Due to the problems on the site I didn't post a new chapter on Monday. I'll make it up to you with a longer one today. Now, whether you'll be able to see it or not, that's another case. (Fingers crossed)

These are weird days-a new strict lockdown starts on Saturday here- and I'm counting on stories to make life easier.
This one would not be here without TOWDNWTBN and Vale.

You know every writer needs feedback but this time leave a review or send a message if you can see the chapter. There's no point in posting if chapters get lost in the cyberspace.

With the main source of illumination gradually narrowing into a slit as Kepler closed the workroom's door behind him, JC stood immobilized, numb before him. She watched the constantly changing, harsh shadows on his mask until they disappeared and darkness surrounded them. It would have been complete darkness if not for the dim light from her bedroom lamp. But while complete darkness would have been welcome, even comforting—after all, it was the familiar absolute lack of light that allowed them to share tea—there was little comfort in that bleak, sick, yellowish glow. She could blame the shock of his sudden appearance or the horrid humiliation of her being caught eavesdropping but the bottom line was that her heart was pounding like a drum in her ears, its tapping sound quick, persisting much like the annoyingly persistent question pushing every other thought aside: How well did she know Kepler?

The time till her eyes finally got used to the dim light seemed endless, the silence having a gravity of its own as if there were no words strong enough to break it, no will by either side. At that time, JC wished Kepler was more like the Phantom of the Opera character. She wished he wore one of those theatrical masks with the sculptured features showing anger or a constant frown or something other than that "surface" barely following the curves of a human face. There was something inhuman in what was looking back at her now, without cheekbones or carved brows or even shaped lips. There was only this white—she knew it was white even though now it had a dirty yellow-grayish shade like mud. That rounded surface that could belong to a robot or an automaton if it weren't for those black holes and the thin horizontal slit where the mouth ought to be. Didn't he know that this mask was far scarier than any deformity would ever be? JC tried to avert her eyes from the black holes but they didn't obey her. They stayed locked there craving to catch a color, a movement, something that would indicate someone living was there.

She was going crazy. She knew she would laugh at herself thinking about it later, but at that moment all JC could think of were sharks' eyes—the way their eyes have no white, they're all black, completely black so that you never knew whether they look directly at you. For a tiny fragment of time, she wasn't even sure whether it was still Kepler behind that mask. It was difficult to see him—really, actually see him—in that darkness dressed in black with only this eerie mask and those black holes locked on her every move.

Then the light was turned on and most of the eerie feeling was dissolved by blessed electricity but the question she couldn't utter remained: How well could she ever know a man like Kepler?

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"As if I'm going to take your organs and sell them." There was no humor in his voice. Did she look that scared? JC remembered that very fear during the ride to the cottage in Wales and that memory of the past—it seemed so long ago now—was enough to break the spell for her. She felt her smile before its effects, the calmness in her heart and her silliness rising in all its glory. JC turned her back to him, afraid there were still traces of her ridiculous fear on her face. She had been warned that Kepler was a dangerous man, she knew he could be frightening but it was her childish imagination that did the trick. Sharks and robots. How adult was that?

Only in the safety of her—actually his—bedroom did JC finally find the courage to turn and face him. He had followed her in grim silence. JC didn't know who claimed that "attack was the best form of defense," she had no regard for aggressive theories like that, but at the moment that was the only approach she couldn't think of. She folded her hands behind her back in an "I'm-not-afraid-of-you" posture, hiding her fingertips that were anxiously tracing the window pane.

"Since the masks have fallen, some of them anyway," she inwardly winced at her poor attempt at humor, "there is no point in playing games. I had every right to want to find out as much as I could after what you did." Pause. "I mean hacking into my laptop."

"I know what you mean, Christine."

"I'm not going to apologize." She lifted her forehead in a deliberate gesture of defiance.

"I'm not asking you to. I'd just appreciate it if this stayed between us. Spencer is in trouble. He's in a frail state of mind but he's strong. I wouldn't want people to get the wrong impression. That was not his true self…he doesn't mean half of what he said."

JC frowned. "You know better." She wasn't very convincing.

"It wasn't him talking." JC couldn't help thinking Kepler spoke the words out loud to believe it himself. He sat at the edge of the bed with his shoulders hunched. He looked tired.

"You should sleep on a bed tonight." It was guilt talking. "My turn for the couch."

"Nonsense. I have work to do." He pressed a muscle on his shoulder.

