Virtually a Virgin

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VIRTUALLY A VIRGIN Chapter I: Clicking Away     "Okayyyy," Philip mumbled as he found the site he was looking for. A pale glare from the monitor reflected off his oily, teen-age face, straining already tired eyes. His goldfish, Pope, swam to and fro in a tiny aquarium nearby, its hublight the only other luminescence in a room littered with trash and dirty clothes.
    The mouse pointer stretched across a cyber sea of icons and text, landing on a grey submit button. Three words, Early American Colonies, was highlighted next to the square button and then depressed with a distant 'click' from Philip's right hand. The 56k modem crackled to life, and the screen replaced the previous virtual reality window with one containing rows upon rows of blue underlined links. Each link foretold a digital detour to free, MLA styled college student reports on American history.
    The late night World Wide Web search had proved useful. Philip rewarded himself with a quick back stretch and a sip from his half empty can of Sprite. He then looked at the time. It was 3 AM. He had been surfing the Net for three hours to find the information he needed, and that left him little time for sleep since he had to be up to go to school at seven. It didn't matter, though. The most important thing now was downloading one of those handy reports, making a few edits here and there to make it look like his, and then printing it off, so he can hand it in tomorrow to his history teacher, Mr. Dovington.
    A tiny, red light on the computer's tower flickered with a stuffy gurgle as Philip commenced the first download.
    "Phil?" a groggy, feminine voice inquired from outside the bedroom door.
    Philip yawned and rubbed his light strained eyes. "What, sis?" he whispered out.
    A young, six year old girl dressed in purple Barnie pajamas pushed the door open, closed it behind her quietly, and trudged over to where her brother sat. Her long, blonde hair was fizzled up in static fluffs, and her unadjusted eyes squinted at the computer monitor's bright glare.
    "What you want, Shay?" Philip asked his sister, after she failed to say anything in the first fifteen seconds since she entered the room. His report was almost completely downloaded now, and he didn't want to have to stay up any later than he had to.
    Shay's little tired face drooped with a frown. "Can't sleep," she explained. "Watcha doin'?"
    Philip yawned again. "Downloadin' stuff," he answered. "I would have found what I needed earlier, but I had to get through all the underage protection crap."
    "How'd ya do that?" Shay asked, her glossy eyes blinking with sudden interest at her brother's rebelliousness.
    Philip reached over and flipped up a Visa credit card between his fingers. "With this," he answered.
    "Ahmmmmmm," Shay hummed the famous 'you're being naughty' hum. "Did you take daddy's card, again?" she asked.
    "No," Philip replied promptly. He then leaned back, the chair moaning under the strain, as a smile sprout across his tired face. "I borrowed it from dad's girlfriend."
    Shay may have been six years old and sleepy, but that didn't keep her little brain from differentiating between real borrowing and her brother's kind of borrowing. She had experienced it too many times with the video games and the summer house fan to forget its true meaning. "You stole it, didn't ya?" she asked.
    "No," Philip lied. "I borrowed it. And I'm gonna give it back in a sec."
    "No ya didn't," Shay corrected her brother. "You shouldn't steal from Stephanie's wallet."
    Philip was too tired to worry about fibbing. "It's called a purse, terd," he snapped back, trying to keep his words under a whisper. "You know, p-u-r-s-e, purse!" Beneath his sarcasm, though, he felt the sad irony in this comeback. Their mother had died in a car accident five years ago, leaving poor sister Shay to grow up in an all male household. He could still remember the messes she used to make trying to pee standing up like her father. Frankly, it wasn't surprising the little pajama cocoon didn't know the word for a purse anymore than she knew the word for a bra or pantyhose.
    "Up yours with my boot and spurs," Shay struck back with her tongue out.
    Philip almost laughed. It sounded more mean when dad said it. "Why are you up, again?" he asked.
    The red light on the computer's tower went dark and silent. The download was complete.
    Shay seemed to lose the spark of her pre-adolescent ferocity. "Daddy and Stephanie are moving furniture," she admitted
with a purely disgusted look.
    Philip clicked away at his computer to begin printing the report. "Huh?" he asked. It was almost 3:30 AM, why would anybody be moving-- Oh, he thought, realizing what he had really been told.
    He then glanced at his sister. Apparently, the look on her face showed that even she really knew what it meant, but continued to use dad's way of explaining it. The way the thirty-six year old steel worker raised them, you would think they would never learn the facts of life like they should. It was precisely that kind of parenting that pervaded most of modern America, resulting in the kind of child protection stunts that now pad locked the World Wide Web.
    Philip ruminated for a minute. Stephanie was a bit butch for a woman, but not bad looking. He could still remember that smooth crevice of tanned cleavage reaching out of a fluorescent pink tank top. What was it she said she did for a living? Cashier. That's right. She said she was a cashier for Walmart. He could remember now telling himself he wanted to look for a job there once he was old enough. If there were more decent women there waiting to get probed, he wasn't going to waste time not standing in line.
    Stephanie was also a bit younger than dad, too. She never mentioned her age, but Philip knew a twenty something when he talked to one. He often went to college parties in town, and when you met one young adult you pretty much met them all. They had this kind of flirtatious curiosity mingled with an 'I don't give a shit about anything' Generation Zilch attitude. Yeah, he knew them, and Stephanie was definitely one.
    Philip almost admired his dad for getting a chance to fuck what his fifteen year old imagination could only tease him with. In fact...
    "Can I sleep here?" Shay asked, her blurry sight targeting the pile of bean bags across the room.
    "Only if you don't squeal about the card," Philip answered back with a bit of amateur business tactics.
    "I won't," Shay replied and then wandered over to her destination, collapsing into the soft mound where more sleep awaited her.
    Philip's printer copied out the report. He had forgotten to read over it and check it for editing, but figured there was nothing a few drops of white-out and a Xerox machine couldn't fix tomorrow. Besides, there was something else he wanted to check on...
Chapter II: Stephanie     In the shadow of early morning, Philip slipped the credit card back into Stephanie's purse and then trekked back towards the hallway. He couldn't hear any of the sex sounds his sister had insinuated about, but could see light peering out from under the bathroom door. He walked up to it and listened. About that point someone flushed the stool and stepped out.
    "Oh!" Stephanie shrieked, not expecting to see her boyfriend's son standing there. She then felt immediately embarrassed by the fact that she was wearing one of his father's dress shirts. That and nothing else. "What are you doing up?" she asked, half wondering if the kid was eavesdropping on the sex that was shared that night.
    "Are you going to stay all night?" Philip asked, searching for some faint hope of getting a peak of the goods beneath that dress shirt. His eyes focused on the dark, shallow lumps protruding from each breast. The fabric that covered them was a disgrace to godly art.
    Stephanie ran a hand through her white blonde hair, her palm getting sticky from the sweat that still claimed the roots. "I guess so," she answered, finally taking notice of the both sensual and putrid incense that emanated from her recently fondled front.
    Philip caught the smell a long time ago. "Can we talk?" he asked, still whispering so not to disturb his father.
    Stephanie was confused now. "It's a little late for that, hon," she answered back.
    "It's important," Philip lied.
    Stephanie looked down the hall. She could hear her boyfriend, the kid's father, snoring away. "Okay," she replied. "Make it quick, though, whatever it is."
    Philip said he would.
Chapter III: Once a Virgin, Twice Never Shy     "I'm not a cashier," Stephanie confessed.
    Philip was surprised to discover the lie, but too occupied with subtle thoughts of sex to care. "So what are you?" he asked.
    Stephanie relaxed in the couch they were both sitting on. She tried to figure out how she might explain her profession to this kid before her or even if she should explain it. He was too bright for a teen-ager, though, to just skip the question. More lying wouldn't work, either. Besides, she kinda liked the little fuck. "I..." she struggled to explain, "go on dates with guys that don't have dates."
    Philip remembered reading in a porn magazine about a girl that did stuff like that. "So you're an escort," he replied.
    Stephanie was a bit stunned. The kid was right on the nose. "I guess nothing gets by you, huh?" she said with a smile.
    Philip liked that smile. It seemed to glow in the moonlight, which showered in from the living room window. The light also caused the woman's breasts to stand out like a pair of owl's eyes. He looked down. He could almost feel the soft pubes of her vagina resting against that couch cushion.
    "You're very interested in me, for somebody so young," Stephanie said, reading her companion's mind. "I think I'm beginning to understand what that important thing was you wanted to talk to me about."
    Philip's mouth fell open. This was all happening faster than he had expected. Now, it was either a crash and burn or cash in and win situation. At least, that's what his father always used to say.
    "You're as cute as your dad," Stephanie pointed out as she ran a hand along Philip's cheek and neck. "I wonder. Would you be as good as him, too?"
    The erection behind Philip's jeans almost hurt because it throbbed so much. He had never been touched by a woman like that. That was a touch like nothing he had ever experienced; a sensation inquiring him for things he had only imagined, while alone in his room masturbating.
    Stephanie felt somewhat guilty about flirting with a teen-age boy, but the lack of experience with such a young child seemed to compensate for that guilt. She was a dirty woman. Dirty women always tried new things without conscience. "Reach under my shirt," she whispered.
    Philip was so aroused now, he was shaking. Carefully, he placed his hand under her shirt and let the tips of his fingers brush up and down a sponge of rough pubic hairs and dry semen.
    "Don't be afraid," Stephanie said gently, her breath tickling the young ear she spoke into. "Reach all the way in."
    Practically dizzy with fear and delight, Philip pushed a forefinger past the pubic hairs and into the pink slit that lay beyond. Something sticky and warm coated the appendage, and he pulled it out and plunged it back in again rapidly, repeating what he had seen in dirty late night movies on Showtime.
    "That's it," Stephanie said with a sigh. She then leaned back on the couch, placing her legs on each side of her young lover. "Take off your jeans," she ordered.
    Philip obliged, his sticky, switching fingers struggling with the button and zipper. Once they were off, he pulled away his shirt and threw down his underpants. A stiff, bobbing penis reached out through the moonlight.
    "Your hung for a kid," Stephanie praised her companion beneath the weight of a sinful lust. "Don't waste time. Stick it in
me."
    Philip wasn't about to waste any time. He leaned on the couch and worked his way between the woman's legs.
    Stephanie lifted her shirt.
    Now, Philip could see what his fingers had explored and teased his imagination with. In fact, his eyes were seeing for the first time what he had only witnessed on pages of pornography and illegal Web sites. This would be his first experience at having sex. For a split instant, he cherished the sensation of innate curiosity and sexual triumph. What would it feel like? Is it how he always imagined it?
    He leaned over Stephanie and shoved his abdomen forward.

