I was on the midtown bus headed home when I felt it. A sharp and sudden pain that caused me to suck in a breath and instinctually move toward the wall. I looked around for what had poked me, and at first all I saw was a throng of tired, bland faces all wanting the ride to be over the same as me. Then I noticed one figure pushing through the crowd, headed for the exit. They were wearing a grey hooded sweatshirt, and I couldn’t say for sure if it was a smaller man or larger woman. Reaching back, I touched the spot on my lower back where I’d felt the pain. There was blood on my fingertips. Just a drop, but it was there. I swayed as the bus came to a stop.
The person in the grey sweatshirt got off as soon as the doors opened.
I considered following, but it was getting dark and this was still far from my stop. And what was I going to do? Confront them because I got poked by a pen or something? I felt my back again. No, it was just a tiny spot. I was fine, and I was sure it was just an accident.
Another fifteen minutes had passed before we reached my stop, and by then I had almost forgotten that anything had happened at all. I was getting off the bus when my phone buzzed in my purse. Taking it out, I saw I had a text message from a restricted caller.
Restricted: Hello Colleen.
Me: Who is this?
I started walking toward the corner store. I was going to pick up a couple of things before heading home and vegging out. Once I got done with this text conversation, my plan was to try and avoid human interaction for at least twelve hours.
Restricted: This is your new friend. Your new best friend.
Me: Okay, I’m blocking this number. Don’t text again.
Restricted: Don’t you want to know what you just got poked with?
I stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk. This had to be a joke. But someone had stabbed me with something, accidentally or not. And how would anyone know about that if they weren’t a part of it?
Me: What was it?
Restricted: Oh, so you do want to talk. Are you sure? I don’t want to invade your privacy or be rude.
Me: Just tell me.
Me: Please.
Restricted: So polite. I like you.
Restricted: You were just injected with a virus. It is not naturally-occurring, and if you were to get medically tested at any point between 12 hours from now and the onset of the final stage, you would likely get diagnosed with a mild case of the flu. The only irregularities that would show up in a blood panel would be slightly elevated white blood cell and below average platelet count. By the time you’re presenting clinical signs of something far worse, it’ll be too late.
Me: You’re lying.
Restricted: Am I? Well then you have nothing to worry about. Have a good evening.
I almost texted back immediately, but I forced myself to put my phone back in my purse. This was all some kind of bullshit. It had to be. I’d go home, check out the spot, and if I was still worried, I’d go to the hospital.
Ten minutes later I was standing naked in my bathroom trying to get a good angle and light on my lower back in the bathroom mirror. I couldn’t even see the spot where I’d bled in the big mirror, so I finally had to settle for blindly taking pictures with my phone and looking at those. It was a tiny red dot, no bigger than a bug bite. And it didn’t even look infected or anything, which maybe it wouldn’t that fast.
Still, was it even possible for someone to inject something like that so fast? And even if it was, why would someone pick me to do it to? I was nobody. I work in the archives section of the university library, for fuck’s sake, and I don’t have any real enemies that I know of. I certainly don’t have any enemies that would be able to do anything like this. So it had to be bullshit, right?
Except, how did they get my cell phone number? And whether the virus was legit or not, what did it say about the person behind the texts that they were willing and able to terrify someone like this? What if it was some psycho stalker that was out to get me? Just because the virus wasn’t real, that didn’t mean he couldn’t be waiting in my closet to gut me.
Suddenly, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I needed somewhere to think, somewhere that I could feel safe, at least for a little while, while I figured things out. I debated going back out, but to where? I got dressed quickly, my eyes searching for any sign of movement or a misplaced shadow. When I had my shoes back on, I picked up the baseball bat I kept in the corner of my bedroom and checked all the closets. Made sure the balcony door and the front were both locked and secure. There was no sign of anyone having been in the apartment, and at least for now, it seemed like I was safe.
I didn’t feel safe though. I needed to talk this out with someone. Get a sounding board so I didn’t overly freak out. Normally that’d be my mom, but if I told her about getting stabbed by a stranger on the bus, it would just undo all the progress I’d made in the last two years in convincing her I was okay living alone in a big city. I couldn’t stomach returning to the constant commentary and not-so-subtle suggestions that I should move back closer to my hometown. No, better to call my brother David and see what he thought. He was a nurse in Seattle and, while not always the best on the telephone, he loved me and would give me good advice. When I called, I got voicemail and hung up. A few minutes later, however, he called me back.
“What’s up? I’m about to head into a movie, but I wanted to make sure you were okay first.”
“Ah…well, I can…I think someone is messing with me, okay? I was on the bus tonight, I felt something stab or poke me, and then the person I think did it got off the bus. At first I thought it was just an accident, right? But then I start getting these weird texts from some restricted number, which I didn’t even know you could do. They say I was injected with some untraceable virus. I…I’m freaked out. I know it’s probably bullshit, but I did see blood, and how did they get my number, and…”
“Colleen. Hey. Slow down. Breathe, okay?” When I stayed silent, he went on. “Now, that sounds very freaky. I get why you’re upset. But the odds of it being anything serious is really low, all right?”
