You’ve Got Mail

Walter Boone had been using the same email address since 1997. He saw no reason to change it. That seemed to bother people. His accountant had mentioned it. His niece had mentioned it. A woman he briefly dated after his divorce had laughed so hard when he gave it to her that Walter almost left the restaurant. Even his bank had started suggesting he “update” his contact information, as though an email address could expire from embarrassment. But it still worked. That was the part nobody seemed to understand.

               walterboone57@aol.com received emails. Walter sent emails. Bills arrived. Receipts arrived. His daughter sent pictures of the grandchildren. Nothing was broken. So why the hell would he change it? The subject came up again at Dennis Carver’s retirement party. Walter had known Dennis for 22 years. They worked for the same accounting firm in Hattiesburg, Mississippi, though Dennis had spent most of his career in corporate tax while Walter handled audits and small-business accounts. Dennis was loud, friendly, and popular in the way Walter had never particularly cared to be.

               The retirement party was held at Dennis’s house, a sprawling brick place overlooking the river, with catered barbecue, too much bourbon, and about 40 people standing around telling the same stories they had told at every office Christmas party since 2008. Walter had almost stayed home. His doctor had warned him that the prednisone could affect his mood. That was the phrase. Affect your mood. As though that meant he might be slightly irritable during commercials.

               Walter had received a kidney transplant three months earlier after years of declining function. His younger brother, Calvin, had been the donor. Walter had recovered well. Better than expected, according to everyone involved. He took his medication exactly as prescribed. Tacrolimus. Mycophenolate. Prednisone. Pills in the morning. Pills at night. Bloodwork twice a week at first, then weekly. He did everything right. He was not going to become one of those people who received another person’s organ and then ruined it because they could not follow directions.

               Still, the steroids made sleep difficult. He knew that. They made him restless. He knew that too. Occasionally his thoughts moved faster than he liked, especially late at night, but Walter had always been good at shutting thoughts down. Numbers helped. Numbers behaved. People did not.

               “Walter!” Dennis called from across the patio. “Come settle something.”

               Walter was holding a paper plate with brisket and coleslaw. “That sounds like work.”

               “It is serious.”

               “It never is.”

               Three other people were standing with Dennis. Two worked at the firm. The third was Dennis’s son, Tyler, who was 26 and worked in something Walter vaguely understood involved cybersecurity. Dennis pointed at Walter with his beer. “Tell Tyler your email address.”

               Walter stopped. “No.”

               Dennis laughed. “Come on.”

               Walter looked at him. “Why?”

               “Because he doesn’t believe me.”

               Tyler was already smiling. Walter felt something shift behind his ribs. “Believe what?”

               Dennis grinned. “That you still use AOL.”

               The group laughed. Walter laughed too. It was automatic. “Yeah, yeah.”

               Tyler nearly choked on his drink. “No way.”

               “Way.”

               “Seriously?”

               “It works.”

               “That’s incredible.”

               Walter stabbed a piece of brisket with his fork. “I’m glad I could make your night.”

               One of the women from payroll leaned over. “Do you still hear the little ‘You’ve got mail’ voice?” More laughter.

               Walter smiled. “I keep the computer next to my fax machine.”

               That got the biggest laugh. Someone clapped him on the shoulder. Dennis said, “See? Walter doesn’t care.”

               Walter nodded. “Nope.” He looked around at all of them. Smiling. Laughing. Then he smiled wider. “Not even a little.”

               The first email arrived at 2:13 the next morning. Walter was awake. Of course he was awake. He had gone to bed at 11:00pm and spent three hours staring at the ceiling while his brain replayed the party in perfect detail. He kept seeing Tyler’s face. Dennis’s grin. The woman from payroll asking about the AOL voice. It was stupid. He knew it was stupid. People teased each other. He had teased Dennis about his hairpiece for years. Except Dennis actually wore a hairpiece. Walter’s email worked. There was a difference.

               At 2:13am, his laptop chimed from the kitchen. Walter sat up. He had disabled most notifications because he hated noise, but AOL still made a soft tone when mail arrived. He walked into the kitchen and opened the laptop. One new message. No sender name. No subject. He clicked it.

               THEY LAUGH AT YOU WHEN YOU LEAVE THE ROOM.