Chapter IV: Another Day at School     "You going to school today or not?" a voice ripped the silence.
    Philip's eyes shot open at the realization of where he was and the remembrance of what had happened last night. Squinting at the morning sunlight coming from the living room window, he looked around him to see where Stephanie was. That was his father's voice he had heard. If Stephanie was still there, he couldn't imagine what might happen... and probably didn't want to imagine what might happen.
    No, she was gone. His jeans, shirt, and underwear were also on the couch with him, all tucked under a thick blanket.
    "I figure you're sleeping out here because your sister had bad dreams," his father mentioned as he grabbed the car keys. "It's not like you to spare your bed like that, but I'm sure she appreciates it."
    "Um, yeah," Philip decided he should say. There was something else under the sheets with his clothes. Whatever it was it stuck him in the crotch next to his penis, which by the way, had a film of hard crust on it like something wet had gotten on it and dried. He knew quite well, though, where that coat of love juice came from.
    "Gotta go," his father said as he walked out the door. "By the way, Shay is waiting for you on the front porch."
    "I gotcha!" Philip answered back as he pulled a piece of paper out from under the blanket. There was a note on it: Kinda quick, but not bad for a beginner. Look me up when you get a chance, Phil. My Email address is STEPH_GIRL@hotmail.com. Can't wait to hear from you :)
    Philip folded the note up and put it in his jeans pocket. He then checked the time on the microwave... Shit! It was 7:30.

    It always pissed Philip off that his dad never drove Shay to school. The lazy steel worker had the time. It's just that the guy would rather spend it buying breakfast at McDonald's and bullshitting with his buddies before finally deciding to work around ten o'clock. Sometimes Philip felt like his sister and he were more a nuisance than a part of a flesh and blood family. If there was any morning the kid could have used a father's helping hand to buy him some extra time, it was that morning following the night of Stephanie's visit.
    "Sloooooowwwwww dooooowwwnnnn," Shay groaned as she tried to keep up with her brother on the sidewalk. Her purple book bag flipped about her, while her small legs scissored frantically across the concrete. She was wearing her dad's windbreaker. The Broncos jacket was so big that the heels of her shoes batted against the bottom with each step, and the sleeves consumed all but the ends of her tiny fingers. Basically, she looked like a homeless munchkin.
    Philip could see his sister's grade school now. "Okay, terd," he said, gasping for breath. "You're home free. Now, I got to go."
    Shay's little face was scrunched into a perturbed look. "If you hadn't taken that shower, asswipe, we wouldn't be runnin'," she complained.
    It was too early in the morning for arguments. "See ya," Philip said and then he strolled across the street towards his high school that waited for him a few blocks away.
    Shay gave her brother the finger and then headed for her first grade class.