"Do you ever sleep?"

"I'm not a vampire, if that's what you're asking."

She smiled. It was a victorious smile for she had finally put her finger on the cornerstone of Kepler's charm to her: his voice and his defusing sense of humor. A mute Kepler wouldn't be Kepler at all. He patted the bed and she complied, sitting perhaps a bit too close for her own sanity.

"Before…when I was mad at you, I also said some things I didn't believe. Just to hurt you." JC wondered why it was so easy for her to confide in him. Was it the mask? Did it work like a weird kind of confessional?

"Like what?" He sounded reserved now.

"When I said 'average'…there is nothing 'average' about you."

She felt his muscles relax. "If I remember correctly you called me an 'average sick person'. So I am sick but I'm not average in my paranoia?" His eyes were smiling.

"I was furious. Sometimes, when I'm like that I get mean. My mother used to say that she didn't like me when I got angry. That I used other people's weaknesses against them. Not that I know your weaknesses—"

"What else did your mother say?"

"Besides that I'm a genius?"

"That's obvious. What else?"

"She used to get mad at me when I was eavesdropping. I kept saying that it means I'm curious and that I cared." JC did care for all the doctors' appointments and the test results and the extra rounds of chemo her mother tried to keep from her as if it was possible. As if she could miss the signs.

"I like you, Juliet Christine Goodman, whatever you do—even when you're angry. Don't change anything. And if you think you may get mean at times, don't worry about me—I can take it. As for curious, one needs to be curious himself to understand." His eyes were smiling again.

It was one of those moments that if they were in a movie, JC would be brave enough to take his mask off and he would kiss her or he would take his mask off and she would kiss him and no BDS experiment would be necessary after that, and their kids would be named after flowers or would have strong, masculine names and the world would be a sunny place despite their living in London where the rain showers were more constant than monarchy itself. But they were not in a movie and JC was still determined never to have children, and Kepler would only lose his mask in total darkness and he'd been talking with his partner about killing that man, Gallagher, just a few minutes ago.

"Do you want me to call you JC?" he asked after a while. Seriously.

"No." She didn't want to elaborate more. They were in no movie but it was as if Christine was another person, had other qualities from JC. She was bolder, riskier, more interesting than JC, and she was Christine only when she was with him.

"You know I'd never do anything to willingly hurt you."

"Willingly?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I'm only human."

"Should I be afraid?" She semi-mockingly raised a questioning brow.

"I'm afraid enough for both of us."

"You don't seem afraid."

"It's this thing, it hides a lot." JC took a good look at the mask which wasn't scary at all now.

"What if the fire proves to be an arson…. Will you tell me what this is all about?"

"If it's proven…. It's not a challenge for curious minds, Christine. It's a trap. I'm afraid I've put you in a position where there's no—"

"Happy ending?" She needed to keep it light, to halt the grim tone, the hints of regret.

"No way out. Spencer says that everyone dies in the end so I guess you're also right: There's no happy ending unless you leave the story in the middle."

"I'm too curious for that. And I don't give a damn about the ending. I always needed to see to believe. I only care for the present—maybe I can blame that for my lack of ambition. I never cared to make long-term plans…. So, what if I dare to know? Now—"

"I can't promise you answers. Usually more questions arise…. We are a horrid species, Christine. Really hideous." His head was bent now. She longed to comfort him, to touch him but she knew she'd get the opposite result. She forced herself to stay silent and she was rewarded.

"I met Spencer on an online game. One of those role-playing games with the right amount of violence, strategy, war tactics and riddles where you had to complete a quest, build something, destroy something to develop your character. Gain the right skills…. Now that I think about it, those guys had ripped off the best features of the market bestsellers. An 'adult' spicy version that no adult with a 9–5 job could afford to play. One of those games that force you to form alliances and stay in front of your PC for hours or you're doomed. Don't worry that you don't know about them." Her ignorance was ridiculously evident, almost embarrassing. "You didn't miss anything. You were studying, while we were a bunch of losers with lots of time to spare. I must be getting old. I can't even stand Angry Birds now."

"I've played Angry Birds. I was freaking lousy at it," offered JC with a mischievous smile as she crawled onto the bed and under the duvet. She sat against the headboard hugging a pillow. It was her turn to pat the bed. "You'll hurt your back."

