Skyquakers (16 page)

The one who responded to her post – the only correct
responder – went under the codename Psycho, for some dark reason. She located
him on VVEE and found he had been a periodic contributor to the site for six
months now. He did not appear to be one of the overzealous, obsessive, crazy
ones, but instead was a quiet observer who only rarely published his thoughts
on others’ stories and theories. By the nature of his posts, Psycho was
interested in the evidence-based logic behind the existence of aliens and subscribed
to the Ancient Aliens theory: the belief that aliens had been present here long
before modern humans and had in fact been an integral part in many arms of
human civilisation, from the passing of knowledge of farming and tomb-building,
to the chemical structure of DNA. Psycho was not afraid to acknowledge
published scientific articles in his arguments, and, like a true scholar, was
not afraid to alter his beliefs when others, in turn, presented evidence to
him. In a bold piece he had written on VVEE, Psycho expressed the scientific
reasoning behind what he called ‘Bullet Train Evolution’, where he pointed out
that humans had gone from Neanderthals to building pyramids in less than ten
thousand years; an evolutionary step that was impossibly short by all known
measurements, unless other intelligence had helped ‘speed up’ the mutagenesis
of the human genome which resulted in the emergence of modern
Homo sapiens
.

We are all gene-spliced products of
their making. We always will be. But to what end: that is the question.

-
Psycho

It was Psycho who was the first to make contact. He left her
a message on VVEE, a simple, ‘Hi,’ to see if she still existed.

The first night, Lara didn
’
t respond.
All she kept wondering was why he had called himself Psycho. It was a fairly
bland codename compared to others on VVEE, like Lethal Lynx, or
Megaxus
, or Those
Without
Noses,
among her favourite weirdos. What would she call herself in return? She hadn
’
t
thought of a proper name yet; her story had been posted under
anon
.
 

Frankly, only one codename came to mind.

‘I’m Lo,
’
she wrote back.

It took two nights for him to respond, which meant he was
either too busy to check his VVEE page every day or he was too nervous to talk
to her. In the open chat box, a little green dot appeared next to Psycho
’
s
name when he too was online, a red one if he was absent.

Lara decided to tread lightly at first, despite the
continuous butterflies in her stomach. She was wary of whom she was speaking
to, as if this invisible person was not to be trusted with the information she
possessed. It was moronic to think someone on the other end of an alien
conspiracy theory website could be a threat. He was probably some fat guy in
his thirties who slept in his
Naruto
doona
set and still used Proactive on his
face.
 

But nonetheless, the two began to talk. Initially, it was
difficult to co-ordinate things. Lara still had to keep track of her studies
and was required to be up very early. She left brief messages to Psycho during
the day, which he would not respond to until late at night, but these were
shallow and left timidly, as though both were equally as embarrassed to commit
to anything more than small talk. Once in a while, perhaps during brief
instances when she would stay up past eleven, both would be online at the same
time. When that little green light appeared on her screen, indicating Psycho
’
s
presence, Lara would jump almost in anticipation. He was here, staring at her
through another screen, separated from her by an unknown distance. At last,
they could communicate.

‘Lo,
’
Psycho wrote.
‘
Hmm.
I like that. I like Lo.
’

‘Uh, thanks,
’
she said.
‘
What
’
s
with Psycho?
’

‘Ha, yeah. It
’
s an old video game thing.
’

‘Oh.
’

She tapped her fingers against her laptop keyboard for a while.
She was about to type again, but he beat her to it.

‘I saw your post a few days ago. How long ago do you think
this happened to you?
’

‘Um, perhaps 19 or 20 years ago.
’

‘Hmm.
’
He paused for a moment. His
chat bar appeared as
‘
Typing
…’
Eventually he wrote,
‘
I liked the
‘
fructzul
’
thing.
Completely threw me off-guard for a moment.
’

‘Okay, this is already weird. I need to know. What happened
to you?
’

‘Basically the same. Some guy taught me words on cards and
we played games in a square room. I played with figurines too. Did you do that?
’

‘I don
’
t remember. I was really
young.
’

‘Yeah, I think I was about six. I played with action
figures, like soldiers and doctors and fire fighters and even
Barbies
, I think. And trucks and planes and ships too.
’

‘What did you call the guy that taught you these words?
’
she asked.

‘Nothing,
’
he responded.
‘
I
don
’
t think he had a name. He was just a tall man with
big hands.
’

Lara was hesitant. She sat back from her keyboard. His story
was a little different from hers; she never played with figurines, and surely
his teacher would have had a name, like Baba or something equally as fatherly.
But, she could not ignore that inkling in the back of her mind, that
predisposition that forced her to believe that, despite these little variances,
she and Psycho were one and the same.

She asked,
‘
Do you think they hurt us?
’

‘No!
’
he typed rapidly.
‘
Of
course not, Lo. They were nice to us. This guy was like my life mentor. He took
care of me. He was tough but fair. He wouldn
’
t let me go
back to sleep until I knew all the words. And then he put me back to bed,
completely unharmed, until the next session.
’

Hours crept into days, which crept into weeks. Lara and
Psycho became entwined in each other
’
s stories, attempting to
bounce ideas and memories off each other until something new clicked. He too
was struggling to remember details from such a young age, but six was much
older than two or three, and so he often had more to tell.

