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FBI Agent Detmeier didn’t think he’d hang off a helicopter anytime soon. It was the furthest thing from his mind this evening. Television and movies certainly ruined the junior agent’s perception of the service. After completing his training in Quantico, Jim Detmeier proved adept at the computer-something he was always mildly teased for by his classmates. Even in the twenty-first century, the classical style of bullying still exists.
Because of that aptitude, his first job upon graduation last fall was the incredibly dull and monotonous Cyber Surveillance Unit. Since then, it’s been six months of monitoring shitty civilian tips and loose ends. If the Federal Bureau of Investigation had a hazing ritual, the Cyber Surveillance Unit would be at the top of the list.
Agent Detmeier spent most of each 12-hour shift monitoring specific individuals on the Internet for suspicious activity. These often come from anonymous tips or go into the FBI pipeline for a suspect’s continued use of suspicious sites, usually teetering around the dark web or more suggestive sites of varying perverse flavors. Most of the time, individual targets did very little else beyond looking at pornography and sports scores on ESPN. Thankfully, most of the targets had their laptop cameras closed. For every closed camera was another in full, unceremonious view. Detmeier would like to forget more than he’s seen in the last six months of old perverted penises than three lifetimes could make up for.
Jim strolled to his office outside Washington, D.C. He lazily swiped his badge at the entrance and again at the elevator to the tenth floor. Jim yawned twice while clutching his large mug of coffee and swiped one last time into his SCIF, or sensitive compartmented information facility. In that room, he shared a cubicle area with three other agents, each monitoring three given contacts during their shifts.
“So, Timmy, who do we have on the docket tonight?” Tim was the closest thing that Jim had to a friend in his new position. Jim hoped Tim felt the same, but he couldn’t tell. The other two agents with them tonight, a brooding woman named Felicia Parker and a tall former Division I basketball player named George Russell, sat quietly at their desks. Only Agent Parker mildly acknowledged Jim’s presence. Her eyes screamed, “You’re late,” without saying anything.
“Goddamnit, I hate when you call me that,” said Jim. He revealed a slight smirk that matched Jim’s like a mirrored image. “Ugh. Fine…Asshole. So, we have the same three people as last shift – the suspected car thief, the boring fertilizer guy, and the chronic masturbator.”
“Ooof, that’s tough. I get a new one tonight to add to my list after closing “Mr. Pyro.” Jim’s smile widened in a grin that screamed “obnoxious” and bordered “shit-eating.” The police in Dayton, Ohio, arrested Terry Tuttleman, 46, AKA “Mr. Pyro,” last Friday for conspiracy to burn his business down for insurance. It wasn’t necessarily a feather in Detmeier’s cap, but it gave his supervisor enough onus to provide him with more complex cases.
“So, who’s the newbie? I know you got the other two boring ones. Let’s hope this one is interesting.” The two boring targets Tim referred to were both cyberbullies at the high school level. Beyond a few anonymous tips, there was nothing the FBI could do until either escalated their childish banter. Jim looked at his email and task package list and found his new surveillance target: William Ames, a suspected dark web administrator. Things were looking up. He closed his eyes briefly and sipped his lukewarm coffee before turning to Tim. He had to think of a witty retort.
“Oh, whatever. At least I don’t have to sit there and watch my new guy type out Internet searches for Sydney Sweeney’s feet pics.” Jim laughed. He got him good. Tim started to chuckle but cut it off when he realized that would likely be most of his shift’s next 7-10 hours. “I got me a suspected dark web administrator – read it and weep!” His voice went into a southern drawl that sounded like he was the ringleader of a rodeo. Tim stared blankly back at him.
“Oh, screw you, that’s actually exciting!” Tim mimicked the finger (after all, the watchers were also being watched) and slinked back into his six-screen rig for another hour of monitoring Pornhub searches and Door Dash orders.
Jim settled into his shift setup after meeting with his supervisor to discuss his new target. Most of the surveillance job inside the SCIF was monotonous and tiresome. Without using a cell phone or regular Internet searches, each agent did what they could to ensure their eyes wouldn’t cross. As much as it sped up brain melt, a successful tour in this job wrote an agent’s ticket to bigger and better things within the Bureau. Jim could hang on that helicopter after all.