To her surprise he obeyed. He grabbed the other pillow and sat beside her. He didn't take off his shoes, he didn't lie beside her or anything that intimate, it was a casual "I-sit-on-the-bed-by-your-side" thing but enough to turn her smile into a short-lived grin as she watched him giving a small slap to the pillow on his lap. Something was off.

"What was I saying?" He seemed distracted, stealing glances at Jeanne Hebuterne's portrait on his right. "Anyway, people spent money on that game—prepaid cards, credit cards—but Spencer and I…we were teenagers with no money at all but we had other means. Scripts to bypass some game rules, give advantage to the players when enemy armies attacked. It sounds Greek to you, doesn't it?" She nodded, not risking interrupting him this time.
"Our alliance thrived. At first it was just for the game, but then we started to make money out of it. No big money but for us it was serious money. When the game ended I moved to his town. I needed a change of scenery and it was the right place: just a name on the map. I found a job, I rented a dirty, claustrophobic room and spent all my free time in his room in front of his computers. He was an only child, no father in the picture, so his mother gave him whatever he asked."

"How old were you?"

"Sixteen."

"How could you do all that at sixteen?"

"How could you do all you did at sixteen? People grow up fast when they can't be kids anymore. I looked older. I was tall. My face helped me. After the initial shock, people didn't ask questions. And it wasn't as if I'd found a job in the bank. Do you care who cleans the toilet or peels the potatoes at the places you eat? Do you see them? Do you check their papers?"
JC didn't reply. Instead she fidgeted with the pillowcase.
"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that—" His voice was softer now.

"No, you're right. I don't see them. I should care more—"

"Huh, I doubt it. No good deed stays unpunished, Christine. That's a hard lesson I learned on the way." He threw the pillow aside and crossed his arms against his chest. Firm muscles stretched the cashmere sweater and JC studied their every move as religiously as if she was watching her very first lecture on the prokaryotic world.

"Spencer was good for me. I was just about to take some seriously wrong paths, if you know what I mean…" She didn't. "He put me on the right track. His mother was "the" mother for me. I thought everyone should be like her. It was nice.

"Of course that doesn't change the fact we were two teenagers full of energy and no drive for anything we didn't like 100%. Spencer hardly finished high school. His mother always blamed me for that but it wasn't as if she had the college money in the bank. Or as if Spencer cared for college. He wasn't the usual geek-type. He never had the patience and he was too good-looking for a geek.

"The bottom line is that we were two newbies who 'discovered America' only to find out it was inhabited long before us. But we were good. Soon, I quit my job and I rented a larger space. Spencer spent most of his time there—no mothers, you know…I made more money in an afternoon than I did in a week at my fulltime job."

"Hacking?"

"I'm afraid we were baddies at the time. You'd have nothing but contempt for us if you'd met us back then. If it makes any difference, we very soon grew out of trolling and all the fooling around. We got bored and went pro. The Internet was still green. We're talking more than a decade ago. It was a new land to be conquered and we conquered it. Or so we thought.

"Spencer thought he was the Han Solo of the Deep Web. And there were no limits. Source codes, encryption—we were capable of serious encryption, no kid-stuff—when the market was dry and begging for more. It still is. It's a constant hide 'n' seek game."

"Okay, you totally lost me at Deep Web. What's that?" She was certain Kepler leaned his head on the headboard out of despair over her ignorance.

"Have you ever heard of the Tor Network case?" She shook her head in denial. "Okay, the Deep Web…. A common comparison used frequently is that of an iceberg. The tip you see, what is out of the water—"

"Don't speak to me like I'm a fool. I know what an iceberg is and if you bring the Titanic into the picture—"

"Okay, I apologize. Feel free to humble me with genetic engineering terms anytime."

"I just might do that. Go on!" It was fun to order Kepler around. She used his pillow to get more comfortable and looked at him with feigned annoyance at the fact that he kept her waiting.

"The Internet you know is the tip of the iceberg. Google, Yahoo!, the search engines you use with their 'strict' cookies policies which are nothing but a joke is the Internet most people use. Have you ever read the agreements' terms of use before you ticked the 'I agree' button on something you downloaded? Don't worry. Nobody does. And they know it. At the end of the day, you get the services you need and your name and email address in a bunch of advertisers' lists. They are supposed to improve your Internet experience but how far is it from stalking? I mean serious stalking, Christine. Don't give me that smile."

"What smile?"

"That."

