Unpredictable

(Present)

Just say it, you silently remind yourself. You know you’d regret it if you didn't.

(A few months before)

It had been a hard day for you. Your credit card had been denied when you went into a restaurant. The stares. The blood rushing to your face. Shame like you had never felt before. Luckily the manager let you go. 

You had no money, and you couldn’t borrow any. You already owed too much. 

(Right before Present time)

It was too easy to steal all that money from your parents; the password to the bank account was surprisingly predictable. Of course their password would be FernFernsby1995 (your name and birth year). They used that password for everything. Idiots.

Was it bad you didn’t feel guilty? Why should you? You needed it to rent! Who wants to admit to their parents that they can’t be independent at 25? What’s wrong with you? Why did you even decide to go through with this stupid plan if you felt conflicted? 

Your parents had always protected you and always ensured that you had whatever you needed and that you were happy despite not being wealthy. You had been that lone figure inside a snowglobe, smiling as glitter swirled around you. Your parents were that thin layer of glass that surrounded you, protecting you, taking care of you. Then when you told your parents you wanted to leave the globe and be independent, nothing was the same. You stepped out of the perfect world your parents had created for you. It was as if you had chosen to be left in the woods to fend for yourself against the omnipresent dangers. 

Twisting and turning, you try to fall asleep, a feeling of loss slowly percolating through your body. You turn to look at the clock. Maybe you should just cut off ties with your parents, burn your bridges. Or just don’t tell them and hope they don’t notice. But what if they find out? They wouldn’t call the police. Right? Right? No, I have to tell them. No, you can’t. No, you don’t have a choice; you must call.

After lying in bed for a while and debating with yourself, you pick up your phone with trembling fingers. The light blinds you, but slowly, you type your dad’s phone number.  Shivering in the half-light, your forefinger hovers over the call icon. Slowly, slowly, you bring the finger down and lightly tap. It doesn’t register at first, and for one ludicrous moment you change your mind, but the phone registers the call.

He picked up almost immediately and says, “Hey kiddo, what’s up?” 

“Could I, could I maybe… come over tomorrow?” you shakily inquire.

“Yeah sure, what’s the problem?” he says, obviously concerned.

“No, I… I just want to... maybe talk and… I don’t know, catch up?” you lie.

“No problem, your mother and I will be so happy to see you again.”

“Ok, thanks.”

The next day, you march into their apartment, determined to tell them the shameful truth. You’re met with glowing faces and hugs. Before you know it, you’re sitting down, listening to your parents recount the latest misadventure of their chocolate lab. However, all you’re thinking about is their upcoming reaction to the emptiness of your bank account and the depraved thing you did.

Maybe you should turn back now, keep quiet, and hope for the best, the voice in your head tells you. They might not even notice anything was amiss. If you tell them now, then your parents will think you can’t support yourself, much less care for them as they get older.

Everything used to be so much easier. Just a few years ago you lived in a utopia, but they always treated you as if you were some sort of delicate snowflake that would melt once you stepped out into the real world. They were never more right about anything. How could you possibly show them you could be independent if you can’t even make enough to rent a tiny apartment on the crumbling high-rise next to the highway?

Stop trying to convince yourself that stealing from them was right. Just forget about yourself. You’re always thinking about yourself. Don’t be a selfish brat. Do the right thing and tell them! You know you can’t keep this hidden forever. 

When the moment comes for you to tell them everything, your courage just fails. You just... can’t do it. Their proud and joyful faces at your visit home are just too much. Looking away, not able to hide the shame and regret, you abruptly stand up and tell them you need to use the bathroom.

Standing in the hallway trying to calm yourself down, you overhear your parents’ conversation.

“What happened?” your mom asks your dad.

Oh no, you think to yourself, they can tell something is wrong.

“I don’t know. Anyways, there’s a lot of money missing from our bank account,” your dad says.

“What?”

“Did you get some expensive handbag again?” your dad accuses. “That Moochi or Lewis Batton? I told you to stop wasting money on those things! We don’t have enough to begin with!”

“I didn’t take anything!”

In the hallway, you bite your fingernails, wondering if they’ll find out.

“Let’s stop bickering, I’ll take a look at the most recent transaction. I’m sure it was you.”

“I told you it wasn’t me!”

“Whatever you say…”

Knowing that your father will see it any second, you bolt out of the apartment, down the stairs, and keep running until the adrenaline wears off. Hands on knees, you huff and puff until...

“Hi there,” says a voice from behind you. Terrified, you turn, expecting your parents.

“Would you like to buy a hot dog?”

