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I giggled when I hit the enter button, hoping this Rog guy had half a brain at least and could be good for half an hour of internet fun.
“I doubt that, Shelven. I bet you’re short, tiny even, and you like your larger-than-life character because she is the exact opposite of you.”
Wow, that was rude, and a little too close to home. But I was sure it was just a lucky guess. As I considered my comeback, he commented again.
“What’s the matter, Shelven? Did your little orange kitty get your tongue?”
That was not the way to use that remark, and I did have an orange cat at one time.
“Snoozefest, Rog Rouge. Signing off.”
“I wouldn’t if I were you. If you don’t engage me here, I’ll just have to come over.”
Ha, now I got his game.
“Unless you live in L.A. I don’t see how that is possible. Go find another kick-ass female gamer to bother, Rog.”
I was getting seriously wigged out by this guy.
“Good thing I live in Philadelphia, like you then, isn’t it, Shelby?”
Shit! What the heck was going on?
“Look, you piece of shit hacker, I’m not interested.”
A new window came up out of nowhere with a guy in a mask.
“Is that any way to talk to your next Daddy? Really, Shelby, you need to learn some manners. But don’t worry, I will be right over to teach you some.”
Images of torture devices from the Middle Ages popped up in quick random order. Then one solid screen with a picture of me and my address. I slammed my laptop shut. Whoever this guy was, he was bad news, and he definitely knew where I lived.
Great, now what?
I called Dahlia, but it went straight to voicemail. Crap! Crap! Crap! My hands were slapping the sides of my thighs in quick succession, a nervous habit of mine.
Think, Shelby!
Midgard, I could go there and hang out for the evening, or at least until I heard back from Dahlia. I packed up my movable devices into a large black bag and dragged it down to the storage locker in the basement. There was as much a chance of it being stolen from down here as my apartment. But I hid it behind an old mattress I kept there just in case of an emergency.
I raced back up to my apartment and chose a red flared mini skirt with a matching hair bow, a white blouse with over-the-knee socks, and a pair of Mary Janes to complete my sexy schoolgirl look. I packed an overnight bag including my laptop in the hopes I would end up at Dahlia’s place.
I wore a long nondescript camo coat to hide my outfit and took a last look around my apartment. I locked the three locks and prayed it would be enough to keep Captain Creepo out of my place.
I was so paranoid on my walk to the bus stop, I hailed a cab and kept my eyes trained out the back window on the ride to Midgard. For what? I did not know what the guy even looked like. He could be the cab driver for all I knew.
When we arrived, I held out a shaky hand with my credit card, then thought better of it. I mean what if the creep was internet stalking my purchases somehow? I dug around in my bag until I gripped the loose bills I kept in case of an emergency. I thought this qualified and handed it to the driver.
At Midgard’s cloakroom, I handed over my bag and trench coat, giving a fake name in case I was followed. I noted there were a few coats on the rack and asked for mine to be placed at the very back. Then I gave her my free ticket and headed into the bar area which I found was quiet as I suspected it would be. An attractive blonde lady I recognized from a previous visit with Dahlia, Astrid, I believe, was polishing a few glasses behind the counter.
She looked up and greeted me with what could arguably be the coolest smile I’d ever seen. I bet no one messed with her! I sat on a stool as far away from the entryway as I could and patiently waited for her to come and take my order.
She finished with the glass and placed it on the shelf with the others. The way Astrid sauntered over reminded me of Shelven, my online character. Tall, beautiful and deadly, all the things I wasn’t. I sighed, wishing the barstool I had to jump to get myself on would swallow me whole.
I expected an icy Icelandic accent and was pleasantly surprised at the warm rich tone of her voice. “You appear to be lost, little one. How can I be of service?”
She had nailed it, except for the Little part. I blew out a sigh of frustration.
“I’m not a Little, I’m a Middle. I don’t play with coloring books, and have one token stuffy, the bear I was left on the doorstep with. Why does everyone insist on calling me a Little?” Even I heard the petulant tone in my voice. The one a Daddy would correct if only I had one.
