Chapter 7

Bobby

5:00 PM

Bobby watched the detective leave the room and chortled. Could he be any clearer? "He wants to jump the reporter, doesn't he?"

Barbie's ghost agreed; she'd been making kissy faces at the two of them since he sat down.

"I know. Why doesn't he just ask her out?" he said to the ghost in Russian.

She giggled. He wished he could hear her. When did I find talking to ghosts to be normal? He narrowed his eyes. "I've met you before, haven't I?"

Barbie's eyes widened, and she nodded her head so fast she spun around in a circle.

"You're speaking Russian, right? Who are you talking to?" Ming asked.

"Barbie," Bobby said. "As I told you before, she's floating right next to you."

"Right," said Ming as she flipped a page in her notebook and wrote another note.

"Can you show her?" Bobby asked.

Barbie started tapping her lips and made a lightbulb over her head pose.

With an exaggerated eyeroll, Bobby sighed, sat back and started rubbing his eyes. The light in this room was too dim, and the coffee was wearing off. He needed sleep. After drifting off a few minutes earlier, the room had turned into a zombie playground, complete with a pair of flesh-eating monsters.

"What the Hell?" The temperature in the room dropped five degrees.

Bobby opened his eyes just as Ming waved her hand in the air where Barbie was and smirked, "Told you."

Ming's eyes were the size of beef buns, and she was trembling. "You've been seeing this for the last hour now? How did she do that? Why couldn't I see her before?"

"Don't know. You saw the code in the window, but it was broken, right?"

Ming nodded.

"Probably only got a partial download. Saved your life, I would bet. However, she can manipulate her code, but I can't hear a word she says. She's pretty good at pantomime, though."

"Why didn't she show me when we first met?"

"Beats the hell outta me. Besides, I've been seeing a lot of screwed-up things every time I fall asleep, and I figured Barbie was just another hallucination," replied Bobby as he shoved a fist in his mouth to stifle a yawn. "A freaking scary one."

Barbie stuck out her tongue at him. She looked so much like Vlad. She even did the same things as his twin brother. No. It was impossible. Vlad hated women. She might have been a double.

"What kind of visions?" Ming asked.

"Death, destruction, you name it," Bobby replied with a bigger yawn. Hell, just a moment ago I was seeing you as a zombie wanting to suck out my brains." He yawned.

"Really. I saw something similar after seeing the numbers," Ming said. "It's mostly gone now." She turned to where Barbie was. "I don't think I'd believe in a ghost, though," she muttered.

"Really?" Bobby scratched his head. "Are you sure you have no coding experience?" he asked Ming.

She shook her head. "The only thing I've ever used is the AI program on my computer, but that's the extent of my computer skills.

Bobby clicked his tongue. "I wish I had never seen it. The sooner I get the code finished, the sooner I can figure out what's wrong and get it out. It's like a songworm that just gets lodged up in there and won't let go."

"What's this about worms?" Dean asked, opening the door. A scowl disappeared from his face, but not quickly enough. Bobby noticed the hint remaining.

"Bobby was just telling me about the visions he's been seeing," Ming started. "I also saw the woman who died and disappeared, so to speak."

"If he knows, why hasn't he told me?" asked the detective, turning to Bobby, his voice moving to the "I'm getting ready to shoot you" tone.

"Stow the jealousy, Detective. I like my women with a bit more meat to them. Reporter's too skinny for me," Bobby interjected.

Ignoring the sharp intake of breath from the reporter, Bobby turned to Barbie. "Can you show him too?"

Barbie tapped her nose and puffed out her cheeks. The temperature dropped another ten degrees, and Bobby started rubbing his arms.

Dean scowled, but looked around the room. "Am I supposed to see something?"

"I can. You were supposed to see Barbie," Ming said. "I guess it doesn't work that way for everybody." She rubbed her eyes. "I haven't slept well in three days. That could explain it."

"This is a trick, isn't it?"

"I wish. Did you bring the tin?" Bobby asked. Reaching down, he pulled out his laptop from his bag and plugged it in. Opening it to a program running the computer code. Bobby wrinkled his nose at the trash.

"This is shit," he muttered.

The reporter leaned over Bobby's shoulder. "I recognize some of this. The numbers and letters, but this. What is this?" She pointed to an empty section of code on the screen.

"That's where the lyrics from the Crue are inserted," Bobby said, running his hands through his hair and wiping them on his pants. "I think. I'm not sure. Music is necessary for my code. You can create magic without Heavy Metal, but you need the right vibe to make most magic work. Without the correct sound and syntax that works for the user in the operation, all you get is gibberish."

"You know this, how?" Ming asked. "What does this code do?"

"I learned it in Russia, by accident. I kinda stumbled on it. Anybody can use magic, and most people touch the edges of it all the time," said Bobby.

Ming raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips. "Magic?"