    "Phil!" a voice shouted out. "Hey, Phil!"
    Philip turned around to see a long haired, hispanic kid hanging out the passenger seat window of a green 66 Mustang. The car pulled off the street and parked in a driveway just ahead.
    "What's up, Jason," Philip replied. He tried to see who the driver was, but his friend was in the way.
    "Good news, man," Jason said. "I found what you needed to break those Web locks."
    Philip's eyes grew wide. "So where is it?" he asked as he came up to the side of the car.
    "It's not an it, but a he," the driver of the vehicle spoke up. Jason finally moved down in his seat, and a skinny punk rocker could be seen staring back. His hair was dyed a bright pink, and a small chain could be seen stringing from a silver nose ring to his right ear. It dangled methodically while the guy smoked a thin Marbolo. "Get your fucking hand off my car," he barked.
    Without even thinking, Philip jerked his arm away from the roof.
    Jason looked at his friend, imitating the cool, no shit persona of his unconventional chauffeur.
    "Word has it you want to visit the Shadowland," the punk said through an exhale of grey pollution. "Why?"
    Philip looked at Jason. He had no idea this is what his friend meant by saying he had ways of breaking the security programs on the World Wide Web. "Why not?" he asked, playing the monkey see monkey do game of acting cool.
    The punk sucked on his cigarette, again. "Don't fuck with me, Stridex freak," he forewarned. "Breaking kiddie locks to get free porn is one thing, but your pal here tells me you want a taste of the Shadowland. That's user junkie territory, dude. You don't go treading on hackers' pissing grounds without a reason, a good reason. In fact, a Nintendo playin' nose picker like you shouldn't even know what the fuck Shadowland is, man! So cut me some slack. Why you want to go there?"
    Philip wanted to pull on that nose ring and watch the asshole bleed, but starting a fight with a friend's friend was less cool than getting called names. The Shadowland was more a myth really than an actual cyber underworld for masterminding illegal endeavors. Most users believed in it, though. The rumor was that this Shadowland was the home of a monstrous hacker mafia--the direct result of too much Web censorship, which began to take place across the country about ten years ago. Increased school violence around the turn of the century had turned America into a continent of fanatic conservatives. The fact that re-election time was just around the corner during that phase of sociological distress didn't help matters any. Politicians promising a significant rise in public security and child safety made the country a breeding ground for desperate voters, producing a scene not witnessed since the rise of the Third Reich in Germany half a century ago.
    The World Wide Web was still relatively new ten to fifteen years ago. Like all new inventions in an era of turmoil, it was blamed for just about everything from school shootings to teen-age suicide. The conservative politicians that got elected to office clamped down on the Net, so that any user without a credit card number could only surf Disney sites and Christian chat rooms. Unfortunately, though, it got worse, instead of better. The real problem, parenting, required too much ingenuity and time to solve. A state or congressional, even presidential, politician didn't have the hours needed in a term in office to provide effective solutions. The result? More pointless censorship on the Web. Even adult users began to see their freedoms crushed with each bill proposal.
    PC owners complained, but it was futile. Frequent users collaborated and the hacker became a George Washington in a new virtual reality rebellion turned underground by unconstitutional laws. With time came newfangled technology, and the first ones to apply this state-of-the-art hardware were the members of the underground cyber realm. The exact nature of the technology was not known, since it was considered illegal. Rumors circulated that this technology defied human reason, physics, and even God on occasion. Of course, that remained debatable, but the stories about the technology breaking billion dollar censorship programs was a fact. It hit the newspapers every day.
    The mystery of the new technology, its infamous users, and the cyber space they lurked within received a catchy name from the outside world: Shadowland.
    Philip, being a frequent user and an amateur hacker, himself, knew all the popular fables about Shadowland, but his late night illegal surfing habits had granted him information few people knew. This was information he had to prove or disprove at any expense before it drove him mad.
    He looked at the punk across from Jason with a stern glare. "I know about its secret," he said. He was deliberately vague on that point, his eyes burning with a subtle knowledge that no teen-ager should possess.
    The punk understood that look well. He dragged on the cigarette a few more times and grinned.
    Jason looked back and forth at his two friends, trying to figure out the nonverbal exchange partaking around him.
    "His name is Sinner," the punk finally said. "Behind the Radio Shack at four. I'll tell 'em you'll be there."
    Philip nodded.
    "Scram, brownie," the punk ordered as he put out his cigarette.
    "Huh?" Jason responded. "Hey, man, you said you were headed towards the school."
    "Get the fuck out!"
    "Okay, dude," Jason replied as he rushed out of the car, slamming the door behind him.
    "Don't slam my door!" the punk shouted, spit flying across the passenger seat. He then jerked the car in reverse and sped out into the street. A brown Chevy honked its horn and came to a screeching halt as it almost rear ended the wildly driven Mustang.
    "Go suck my dick!" the punk shouted out his window.
    The driver of the Chevy stuck his hand out and flipped the punk off.
    The Mustang spitting exhaust and roaring away in a cloud of burnt rubber was the only reply.
    "He's cool," Jason said. "Just been a bad day for him."
    Philip seemed to understand. "Oh," he replied, "does he work at the Radio Shack?"
    "Nah," Jason answered as he followed his friend down the sidewalk towards school, "I asked him once, and he told me he worked at the hospital."
    "Yeah?" Philip asked somewhat surprised. "Doing what?"
    "I dunno," Jason answered. "I think he said he was a drug specialist."
    "Cool," Philip replied as he watched the Mustang off in the distance. A chorus of car horns rang out as the green vehicle ripped around a corner too soon, tearing up patches of someone's front lawn.

