AfterNet 01 - Good Cop Dead Cop

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beccathompson43: would u? Id appreciate it. Can I send you info about him?
jollycopper: Sure. Send it to [email protected]
gettingsleepy: Way to go, jollycopper. I never nu u were a real cop.
jollycopper: You know kids. And we disembodied get trapped by the silliest things, especially when traveling.
poorrichard: I was trapped in an outhouse for four days.
jollycopper: Listen, becca, let’s take this private.
    Munroe sent beccathompson43 a private chat message. She told him her son died of an embolism when he was 21. He’d been attending the Colorado School of Mines and after his death departed on what grew into a year and half long trip around the world. She’d gotten constant emails from her son and chatted with him through the AfterNet.
    Rebecca and her husband lived in Brush, Colorado, and they received a message a month ago that Brian was back in Denver. However, a friend of the family was ill and she was taking care of the friend’s children, so they told Brian they’d have to delay meeting him until Dec. 14. They had planned to meet him at the school where Brian was contemplating finishing his degree.
    But Rebecca had camped out at the school for four days without success.
beccathompson43: i don’t know what Im going to do. I lost him hwen he died how can I lose him again?
j ollycopper: Like I said, kids have no sense of time, and I can tell you, when you’re dead, time becomes even more meaningless. You should alert AfterNet security, but keep doing what you’re doing. Leave a message in the Denver forums, keep visiting the chat rooms. I’m sure he’ll show up. Nothing can happen to us, remember that.
beccathompson43: Thank you very much jollycroper I will try to remember that. and Ill send a message to security right now.
jollycopper: The name’s Alex Munroe, and I’ll email you if I find him.
    After Rebecca left the private chat, Munroe finished his surfing for the night, although by now, it was 8:30 a.m.
    Wish there were something more I could do, thought Munroe, but realistically I can’t put out a missing person’s report on a dead kid. And I’m sure he simply got distracted. Maybe I’ll check with AfterNet security tonight, make sure they got her report.
    Munroe rose from the terminal. While he’d been talking with Rebecca Thompson, the handful of detectives who worked Saturday had arrived and in the break room, the TV had been turned to CNN.
    May as well take advantage of the shift change and go for a walk, Munroe thought.
    Munroe waited for someone to exit the building and snuck in behind him. Outside, downtown Denver was still sleepy. The Denver Post website said it was clear and cold at 10 degrees. Why he still checked the weather, he didn’t know. From the department, Munroe drifted toward the 16th Street Mall, his path occasionally shrouded by the fog that spewed from manhole covers and sewer grates. He saw the huddled forms of the homeless who still remained asleep in window wells or near building exhaust vents that also belched clouds of steam.
    A lot of homeless, but still not as bad as Seattle, Munroe thought, as he passed a knot of homeless men begging in front of a Starbucks.
    As usual, the Starbucks made him think of home, Seattle. He ducked inside the store, on the heels of a young woman as she passed through the door held open by an older man, who did the gesture automatically while still holding his morning paper before him.
    The line of people ordering coffee was five deep and the store was packed. Three men were holding an impromptu meeting and were watching a PowerPoint presentation on a laptop. A young man in need of a shave, wearing a Greek sailor hat and pea coat (the Old Spice theme went through Munroe’s mind) was talking to a pretty girl wearing an impossibly short skirt for such a cold morning. Four women were hunched together at a table giggling. They all had security badges that showed they worked at the AfterNet.
    Munroe drank in the scene, almost smelling the coffee and hearing the sounds of life on a cold, December morning. The depression hit what would have been the pit of his stomach if he’d still had one, until he noticed the AfterNet terminal in the back of the store.
    Moving toward it, he recognized it as a simple public terminal, the display meant only for the occasional living person who might want to use it for Internet access. The display indicated the number of disembodied users currently online — 32.
    Wow, I wonder when