't even want to type. She wanted to end this all. Desperate eyes looked away from her hands, towards the bathroom across the room. The tub was partly visible. It still called to her, reminded her all could end, the world could stop hurting, if she just made her way to it with pills in hand.

Movement on her screen drew her eyes back to the laptop.

I'M GOING TO TURN ON YOUR CAMERA. PLEASE DON'T BE ALARMED. IT WILL BE EASIER TO COMMUNICATE WITH YOU.

She didn't move, didn't dare reply, didn't dare react despite the fact that nothing happened on her screen. Finally, heavy eyes rose to the black camera lens on the top of her device, but if it was on it gave no hint to its activation.

"What do you want?" She whispered hoarsely, unsure if the words came out clearly enough.

The screen answered.

TO TALK YOU OUT OF THIS.

She smiled bitterly, tears falling, "Well you can fuck off, how about that."

Again, her eyes shifted left, she titled her head slightly- her peripheral vision grazing the bathroom behind her. The phantom on the screen did not miss the movement.

DID SOMEONE HIT YOU?

Emelia had forgotten about the red welt the split her upper cheek, the tender bruising forming underneath.

"It doesn't matter." she said evasively. The phantom didn't reply for a moment before finally continuing on with something new.

WHY PAY FOR ALL THOSE CANCER TREATMENTS IF YOU ARE JUST GOING TO END YOUR LIFE ANYWAYS? IS THE PAIN TOO MUCH?

That alarmed Emelia. "You saw that?!" She snapped, jerking her head back towards the screen. But the movement almost doubled her over in pain. She had to catch herself, squeeze her eyes closed for a second to wait for the world to stop spinning, before opening her eyes again.

The phantom didn't answer.

"You are a hacker." She whispered, almost incoherently, though she knew that was obviously the case. Why was she surprised that person had seen her email? Again, the memories of the hotel lobbies popped up in her head. Warning: convention in progress. Report any suspicious activity. Do not connect to unknown Wi-Fi networks.

Still no reply. Finally, she answered. She was honest, even if she left out the part of her mother and stepfather being at fault for this. This phantom was a hacker, not much use in hiding what they probably would uncover anyways.  "I don't have cancer. My grandmother does. She's 70 but still in great health, besides the rouge cells. She shouldn't die. I couldn't let it happen. So, I found a way to pay for it."

Still nothing on the screen. What felt like a minute went by. At first, she thought her phantom wasn't going to answer. Maybe they had decided this was too pitiful to watch and had left. But finally, words dashed across the screen.

YOU ARE IN MASSIVE DEBT.

"No shit, sherlock," she laughed crazily, digging the palm of her hands into her temple to rub away the splitting headache. "Listen. I can't do this. I just can't handle this anymore. I appreciate... I appreciate your concern. Sorry there is no money to hack from me, no interesting details, and instead you stumbled into a suicide attempt, but you don't understand-" her words faltered, the alcohol drowning all sane thoughts... but not the pain. Not the betrayal. Not the anger. And definitely not the memory.

There. Like skip in a record.

Replaying over and over again.

Gordon.

Vicky.

Her mother.

Them all.

You are not wanted here.

Tears swarmed her eyes, her shoulders started to shake. How could she have cried so much before and still have much left inside.

"Please leave me alone." she rasped out, trying as hard as she could to control her racking sobs.

I WON'T.  replied screen letters with quick, instant movements.

PLEASE LISTEN TO ME. YOU ARE DRUNK; NO DECISION SHOULD EVER BE MADE DRUNK. I'M NOT SAYING LIFE WILL BE FIXED TOMORROW MORNING BUT DON'T YOU OWE THAT TO YOURSELF? TO BE SOBER, IN CONTROL, WITH HOW YOU WANT TO PROCEED.  DEBT IS SCARY, BUT IT ISN'T THE END.

Emelia read the words; part of her mind hesitated at them; the other part laughed.

"It's not just the debt." She finally whispered. The record skipping over and over again.

Nothing replied. She waited, heavy tired eyes taking in the blinking text bar, unsure of what her phantom was doing.

Watching me? She looked up into the camera, probably unsure of what else to say to me.

"Thank you," Emelia said, a little surprised she even managed to whisper that word. She hadn't needed to thank anyone in a long time for anything. It felt weird. "For at least trying." pale lips parted softly and though she was sure she looked horrendous, she hoped the person on the other side could see the sincerity on her face.

Her hands reached forward and closed the laptop before there was a chance to reply. She paused for a second, staring at the closed device, before finding her footing and starting back into the bathroom. Slow steady footsteps headed towards the door, but then... a godawful emotion flashed through her mind.

Doubt.

'You owe it to yourself to make this decision sober'.