               Walter stared. Then laughed. “Very funny.” He checked the sender. The address was nonsense. A string of letters and numbers at a domain he did not recognize. Spam. He deleted it. Went back to bed. At 2:41am, another arrived.

               DENNIS STARTED IT.

               Walter sat at the kitchen table. He did not delete that one. He read it twice. Then three times. At 3:02am:

               TYLER THINKS YOU ARE PATHETIC.

               Walter shut the laptop. He sat there in the dark. The kitchen clock ticked. He told himself someone from the party was messing with him. That was obvious. Dennis had probably given Tyler his email address. Tyler worked in cybersecurity. There it was. Explanation. Simple. Walter smiled. Then the laptop chimed again. He opened it.

               YOU KNOW WHAT TO DO.

               The next morning, Walter called Dennis. “Did you give your son my email?”

               Dennis laughed immediately. “Oh, God. Did he send you something?”

               Walter gripped the phone tighter. “So he did.”

               “No, no. I’m asking.”

               “Dennis. I didn’t give him anything.”

               “Someone did.”

               “What happened?”

               “Nothing.”

               “You sound pissed.”

               “I’m not pissed.”

               “You sure?”

               Walter looked down at his pill organizer. Morning medications lined in neat rows. “Yes.”

               Dennis was quiet. “Walter, you okay?”

               That irritated him more than the joke had. “I’m fine.”

               “I’m just asking.”

               “Then stop asking.” Walter hung up. For several seconds he stared at the phone. Then it rang.

Dennis. Walter declined the call. Another email arrived.

               HE LIED TO YOU.

               Walter looked toward the laptop. He had not heard it chime. He opened the message.

               HE ALWAYS LIES WHEN HE’S AFRAID.

               Walter deleted it. Then emptied the trash. Then cleared the deleted-items folder. Then checked it again. Gone. Good. He took his medication. At least he thought he did. Twenty minutes later, he looked at the pill organizer and could not remember whether Thursday morning had been empty when he started. He stared at it. His heart began beating faster. “Jesus.” He counted the pills remaining. Did the math. Counted again. The number did not make sense. He checked the prescription bottles. Maybe he had missed a dose. Or doubled one. He called the transplant clinic. The nurse told him not to panic and asked which medication he might have taken twice.

               “I don’t know.”

               “Walter, did you take your tacrolimus?”

               “I think so.”

               “Your prednisone?”

               “I think so.”

               “You need to know.”

               “I know that.”

               “Are you feeling okay?”

               “I’m fine.”

               “Any confusion?”

               “No.”

               “Agitation?”

               Walter looked at the laptop. “No.”

               “Trouble sleeping?”

               He hesitated. “A little.”

               “How much?”

               “I don’t know. Four hours.”

               “Four hours a night?”

               “Maybe three.”

               “For how long?”

               Walter hung up.

               The messages continued. Not constantly. That would have been easier. They arrived just often enough to keep Walter waiting.

               ASK MELISSA WHAT SHE SAID ABOUT YOU IN THE BREAK ROOM.

               Melissa worked in payroll. The woman who had made the AOL joke. Walter did not ask her. Instead, he watched her. The next day at work, he stood near the copy room and listened as Melissa spoke to another employee. He could not hear everything. Then Melissa laughed. Walter felt his jaw tighten. He stepped around the corner. Melissa stopped talking. Both women looked at him.

               “Walter.”

               “What?”

               Melissa frowned. “Nothing.”

               “You stopped talking.”

               “We were talking about lunch.”

               “Then keep talking.”

               The other woman stared at him. Walter smiled. “Go ahead.” Neither spoke. Walter walked away. Ten minutes later, another email arrived.

               SEE?

               Walter deleted it. At noon:

               THEY KNOW SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH YOU.

               At 12:06:

               THEY THINK IT’S THE MEDICATION.

               Walter froze. Nobody at work knew about the warning from his doctor. At least he did not think they did. Maybe Dennis knew. Maybe human resources. Maybe his insurance information. He looked around the office. Melissa was typing. Dennis was on the phone. A junior accountant walked past and nodded. Walter stared at him until he looked away.

               His doctor reduced the prednisone. Walter did not tell him about the emails. That would have been a mistake. Doctors heard “messages” and immediately stopped listening to everything that followed. Instead, Walter said he was restless. Irritable. Not sleeping. Dr. Simms nodded. “Steroids can absolutely do that.”

