Fi’s Narration: Face it, computers are cool, and as much as we’ve become obsessed with them, the Ancient Greeks have us beat. In 1901, divers uncovered the first computer in the Antikythera Wreck; they didn’t even know what they had at first. Even crazier, the mechanism didn’t even need wires or modems to work! And that’s not the craziest thing either. A half-century earlier, a woman named Ada Lovelace invented the first computer code. Her mentor never raised the money to create the Analytical Engine, but if he had, her code would’ve transformed computers from calculators to the command machines we have today.
We’ve gone from tracking stars in the sky to sending emails and cracking codes on the dark web. (Not that I’ve ever done that, of course.) Did the Greeks ever imagine their influence on us 2000 years later? Ada never found out if her code could’ve helped music, language, or whatever numbers she wanted to figure out, but maybe it was better that the Engine wasn’t made. Whatever the stars and numbers showed is nothing compared to the information we have now, it’s thousands of times more dangerous.
Our computers are controlling us.
We have black screens in our pockets, and cyber conman cut our real connections. There’s no shipwreck or code to save us. Could we fight it when the digital world starts replacing our world?
- * * *
Fiona was used to stepping around boxes that week; her belongings were found, but only Clu’s duffel bag of clothes was recovered. Several stories below, drivers blared their horns at each other, and bikers cut into the wrong lanes. She peered over the windowsill and mentally traced a line over the skyline, taking in her new city. They should be exploring Greenwich instead of waiting for the mail or rearranging what little furniture they have here. Think of the actor who finished his show after he was buried. She and Clu could be solving the Indian Lake Project. The Sherman Beasts were waiting for a friend, yet they were staying in their apartment this weekend. Fi would take any excuse to explore the city, the fact that it would take her mind off her professor was an added benefit.
Clu straggled into their apartment, tripping over the threshold; he nearly dropped the box he carried in his arms since it blocked his vision. Fi greeted him at the door, grabbed the package from his arms, and placed it on the kitchen island.
Was that beeping coming from her laptop on the counter? Or was the magnetic buzzing deep inside the box? Something was alive in this box she received. A bright smile shone on Fi’s face; she’d know that name anywhere on that label:
John Kane.
Fiona asked Clu to get a knife for her. She sliced through the label, ripping through the tape and cardboard flaps. The blade popped and slashed the bubble wrap that cushioned the objects inside. Whatever John sent her, it was going to be the best, but what would it be?
She pulled out brand-new dousing rods tucked away in the corner; they were made of the sturdiest metal, and Clu held the bent bars at angles, wondering how the rods worked. He gave Fi the last tour jacket as a “reminder of home.” There were other trinkets and cookies and gears; things he knew Fi would eventually tinker with, but the real prize was hidden underneath all of that. It was a silver spiritbox with digital connections, ports, and extra memory for longer recordings. He even placed it in a leather case with Fi’s name embossed on it, too. John wrote that he bought this particular spiritbox from an antique dealer. It shouldn’t exist, but the man swore it did more than record ghosts.
“It’s not my kind of radio, but you’ll get some use from this.”
Fi turned to face Clu, finding him already flopped onto the couch and sinking into its cushions. Her eyes were gears, moving in circles before they zeroed in on Clu. Energy buzzed and zinged and radiated out of her; Clu knew that look anywhere, and she was itching to test drive her new gift. There was a pizzeria within walking distance; surely ghosts could wait until they ate a few sausage slices. He told her that.
“Please, Clu. Please,” Fi said as she snapped the batteries into place. She fiddled with the buttons. “Please. We can do whatever you want tomorrow.”
“Hungry.”
“When will I get a chance to use this before the cemetery gets crowded?”
“Like why now?”
“Monday, I have psych. It’s not like I could go then.”
“Come on, Fi, college can’t be that bad.”
Fi paused. It was easier for Clu; he had gotten into UCLA immediately, yet it took her ten years and community college for NYU to accept her. Also, he easily laughed everything off; she needed help just to get one math equation wrong. At university, Fi was surrounded by eighteen-year-olds and geniuses, and couldn’t help feeling she were lagging compared to them. It was especially disheartening when her professor made comparisons to her, her mom, her brother, and her peers.