The first hour went smoothly. Both of Jim’s cyber-bullies had homework to do, so most of their searches involved Wikipedia and Chat GPT. Mr. Ames, however, was very strange off the bat. Jim noted a list of searches in his log. He stared at the list on the screen in puzzlement.
“Jazz influences of modern artists and rock music”
“Indian pornography and red circle sexy sexy”
“Metaverse article about the influence of technology and A.I.”
What the hell did jazz influences and Indian porno have to do with the Metaverse? Some searches and websites puzzled the brain, but those three made zero sense. Jim looked at his watch. 8:30 p.m. Break time. He left the secure facility and walked outside with his telephone in hand to call his girlfriend, Maddie. The phone dialed three times before she picked up.
“Hello, Clarice,” she said in a voice that attempted to mimic Hannibal Lectre. After half a year on the job, he thought she would tire of it. She did not.
“Ha. Very funny,” said Jim. “How are things going?”
“Not too bad. Just finished cleaning up after dinner with Janice.” Her roommate was sweet, if not mildly excentric. “Besides a bunch of random robo calls on my phone interrupting our meal, it’s been quiet here. Are we still planning to go to the farmer’s market tomorrow?” Jim had to do the mental math on how much sleep he could get before going to her apartment at noon to go to the Annandale farmer’s market before it closed at 1:30 p.m.
“Sure, babe. Just slogging through this shift. I swear it will get better. I promise I’ll get on the day shift once I close another hot case.” Jim wasn’t entirely convinced that was true, but he had to give her a convincing lie.
“Yeah, you will, Mr. Rockstar. OK. I gotta go. Try to call me again on a break before I go to sleep around 11:30 p.m. Love you.”
“Love you too,” Jim said. He hung up and realized he would be a fool if he didn’t put a ring on her finger by the end of the year. He filled his lungs with the last deep breath of fresh air for the next three hours and returned to his desk.
The night continued as usual. After a few random chats with friends on Facebook, one of the bullies looked to call it an early night. The other bully focused his attention on a girl. A few D.M.s he sent to the poor girl’s Instagram made him cringe. Either way, he made a file for the new conversation in case it progressed into something more serious. Mr. Ames continued a dizzying array of searches that made no connection. If this guy continued to type out gibberish with no prospect of conversing with anyone online, he would suggest his supervisor dropped the case. Either way, he logged his next set of insane searches.
“California drought figures 2011 to 2022”
“After Hours Movie Quotes”
“Lion and witch and wardrobe”
“Lady PGA tour leaders of the last twenty years”
Jim continued to monitor the two active targets for the next hour. Eventually, Mr. DM gave up on his latest love, Lex, and fell asleep. That left Mr. Ames. His next slew of searches seemed as random as ever until Jim noticed something as he logged the final one.
“Heroism in the military and examples”
“Electric vehicles of the future”
“Realizations of horrific news for J.D.”
Jim looked at his watch. It was 11:16 p.m. He wiped his blurry eyes and looked at the last one: “Realizations of horrific news for J.D.” What? What is J.D. This guy did a lot of dumb searches, but that one seemed especially stupid. Jim waved Tim over to look at it.
“Huh. I have no idea. This guy seems like a nut job who is just typing random shit. Probably not a lot of the black market and too much black tar. I wouldn’t read too much in on it, bud.” Tim gave his coworker a reassuring pat on the back before returning to his desk for his monitoring.
Another long search came into his database, turning his blood cold. He saw the search on the screen: a single word written repeatedly.
“ACROSTIC ACROSTIC ACROSTIC ACROSTIC ACROSTIC ACROSTIC ACROSTIC ACROSTIC ACROSTIC ACROSTIC ACROSTIC ACROSTIC HAHA ACROSTIC ACROSTIC ACROSTIC ACROSTIC ACROSTIC ACROSTIC ACROSTIC ACROSTIC ACROSTIC ACROSTIC ACROSTIC ACROSTIC HAHA ACROSTIC ACROSTIC ACROSTIC ACROSTIC”
Jim knew what an acrostic was. He quickly opened Ames’ file and looked at all the searches in a row.