               “So, I’m not imagining it.”

               “The symptoms? No.”

               Walter leaned back. “What about paranoia?”

               Dr. Simms looked at him. “Are you feeling paranoid?”

               “I asked a question.”

               “It can happen.”

               “How often?”

               “Not commonly, but it can.”

               “Psychosis?”

               A pause. “Rarely.”

               Walter smiled. “There it is.”

               “There what is?”

               “The word you didn’t want to say.”

               “Walter, are you seeing or hearing things?”

               “No.”

               “Do you believe people are trying to hurt you?”

               Walter thought of the emails. “No.”

               Dr. Simms studied him. “You’re sure?”

               “Absolutely.”

               That night the message came from Dennis’s email address. Walter stared at the sender.

               dcarver@hollandbryce.com

               Subject:

                               SORRY

               The body contained one sentence.

                               I SHOULD HAVE STOPPED THEM.

               Walter called Dennis. No answer. He called again. Voicemail. Walter drove to Dennis’s house. It was almost midnight when he arrived. The porch light was off. Walter knocked. Nothing. He rang the bell. Dennis’s wife finally opened the door wearing a robe. “Walter?”

               “Where’s Dennis?”

               She blinked. “Asleep.”

               “I need to talk to him.”

               “At midnight?”

               “He emailed me.”

               “No, he didn’t.”

               Walter stared at her. “What?”

               “He’s been asleep since nine.”

               “Wake him up.”

               “Walter.”

               “Wake him up.”

               She stepped backward. That was when Walter realized how he looked. Sweatshirt. No coat. House shoes. Hands shaking. “Walter, you need to go home.”

               “Ask him if he sent it.”

               “I’m not waking him up.”

               Walter nodded slowly. “Okay.” He turned and walked back to his car. Before he reached it, his phone buzzed. Email.

               SHE’S LYING TOO.

               Walter looked back at the house. Dennis’s wife was still standing in the doorway. Watching him.

               Tyler disappeared three days later. Not missing. Not officially. He simply did not show up for work at his cybersecurity firm and stopped answering his phone. Dennis came into Walter’s office pale and exhausted. “Have you heard from Tyler?”

               Walter looked up. “Why would I?”

               “I don’t know.”

               “You think I talk to your son?”

               “No. I’m asking everybody.”

               Walter set down his pen. “What happened?”

               “He’s gone.”

               “Gone where?”

               “If I knew that, Walter, he wouldn’t be gone.” Dennis sat across from him. “He left his wallet. Car’s still at his apartment. Laptop’s gone.”

               Walter felt something cold move through him. “Laptop?”

               “Yes.”

               The AOL joke. Tyler smiling. Cybersecurity. Walter kept his face neutral. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

               Dennis stared at him. “You hated that joke, didn’t you?”

               Walter stopped. “What?”

               “The party.”

               “Don’t be ridiculous.”

               “You’ve been acting strange ever since.”

               Walter laughed. “You think I did something to your son because he laughed at my email address?”

               “I didn’t say that.”

               “You didn’t have to.”

               Dennis stood. “Forget it.”

               “Dennis.” He stopped at the door. Walter smiled. “You should be careful accusing people of things.” Dennis looked at him for several seconds. Then left. Walter waited until the door closed. His computer chimed. One new message.

               ONE DOWN.

               Walter stared. He did not move. A second arrived.

               FOUR TO GO.

               Walter whispered, “No.” Then another.

               YOU WANTED THIS.

               “I didn’t.”

               YES YOU DID.

               Walter stood so quickly his chair rolled backward. “Stop.” The office was empty. His computer chimed again.

               DON’T PRETEND NOW.

               Walter unplugged it. The screen went black. His phone buzzed. Same message. He threw the phone across the room. It struck the wall and shattered. For the first time in days, there was silence. Walter stood there breathing hard. Then, from the dead computer speakers, a familiar cheerful voice said: “You’ve got mail.”

               Police found Tyler’s laptop in Walter’s garage. Walter did not know how it got there. That was the truth. He told them repeatedly. They found Dennis’s house key in the glove compartment of Walter’s car. Melissa’s photograph was in Walter’s desk drawer. Someone had written LIAR across her face in black marker. Walter did not remember doing that either.