Chapter V: Sinner     "All right, class," Mr. Dovington announced. "Keep it down, please." He then proceeded to hook up the VCR to the television set. The room full of students gave little attention--if any--to the suggestion made by their history teacher. A chaos of conversation and pockets of spit wad wars laid claim to every row of graffiti ridden desks. One of the spit wads missed its intended target and hit Mr. Dovington in the head. The 50ish class instructor with a tenure and fifteen years of experience in school conduct management knew exactly how to handle this immediate negligence and apathy towards his request for noise control. "Keep it down, please," he repeated, brushing the spit wad out of his grey hair.
    In the back of the room, Jason leaned over his desk to get a better reception of his friend's response to his question.
    "She was hot," Philip answered. "Her breasts were what really turned me on, dude."
    Jason's attention was now glued to his friend the same way his attention was glued to an issue of Hustler every night. "Did she scream when you fucked her?" he asked.
    Philip acted cool and relaxed. Inside, though, he felt like an idiot because the truth was he couldn't really remember much of the sex he had with Stephanie last night. He remembered a few thrusts against the slut's tanned body and the euphoria of a hefty ejaculation, but then everything went dark after that. Could he have fainted? The possibility was a blasphemy to his growing manhood. "Yeah, she whimpered a few times," Philip lied.
    Jason gave his friend the universal 'you're awesome' look, and the two shared a fist tango. "If she cried out, man," Jason said, "then you did good."
    Philip kept up his act. "Yeah," he said as he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, "and I got her Email if ya want a piece of her, too."
    "No shit?!" Jason replied. He was practically drooling, now.
    "Yep," Philip answered with that amateur business tactic, again, "you can have it if you walk my sister home after school. I won't make it to the Radio Shack in time if I have to do it. I got to meet this Sinner, dude."
    "Deal, man, DEAL!!!" Jason didn't waste time to reply. His hands reached out for the precious piece of scrap paper.
    Philip gave it up. There were no regrets. He didn't particularly like the idea of having sex again with a woman that made sex her career field. He had his experience and that's what counted.
    Jason looked the paper over. The Email address was there, but the first sentence about Philip's experience being "quick for a beginner" was neatly scratched out. The sex crazed teen-age hispanic didn't bother to ask why, though. Instead, the Email address rekindled his thoughts about the conversation earlier that morning with his punk friend. "What is the secret you talked about?" he asked.
    Philip wasn't surprised by the question. In fact, he wondered what took his friend so long to ask it. The truth was, though, that kind of information was too important to just blabber out like you were talking about the weather or sports' scores. The information he had about the Shadowland was information you had to earn.
    "Class!" Mr. Dovington spoke up over the chatter. "Class, the tape is on now! Please, shut up!"
    Philip shrugged at his friend, making it obvious that the subject would have to wait.
    Jason returned his attention to the scrap paper.
    "Can anyone tell me who that person is on the television?" Mr. Dovington asked as he turned the lights off, so the screen could be seen better in the large classroom.
    The students quieted down. "That's the President!" a black kid shouted out.
    "Good!" Mr. Dovington replied. "And what did we discuss yesterday about the important thing the President does? What is that important thing?"
    The classroom was silent except for a few students determined to carry on their conversation.
    "What was that important thing?" Mr. Dovington asked again.
    A shy hand eased its way up in the back of the room.
    Mr. Dovington's eyes homed in on the slender object. "Yes?" he said, requesting the student's brave answer.
    "He can reject any bill proposal sent in by Congress or the Senate," Philip responded as he lowered his hand back down.
    Mr. Dovington was relieved. "Very good," he said, and then with the remote in his hand, he proceeded to raise the volume up on the television.
    Jason glanced over at his friend.
    Philip just shrugged again.
    "Pay attention, please," Mr. Dovington said, emphasizing a look at some gibbering students in front. "There will be a quiz over this video tomorrow."
    The students kept talking.
    "And those who don't pass will spend time with me after school, until they do," Mr. Dovington added.
    The room was completely quiet, now.
    Mr. Dovington allowed himself a triumphant smile and then seated himself at his cluttered desk in front of the marker board. In what little sunlight seeped through the blinded windows, he proceeded to grade the history reports the students had handed in earlier.
    "I am certain of that..." the President's voice echoed from the television. The clean-cut Republican wore a black suit and red tie as he stood behind a podium, taking questions from camera flashing journalists.
    "What are your feelings concerning the movie industries' apparent refusal to follow the Violence Reduction Act?" one reporter asked.
    "I find it unsurprising," the President answered. "What can you expect from a business whose soul purpose is to make money? Their irresponsibility is an affront to the judicial system and an affront to the wishes of American families."
    "Will legal action be taken?" the same reporter asked.
    "Oh, most certainly," the President replied. "Ratings aren't enough to keep children away from material that can make them less than human. If the movie companies want to keep selling trash, they should sell it where its welcome. I think this country has made it quite clear we don't want it here, and I am willing to do my best to uphold the citizens' wishes." He then cleared his throat and took a sip of water. "The last thing we want is another Trench Coat Mafia," he added.
    Philip rolled his eyes. This was bullshit.
    "Mr. President!" another reporter spoke up. The journalist proceeded with his question after being given the signal to speak: "Is it true the World Wide Web, or 'World Wide Waste' as you once called it, is going to be increasingly policed by a federally funded censoring organization?"
    The President stiffened. "The GOP has considered certain alternatives to the current methods of material policing on the Internet," he answered back. "As to what," he added, sensing the reporter's dissatisfaction with the political waltzing, "I cannot comment."
    "What about the infiltration into FBI computer databases," the same reporter pushed on, "or the string of code cracks in the UK, Switzerland, Russia, Japan, and Australia? Are they not somehow related?"
    "I can't comment on that," the President answered, trying to hide his uneasiness with this stubborn journalist. "I will say, however, that the Federal Investigation Bureau has found some leads to the recent FCC violations conducted on the Internet. Right now, as I speak, some arrests are probably being made. It just goes to show you that even cyber space leaves footprints for our investigators to follow."
    Some laughter erupted in the interview room.
    "No hacker is safe," the President added, feeling a boost of confidence from the positive reaction to his joke. "Breaking federally owned censorship programs designed to protect our children isn't any worse than child pornography. We'll find the culprits. I can promise you that."
    "What about the Shadowland, Mr. President?" the reporter retaliated.
    The President was taken completely by surprise. He stood frozen for a moment, his mouth still open in preparation for the next sentence he was going to add, but now forgot.
    Philip's attention zeroed in on the television screen with the mention of that fabled word: Shadowland.
    "Uh," the President stammered. "I don't see the relevancy--"
    "Have you received any word about the virtual reality enhancers?" the reporter hammered on. "Has the FBI managed to confiscate any of the supposed technology that the Shadowland might be using? For instance, a scientist in the British magazine Nature contends that the recent hacking might be the result of a new kind of virtual reality set-up that enables its users to manipulate digital information into a real time, four dimensional composition." The person monitoring the camera for the television audiences refocused the viewing area to include the thought provoking journalist. "Scientists also speculate that anyone with such a device would be able to, and I quote, would be able to 'experience virtual reality like day to day reality, making the two almost inseparable.'"
    The President took another sip from his water glass. "Well," he replied with a hearty smile, "when I read to my little daughter bedtime stories, I'm always content with the fact that she knows it's just a story and it's not real. I guess when it comes to common sense, my four year old has more of it than some computer criminals still looking for their Alice in Wonderland."
    The room full of journalists broke into another circus of laughter.
    Confidence recaptured now, the President motioned for some other reporter to ask a question.
    Philip's face was painted with anger. He knew more about modern technology than most adults, and whenever they attempted to talk about it, they either completely missed the point or insulted its ingenuity and depth like the President. Ignorance was a part of the whole problem with his country. People just didn't understand what that machine really was atop their office desk or in their home study room. A piece of handy hardware was mass produced and had its priced lowered enough for consumers, and two decades later, people still failed to understand its potential. So, following an ancient human instinct, they feared what they didn't understand, and the great democracy of the 20th century communication renaissance, called the World Wide Web, had turned into digital ruins under the rule of a 21st century conservative America.
    The time was ripe for rebellion.

