further terrifying my son. I felt awful about that.
“Well, you shouldn’t do that late at night,” said Mike, sitting up. He was starting to feel better, and lecturing always made him feel more in control. Same with me, I thought wryly. That’s why I like lecturing too.
“Yes, you’re right. Now let’s see. Why don’t we go downstairs, have some warm milk, and then maybe we can both get some good sleep, huh?”
“Yeah. Good idea. But I want some chocolate syrup in mine. And a cookie.”
Mike could tell I was feeling guilty about scaring him, and he would press his advantage. He was going to be a very successful lawyer someday, I thought.
“That could work.” I smiled at him.
We went downstairs, and Molly followed, wagging her tail. She didn’t know what the new game was, but, when the kitchen was involved, she was always enthusiastic.
I fixed warm milk for us and put one squirt of chocolate syrup in Mike’s. I got out an oatmeal cookie from the jar and handed it to him. He finished it in one bite and then took a sip of his chocolate milk. I gave Molly a small dog cookie. She finished hers in one bite too. I poured a little cold milk in her bowl, and she inhaled it.
I could see my son’s shoulders start to droop even before he’d drained the mug. I put an arm around him and helped him to bed. Molly settled down on her dog bed located between the boys’ twin beds. I checked on Sam, and Mike was right. Sam could sleep through just about anything. He was still snoozing away.
I went into my room and looked at the closed computer like it was an aquarium holding a bunch of writhing snakes. I picked it up gingerly and put it on the top of the wardrobe across the room.
I got into bed but left the lights on and thought about what had happened. After the boys had gone to bed, I’d installed the identity-masking software and downloaded the game “Revenge.” I had gone on to the game site and entered the screen name I’d created for myself. I was calling myself “Odin26.” There were other Odins, and I had to use a number as well as the name. Odin was the Norse god of war who liked the chaos and violence of war for its own sake, not for any noble purpose, as warmongers today at least pretended. But ancient Odin was also a fairly complex character. He liked poetry, and could, occasionally, assume the more feminine role of Shaman. The Nazis, and I was betting these Nazi wannabes, had revered the furious god of war, ignoring Odin’s gender-bending. In fact, they would have been horrified by it had they realized. I’d thought myself so clever in using that name. After I was on the site, I did the game-playing for a while, but then I went to the chat room as Odin26. There was inane chatter about “them” and “claiming our rights” and blah blah, but nothing specific about our campus or any planned actions I could see. There was an extended exchange about THOT. I’d paused and searched that. To my disgust it stood for That Ho Over There. The misogyny was nauseating.
Then I’d checked out the other game, the one called “Hitman.” It was another one of those single shooter formats, where I, as the player, was basically just a hand and a gun. As I’d started the play, it quickly had become clear all the women who appeared were targets. They were grotesquely sexualized and were supposed to be prostitutes or strippers. My character was offered extra points and “health” if I killed a prostitute. I couldn’t remember any more. Oddly, it seemed I’d fallen asleep about then. I thought about the nightmare, about going from being the one hunted to becoming the killer with the gun. I was not happy with my subconscious.
I glanced at the digital dial of my clock. It was 2 a.m. Still, I needed to think about something else, at least for a few minutes. I didn’t want to go back into the nightmare. I picked up a paperback mystery novel I was reading about a detective whose leading characteristic was kindness. Unusual. I opened it, and must have fallen asleep again almost immediately. The next thing I knew it was morning.
Chat Room of Video Game “Revenge”
Wednesday, 3 a.m.
Moloch111: where are you, man? p**** f***** mouthbreathers here totally getting to me talking about protesting hate can you f***** believe it???
Demon196: Stay white fella. Can you do that crap? Fat jelly roll it is. Don’t you hump it bro. It’s mo crap. Its time alright?
Moloch111: got it
Chapter 7
You shall not give any of your children to sacrifice them to Moloch, and so profane the name of your God: I am the LORD.
—Leviticus 18:21
Wednesday
“Where’s Giles? We want Bori, not that stuff.” I could hear the two, whining voices all the way up at the top of the stairs.
I hurried down and into the kitchen. A tired, and uncharacteristically harassed-looking Carol turned from the counter with two bowls in her hands.
“Hey, guys. That’s no way to talk to Carol,” I said sternly.
“Sorry, Carol,” they said in unison. “But where’s Giles?” Mike continued, undeterred. “We don’t like that cereal.”
“He had to leave early,” Carol said quietly, putting down the two bowls of what looked like her homemade granola on the table.
Privately, I agreed with the boys, at least about the granola. Carol’s homemade granola tasted like sawdust with some gravel thrown in for variety.
“Mom, can’t you make us some Bori?” Sam wheedled.
“You boys know I can’t make Bori. Remember what happened last time?”
They both frowned, and I saw they recalled some of what had occurred. I had tried making Bori and it came out so thick it could have been used to fill the numerous potholes on the Chicago streets.
“Oh, yeah,” Mike said.
“Let’s get the maple syrup Carol’s Dad sent instead and put some on the cereal,” I countered. I turned to Carol. “Do you know where we put that, Carol?” I asked her.
She turned, looked at me, and I was startled to see she was holding back tears. Was it the boys rejecting her granola, or something else? Something to do with Giles leaving early?
“Never mind, Carol. I’ll find it. And I had planned to walk the boys to school today, if that’s okay. You go ahead and get going.”
“Thanks,” she said quietly and left the room.
I hunted around for the maple syrup, while the boys watched me in silence. I found it in the pantry. But then I thought I remembered we had a package of frozen waffles in the back of the freezer, hidden from both Carol and Giles. I opened the freezer door and rummaged around. Ah, there it was. I pulled it out of the frost and dusted the package in the sink.
“How about some waffles to go with that syrup?” I asked.
“Yeah. Way!” they chirped.
There were four waffles in the package. I put them in our four-slot toaster and then forked three out on to plates when they popped up. I took Molly’s bowl and gave her the last one. She’d had a tough night too, though I had to hold it back