               Detective Lena Price sat across from him in an interview room. “Walter, your fingerprints are on Tyler’s laptop.”

               “I touched it before.”

               “When?”

               “I don’t know.”

               “You said you barely knew him.”

               “I didn’t.”

               “Then why would your fingerprints be on his laptop?”

               Walter rubbed his forehead. “My medication.”

               Price leaned back. “What about it?”

               “It affects memory.”

               “Does it?”

               “Yes.”

               “Does it make you break into people’s apartments?”

               “No.”

               “Does it make you threaten coworkers?”

               “I didn’t threaten anyone.”

               “Dennis says you did.”

               “Dennis is afraid.”

               “Of you?”

               Walter smiled. “No.”

               “Then of what?”

               Walter looked at the two-way mirror. “The same thing I am.”

               Price followed his eyes. “What’s that?”

               “The emails.”

               Price was silent. Walter laughed softly. “There it is.”

               “What?”

               “That look.”

               “What look?”

               “The one where you decide I’m crazy.”

               “I didn’t say that.”

               “You didn’t have to.”

               They admitted Walter voluntarily. That was the official word. Voluntarily. The psychiatrist explained that the combination of prednisone, sleep deprivation, stress, and transplant medication could produce severe psychiatric symptoms. Walter listened. He agreed. He took every medication they gave him. He slept 11 hours the first night. Nine the second. By the fourth day, he felt clearer than he had in weeks. No emails. No messages. No voices.

               Tyler was found alive in Memphis. He claimed he had gone there voluntarily. He refused to explain why. He refused to speak to police about Walter. The charges were dropped. Dennis apologized. Melissa apologized too. Everyone seemed relieved that Walter had been sick. That explanation made them comfortable. Medication. Sleep deprivation. A temporary break from reality. Walter accepted it. He wanted to accept it. Two weeks after discharge, he sat at his kitchen table with a new laptop. His niece had bought it for him. She had also created a Gmail account. Walter had laughed when she gave him the password. “Happy now?”

               “Very.”

               “You finally dragged me into this century.”

               “You’re welcome.”

               He had not logged into AOL since leaving the hospital. That account belonged to the bad weeks. The confused weeks. The weeks when he had scared people. Walter opened Gmail. Nothing unusual. He paid two bills. Answered his daughter. Deleted advertisements. Normal. He closed the laptop. Then he heard it. From the old computer sitting unplugged on the counter. A soft chime. Walter turned. The screen was black. The power cord lay beside it. Another chime. He stood slowly. “No.”

               The screen lit. AOL opened by itself. One new message. Walter did not want to look. He walked closer anyway. Sender unknown. No subject. He clicked it.

               YOU WERE RIGHT ABOUT ALL OF THEM.

               Walter stared. Another message arrived.

               THE MEDICATION ONLY MADE YOU LISTEN.

               His hands began to shake. A third appeared.

               DENNIS KNOWS WHERE TYLER REALLY WAS.

               Walter backed away. “No.” The computer chimed again. This message contained an attachment. A photograph. Walter opened it. Dennis stood beside a freshly dug hole in the woods. Tyler was next to him. Melissa was there too. All three were looking directly at the camera. At Walter. Behind them stood four more people from the retirement party. Nobody smiled. Walter leaned closer. Something was wrong with the photograph. Then he saw it. In the bottom corner was a hand. The hand of whoever had taken the picture. Walter knew the ring. He looked down. Same gold band. Same scar across the knuckle. His hand. The computer chimed. One final message.

               NOW DO YOU REMEMBER?

               Walter stared at the photograph until his vision blurred. A memory surfaced. Wet ground. A shovel. Dennis crying. Tyler begging him to stop. Walter gripping something heavy in both hands. He staggered backward. “No.”

               Another memory. Melissa running through the trees. Walter laughing. Not angry. Happy. Free.

He looked toward the kitchen window. His reflection stared back. For a moment, Walter did not recognize the man standing there. Then the reflection smiled. Walter did not. The old computer spoke behind him. Bright. Cheerful. Almost nostalgic.

               “You’ve got mail.”

               Walter closed his eyes. When he opened them, the new message was already waiting.

               WELCOME BACK.