    Shay stared aimlessly down at the empty parking lot in front of her school. While she sat on a flight of stone steps, she smashed a red ant beneath the weight of her shoe. The tiny death was a projection of the aversion she had towards her brother who should have been there to walk her home two hours ago. Her impatience almost prompted her to just head off alone without him, but she had been scared by too many of her dad's urban legends. She didn't even accept a ride home by one of her teachers. They're all perverts and kidnappers, she remembered her dad saying. They only teach you guys cuz they like to watch you in the bathroom.
    Ever since then she would potty at school only when she had to.
    "You Shay?" a voice came up from behind.
    Shay spun around to see a skinny hispanic kid looking at her. "Who wants tah know?" she asked, repeating the words her dad taught her to say to strangers.
    Jason frowned. This kid was a smartass. "If you're Shay," he said, "I have to take you home."
    "Why?" Shay asked.
    "Cuz, stupid," Jason answered, "you're brother is busy."
    "What's my brother's name?" Shay asked to be sure she wasn't being tricked... so that she could be the treat, she reflected daddy saying once.
    An utterly disgusted look covered Jason's face. "Phil," he answered. "Now, can we go?"
    "Is not!" Shay said, shaking her head. "His name is Phi-l-i-p, Phil-l-l-l-l-i-i-i-i-i-p-p-p-p-p-p."
    "Look," Jason responded, "I had to break off a basketball game to get here, and I have an Email to send my girlfriend. Let's go, while I'm still in high school."
    "No way pedo pervert kidnapper," Shay said under the thrum of a spit throwing lisp. "I'm gettin' the police people. They beat bad stuff like you."
    Jason rolled his eyes. Was any chick's Email address really worth this?

    Philip couldn't understand why he was going around in back of the Radio Shack when the place didn't close, until five. If this Sinner guy worked there, it made more sense to just ask for him at the register. Of course, if the dude was a member of the Shadowland, he probably wanted to keep things under tab. In a way, that was kinda cool. It made the whole situation into some kind of cloak and dagger thriller.
    Whelp, Philip thought, here I am. He looked at the rusted door which led into the electronics store and down the gravel road alleyway that ran past it. Except for a stray dog digging through a pile of garbage, the place was deserted.
    Then he heard a sound behind the door.
    "You Sinner?" Philip asked the pasty faced man looking out into the alleyway.
    "Maybe," the guy answered. "Who wants to know?"
    Philip scowled. Was he talking to his sister? "I'm Philip," he replied. "My friend Jason had a friend--"
    "My roommate's brother's sister's cousin's aunt's..." the guy interrupted, "blah, blah, blah, blah. Names, kid. Gimme a name."
    Now Philip was both frustrated as well as disappointed. "I wasn't told the punk's name," he said. "I--"
    "What did he look like?" came another interruption.
    "Nose ring, pink hair..." Philip recalled. "Ummm..."
    "Green piece of shit Mustang?" the guy asked.
    "Yeah!" philip answered back.
    The guy chuckled and scratched at his goatee that was long overdue for trimming. "I'm Sinner," he said. "You must be that nose picker I was told about."
    Philip thought of saying something in protest to that name call, but kept his mouth shut.
    "What do you know, kid?" Sinner asked. The man really did look pale. Almost as if he hadn't been out of the Radio Shack and into any sunlight for months.
    "I know something about the Shadowland," Philip answered.
    "No!" Sinner snapped back. "I mean what do you know, man? You got a surf name?"
    Philip was confused. "A what?" he asked.
    "Jesus, kid!" Sinner shouted. The stray dog digging through the garbage hesitated for a moment, thinking the outburst was directed towards its messy activity. "How many censorship programs have you cracked? How many codes have you bypassed? Do you have a hacker nickname? Are you even a hacker?!"
    Philip didn't think he was going to be asked for a resume on his underground extracurricular activities. Had he known about it he would have been more mentally prepared. "I've broken some codes," he managed to say.
    Sinner's bloodshot eyes bulged out. "Some?" he replied. "It takes more than 'some' to convince me your worth wasting my time with."
    "Wait!" Philip shouted back, seeing the door about to close. "I-I've spent fucking months searching the Web for information about the Shadowland. I've seen some of the handiwork those guys have pulled off. I've even been able to copy some of their techniques like how to dig past a firewall and permanently fuck up a corporate database system. I've read their 'Constitution for Virtual Liberty' and even memorized some of the amendments. I spent hours finding whatever I could about the hacker mafia and... and... a few nights ago..." He finally gave up. What was the use?
    Sinner kept the door open. "Go on," he said.
    "What do you know about Paradise Lost?" Philip asked, tired of being the one always to answer questions.
    "It's a great book written by John Milton," Sinner answered flatly.
    Philip could see he was going to have to be an asshole. "I'm talking about the--"
    "I know what you mean," Sinner cut in, sensing the approaching profanity in his neighbor's tone of voice. He then sighed and popped his neck and knuckles. Finally, he shared a long, serious glare. "You want to know about the Shadowland's secret, you have to earn it. Be online tonight."
    "When?" Philip asked, giddy with the blessing of opportunity.
    "Tonight," Sinner answered and he shut the door. The sound of a bolt locking into place resounded through the rusty metal.