"So what's the Deep Web—the Underworld of Internet?" She couldn't help it. She was in a mischievous mood.

"No, the Deep Web isn't all bad. It's just the rest of the iceberg that's not visible. What I'm trying to explain here, even though the Titanic met with better success than my explanations, is that there are people who're just fed up with having their every move monitored as if they were terrorists. And it's worse than that.

"It's about freedom. People got unbelievably rich, legitimately rich, selling software that watches what kind of music you like in order to suggest more songs like that to you. What books you read. Your very basic information is collected, your Internet searches are manipulated. You never have the chance to listen to a different kind of music by accident—who knows? You might have liked it—and the worst of all: what you think as private, your tastes, your hobbies, are shared for commercial reasons. Even if people are okay with this, there are firms that need their privacy. Real privacy. The Deep Web is just like the world you know—online stores, games, everything—but it's a lot more. Every kind of transaction—every kind you can thing of—is possible. No traces. No identities. Total anonymity. And that attracts every type of pervert you may've imagined. The worst part is that there are plenty of types you've never imagined."

"So what did you do with Spencer?"

"We made that anonymity possible and made good money out of it. Till we busted our heads on the wall. I did actually. Spencer had just discovered sex so he'd split his interest which was a good thing because he's crazier than I am and who knows where we'd be now? We were IT mavens with real talent and balls—yeah, I know how that sounds but unfortunately there's more. People like that get drowned when they dive into deep waters especially when they want to keep their independence. We tried to be our own bosses and that was not the norm. It still isn't. Failing was the only option. When we almost got busted once, we covered our tracks and moved on. But at some point, things got really ugly. There is a certain point where people approach you. They threaten you with legal action, jail time and really disagreeable living conditions, unless you agree to work for them and go to the next level.

"Unless you're a masochist, you agree to the next level. The line between what's legal and what isn't is already thin and has become too blurry to see. The game is way too interesting to leave. You mostly work for the rep now. And when you get tired of this, you always know the other side's waiting for you. You'll sell your expertise to the highest bidder and start working for a legitimate company, partying at the Black Hat conference, exposing security risks that shock only housewives—

"I could have followed a path like that but I had two problems: Spencer was not in the equation—there was no interest for him—and I had no clue who the man who wanted to recruit me worked for. There were no leads to follow, no rumors, nothing. That's rare and meant only one thing: I could end up working for one of the six, seven countries that are interested in this kind of game—there were even fewer back then—or for some bearded man with a gilded toilet in a cave. I'd rather play the piano on the Titanic. My odds of survival would be greater."

JC couldn't utter a word.

"Another problem arising in these cases is a manners issue. You can't refuse an offer like that and keep doing what you did before."

"God!"

"It's not that scary. Even though now I know how an impoverished bride must have felt in the medieval ages. It's not as if you can refuse the fat, disgusting lord's proposal just like that."

"That's not funny, Kepler. It is scary. What did you do?"

"What could I do? Since I didn't want to 'marry' the ugly lord, I fled. And it's not scary because I did what rich kids do before college: a trip around the world. It actually lasted for years."

"When did you finally return back here?"

"What makes you think I returned?"

The option hadn't crossed her mind before and it should have. After all, his accent was not British. Not American either. Not Australian.

"Where are you from?"

He avoided looking at her. His gloved fingers played with a corner of the duvet while he was contemplating his answer.

"Okay, don't tell me that. What's the Black Hat conference?" She moved to more neutral ground.

"An annual security experts conference where 'vulnerabilities' are exposed. It's held in Las Vegas but it's no news: ATMs, pacemakers, RFID cards, whatever attracts a hacker's interest can be hacked. They just show some of the ways that can be possible. And play some practical jokes on each other. It's a fun time mostly. As in every business, there are some 'stars,' too. It's their time to shine and get some media attention."

"Pacemakers can be hacked?" JC was thinking of BDS.

"Anything can be hacked. The question is why? What purpose does it serve? What's the motive? Whatever people think, most hackers are not evil creatures with a mission to destroy the world, for the world would have been destroyed by now."

JC threw him a suspicious look.

"It's hard work, Christine. Destroying the world. The stereotype of the sixteen year old hacking into the Ministry of Defense's top secret computer systems and launching missiles is just that: a stereotype."

"But you did some serious damage when you were sixteen."

"World peace was safe from my schemes," he mocked her.

"Have you ever been in Las Vegas?"