Breathing a sigh of relief, you decline and hop onto the first metro back to your apartment.

Briinnnngggg! Briinnnngggg!

Looking at your phone, you identify the caller as your dad. Sighing, you walk back into your apartment. The cold feeling of guilt makes you shiver, making you waste precious time you need to finish that article you’ve been laboring over for the past week. 

You dream of becoming a well-known writer or journalist, but you’ve been struggling to make yourself stand out among thousands of talented individuals. You finally leave your cave of sorrow and regret, and you reread your article one last time before sending it to the editors.

Unable to forget what happened at your parents’ apartment, you come up with a new plan. You decide that instead of telling your parents what you did, you’ll try to make more money so that you can pay them back, removing any commiseration you might still feel towards them.

A few days have passed since you submitted that article that held your hopes and dreams for the future. Scrolling through your emails, you see a response from an editor. After taking a deep breath, you open the link and see that he has invited you to a meeting. What could he want?

The next day, you enter the meeting hesitantly, not knowing what to expect.

“Wow, what a great piece on the food crisis in Cuba!” he says as you walk in tentatively. “I really love your writing, and you are definitely one of the more passionate writers I’ve seen.”

“That means so much coming from you,” you respond. “I’m really excited that my work is finally getting noticed!”

“It really is great. The reason I invited you here is that I was wondering if you would join us here at WrittenCorp, and, well, maybe do a weekly article!” 

“Really? I mean, of course. I would love to!”

“Obviously, there would be a probationary period at first and a low salary to start with, but we would love to have you work for us, and in time, become a member of this group.”

“Alright I’m in. When do I start?”

“Woah, slow down, we have lots of paperwork to go through, and I have to run it down with my boss. You might be able to start in a week or two.”

“No problem.”

(A few weeks later)

After paying back the money you stole from your parents, you feel, finally, truly responsible. The sun has finally come out after a long storm. What an exhilarating feeling you felt! You are on top of the WORLD! You are financially responsible and happy with your occupation; what more could you want?

The next morning, you head to the nearest coffee shop and order a latte to wake yourself up before going to work. 

“Sorry, your card has been declined,” says the automated voice of the credit card machine.

“What? Nevermind, it's fine, I have cash.”

What on earth is going on? you think to yourself. Confused, you walk out of the store and call the bank. 

“Please hold…Hi, my name is Eliza, and I will be helping you today. What do you need?” 

“Hi, Eliza. My credit card was declined today,” you explain. “Could you check to see why?”

“Of course. What is your account number?”

“89321.”

“And your name?”

“Fern Fernsby.”

“Thank you. Yes, I can see here that your card has been frozen for outstanding debt. It seems that you have made several large purchases in the last week.”

“What? Is that a joke?”

“No, ma’am, that is what it says. I have other calls on the line, I must hang up.”

“No wai…”

Getting nervous, you quickly log into your account and see what happened. Apparently, three transactions were made to an overseas location you didn’t even know existed. Immediately, you freeze all your cards and alert the bank that your account has been hacked.

After calling the police and filing a report, you still feel angry at how easily you were taken advantage of. You decide to hire a private investigator to bring down these jerks that stole the money you saved up.

A few weeks after you hired Detective Lassiter to find out where all the money went, you receive a call from him.

“We’ve been able to trace where the money went,” he tells you. “Your bank account has been hacked into by a group that calls themselves The Alpha & Omega. Over the years, this group has hacked into the bank accounts of thousands of people.”

Shocked, you ask, “Are you serious? Were you able to find out any more information about this group?”

“We have, actually,” he replies. “It took a lot of prying and tracing, but we eventually uncovered the real identities of the culprits that are involved in these cases. They are Loughty and Danksworth Fernsby, who are currently living in, actually, here, New York City.”

“Wait, did I hear you correctly? Did you say Loughty and Danksworth Fernsby?”

“Yes. Loughty and Danksworth Fernsby.”

You’re stunned. No one else in NYC could possibly have the same names. If it was them…no impossible. You can’t believe it, and you need to know for sure that it was them.

Coming out of the office, you head straight to the metro and arrive at your parents’ house unannounced a few minutes later. Walking straight up to them, they stop their conversation and look at you, surprised since you didn’t tell them you were coming. You’re about to ask them directly, but then you hesitate and don’t say anything for a few moments. What if they really did steal the money? Do you really want to know the answer? What would happen if they didn’t do it? Would they be offended by this accusation? More importantly, what are you going to do if it really was them?

But in the end, you know a part of you needs to know the answer.

Just say it, you silently remind yourself. You know you'd regret it if you didn't.