Chapter VI: The Test     Philip had been online since seven o'clock. It was now ten thirty. Fortunately, his dad was out drinking with his buddies that night, and therefore, wasn't around to use the phone. His sister Shay was in the room with him, playing Quake X on the Playstation. It was a pretty lame game compared to its predecessors. With no realistic violence and enemies that died in a spray of fairy dust, it was literally an insult to a kid's intelligence. But Shay liked it. The nonstop, censored action was enough to keep her entertained for hours.
    Philip was surfing a web site he had gotten into by slipping through a bug in an outdated protection program. It was a site littered with links to sex jokes and softcore pornography. It even had soundtracks with heavy breathing and toilet flushes. It wasn't bad, but he had seen better.
    That's when he wondered where the heck Sinner was.
    "Fucker," Shay shouted out at the television screen in front of her.
    Philip looked away from his computer to see his sister's video screen flashing with colorful sparks and images of winged fairies. A sentence flashed over and over again in the upper left hand corner: LIFE ENERGY LOW.
    "Die bastard!" Shay screamed, imitating Philip's own behavior when he played games. A few moments later one of the three dimensional enemies zapped her character with a 'beam of ouchies', and the scene exploded into a ray of rainbows and flowers. "Fuck!" Shay spit as she gave the television the finger.
    Philip laughed. "You're never gonna defeat the boss on that level," he said. "You can't even get to the boss."
    "Bullshit," Shay said as she started up another game.
    A large smile still claimed Philip's face as he turned back around to look at his monitor. Quickly, the smile vanished and his eyes widened at what he saw: Wake up, nose picker, a sentence read next to a blinking cursor. The words, rounded by a blue and pink border, were located to the left of the current web site.
    Philip tried to think of what to do next. He looked down at his keyboard and typed a letter, but nothing happened.
    Don't try to communicate, kid, the cursor spelled out. Just do what I tell you and that will suffice enough to convince me we're getting through to one another.
    Philip was shocked. How the hell was this happening? There wasn't anything to suggest a known instant messaging program was being used. Usually, there was some kind of logo like CompuServe or AOL, or a sound that went off to signal the other user trying to make contact. Here, there was nothing, but that ghostly type.
    Hmmm... the message later read. A 600 MHz Celeron? Pretty lame, kid. Well, at least you're using a Celeron chip, instead of those cheap Pentium III pieces of crap.
    Philip's nut sack shrank and a chill went up his spine. How did the guy know that?
    Okay, just in case you're dumber than I thought, this is Sinner, the next reply came. Let's get started... (popping knuckles)... All right, kid, I'm gonna give you a web site to go to. I was originally going to see if you could even break the censorship locks to get to it, but it looks like you already managed to do that. I'm impressed already :)
    A wash of pride possessed Philip. It was nothing, he wanted to answer back.
    Here's the address... Sinner typed out. A long http://www.com destination went across the screen. When you get there, you'll find a typical corporate home page. You listening? I hope so, because I want you to find the backdoor to this company's employee network database. Don't fuck with the interface detours. Just break in and leave a nice little message on every employee's web site: Sinner-Sin-Sin, has gone and done ya again.
    Okay, kid?
    Philip was already on his way.
    Don't fuck up. You're not exactly using state-of-the-art machinery, I see. One mistake and you might find yourself in a small, locked jail cell with a big black guy that likes little white boys. Sorry, but it's like life: a win or lose situation.
    Sweating now, Philip managed to find the backdoor into the company's databases. The company was some nameless investment firm, but with enough success to have a security program lurking around any cyber corner.
    Whoa, shithead! Sinner typed out. You don't jump a code like that. Use grace. Use even a bit of art. But don't use too much time.
    Philip took the advice and avoided a nasty slip up. Betimes, he came to where he needed to be, did a wee bit of cyber skulking, and landed the message Sinner wanted. Eventually, he was back in neutral territory jumping a ride to a Walt Disney Web page he had found a link to.
    Sweet, kid, Sinner reacted. Somewhat sloppy, but you're quick and cold hearted. I could use you.
    Use me? Philip thought. This was an initiation ceremony? He just wanted to gather some more sacred information about the Shadowland.
    I noticed you misspelled "again" back there, Sinner added. It has an "a" in it, you know.
    Yeah, so what, Philip thought. I did your dirt job, now it should be my turn to ask favors.
    One more project, Sinner typed as if reading his recipient's mind. This one is going to be a bit tougher, but I'll lead you through.
    Now, Philip was popping his knuckles. "Gimme your best shot, Radio Shack man," he retorted to the silent monitor.
    "Fuck!" Shay hollered from behind. She had been beaten again.

Chapter VII: Rewards
    "Can I help you, sir?" Sinner asked the fourth customer that had come through the door in the last ten minutes. Philip had to admit the guy made a killer business. He never knew the hacker was popular in town when it came to quick computer fixes. In fact, the guy was a genius when it came to PC hardware design and repair.
    On the other hand, Sinner's reputation was wearing thin Philip's patience. He came in there that Saturday morning to get his half of the bargain, but the twenty something hacker insisted that customer service came first. "Besides," he said. "I'll be closing shop soon."
    "No-no-no-no," Sinner explained to his present customer. "You want to over clock the motherboard, but you have to be careful..."
    As Philip waited, he looked over the merchandise in the store. Eventually, he found a Hewlett-Packard on display that he fiddled with for awhile.
    "Hey, Phil," a soft, familiar voice called out.
    Philip swung around to see a beautifully tanned blonde holding a box of computer speakers. "Stephanie?" he asked, actually knowing exactly who he was talking to.
    "How's your father?" she replied. A hint of sexual implication lurked behind every word.
    "Dunno," Philip answered. "I mean, he went out with some friends last night and came back drunk. He was still in bed when I left this morning."
    "I see," Stephanie said. Her eyes scanned her young one-time sex partner like a metal detector in an airport. "Your friend Jason sent me an Email last night," she added.
    "Huh?" Philip responded.
    "Your friend Jason..." Stephanie repeated.
    Philip finally escaped the paralysis of his raging hormones. "Yeah, right," he said, "Jason. My friend, Jason."
    Stephanie suddenly felt awkward. Maybe it was the fact that Sinner was done helping the other customer and was free to help her, or maybe she finally realized she was flirting with a fifteen year old boy in a Radio Shack. Whatever the reason, she wanted to split. "Got to go, Phil," she said. "Tell your friend I said hi."
    "Sure," Philip threw out. As he watched the young whore make her way over to Sinner, his eyes homed in on her snug ass and the contour of a pair of laced panties protruding through her tight shorts. He began to ask himself why he ever decided not to sleep with her again.
    The meeting was short between Stephanie and Sinner. The woman paid for her speakers and headed out the door, passing Philip a kind, yet mystified look.
    "That was interesting," Sinner said as he locked the door. "Am I spending too much time in cyber space or did I just see a teen-age love muffin chat with a nose picker?"
    Philip wasn't amused. "She was my first, but not much to talk about," was all he wanted to say.
    Sinner grinned and headed for the back of the store. "Come on," he said. "It's time to see the Shadowland."
    Almost running, Philip trekked across the store and followed in behind his hacker companion. Betimes, the two came to a large room that looked like it had been used as a car repair garage at one time. There were no computers, no towers, no spider webs of data cables and piles of compact discs, and no multimedia accessories like speakers, fancy game pads, or huge woofers. There was just a simple fold out table with two wire shrouded gloves and a pair of thick, silver sunglasses atop it.
    "I don't get it," Philip said, stunned by the the contrast between what he saw and what he had expected to see.
    Sinner wandered over to the table and motioned towards the chair in front of it. "Have a seat, kid," he said. "You're gonna like this. Virtually, you're still a virgin. Unlike this world, the first time is always the best."
    Philip sat down, and Sinner helped him put on the gloves and the weird sunglasses. The gear felt very comfortable and somehow powerful at the same time. "What is this?" Philip asked as the dense glasses replaced his field of vision with an impenetrable darkness.
    "It's the future," Sinner answered. After popping his knuckles, he wandered off somewhere, came back, and proceeded to put his own glove and glasses gear on. "Everyone else is still using monitors and keyboards," he added. "All that is ancient history now for us cyber gurus that keep up on the latest technology. Today, we go where we want to with the wave of our hand."
    At that point, Sinner activated something and Philip screamed out as he found himself spinning down an immense tunnel decorated with every brilliant wavelength. He could almost feel the force of the ride as he shot around curves and over banks faster than the speed of sound... closer to the speed of a pulse of light... digital information.