"In Las Vegas…yes. Not at the Black Hat though." JC knew when she hit a wall.

"Tell me something else then: that change of scenery that brought you to join forces with Spencer—"

"You are curious!"

"You've been warned." She propped up on her elbow and rested her head on her hand looking directly up at his profile, smiling.

He was studying the Modigliani painting again. Kepler was an eloquent man. Whenever he searched for words there was a lie coming up. Or something interesting.

"I did a lot of jobs but I have real talent for three things—"

"Computers…I mean writing code—" She urged him to go on when he paused.

"That's one. The other one is languages—I have a good ear and pick them up easily…I think I'll keep my other talent private for now."

"Is it kinky?"

"No, it's not kinky. You have a dirty mind, Miss Goodman—" He turned to her, his eyes blazing. "Even though I'm talented in that area, too," he offered in a mock-pompous tone.

"Empty words," she challenged before she had time to think. All the images from her dream earlier filled her head again. She couldn't help it. Perhaps, she did have a dirty mind after all. "How did you use your talents?" she hastened to ask.

"I didn't. Lenny did. Lennox was a kindhearted man above all else. He'd given me shelter and food. I've learned all kinds of stuff from him. When he found out I spoke Lithuanian, he used me to translate."

"Translate what?"

"Not books for sure." She'd bet he was smiling behind the mask. "We used to go to the middle of nowhere, usually at night, in all kinds of weird places, where he met his 'partners.' They said some numbers, I translated them to him and that was all. Just numbers and some words—nonsensical words. It was an off-balance partnership. It was obvious he was afraid of them."

"So what happened?"

"My computer talent screwed up my languages talent. I started searching for what the numbers were and when I went to some warehouses the wrong people recognized me. My face is hard to miss….They confronted Lenny who fixed things but the damage was done. They had only allowed me to translate because they thought me a halfwit."

"You, a halfwit?" JC exclaimed in surprise.

"I appreciate the vote of confidence. At the end of the day, I was. Lenny bought me the bus ticket to go to Spencer and that was it. I never saw him again."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It was my mistake." He turned to the painting again.

"What do you think when you look at her?" He was usually the one asking questions about his paintings. She dared to reverse the pattern.

"A man may lose himself in those eyes. Forget who he is. Maybe even reinvent himself." Was it silly to be jealous of a painting? JC had never been more jealous than now, looking at Jeanne Hebuterne on a piece of canvas. Thankfully, Kepler went on before she had the chance to share the cynical, spiteful thought that came to mind, that Modigliani's wife hadn't managed to save her husband. She'd just followed him to the grave. "She's so sad. I can't bear how sad she is. I'd do anything for her to stop being sad." He was solemn and JC believed him. She believed the promise in his words and jealousy stung her again. Now she wasn't jealous of canvases. She was jealous of other women, the women Kepler cared for, the women he loved. The "Bond Girl" or multitalented Taylor. Kepler was a man with no limits and JC had never felt such love from anyone. Never.

"Before…when we were on the terrace…you said you did not regret what you did and that I was not mad at you."

"I know hacking into your laptop wasn't—"

"How did you know I wasn't mad at you?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "You wouldn't have waited for an explanation if you were really mad at me. The moment I saw you, I knew I had a chance." He didn't sound arrogant. Just honest. And he was right.

"Will you tell me a story?"

"What kind of story? You should get some sleep. It's late."

"Please…something from your travels. I always wanted to travel. Where did you go first?"

"To Vilnius. That's in Lithuania. Then to Latvia. Then to the Czech Republic after that and Slovenia—old cultures, relatively newborn countries. Then Germany."

"It's so fascinating!"

"I thought so, too—for a while. It's also too cold. I moved to warmer climates."

"I wish I had traveled—"

"Isn't it funny? You're jealous of my life while all I want is yours."

She turned to look him in the eye. "You'd like to be the 'promising student' who ended up a secretary at BDS?"

"You allow them to treat you like that. And you don't value what you have. You are capable of a new beginning. No remorse, no regrets. A clean slate."

He had been right before. Every one of his answers evoked more questions but she had to be patient.

"Where did you go after Germany…? Just talk to me for a while and I'll let you go to sleep. You know…you could make big money with that voice of yours—" She ran a hand over her hair, which had the infuriating tendency to part in the middle, closed her eyes and stretched her body under the duvet like a satisfied cat. It was warm and comfy and JC wanted it to last forever.