“Okay. But how do you know?”
“Well…I mean I don’t know. But look, first off, who would do something like that? Not because people don’t do fucked up shit, but something that elaborate? It’s not like you can go pick up a viable viral sample at the corner store, right? Odds are it’s just some kid fucking with you. A dirty prank.”
I swallowed and nodded into the phone. “Okay, sure. But…but how did they get my number?”
He was silent for a moment. “Well, it’s not that hard to find a number these days. Or to figure out where someone is or what their schedule is like. I’m not saying it’s not freaky, but I’m just saying it’s a lot more likely someone is just fucking with you than that they actually have some magic virus and randomly picked you to infect. Still, you should go to the hospital and get checked out. Talk to the cops too if you think it’ll help…I…look, can I call you back in a few hours? I’m on a date and…”
“No, no. Go ahead. I appreciate it. I’ll text you later. Love you.”
“Yeah, let me know. Bye.”
I sat staring at my phone for a few seconds after he hung up. Should I call the police? What could I tell them, really? No, better to go get checked at the hospital. See if there’s anything to worry about. If they said it looked like nothing, and I didn’t hear from the weird texter again, I could just let it go and pretend it never happened.
It was hard going back outside. The closest hospital was six miles away, and I couldn’t be on a bus again, not this soon. That left a cab or a private driver. The cab was more expensive, but it also seemed safer somehow. More established. Less likely to have a maniac wearing a grey sweatshirt behind the wheel. I scolded myself for being melodramatic, but it didn’t change the fact that I felt relief when I saw my cabbie was an old fat guy that didn’t look like he’d texted a day in his life.
I had to wait in urgent care’s waiting room for over two hours, and by the end I was close to giving up. I wasn’t feeling bad, the place on my back wasn’t hurting or bleeding, and I was just freaking myself out by being around all these strangers when all I really wanted to do was go back home and lock the door. I’d already promised myself that if they didn’t call my name in the next ten minutes, I was leaving.
Five minutes later, they led me back to an examination room.
The doctor came in a couple of minutes later. He looked younger than me and very tired, but he tried to be pleasant as he asked me what the problem was. I felt my phone buzz in my pocket, but I ignored it. David could wait. He didn’t have time before, and I didn’t have time now.
I told him what had happened on the bus. He looked disinterested at first, but when I got to the texting part, I could tell his interest was piqued. My phone buzzed again and again, and I finally had to apologize as I dug it out of my pocket. I’d missed six texts.
Restricted: Dr. Nizal-So, what brings you in today?
Restricted: You-I…well, I think I got stabbed by something on the bus tonight. This guy was walking by and…well, this person was walking by getting off the bus and, I guess he stabbed me or poked me with something? It drew a little bit of blood.
Restricted: Dr. Nizal-Mmhmm. Did you see what it was that poked you?
Restricted: You-No, I didn’t. It’s not a big spot really, but it did bleed, and well, when I got off the bus a few minutes later, I started getting texts from some unknown number. Saying I’d been poked by something infected with a virus. Something that people wouldn’t be able to diagnose.
Restricted: Dr. Nizal-Really? This happened tonight?
Restricted: You-Yeah, just a few hours ago. It’s really got me worried. I wanted you to look at the spot and run tests and just make sure that…God, I’m sorry. My phone keeps going off. Let me make sure it’s not an emergency real quick. I’m so sorry.
I glanced up at the doctor to find him staring at me expectantly. “Is everything alright, miss?”
My phone buzzed.
Restricted: Dr. Nizal-Is everything alright, miss?
I almost dropped my phone as my hands started shaking. Looking back up, my voice came out as a harsh whisper. “They’re texting me again. Texting what we’re saying. I think they have my phone bugged or something. They’re listening in to what we say.”
Restricted: You-They’re texting me. Texting what we’re saying. I think they have my phone bugged or something. They’re listening in to what we say.
I expected some reaction from the doctor, but he just stared at me blankly. After a moment, my phone buzzed again.
Restricted: Dr. Nizal-Close…
“Close…” I jumped as the doctor spoke the same word I’d just read on the text. Even as I was starting to slide off the examination table, my phone buzzed again.
Restricted: Dr. Nizal-…but no cigar.
“But no cigar.”
The phone buzzed again.
Restricted: ;)
I had the phone up higher now where I could read it without losing sight of the doctor as I backed toward the door. So I saw it clearly when the doctor’s blank expression suddenly contorted into an exaggerated wink before going back to normal.
My phone buzzed again, and I barely glanced at the words before Dr. Nizal was repeating them.
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