Chapter VIII: Uninvited Guests
    The virtual roller coaster ride was Sinner's own personal touch to entering cyber space. Sort of like choosing your own sounds on Windows start-ups and shut-downs, only this was the big time stuff. After the ride, Philip saw himself floating through a sea of electric grids and plates. He couldn't touch any of them. Even when he tried to, the odd devices remained at a distance in the money green expanse.
    Philip could also see periodic beams of light shoot across the islands of translucent plates rimmed with glowing sapphire and an occasional auburn or deep red. The flashes were like controlled bursts of lightening. In fact, if Philip tried hard enough, he could hear a faint whooshing sound as the lights appeared nearby and disappeared into the blurred depths to every side. There was no odor, though. The place was devoid of any scent or sensation, which, ironically, in itself created a sensation: wading through the essence of innocence and virtue; flying through nothingness.
    Betimes, something luminescent, yet small, could be seen swirling about the void as if it were a drunken lightening bug. Gradually, it got closer and a fluorescent human body took precedence. The face was Sinner's.
    "Is this Shadowland?" Philip asked.
    "Fuck no!" Sinner answered. "This is only the beginning!"
    The reply only confused Philip's teen-age mind. "The beginning to what?" he asked.
    Sinner smiled and waved his digitally mastered arms at the endless expanse around him. "Welcome to the information superhighway!" he said. "Welcome to the way it should be, courtesy of hacker mafia ingenuity, and of course, myself."
    At that point, curiosity infected Philip like a fatal virus. He wanted to know everything. "What are the beams of light?" he asked. "What are the odd square things? What's that sound? Is it coming from the lights?"
    "Slow down, kid," Sinner remarked. "You keep talking like that and you'll pop a testicle."
    Philip's eyes were still flaring with a thirst for answers.
    Sinner could see that thirst well in his young friend. He had experienced it once, too, not long ago. "The flashes of light is information being carried from one destination to another," he proceeded to explain. "The odd 'grid islands', as I like to call them, are the destinations themselves."
    "Web sites?" Philip asked.
    "Possibly," Sinner answered. "They could also be links upon a much larger site. So large, in fact, we can't even see it from where we are."
    Philip stared up and down and all around himself with absolute fascination.
    Sinner flew in closer to the kid. "No censorship programs are immune to us now," he confided. "No rules, no regulations, and no laws to limit freedoms of speech and choice. It's all as it used to be once: the true definition of democracy."
    "I can do anything here?" Philip asked to be sure he heard right.
    "Anything," Sinner answered outright. "It's just as it was before the turn of the century, only this time we aren't limited to keyboards and mouse clicks. We can do 'anything' with our own two hands." He then gestured with open arms.
    "I want to see more!" Philip demanded. "Show me more!"
    At that point something loud and Earth shattering resounded through the void. Faraway, voices could be heard, and they seemed to be everything, but friendly.
    "Shit!" Sinner shouted. He then dematerialized, leaving Philip alone in the empty expanse.
    "Sinner?" Philip cried out. "Sinner!!!"
    Suddenly, everything vanished, and Philip found himself back in the storage room of the Radio Shack. The odd sunglasses that were once on his face were now held in Sinner's hand.
    "We've got uninvited guests," the hacker said as he peered over at the closed door, which led into the shop.
    Philip listened and could hear the same voices and crashing sounds he had heard while under the influence of the strange, new technology. This time, however, it seemed much closer and more threatening.
    A sound that resembled feedback from a walkie-talkie later joined the other noises. "Cops," Sinner analyzed.
    Philip was frightened now. "What do we--"
    "Take the stuff with you and split," Sinner both interrupted and answered his friend's question. He then grabbed both sets of the gloves and eye wear and threw them in a box, handing the thing to Philip. "They'll have the place surrounded like genital warts on a hooker. Go out through the tunnels underneath," he added and then shifted the table out of the way to reveal a manhole cover in the floor. The guy removed it and motioned for his young friend to go in.
    Philip did what he was told, knowing there was little time. "What should I do with this stuff?" he asked as he descended into the damp blackness.
    "Whatever you want, until I ask for it back," Sinner answered. "That is, if I ever get the chance." He then threw the steel cover back over the manhole, shutting the kid out. After setting the table back up, he sat down and waited patiently for his arrest.
Chapter IX: Back Home
    The weekend was the pits. Philip enjoyed exploring the possibilities of his new toy, but didn't like how he had come upon it. He kept up on the news reports. Sinner's arrest had made the headlines in every state across the country. The guy really was a Shadowland member. In fact, he was a veteran of just about every post 20th century cyber terrorism that had taken place.
    The idea of being chosen as an adept for such an experienced hacker gave Philip mixed feelings of both pride and fear. He had a powerful tool now, and a powerful connection to the Web, but was also affiliated with a criminal. Everytime he used the futuristic hardware Sinner had left to him, his conscience bugged him with images of juvenile detention and mobs of sensationalistic reporters.
    Sunday night he locked his door and hooked himself up. As he waded through the digital space of Web sites and communication beams, he continued his search for the fabled Shadowland. The place continued to elude him. Even more evasive was the Shadowland's secret: Paradise Lost. Rumor had it that the cyber underworld hid a virtual reality of absolute paradise and beauty. It was supposed to be Heaven crafted by a computer's imagination and a programmer's determination to live out an ancient human fantasy.
    But was it real?
    That's what Philip had struggled for months to find out.

