This piece was written early in my writing journey. I was playing Scrabble on line with a few friends but playing with a stranger fascinated me, although I wasn't brave enough to try it. My mind carried that thought a bit further to people from different back grounds, ages, and cities   hooking up over the Scrabble site. Then, what if one of these players encountered an emergency on their end and needed help, how would that work? This was the first work where what was consuming me in real life unintentionally snuck into the plot.

SCRABBLE   

Dusk falls hard in Somerset, a small town in southern Manitoba. In an old neighborhood, just east of town, the streets are quiet. An elderly man slowly makes his way up the sidewalk to a dark, wooden, two-story house. His drooping features are smudged in the dim light, and his silhouette reveals sagging shoulders and a paunch as he shuffles along in his graying slippers. His steps are measured as he moves up the three treads to the porch. 

Lifting his left hand, he knocks, then cocks his head to listen. Looking over his shoulder, he shakes his head at his wife in the lighted window across the street. Sighing, he looks down at his other hand holding a key. He fumbles it into the lock. The door swings open and he steps inside. 

“Anybody home?” he asks. 

There are no lights on downstairs, but a warm glow filters down the open stairwell. 

*** 
In an apartment in Victoria, it’s too quiet for fifteen-year-old Rolly, as he lets his fingers trail over his mother’s delicate lady figurines. He’d be on the receiving end of the pointer finger if she was home. His amusement dies as he thinks about how much his mom loves those things. He snatches his hand away, meanders into the kitchen, and opens the fridge door. 
“Maybe Mom left something good in here,” he says. 

He sees a jug of milk, a big jar of dills, and half a jar of store-bought raspberry jam. Rolly shuts the door. It’s bad luck that he didn’t bend down to check out the bottom shelf where his mother had hidden the left-over apple pie. 

Rolly grabs his iPad off the counter to see if his friend Trevor has completed his turn at Scrabble. He plops himself down on the second-hand couch and opens his iPad. He taps the game app and waits for it to load. 

Rolly spends the time waiting by examining the dirt under his ragged fingernails. The light changes on the screen. Trevor still hasn’t played. 

“Bummer.”   

Rolly checks out his profile and gazes at his Best Score—523 and his Victory Percentage—78 percent. His grin lasts for about a second.  
I just wanna play. 

He spots the Create a New Game icon. 

“Look at that. I can play with a total stranger.” 

If I’m quick Mom won’t find out. 

Rolly pushes the Random Opponent symbol with his finger. A new game pops up with someone tagged as Trina L. 

“Whoa,” Rolly says. “This is cool. Trina is good. She used all her letters across the center to spell BIZARRE for eighty-seven points. Hello Trina… so long Trever.” 

Rolly has only trash letters. He fiddles around trying to build off the ten-point Z to pump up his score but all he can come up with is ZAP for fourteen. 

Trina is quick to play FORCED off the E in BIZARRE, double word score, for twenty-six. 

Rolly manages DEW connecting to the F and O of FORCED, double word score for twenty-four. 

Trina’s move is immediate—HELP, off the P in ZAP, triple letter score on the E, for a measly eleven points. 

He finally gets a great move and adds AX under the H and E of HELP for thirty-seven points. Rolly smirks a little as he presses play. 

Trina adds DANGER to the first R of BIZARRE for twelve. 

Rolly’s puzzled by Trina’s word choice.
 
He quickly makes the word EXIT by adding IT under the E of HELP and the X of AX. He is eager to see Trina’s next move. 
 
Trina adds—SCARED to the end of EXIT making EXITS. 

Rolly stares at the screen. His index finger pauses at each of Trina’s words: BIZARRE, FORCED, HELP, DANGER, and SCARED. Rolly remembers the chat function that he sometimes uses to poke clever jabs at Trevor. He touches the chat link and types: 
Rolly:  Are you OK? 

He waits, then flinches at her reply.        
                             
Trina L:  Someone has broken into my house. I’m hiding in a closet. 

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Rolly wails into the air as he jumps off the couch and frantically paces around the room. He grabs his iPad and hovers over the kitchen table. He types with rapid strokes. 

Rolly: Call the cops. 

Trina L: Can’t. I only have my iPad. 

“Fuck.” Rolly moans. Wait, I can call them.

Rolly: I’ll call them. Where are you?
                                                 
Trina L:  I live at 3785 Sarah Street. 

Rolly: In Victoria?  

Trina L: No, Somerset, Manitoba. 

Rolly remembers his geography and puts his hand to his thumping chest. That’s really far from here.

Rolly: I live in Victoria, BC. Want me to call? 

Rolly gnaws on his thumbnail, second's tick by, then a minute. 

Rolly: Trina, are you still there? 

