Net Working

Dammit all, why did there have to be so much traffic today, the day
that his fianc? Kimberly had promised to tell him her real name.
Michael was trying to hurry home, but wasn't making much progress, and
all he could see was car upon lorry upon car, packed into the two lanes
of the road like Fruit Pastilles in two freshly unwrapped packets,
side-by-side. An assortment of fruity flavours nose to tail, but their
fumes were far from fruity.

It might seem as a bit odd really, he thought, getting engaged to
someone who's real name he didn't actually know, and he'd decided that
after they got married, he would still call her Kim, whatever her real
name turned out to be. As it wasn't her real name, "Kimberly" was a bit
of a strange pseudonym to use for a forum group, as it sounded so much
like a first name, perhaps it was her sister's name or even her middle
name. She never quite explained to him how she had come by it, only
that it was not her real name. And how she had enjoyed teasing him over
the weeks and months with the prospect of revealing her real name,
which she had finally promised to do today

They had first 'met' on a discussion forum, on one of the writing sites
that he used to visit. He had never been much of a writer, his
enthusiasm had initially outweighed his talents by quite a margin, but
eventually his enthusiasm waned too, but he still read the
contributions sometimes. What he really enjoyed however were the
forums. He was a regular contributor to a number of them on the net,
and not just the writing ones, but science ones, sport ones (his
snooker critiques were particularly highly regarded in such circles)
and also film ones. But it was on the writing one where he had met
Kimberly.

She had posted a thread concerning an obscure novel, saying that she'd
just read it, and it was the best book she'd ever read, asking for any
other opinions. It looked as though nobody else had read it, as she
hadn't had any replies, not a single one. It was only when Michael was
hunting through some archived threads that he came across it. He had
read the book, albeit a long time ago, but he too had loved it. He
replied and told her so, and things went from there. They swapped
opinions on books, TV shows and lots of films, and Michael was pretty
sure he'd found a soul-mate, when eventually he discovered something
he'd given up any hope of ever finding: a fellow connoisseur of cheesy
British comedies. Regular forum discussion became regular emails, and
fairly soon they had found themselves falling in love. They had sent
each other photographs, and she had once contacted him from a friend's
house who had a webcam, so he knew the photographs were genuine. Of
course, he thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever (never)
met.

She lived in San Francisco, 8 hours behind, and she was only able to
email him at the end of her working day. He didn't have email at work,
and as he worked the early shift, he had to wait till he got home each
day to read the lovely long email that inevitably awaited his arrival,
like a faithful old dog.

A prod from the horn of the car behind startled him out of his
daydreams, and he saw that the car in front had moved about 6 feet
forward. The driver behind had honked to indicate that Michael was now
holding everyone up. Tosser, thought Michael, glaring at the driver
behind in his rear view mirror, and crawled forward as slow as his
clutch would allow.

He burst in through his front door, threw his keys on the kitchen unit,
and his jacket onto the sofa, and turned on his PC. In a well rehearsed
routine, he went to put the kettle on while the PC booted up, then
logged on, and went back to pour his cup of tea while his PC downloaded
the day's email.

He sat down, brew in hand, and looked at the screen. 24 emails today.
Crikey. Did he want a free holiday? did he want to get out of debt
instantly? did he want an honorary degree? did he want to buy steroids,
viagra, bigger-penis pills ? Where these people got his email address
from he'd never know, but whoever was selling it on was doing a damn
fine job.

He deleted the lot, but in his frustration with all the junk, he hadn't
registered immediately: there was no email from Kimberly. He checked
his deleted items folder to make sure he hadn't just dumped it by
mistake. Nope. There was definitely no email from Kimberly today. He
felt deflated. He slumped in his chair, his mug of tea sitting
untouched on the desk. She hadn't said she was going anywhere, and she
hadn't been feeling ill at all. He hoped she was alright. They had each
missed the occasional day before, but they had always warned each other
in advance if they were going to miss an email for any reason.

Ah well, he reasoned, no need to panic, she must have had a busy day,
or perhaps the work computers weren't working for some reason. It's
only one day after all, he chuckled, laughing at himself for getting
all worked up.

To put his mind at ease, he decided to give her a quick call at work.
She had told him not to call her at work, because she was always so
busy that she would not have time to talk, but he knew she wouldn't
mind just a quick call, just to hear her voice.

Damn. Voicemail.

"Hi, this is Kimberly. I can't get to the phone right now, but leave
your number and I'll call you back&;#8230;"

"Hi Kim, it's me. Sorry to call you at work, it's just that I never got
an email from you today. I'm sure you were just busy or something.
Er&;#8230; It's no problem, just wanted to check you were ok. Ok.
Bye"

He went to bed that night feeling slightly uneasy, and didn't sleep so
well.

Work the next day dragged. Twice someone actually asked if there was
anything wrong, as he seemed so distant, but he just mumbled something
about not sleeping well, and left it at that.

He left work early, and rushed home to beat the traffic. No tea this
time, just straight to the PC.

"Come on&;#8230;" he barked impatiently to the PC, it was like
watching an old lady climb a flight of stairs.

He logged on, and waited for the connection.

There it goes, wait for the email download&;#8230;

Bang. Like a slap to the face there it was. Or rather wasn't. No email
from Kimberly again. Just more junk.

This was not good.

The same happened the day after, and the day after that.

He left message after message on her voicemail.

After a week, he sent her another email.

"If you don't want to talk to me, that's fine, I can't imagine why, but
that's ok. I just want to know that you're alright. Please just give me
a call or drop me note or something. Just so that I know you're well.
Please."

After two weeks, he knew that something must have happened to her. She
wouldn't have just stopped writing, they were just about to get
married, for crying out loud! He knew he must go and find her, after
all, his fianc? had disappeared, and he didn't know why.

He tried desperately to think of any friends she may have mentioned
that he could contact, but there was only one he knew of - Maria, that
she occasionally went out for lunch with, but he knew nothing about
her, only that she worked across the road from Kimberly.

He didn't even know where she lived. He knew the town, of course, but
San Francisco was a big place. He pictured himself wandering around the
hot hilly streets, asking passers-by if they knew his "fianc?, called
Kimberly, only that's not her real name, you see&;#8230;".

He could picture the scene quite clearly, and realised how completely
preposterous it sounded. But he had to do something, surely.

He had the photos which she had sent him. Not much to go on, but
perhaps a private detective would be able to do something with them.
But what?!

He paced up and down his living room, images of Kimberly flying round
his head.

He picked up the phone, and dialled his boss's home number, to ask him
for a few days off, just to get his head straight. His boss would
understand, surely. But no he couldn't do it. He would think him a
fool. He put the phone down.

He sat on his sofa, head in his hands, thinking what on earth could he
do.

"What the hell&;#8230;" said Michael, standing up, and grabbing his
jacket, "I'll call him from the airport."