Bobby sighed. "Think of it like this: when you have a flash of insight or a hunch of inspiration, you're brushing up against the boundaries of magic. That connects you to the natural power that governs this world. Experts in all fields can access the tiny sliver of the barest part available to them, naturally. Some call it a gift or an innate talent."

"Kind of like Dean's gut feelings," Ming said, writing in her notebook.

Dean snorted.

"I guess so." Bobby shrugged. "As for what my code does, well, while I'm not a hundred percent sure, I believe it allows me to bypass nature and hack the system. Theoretically, it should allow me to control time and space, travel through time, warp reality, give the pretty boy a third nipple. Pretty much anything I want, if I'm willing to pay the price. That varies, and it may not be me who pays. One thing you have to understand is that nature is vindictive and will as soon crush your balls as give you a hug."

Ming was silent for a moment. "Time travel?" She scoffed.

Bobby nodded.

"A third nipple?" Dean scoffed and handed Bobby the evidence bag with the tin of chew.

Bobby opened it up and raised an eyebrow. "It isn't damaged? How? Ivan totalled everything else."

"That's why we bagged it," Dean said as he crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean by Ivan?"

Bobby ignored the question. That was a conversation best avoided.

"Why is tobacco chew necessary?" Dean asked. "We've tested it, by the way. It's standard tobacco."

"It's not. I've been trying to recreate the code all day, but I've got a mental block stopping me from remembering how. I've got to lower my defences, and this chew helped me do that earlier."

"What do you mean, code?" Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Before I saw the dead woman, a special code in the window tried to take over my mind and body," Bobby said, trying to keep his voice light. The Detective already thought he was Loony Tunes on crack. "Before whatever was in the window could infect me further, the pink piece of shit blew itself out and dumped me off the bosun chair." He scratched his chin, "That saved me, maybe?"

Barbie was wagging her finger at him. She kept miming sleep, but there was no way Bobby was giving in to that. One zombie dream was enough.

Wincing at the smell, he took a small wad of the chew and placed it in his cheek. Ming giggled, and he could swear the detective stifled a cough, "I know it smells like a donkey's asshole. Give me a moment." The stress from the last few hours didn't move. It stayed in a ball right behind his right eye, but he could sense his eyes opening. As he focused and took a deep breath, the code imposed itself on the screen. He sighed in relief. It had been a long shot.

The code was fluid. When he tried to force the Crue into the structure he wrote earlier, it fell flat. The part of him still behind the block knew he needed more than just music, but he couldn't focus on why. If he had more written down, maybe. "I knew it. The code was there, I just forgot how to write it... Bloody hell, it will work."

"That's great," Ming said. "You sounded unsure."

"My initial attempt was messy and crude. There were so many bugs in it that I could easily imagine my old computer teacher punting my testicles across the room after caressing them with his steel-toed hiking boots."

"Watch the language, Rocker-Boy," Dean grumbled.

"When I got home, I realized I was seeing the same code I had created years ago, but never perfected. It had slowly been eroding my blocks..." he trailed off. Something was missing from that statement --- something dangerous. He couldn't put it into words, but he was sure the original code had been finished; he'd just removed his ability to write it. Not only did he remember using it, but he also remembered deleting it after the American had rescued him from Gregory. Why had he never tried to recreate the code? For the first time in three years, he regrated putting the blocks in. The code was speaking to him, like a junkie looking for a fix.

Bobby drifted off as the coding took over. His fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling numbers and applications from the depths of his memory. This was fun. He could do without the crap in his cheek, but he hadn't created code like this since coming to America. He'd missed this. His everyday life was okay, even if his job sucked a donkey's ass in a vacuum cleaner. Now his life was all about not sticking out and getting sucked dry, and doing the job assigned to him. Keeping his head down, well and truly out of Gregory's sight. Why did he never use this code to rewrite that relationship?

Why did that very idea fill him with dread?

No matter. It was relaxing to create again.

"I'm putting this into the drive." He held up a CD from his computer bag. "If you don't like it, go away." He put the CD in and hit play. "Gimme Chocolate!!" filled the room, pounding the speakers and drawing stares from the passersby. Both Dean and Ming covered their ears.

"Wrong CD," he mumbled, popping it out and grabbing another one from his bag. Crue's "Home Sweet Home" soon replaced it. "I'm going to listen to that one later," he said in Russian. "It had a good beat."

The music drowned out the clack of Bobby's fingers typing on the keyboard. The melody filled the room, bringing an energy missing from his earlier efforts. The other two disappeared. Barbie waved and faded out. His tiredness vanished, like the effect of a dozen cups of coffee fighting against the dim light.

The computer screen filled his whole consciousness. He continued to work, filling line after line. Unlike before, the uniqueness spoke to him. It wasn't a Python script, though it had a basic similarity. There was a touch of SQL for the data aspect. He found himself falling into the code, the beauty of it washing over him.