He paces back and forth in the small space and gnaws at his nail some more. Pretty soon a couple more minutes have passed. “Screw it, I’m going to call the cops,” Rolly says.  Rolly picks up the landline and dials 9-1-1. “Police department, please. This is an emergency.” 

The operator transfers him. 

It’s apparent to Rolly that the officer who answers is shuffling papers. “Sergeant Moore, Victoria Police Department, Esquimalt Division.”

 “I want to report a crime in progress,” Rolly says. He knows the lingo from crime shows. 

“What’s your name and address?” the Sergeant asks. 

“It’s not happening here,” Rolly says. 

“I need your name and address.” Rolly grits his teeth. 

“My name is Rolly Hadfield and I live at 506 Grafton Street.” 

“What can we do for you today, Mr. Hadfield?” asks Sergeant Moore. 

“Someone’s broken into my friend’s, well sort of friend’s place and she is hiding in the closet,” says Rolly. 

“What’s your sort of friend’s name and address?” 

“Her name is Trina.” Rolly glances down at the Scrabble chat. “She lives at 3785 Sarah Street, in Somerset, Manitoba.”
 
“Did you say Manitoba?” the Sargent asks. 

“Yes Sir.” 

“That is way out of our jurisdiction. We can’t help you.”
 
“But she needs help right now.” A whine creeps into Rolly’s voice. “I am her only contact. She just has her iPad with her in the closet and we were playing Scrabble and…” 

“You were playing a game on the computer? How old are you?” 

“Fifteen Sir,” says Rolly. 

“Stop wasting the police department's time.” 

The line goes dead. 

Rolly can’t believe that the cop just hung up. “Fuckin asshole. Some hero.” Rolly plops himself back on the couch. He closes his eyes and scrunches up his face. “That’s bullshit. The one time I really need help.” He glances up at the clock on the wall. Ten after five, Mom should be home in a couple of minutes. “I must be really desperate: first the police and now my mom.” Rolly shakes his head. He hears his mom’s key in the door. Before she is even inside Rolly launches into his story. 

She asks him to repeat it. “Okay.” she says. “Let’s look up the number for the police in Somerset and get a car over there to check on Trina.” 

Rolly stands tall beside his Mom, as he tells the story once again to the police officer in Somerset. 

*** 
On the floor of her closet, perched on her coveted shoe collection, Trina sits in the dark. She is scrunched behind the bi-fold doors, hugging her bent legs to her chest. She rocks her head back and forth while she sings quietly: “Ring around the rosy. Pocket full of posy. Hush-a. Hush-a, we all fall down.” The iPad cover is closed. Trina is afraid the light from the screen will attract the Bad Man. She listens intently as he shuffles softly along the upstairs hallway. 

“Are you up here?” asks a weary man’s voice. 

Trina knows better than to answer. The Bad Man is just trying to lure her from her hiding place. She tries hard not to wiggle. The closet door opening in the other room gives a tell tail squeak. Trina runs her left hand silently over the louvered doors. Ring around the rosy. Pocket full of posy. Hush-a. Hush-a, we all fall down. The fingers of her right hand gripping the iPad are white. 

“It’s okay to come out now, Mrs. Lasko.” 

Trina silently moves her lips. You can’t hoodwink me into thinking hide and seek is over. I never gave up as a child and I won’t now. 
“Katerina, Rose asked me to check on you. She’s worried.” 

Another game. My daughter would never send a stranger to break into my home. 

Muffled footsteps pad over the hardwood floor towards her hiding place. Click, then light filters through the slats in the door. 
Trina holds her breath, tucks her head down, and scrunches tighter. The bi-fold door is pulled open.   

“Mrs. Lasko, what are you doing in there?” 

Trina stares at his grey slippers, then dares to look up. His smile reaches right into his eyes. His face is familiar but Trina can’t produce a name. 

He maneuvers his stiff frame around his protruding belly and sits down on the floor. Then he reaches for Trina’s lined hand, who sports the likeness of a frightened kitten: fluffy white hair, smooth pink skin, and huge panicked eyes. 

“Do you remember me? I’m Robert Greenfield from across the street. I was here last week,” he says. 

“Mr. Greenfield. I know who you are. There is nothing wrong with my memory,” Trina says, with more force than she intended. 

“Of course. Rose was worried about you when you didn’t answer your phone today.” 

“She must be confused. I don’t have a telephone, have never liked them. Always ringing, such a nuisance. Rose should have remembered that.” 

They both start as a loud knock rattles the front door. 

Trina’s gnarled hand shoots out and grabs Mr. Greenfield’s arm with surprising strength. “Be quick—get in here, and close the door. We don’t want the Bad Man to find us,” Trina says. 

The next knock is accompanied by a male voice. “Mrs. Lasko. It’s the Police.” 

***    

In a microsecond, a message travels through the night over thousands of miles:                                                                                            Rolly:  Trina, are you okay?