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Thunderstorms
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Libby drummed her fingers on the desktop impatiently. The damned computer was taking too long to reconnect to the internet. It was the seventh time she had been booted tonight.
It was all due to the terrible thunderstorm raging outside. It was causing all sorts of havoc with the power and phone lines. She was glad that her computer had a backup battery system, but even that only had a limitted supply and the phone lines wetre out of her control. " God how I hate thunderstorms!"
Now she was wishing she hadn't sent Tyler to Chicago. But if there was a glimmer of hope, Tyler was determined to track it down. Especially since it was his fault that she was now chained to this damn wheelchair. If he hadn't had a late night meeting with one of his firm's clients, she wouldn't have gotten drunk and crashed head on into the minivan filled with children. Her glamour life as a supermodel ended that stormy night, and Tyler was to blame. Libby made sure she reminded him of this on a daily basis. Ten long years she had been trapped in this horrible wheelchair.
The computer flickered back to life. It was taking longer and longer to connect each time she got "booted". She was in the middle of an interresting conversation when she was so rudely interrupted. It was so annoying. The internet was her only link to the outside world. She refused to be seen in this crippled condition. This terminal was her entire world. A loud rumble of thunder caused her to shudder. Thunderstorms were always a sign of trouble to her.
As Libby's screen filled with the usual icons, she noticed that there was something very different this time. An instant message conversation was taking place between two screen names that she didn't recognize. She was about to click it off, figuring the storm had caused some sort of faulty link, but stopped when part of the conversation caught her attention.
Fed-up: " so will you do it for me?"
Em-t inside: " you know that I will, for the right price of course.
      
Libby thought that this must be one of those kinky cyber relationships she had heard about. She felt like a "peeping tom" but she couldn't take her eyes away. Instead, she continued to read on:
Fed-up: "will it be painful?"
Em-t inside: " only if she puts up a fight. I hope she does. I would like that. It would give me a sense of justice.
Fed-up: " listen, I won't tolerate that"
Em-t inside: " alright"
Fed-up: " will you make it look like an accident?"
Em-t inside: " don't worry, I know how to do this. It will look as if "she" had an accident. No one will ever suspect that she had been murdered.
**** If you would like to read the rest of this short story, just email me at the below address, and i will be happy to send it to you via email for your enjoyment.*
THUNDERSTORMS
IMAGINE THIS KISS THE BRIDE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
UNFINISHED BUSINESS
THE SPECIAL GIFT
Email  Paul  Grove  Stories
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