“Jazz influences of modern artists and rock music”
“Indian pornography and red circle sexy sexy”
“Metaverse article about the influence of technology and A.I.”
“California drought figures and 2011 to 2022”
“After Hours Movie Quotes”
“Lion and witch and wardrobe”
“Lady PGA tour leaders of the last twenty years”
“Heroism in the military and examples”
“Electric vehicles of the future”
“Realizations of horrific news for J.D.”
He saw it almost immediately before moving towards the door of the secure facility to grab his phone: J I M C A L L H E R. J.D. was Jim Detmeier.
He nearly toppled over Agent Russell’s massive body as he darted out to grab his phone. He unlocked the screen and saw no missed calls. “Oh, thank god,” he said to himself. He scrolled on his phone for a second to calm down. He saw a single unread text message from an unidentified number in his area code. He could only muster a short gasp before calling Maddie immediately. The single text message said the same thing as the search: “Call her.”
The phone rang five times before Maddie answered.
“Jim, I didn’t think you were going to call, I was about to–”
“GODDAMNIT MADDIE DON’T HANG UP!” Jim shouted into the phone. “Maddie, are you OK?”
“Jesus, Jim, can you tone it down a little?” Maddie said. “Yeah, I am good. I was getting ready to go to sleep. What the hell is wrong?”
Jim couldn’t get the words out fast enough as he fumbled for his keys. Screw work. Work will always be there. He had to drive to see her and make sure she was OK. “Maddie, I don’t know what’s going on, but I think somebody is fucking with me.”
Maddie sounded puzzled. “Who is messing with you? How could they know – you’re FBI.” He interrupted her.
“Look, damnit, I don’t know.” He started the engine and nearly wrecked his car, putting it in reverse in the tight parking lot. “Maddie, has anything weird happened tonight? You didn’t say anything earlier, right?”
“Jim, I am fine. Besides the random robocalls, there’s nothing wrong.” Jim suddenly remembered the robo calls from earlier.
“Mads, what is the number? Is it the same number? How many times did they call?”
She took a second to go through her phone and made a noise that he knew was her sour expression. “Huh. I didn’t realize it, but they are all from the same number.”
“OK, Mads! Listen to me.” Jim screamed into the phone as he drove 86 mph down Interstate 495 toward the Wedgewood apartment complex in Annandale. He didn’t care if the cops stopped him. Hell, the thought of getting pulled over might be better. He might need backup. “You need to stay put wherever you are.”
“Jim, what the hell is going on? You’re scaring me,” Maddie said with increasing concern.
“MADS! I hope I am. You and Janice need to lock the front door, get into a safe room, and lock that door. Then you need to call the police and wait for me. I am almost there! Please stay on the phone with me. I am almost there.” Jim saw signs for her exit.
“Oh,” she said, “that number is calling again. Should I answer it?”
“Maddie, no! Just hang on. I am coming to you. Baby, please stay safe and get into a room and lock the goddamn door!”
“OK, Jim, OK!” she looked at her phone. “Whatever it was went to voicemail. I’m getting scared.”
“I am almost there. I am..”
Just then, Jim heard three loud knocks on the door and heard a voice that sounded like his. He could barely hear it.
“Hey babe,” the voice said. “I’m here to help. Open up!” Jim’s bowels nearly loosened from the other end of the line.
“Oh, thank God, Jim. You’re here. Coming.” She hung up immediately.
“NOOOOO. MADDIE!!!” Jim screamed into his phone. He was a mile away from her exit and could see her apartment from the view of the treetops.
Agent Detmeier had the opportunity to lead the FBI manhunt in the incident’s immediate aftermath. Maddie’s phone was first analyzed at the forensics lab back in Quantico. The voicemail was only a few words. The voice on the message ran through countless samples and databases to find a source. The words haunted Jim, driving him to relative insanity…but he couldn’t let go. He could hear the words when he closed his eyes to sleep. He could hear it when he looked at old pictures of his beautiful girlfriend when she was alive. It was a constant. Those words.
J.D. ACROSTIC. J.D. ACROSTIC. CALL HER. CALL HER. NOT IN TIME. NOT THIS TIME.
Delusional Thoughts From Fantasy Island 