From behind, she shook his shoulders begging Clu to say yes. They could stay there for an hour or so, then immediately come back here. It wouldn’t be so wrong. Right? Clu looked at Fi and at the gift John had given her. His stomach grumbled and rumbled and ached from hunger. Maybe he could hold off on dinner for an hour. And adventures with Fi always guaranteed a memorable time.
“We’ll do whatever you want tomorrow,” she said. “Sleep-in. Have the largest pizza ever. Doesn’t matter, it’s your choice. Please.”
“Anything?”
She nodded.
Clu pulled the spiritbox from Fi hands and turned it over in his own. He held it up to the light.
“Can I use it, too?”
Fiona cheered and yanked it back from Clu. Eagerly, she leaned over the sofa, her feet hanging in the air behind her, and Clu’s face inches from each other’s. Quickly, she pecked his cheek with a kiss before hurrying away and taking his keys off the coat hook. She slipped out the door but stuck her head back in, promising that she meant they’d do anything he wanted to do tomorrow.
“Hurry up, Clu.”
Half the city goers muttered as they shuffled past Fi, others shouted for her to “look ahead” and “watch where she’s going” as she bounded down the street. (In that way, Greenwich was exactly like Hope Springs: people judged Fi’s interests and tastes no matter where she lived.) Quarters fell from her fingers as she fed the meter; she had so much excitement that Fi could’ve leapt over the parking meter. She outstretched her arms, palms facing the sky as if she were pleading the gods – or anyone – to believe her. Clu struggled to keep pace with her. She didn’t need to prove anything to him, but he knew if one person – it could even be a stranger – took her seriously, that would mean everything to her.
Winds whipped up speed. Fiona spat her hair from her mouth. White clouds blackened and fattened and rolled over the sky, blotting out the clear day. Stoplights flickered. They burst. Their electric sparks rained onto the pavement. Street signs were uprooted, then cast aside, landing miles away. The crowds around Fi split and sprinted for shelter, finding none.
Freak weather wasn’t normal for this time of year.
Fiona stopped and pulled Clu aside as they waited for the wind to pass. It was also where they’d hear their first case before they met her. A brunette girl skipped down the block, her waves swung above her shoulders as she stopped in front of a vendor’s table. She dug a few bills out of her pocket, thumbing through them until she held two dollars in her hand. The stout man smiled at her generosity. He had a chain smoker’s voice and wore a worn, tweed, patched professor’s jacket. His fingers slipped through the holes in his gloves.
“Thanks, Bright Eyes. You sure your folks won’t mind I used your shower?”
“Anything for you Louie. You can’t get that job if you don’t shower.”
“Right.”
Louie clutched the cash in his hand and his subway pass in the other. “You do something to your hair?”
The girl blushed. “I wanted a change. Pink highlights were the wrong choice, weren’t they?”
“Nah. A colorful choice for your kind heart. Just don’t change too much.”
“I can’t be anyone other than me.”
Neither Fi nor Riley paid attention to where they were going once they got back on course. It’s not that they minded when they bumped into each other; they apologized and went their separate ways. Later, they’d always wonder if the other had caused this mystery to happen. But how did a perfect day fade into a storm?
Tires screeched, and they burned skid marks into the road. A blank, windowless van zoomed to the curb, balancing its wheels half on the edge and half on the parking space. A gruff, masked strongman leapt from the back of it; another man, wearing a jagged mask, reached into the crowd.
A yelp.
A skip.
A stumble.
The men dragged a young woman to their van. She stamped her feet and on three, they tossed her inside it. Clu coughed out the smog. Fi dug out the pebbles that flew with the wind and dug into her skin. As suddenly as the clouds darkened, they lightened, breaking apart as the van sped away. It raced past stop signs. It rocked and wobbled on both sides. The driver blared his horn and cursed other people out of his way. The girl’s screams faded and blended with the sirens, piercing Fi’s ears. The girl certainly had some lungs on her. But now the sparks were coming from the van. Something hook-shot thrown away, flying out of the flapping, clanging, slamming open and closed backdoors. It must’ve been a phone, but where would it land?
Fi squinted.