Her fingers ground tightly into a fist as she stared at the tub within the room. Staring. Watching. Waiting.

The phone in her hotel room rang. She didn't answer it. She stared blankly into the white pristine bathroom. 30 seconds went by. The phone rang again. Its ringing continued. Finally, reluctantly, she left that bathroom and those thoughts of doubt behind and walked to the phone. Holding it to her ear, she didn't say a word, yet the person knew she had answered.

It was an artificial voice. A cover to whomever spoke underearth. She couldn't be sure if it was male or female, but with how low it was she decided it was probably a male.

"I told you; I won't leave you alone." the anonymous sounding voice said. "Please sit back on the computer and talk with me. You say this is the end? At least take a few more moments. What harm could it do. Please."

Emelia turned, looked back towards the bathroom, back towards the doubt that had taken ahold of her ever since this phantom whispered rational thoughts. Would she have made this decision sober? She had been hurting for years, she had always felt betrayed, she had held this wound close to her heart. But still, she kept going. Until tonight.

"I'll make it worth your while if you do..." a plea of desperate promise broke through, despite the technically altered voice.

"Okay" She reluctantly whispered, her tongue still awkwardly slurring some of the syllables of each word. "I'll wait a few more minutes".

The phantom was quiet for a moment. She wondered what emotion they wore on their face at hearing her agreement. "Please open your laptop back up." They finally whispered, it sounded like an exhale from a breath having been held for too long.

Feebly she hung up the phone and lingered back towards the desk. Sitting down, she opened the laptop, let its display flicker back on and was surprised to see no longer the CMD box but someone else's screen. Not hers.

"What is this?" Emelia whispered captivated.

A voice came through the screen, still altered by whatever tech application they used before.

"My screen." the phantom said. "You asked if I was a hacker.  I am, though for what I am about to show you is merely cracking."

Confused, she shook her head, the camera must still have been on for they replied.

"Cracking tech means you slip in and out unnoticed. Hacking means you break it, force it open. Cracking is better- no one knows you are there. Hacking, though effective, will not go unnoticed once you are done. And it can be damaging, perhaps permanently, to whatever you leave behind."

"Oh." Emelia said dazed.

"Well?" The phantom asked, the robotic alteration of their voice drifting through the screen easily. "What would you like me to do? The world is at your fingertips, Emelia Harper."

"What?" Emelia stammered.

There was a pause. Finally, "Is Victoria Harper, or perhaps I should say Victoria Cutting as of tonight, your sister?"

"How..." But before Emelia could even finish asking, her own email's contact info popped up.

"I'm not trying to pry too deep" the phantom said... almost softly "I don't normally fish for personal stuff of normal people. I don't mean to with you with. But she was married today, and if you are wanting to end your life, I feel like this is connected."

Emmy could have done a number of things.  Closed the laptop. Called the cops. Freaked out. Been scared or alarmed. Instead, baffled by a soft anonymous voice, coerced by gentle words, calmed by sane reasoning, she found herself leaving behind all the dark thoughts, all the pain, all for this moment to stammer out...

"Can you trigger the fire alarm in their hotel?"

There was a pause. It only lasted a second.

"You bet your ass I can."

.

.

.

A firm, steady knock sounded on the door. Its booming revibrating into Emelia's blank dreamless state, echoing and rolling through the agony of her hangover. Grimacing in pain, she opened her eyes gingerly, unsure of what was happening, where she was, who was knocking,

Sitting up, nausea swept over her and she struggled not to puke right then and there.

"Wha... what?" her voice, almost unrecognizable as her own, croaked out.

Again, someone knocked at her door. Her eyes rose unsure to the room around. A hotel room?

Finally, her memories sank back into her. All that had happened the night before; a crushing weight that seemed to collapse down on her.

"Oh god." her voice cracked, realization what she had tried to do last night.

"Miss Harper?" Someone asked from outside the hotel door again. Putting on her best 'I totally did not just try and kill myself' face- she stumbled to the door. Emelia swallowed down her remaining nausea, forcing a mask of pleasantries to rectify the unease on her face.

Opening the door gently, she stared confused at a hotel worker. Suddenly alarmed, she wondered if that person... that phantom on her laptop, had called security about what she had tried to do last night.

But soon the smell of food swarmed her nose. Looking down, Emelia realized it was a waiter with a cart full of an extravagant breakfast- some visible under clear glass covers, others hidden under silver lids and trays.

Hunger ebbed deep down in her stomach but she pushed away the sudden awakening of her appetite and raised her eyes to meet the deliverer.

"I'm sorry, there's been a misunderstanding. I... I did not order this." She said meekly, still somewhat dazed at such a feast. Gas station food. McDonalds. Cheap eats... when she could afford them, were all she had lived off of for the past few months. It was probably why she had puked at the wedding yesterday, those buffet sandwiches, as delicious as they were, were too rich for her stomach to take with the stress.