‘That beam, it was really bright; you
’
re right on
that one. I remember seeing zaps of electricity, and it kept pricking my
fingers when I tried to touch the edges of the beam. And the room? It looked
like a classroom, from what I can remember. It had posters on the wall of parts
of the body, of animals, shapes, the Solar System, and even a map of the
continents and oceans. Maybe I was in a higher grade than you. Ha-ha.
’

Lo asked Psycho,
‘
Have you ever told anyone?
Other than me?
’

‘Yeah, of course!
’
he typed.
‘
I
’
ll
tell anyone who listens. They all think I
’
m
ridiculous, but hey, it
’
s a great icebreaker at
parties. I mean, people believe crazier shit, don
’
t they? The
Earth being only 6,000 years old, angels and psychics and Sasquatches
…
It
’
s not all that hard to consider aliens as
plausible, but those who haven
’
t experienced it will simply
never understand people like us.
’

People like us
, she repeated in her head. It was a
weird thing to say.

Dylan woke her with a call at two
A.M.
She flicked on the light and
wearily answered,
‘
Hello?
’

‘
Babe, seriously, babe. You have to come into the city
tonight. Free shots! Come on! It
’
s
Davo
’
s
21
^st
and
we
’
re off to the foam party! I
’
ll
see you there, kay?
’

‘Goodnight, Dylan,
’
she said, and flicked off the
light.

He called her twice more after that, but she ignored them.

It turned out that Psycho lived in Melbourne too. Neither
could believe their uncanny luck. They exchanged phone numbers and began
texting occasionally. At first, it just began with infrequent messages: a new
memory he just remembered, or asking her if she remembered what colour the skin
of her
‘
Baba
’
was. This went on for weeks,
coupled with late-night chat sessions on VVEE as well as less-serious
conversations about their individual lives. Psycho was an urban photographer,
he claimed, which, to Lara, translated to
‘
Instagram
user
’
, but he sent her images of his work and they were
stunning. He managed to capture the gorgeous colours of sunset behind Flinders
Street station, or a rainbow arching over deserted power lines along a highway.
He showed her grey images of a man in an overcoat and an umbrella crossing the
city streets, or rowers along the
Yarra
River at
dawn, but his fascination with the sky was undeniable. Storms, rainbows,
sunsets, and lightning were featured in most of his art. He told her that his
love of storms and lightning probably came from all those nights of being
beamed up into the clouds. Lara explained her fascination with her curtains as
a child, and he agreed it was probably the same thing.

‘They were just like every other influence in our lives:
like lessons from our parents, like TV, like school and music and our
association between smells and memories,
’
Psycho
said,
‘
It
’
s not like being brainwashed,
it
’
s just
…
habits, practises that we
’
ve
come to enjoy, or come to associate with specific moments in our past which
trigger happiness.
’

‘You should be a psychologist,
’
she
joked.
  

‘
We should meet,
’
Psycho said suddenly on VVEE.

‘What?
’

‘I think we should meet up, just for coffee somewhere.
’

Lara sat back from her keyboard and hesitated. It had been
nearly a month since they had contacted each other, and frankly she had enjoyed
his company as words on a screen far more than she anticipated. But to meet
each other seemed a little too far. Her fingers hovered over the keys, about to
type:
‘
I
’
m taken,
’
but instead she held them there.

‘There are some things I don
’
t think I
can trust online,
’
he said,
‘
important
things.
’

‘Like what?
’

‘Just meet me. Please?
’

She retracted her fingers from their position and instead
wrote,
‘
Where?
’

Psycho suggested a small place in South Melbourne, a local
caf
é
called Two Birds One Stone. She put her phone on
silent, in case Dylan called, and went inside to take a seat by the window. She
ordered coffee and it calmed her nerves. But why was she nervous? It felt like
a blind date, and the first sight of this mysterious character from an online
chat room could either be love at first sight or, more likely, a catastrophic
disaster coupled with public embarrassment.

‘This is stupid. This is stupid.
’

‘Hi,
’
said a voice.

She looked up to see a guy standing by the chair opposite
hers. He was young, skinny, wearing a buttoned navy blue overcoat and a yellow
scarf wrapped around his neck. His hair was dark, wavy, uncut, but the rest of
him was clean-shaven. He wore rectangular glasses and had a copy of
The
Other Boleyn Girl
in his hands. He was like a Bohemian schoolboy.

It was only when he sat himself down that she realised he
was Psycho.

The boy smiled.
‘
You look a little shocked to
see me, Lo.
’

She was, very.
‘
I just wasn
’
t
expecting
…
well, you
’
re
…
how old are you?
’

‘Nineteen,
’
he said. He unslung his
hessian bag and placed it under the table.
‘
I
’
m
not what you expected, am I?
’

‘Not from an alien conspiracy chat room.
’

He laughed.
‘
I only idly fiddled with that
thing every now and then for the same reason you did: to prove I wasn
’
t
crazy. But if I found one person, just one other real person out there who knew
what I knew, then perhaps I could sleep better at night. And I did.
’