Her spiritbox went haywire. It grabbed onto static and rewound through nearby communications. The buttons glittered and sparked as the stoplights did. It cycled through the girl’s screams, rewinding, replaying, and screeching again and again. She couldn’t mute it or even lower the volume, no matter how many times she pressed down the buttons.
“Clu?”
“Yeah?”
“I think I understand what John meant.”
* * *
Vines crawled up the black banisters, and moss peeked through the concrete steps as Maya made her way down to the bakery. Fortunately for her, the outdoor tables were blank, empty, and perfect. There was no way she was going to let anyone cool see her busing tables or mopping the floor. Maya pulled her hair out of its ponytail once everything was clear.
It was so unfair.
Part of her still didn’t understand why she was being punished for something so minor. She didn’t vandalize the park; she “redecorated it” with her spray paint. And why was she in trouble with the school for the printer issue? It’s not stolen anymore if she returned it to the principal. So, there was no reason for her to pay them back. But there was one good thing about this:
She opened the door and heard the bell tinkling above her. She felt her legs buckle when she saw Josh spreading textbooks and essays across the table. Her fist sprang out, erect and in front of her, pointing at Josh.
“Boing!”
Maya pushed herself off her heels, breaking into a sprint.
No one else existed except her and Josh. Cory – her teacher – disappeared, and Maya completely ignored her mom in the background. Maya leapt up into the air, throwing herself onto Josh’s back, not even missing a beat.
The pint-sized blonde knew how to cling to him and how to make it so he couldn’t throw her off of him. It’s not like he minded. He chuckled. He held onto her arms, which she had wrapped around his neck.
Still, Josh turned his head and pressed his finger to his lips.
“Shhh. Something’s going on with Riley.”
Maya slid off his back, looking at Cory pacing across the bakery as he scratched and pulled at the curls on his head. His future crow’s feet appeared under his eyes. There was desperation when he chatted into his phone; his voice pitched, slid, and fell into different notes. She wondered who was scarier when calm: him or Riley? So this was what Mr. Matthews sounds like when he goes from nut job to meltdown.
“Riley, come home. Your mom doesn’t mean what she said; she doesn’t mean anything she says. Think of everything she calls me.”
Where was Riley?
Maya sucked on her teeth and examined her nails, only half listening to Cory. He gripped and loosened his fingers at his side. Briefly, he glanced at Josh and pointed at Maya.
“If you won’t come back for Maya, who’s going to rein her in?”
“Hey!”
Cory quieted her down and continued leaving his message. How could he ensure his daughter was safe if he couldn’t leave over forty voicemails on her phone? It had been four days since he’d seen her, and at least she’d know she was safe if she were with Lucas. Cory stormed out of the bakery without bothering to give a rundown of the Riley situation.
“What did you think happened to her?” Josh said.
Maya swatted her hand. “It’s about time Riles listened to my bad influence.”
“Four days?”
“I’ve stayed with her longer than that.”
“You were sleeping over.”
“If she’s in trouble, she’ll let me know,” Maya said. She checked over the counter, making sure Katy wasn’t hiding anywhere. “Mom’s not looking, we can bail and catch a movie?”
Josh chuckled. “Or you could read the book instead.”
It was always better to lead Maya to something than to force her to do anything. The fact that he got her to sit in front of a book was a miracle; he wasn’t going to let Maya get held back in a remedial reading class.
She slammed his books closed, groaning at all the work she had ahead of them. The movie would be better; the directors knew how to use smaller words unlike writers. Maya might as well have read “Newh eht lare si on onrgle whta ti wsa, olatgsian ssseuam situllf aningem,” or “assumes when what no is real it was, nostalgia the longer its meaning full,” and not what it actually said.
“‘When the real is no longer what it was, nostalgia assumes its full meaning.’” Josh moved the tip of his pen along the words, so Maya could keep the lines straight. Maya lost track of how many headaches she got in English class; it was much better not to think at all.
“You think Riley’s okay?”
“Riley’s smart enough to take care of herself, but strong enough…” Josh drummed his pencil on the table. “She’s in trouble if you haven’t heard from her.”
“Then let’s find her.”
“What about work?”
Maya gave him a sly smile. “Mrs. Matthews isn’t gonna let me get in trouble.”