    "Philip, I'm disappointed in you," Mr. Dovington said as he stood over the boy in the empty classroom. School had just been let out, but the history teacher wanted to keep Philip around awhile longer for lecturing. The history report's true author had been discovered and it wasn't the boy who had handed it in. "I suppose you think I'm stupid," the teacher added. "I suppose you think I can believe that a fifteen year old child can write a ten page report on seventeenth century Jamestown and put it in perfect MLA format when MLA format hasn't even been taught yet!"
    Philip kept his robe of silence.
    "I guess you're gifted," Mr. Dovington continued to prod. "Actually, you must be a born genius because I don't know how else you could have written a paper like this using..." The old man put on his bifocals and looked the report over in his hand again. "Words like 'befuddled'," he said, reading off what he saw, "'exasperation', 'duality', and 'cholera'. Do you even know what cholera is?"
    Philip didn't have a clue. He thought of taking a shot at it, but he doubted it was some kind of wild turkey.
    "It's a disease," Mr. Dovington answered. He then leaned in closer so his young offender could catch the spite in his voice more clearly. "It's a nasty, debilitating disease without any conscience for morality, ethics, justice, and the will to follow simple RULES," he added.
    The message and its dramatized meaning was received and understood. Philip just wished the guy would hurry up and give him his detention along with his "F" for the report.
    "I think the principle will have a few things to say about this," Mr. Dovington lectured on. "I think that can wait, though. Instead, I want you to go straight to the library and write me a ten page report on the history of the American colonies."
    "Now!?" Philip asked, not believing what he was hearing.
    "Yes, now!" Mr. Dovington answered as he pointed towards the door.

    Not again. One time of having to wait for her brother was bad enough, but twice in the last four days was too much for Shay. This time, while she sat patiently--or impatiently, rather--in front of her school, Philip's friend Jason didn't even bother to show up. Of course, even her little mind was able to figure out she had been overly suspicious of the tall, hispanic kid, but that still shouldn't have been enough to scare the guy off.
    Now what was she going to do?
    "Shay, are you sure you don't want a ride home?" her first grade teacher asked as she headed towards her Dodge Caravan in the parking lot. The overly concerned woman had checked her watch and it was five thirty. School had been out for two hours.
    Although it went against her better judgment, Shay knew her brother wasn't going to show. "I guess so," she answered warily as she grabbed her purple book bag.
    The trip home went without incident. In fact, Shay and her teacher had quite a conversation on the way. Once the girl's house was found, the two shared good-byes, and the Caravan sped away into the linear monotony of the suburban neighborhood. Shay then opened the front door to her house, using the key she had hidden in her book bag, and headed for the Playstation in her brother's room. She was damn determined to beat that boss master once and for all.
    As the theme to Quake X resounded from the television set, Shay noticed that something new was in the room. Her female instinct for detail led her to a strange pair of gloves and silver goggles sticking out from a pile of dirty laundry. There were all sorts of odd designs on the gloves that were layered with wires and thick tubing. Overcome with curiousity now, the little girl dressed herself up in the surreal gear and plugged it in.
    The goggles--or sunglasses if that's what they were--seemed a wee bit too large, but Shay's determination to use the thing granted her access to an adjuster on the side. Eventually, she found a button under the fingers of the right glove and pressed it.
    In seconds, she was on the most amazing roller coaster ride.
    Shay's tiny mouth dropped open with an excited scream as she whipped through the fantastic swirl into cyber space. Floating about now in a sea of colored magic, she wondered if she had stumbled into the world of Dr. Suess. Whatever it was, and wherever she had gone, it sure beat using the Playstation!
    As Shay examined her newly discovered realm, she noticed a dark figure flying towards her. Betimes, the one dark figure became a multitude of human-like figures dressed in obscure cloaks that shifted shades with the rush of an invisible wind. The faceless, brooding forms surrounded Shay, frightening her enough to sweat beneath the goggles she wore. "Who are you?" she asked, but the things wouldn't answer.

    "Done already?" Mr. Dovington asked after his renegade pupil trekked across the library to stand next to him.
    "No," Philip answered. "I just remembered something."
    Mr. Dovington removed his bifocals and placed the papers he was grading off to the side. "And what might that be?" he asked cynically.
    "My sister," Philip replied. "I was supposed to walk her home from school."
    Mr. Dovington looked at the clock on the wall. It was past six. "Can't she walk herself home?" he asked.
    "In the city!?" Philip replied with disbelief.
    For once the insurgent was right. "Okay," Mr. Dovington said with a heavy sigh. "Go get your sister and walk her home if she's still there." He then wondered if maybe the whole sister thing was just a ruse to get a quick trip out of the school. It didn't matter, though. It was late, anyway. "But," he added, "I want a ten page report on my desk tomorrow morning."
    Philip rolled his eyes, grabbed his stuff, and rushed down the hall.

Chapter X: The Shadowland     "No!" Philip cried out as he looked into his room and saw his little sister sprawled out on the floor. Sinner's gear was still strapped onto her limp body.
    Slamming the door all the way open, Philip raced across his room and over to where Shay was. He was still breathing furiously from the sprint home. When he checked the school and saw his sister wasn't there, his next instinct was to check the house... and call the cops if that proved unfruitful.
    Shay began to giggle.
    Philip couldn't believe his ears. He thought the machine hooked to his sister had done something bad to her, but the sound she just made was a complete and utter contradiction to his assumptions.
    "Sure," Shay said as a big smile came across her face. "I will. Okay." She then giggled a few more times.
    "Shay?" Philip called out, perplexed by what he was seeing and hearing. He could sense an approaching fear.
    Shay's giggles turned into a burst of laughter. "I'll tell him," she said. "I will. I promise."
    Mystified, Philip just sat there and watched his sister.
    "I love you, too," Shay added, and then she removed the goggles.
    The two stared at each other for a moment. It was a moment that felt like an eternity to Philip. "What were you doing?" he asked his sister. "Who were you talking to?"
    Shay suddenly turned away and bit her lip as if she was about to cry.
    Philip sat stunned, not knowing what to do.
    "Mommy says she loves you," Shay said, bursting into tears. "She said she misses us and will always love us." The little girl then curled up against her brother and sobbed, matting his shirt with puddles of tears.
    Philip cradled his sister as he looked down at Sinner's invention. He could find no reason, at first, for what he had just heard. He considered that maybe Shay had been the victim of some kind of crude prank or maybe she had experienced an hallucination. The longer he thought about it, though, the more he faced the inevitable possibility that his sister had mistakenly found what his diligent search failed to uncover.
    Shay had found the Shadowland and possibly even its elusive members. More importantly, however, she had found Paradise Lost. She had encountered humankind's Heaven in the distant recesses of cyber space... and the spirit of someone very special and so dearly missed.

tkahle@osprey.net