"Bobby," he heard a voice through the fog. It sounded like a woman. He ignored it and continued diving, pushing everything out. The deeper he got, the more intricate it became. The blocks dissolved faster, and memories flooded back. The code itself was like combining Swift from the fruit company and Go from Google if those two didn't hate each other and allowed their code to work together. It was mixed with a raw primal language in the music that required an output of some kind. It was creating something new.

He was creating nature. That was it. He was writing an algorithm for nature.

"Bobby!" Was that Sasha's voice? It'd been so long. What had happened to her? Why did Barbie resemble her around the eyes? He misted up there and almost lost the code. The dim light from the room intruded, and he could smell Coke.

He shook his head and continued coding, taking a sip of the cola someone had left. The chemical burn in the bubbles drove him forward, pushing him back into the code. He was getting to the end of the sequence. One or two more lines and he was done. He couldn't tell exactly what the code was going to do, but he needed to find out.

"Bobby!" someone was shaking him, pulling him away from the computer.

"I was almost finished!" He yelled at the detective. The sudden light shot deep into his eyes, blinding him. He winced and knuckled the burning sensation out.

"It's been three hours," Dean said. His hands were on his hips, showing his gun. "Everybody's gone home."

Bobby looked around. The reporter was curled up on the couch, drooling; the precinct was dark outside the room. 'Gimme Chocolate' was echoing from his speakers. "When did I put Baby Metal in?" he said, scratching his head.

"Sorry," Bobby said, messing up his hair and muting the CD. "I got lost in the code. It'd been so long."

"Are you finished?" Dean asked.

"Yes. Just one last piece to input." Bobby sat at the computer and started typing again. He rubbed his eyes and pushed the tin of chew away from the computer. Other than the small wad from earlier, it was still almost full. "I'm done with that dross. You can have it back."

"Really? I thought it was important?" Dean said.

"Only to force me to move past the block and get the code out of my brain."

The Detective scratched his head.

"I had all of my memories locked away behind something, like a firewall," he trailed off again. He was missing a piece of information.

Shaking his head, he continued. "The block's mostly gone now. The chew helped bring out the hidden code embedded in me. Now that whatever was in the window is in the computer, I can see the connection."

"You know this, how?" Dean asked.

Bobby paused, opening and closing his mouth. "I don't know, detective. I just do." He looked up at Dean. "It's as if my instinct is telling me I'm right. I can't explain it."

Dean grimaced but picked up the tin and plopped it back into the evidence bag. He went over to Ming and shook her shoulder to wake her up.

Snorting, she opened her eyes and stretched. Dean turned away.

"Look at her, detective. If she were Russian, she'd want you to stare," Bobby said, typing the last bit of code. "Although reporter, you might want to wipe your chin first."

She used her sleeve and stood up. "What's happening?" She didn't look at Dean.

"Mr. Motley Crue here says he's finished the code," Dean said, not looking at her.

"You can get it on here. I don't mind watching," Bobby said, smiling. "And done!" he hit the last keystroke and typed 'execute'.

Nothing happened.

They waited. Ming looked around the room and shrugged.

Bobby scrolled through the code. Ten minutes later, he looked up. "Here it is. A period's in the wrong place." He hit 'execute' again.

There was a slight power surge and a bright light, but still, nothing happened.

"Okay? Was this supposed to be more dramatic?" Dean said.

"I don't get it?" Bobby checked the code again. "Maybe I mixed up a backslash with an apostrophe; they looked so similar, it's easy to screw them up. This could take me a few hours." He stuck out a tongue and started scrolling.

The detective threw up his hands and went to the vending machine in the corner. The reporter checked her phone and winced.

Suddenly, the door burst open. Dean spun and pulled his gun from his holster. A beautiful naked girl with long curly blond hair stumbled into the room, "Thank you, Maker, for bringing me out of my ghost form. I knew planting my anti-virus in you would do the trick and override the block, but you should've just gone to sleep. It would've made this a whole lot easier if the anti-virus had rewritten your prefrontal cortex." She shrugged. "Thank Goddess you had the Baby Metal CD as well. Their rhythm meshes well with Crue's and jives with my soul, and I prayed you'd recognize their sound."

"You? How the fuck aren't you dead?" Bobby yelled, knocking over the chair. "I saw your body. You were a bloody ghost!"

"I just shifted myself out of sync, that is all," she said, shrugging. "You're not done yet, Maker. The other virus, the bad one, is still inside you. You should just go to sleep. It would've rewritten everything."

"And bring out the zombies!"

"Fine! If you won't sleep, I can show you what to do to overwrite it, so I don't have to kill you right away. Then you have to make a choice." She pouted.

"A choice?"

"Well, we can either get it out of you and send me home, or you can come with me. I still might have to kill you."

She smiled at Dean and bowed, "Thank you for bringing my blood here, Mr. Detective, sir, but could you get me some clothes? Please? My nipples are standing up, and I don't have enough nanites left to recreate my clothes like last time."

Ming elbowed Dean in the gut.