Josh pulled on his jacket. “We’re not staying out all night.”
Daylight or nightlife. There wasn’t a single hour or day that Maya didn’t love New York. Children rolled around down the park hills and couples made out on benches. Vendors sold greasy chili dogs to people passing by while pets scratched at their owners’ legs. Maya would’ve loved to sing along with the hippie guitar players; her voice would automatically improve their song, but there’d be time for music once she found Riley.
Maya snapped her fingers.
A van splashed through a puddle, staining Maya’s sneakers with mud. Normally, the curses wouldn’t have bothered Maya, but she felt an itch crawl under her skin. An empty message burrowed and wormed into her head, but she didn’t have the missing clue that would help her piece it together. Maya didn’t believe in intuition, but she couldn’t shake this weird feeling off.
The phone was thrown before Maya could make sense of it. Its purple case flung and spun in the air; it was a softball arching into the air. It was a punch shot forced across the street. It was a pitch thrown when you wanted to strike out the batter.
Maya side-slid right. She leaned backward. Maya moved back, running underneath the falling phone.
Was she fast enough to catch it?
Were her fingers nimble enough to clutch and keep hold of it?
The glass broke on the road and chipped out of the case. The cracks scratched lightning strikes drawn across the touchscreen; it flickered on and flickered off. Maya crouched down, gingerly picking up the phone:
This was Riley’s phone.
Her phone glitched. It vibrated and jumped in Maya’s palms. Passcode numbers sped by, randomized, and counted down. Numbers counted up from the negatives and blinked at zero before spinning up to higher numbers. What the hell? What’s wrong with Riley’s phone? The battery symbol drained. It filled back to one-hundred percent. How many times could it break and fix itself after it hits the ground? Colors faded to black-and-white. Floor tiles were grimy with age. Water dripped and leaked from the faucet, adding to the mold in the walls. A shivering form took up the entire space, what little space there was. The air conditioning roared to life, drowning out the static. Whoever was holding the phone struggled to keep it still.
Riley.
Those woodland brown eyes made you feel the world was filled with hope instead of danger. They made you wish you lived in the fairytale that girl believed in. Here, Riley’s eyes blurred and blended to black. They were stone. They were fearful.
“I just wanted to be happy.”
She cowered in a corner, hugging her knees to her chest. Then she’d duck and crawl into the smallest stall, turtling into herself to become invisible. She jerked her head back at the growling voice that called her name. Her own shook, she choked on each syllable. Whatever hunted her erased her sound when it wanted. The creature cranked her speaker’s volume until it deafened her.
“Can you hear it?”
Something stalked Riley outside the bathroom. It slithered. It hissed. Electrical lines were like vines slipping under the door and drawn across the tiles. The phone began glitching and changing again. Whatever camera Riley found shook in her hands. Hissing became whistling, and that became long, drawn-out Morse code beeps.
What was Riley looking for?
Maya saw Riley grapple with her lip gloss; her fingers fumbled with the cap coated with oil. Her nails were chipped, her palms were slick with gloss and dust. Her sister pulled her finger down along the mirror. Each letter Riley wrote were wiggling, disconnected lines. Hopefully, she didn’t write in the number codes that flashed across her phone. The video glitched. Riley stepped aside, showing the name smeared onto the cracked mirror
“Peaches, find this girl. She’ll help you.”
Rockerbaby.
The video faded out. It cracked, sparked, and fizzled before it was as black as Riley’s eyes were.
Maya glanced at the phone. She spun around toward the direction it was thrown from, trying to guess which van it had come from. Rockerbaby? Not only was Riley missing, but she had met someone new to replace her. Why couldn’t Riley make normal friends for once?
Author’s Note: As a millennial, I grew up with the shows So Weird, The X-Files, and Boy Meets World. Originally, this began as a crossover with just those three shows, until I realized that Fi interacting with Maya and Riley would be much funnier than her coming across Shawn and Cory. However, in order for this fusion fic crossover to work, I did have to change the Girl Meets World “canon” slightly to keep it in line with the original show. The overall title might change later, but this is just the first chapter.
Very nice. I do hope you are inspired to write more; I would be interested in seeing more of these fandoms mixed together … it really does work.