"This was ordered for you, miss. We had special instruction to deliver this first thing in the morning." And before she could respond, the waiter began angling the cart to come inside, "May I?" he prompted.

"But... but..." Emelia fought for words "No one would order this for me?"

"Are you Miss Emelia Harper?" he asked quizzically, one eyebrow rising with derisive humor.

"Yes but-"

"Then please, may I come in? I have to get back to kitchen here soon."

Reluctantly, Emelia stepped aside and the hotel employee strolled in easily. He glanced at the half empty bottle of Crown but didn't say anything. After a few moments of setting tray after tray down on dining table he turned and nodded satisfactory to Emelia. 

"I uh... I can't tip you I'm sorry." Emmy said with realization.

"No need, Miss. The tip and bill have already been handled." And with a quick, informal bow, off he went leaving Emelia in a complete and utter stupor.

Distrustfully, she watched the food on the table; the latch of her door behind her echoing in the wake of being alone again. What if she ate it and they realized their mistake? Would they make her pay?

But again... the smell of food was so irresistible she hesitantly stepped forward. Pale fingers clasped the silver lid of what was nearest her, rising to reveal a platter of French toast, powdered with fine sugar, a variety of jams, butter and syrup in small metal cups circling the feast at the center.

Another lid opened, this one an omelet underneath. She discovered eggs benedict in another tray, the hollandaise dripping down the side of the English muffin; paprika dusting the top of the egg and sauce tantalizing. There was fruit around in abundance, toast of every type tucked among smaller trays, scrambled eggs with fresh grated cheese atop, a parfait of fresh yogurt and oats... and finally a stack of pancakes that towered in the back.

"God" she inhaled, "This is meant to feed a whole party?!"

This was definitely a mistake. A pitfall of disappointment coursed through her empty stomach, but it should have known better. Food like this was not possible for her, not with her current income. She made a move to turn away, heading for the phone to call the front desk, but a small note was tucked amongst the dishes and she hadn't noticed it until now. Gingerly she picked it up. Underneath the note was a small bottle of Advil. Opening the letter, her heart beat a little faster.

A new day. New decisions. I didn't know what you liked so I ordered you a few options. Please eat, you need it. Don't worry about the bill. Take the Advil. You are going to be okay.

No signature. No name. Her phantom from last night.

Her heart was hammering in her chest. The words in her hand a confirmation last night was real, last night had happened. She squeezed her eyes shut.  She still didn't know how she was going to get through this all, still didn't know if she could handle any more hurt... but....  she regretted wanting to die. And she almost had done it.

If it wasn't for her phantom... she would have.

Shuddering, she held her face in her hands. Her brain wracked through drunken memories, desperate to remember the end of the night. How could a false voice, warped with such robotic tuning, sound so sympathetic? Sound so sincere?

True to their word, the phantom was able to trigger the fire alarm to the hotel next door. Emelia stood at her window, not quite able to see the other hotel further away, but noted an increase of persons in the streets- the lights of firetrucks coming nearby. She had laughed in delight.  What a petty thing she had done. Gordon would throttle her if he knew. And it only made her laugh harder.

The phantom seemed intrigued by her choice but was more than willing to oblige.

"Anything else? I can do much more... much worse than this." They said, but Emelia shook her head.

"No." smiling gently to herself, enjoying the way the lights around blurred through her wet eyes. It looked like Christmas. "This is enough."

Her phantom said nothing more. They let Emelia stare out the window without interrupting. Finally, tired and drained she found her way back to the desk.

"Thank you," she whispered to them again for the second time that evening. "And you're right..." Pausing now, Emelia reluctantly raised her eyes to stare into the camera lens of her laptop, "Tomorrow is a new day. I need to be sober. I don't think this is really what I wanted."

Nothing happened. She wasn't sure if there was a glitch or error. Finally, the phantom said. "I ask one thing, if I may."

That surprised her but she nodded.

"Leave your laptop on. Leave your camera up. I promise I will disconnect and reboot it safely. But not until I know you are asleep."

Her heartbeat quickened. She didn't blame them for not quite trusting her. But oddly, the request did not upset her. Was she too drunk? A stranger asked to keep an eye on her. To watch her fall asleep safely.

But for years, with so many family members looking away... this gaze was a shocking contrast to theirs. The sane part of her knew this was unacceptable. But the other part of her didn't doubt the phantom's words or intention. 

"Just don't be a perv." she scolded, rubbing her blood shot eyes.

A laugh came through- it was altered but she could still hear the human underneath.

"Good night, Emelia." They breathed across her screen.

"Good night." She said softly back.

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