by S. J. Maher
What do you think? Can I come see you and explain it all? If we can prevent an innocent woman from being imprisoned, I don’t think we have any choice but to try!
38
After the meeting, Wayne and I went outside together, and my phone rang.
“Have you decided to reveal my secret identity?”
It was Declan. I held my finger up to Wayne to show that I needed a minute, and he waited while I talked.
“Thanks for calling,” I said.
“I thought we agreed on ninety days.”
“We did. Don’t worry. Your secret identity is not, um, top of mind.”
“Yeah, listen. I’m just back from Iceland. Reykjavik. I’m at JFK. Just got your message. I’m sorry I haven’t had time to email about your project. I had to fly out early yesterday for a meeting.”
“What about the texts?”
“Texts?”
I exhaled and did a lot of thinking very quickly.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “This must sound weird, but have you texted me?”
“No. Sorry. Haven’t had the chance. Airplane. Iceland. Meetings. Vodka. Airplane.”
It wasn’t him. I believed him. Hearing his voice, I didn’t even want to mention anything more about the texts. He was a normal man, from a normal world. He was a successful businessman, jetting around, conferencing, drinking vodka. He didn’t have the time or the inclination to cyberstalk a girl he’d just met. He wasn’t needy or warped. I felt embarrassed to be dragging him into my weirdness.
“That makes sense,” I said.
“What does?”
“Nothing. Sorry to be so weird. Somebody has been sending me weird texts. I thought it was you, since they started the morning after I met you.”
“Nope. Wrong guy.”
“And you didn’t send me any lists?”
“No.”
“I don’t know what’s going on. Someone has been impersonating you. They’ve been texting me, pretending to be you, and sending me files.”
“What?” he said. “Are you sure it’s not just a mix-up?”
“Absolutely. It started the morning after we met and I gave you my contact details. You didn’t text me that morning?”
“No. I meant to but got tied up at work. Candace, what’s this all about?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Maybe you can tell me over the dinner you promised me?”
“I’d like that. I’d really like that. I’ve got to run but I’ll be in touch.”
Wayne was still standing there.
“I shouldn’t eavesdrop,” he said, “but is everything okay?”
“I don’t know,” I said, trying to smile. “I’m more confused than ever.”
“Does this have to do with your selfie?”
“It might.” I could feel tears coming on but blinked them away. “I didn’t post it by mistake. I was hacked. That was Declan. I thought I was texting him for the past few days, but he tells me he hasn’t texted me at all. That means I know less than I thought I did, and I’m totally confused now. Somebody’s been fucking with me and I don’t know what to do.”
Then I started to sniffle. Wayne took me into his arms, and I was humiliated that it was necessary, and he patted my back in a brotherly way and said, “There, there,” and I had to stop myself from bawling.
I pulled myself away and rubbed my hands across my eyes, hoping my mascara wasn’t all smeared.
“You’re very sweet,” I said.
“What’s going on, Candace? If you’ve been hacked, you’ve got to get to the bottom of it. You should consider going to the police.”
“I know,” I said. I stepped away and put my hand to my head. “I need to go home and figure everything out.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“No. But I will be.”
I left him standing there and headed for the subway.
39
I am so freaked out by the Post story. I don’t know how far ahead I am of my pursuers.
I walk back to the mall, fretting about my next move. I need to put more space between me and New York.
I’m lost in thought until a tow truck rumbles past me in the parking lot. It makes me aware of my surroundings again, which is good, because I notice there’s a police car next to the Mustang.
I freeze and remind myself that I should keep moving, that most people don’t just stand around, immobile, on the sidewalk. I head off again, right past the mall, like a normal woman out for a walk.
The tow truck pulls up next to the Mustang. Ugh! I keep going, one foot in front of the other, until I’m behind a Staples, out of sight of the police.
This is not good.
I obviously need to dye my hair, keep my head down, and get out of Scranton.
I wander aimlessly for half an hour, past boarded-up buildings, looking for someplace where I can have a shower.
I walk through the Courthouse Square, where a homeless-looking guy sitting on a bench next to a statue catches sight of me. He’s young and high on something, likely Oxy. He has long brown stringy hair and is wearing an orange down vest and no shirt. He gets up off his bench.
“There you are,” he says. “Darlene. Wait for me.”
“No sale,” I say, and he suddenly realizes I’m not Darlene and wanders back to his bench.
Eventually, I find myself in front of the Radisson Lackawanna, a pretty stone building that looks better than anything else in town.
I walk around the block, admiring the handsome hotel, keeping my eyes peeled for police cars. I don’t see any, so I stroll in, just like any regular guest, walk through the beautiful lobby, and head downstairs, hoping there’s a pool.
You need a key card to get into the changing room, so I skulk in a stairwell until a distracted mother trailing two whining kids passes me. I follow them in. No problem.
I have a long, lovely shower, and I first bleach then dye my hair, which takes forever. While I wait for the goop to set I write in my Moleskine. I think my handwriting is getting better with all the practice.
When my hair is done, I have to say I like it. I’ve never been blond before. I was smart and got highlight stuff, so it looks pretty good.
With my little black dress and my new haircut, I look like a soon-to-be suburban mom, a young woman at ease in the passenger seat of her boring husband’s SUV.
Disguise complete.
I walk into the hotel bar, a surprisingly pleasant place, except for the customers, who all look like bored business travelers.
I take a seat at the bar, order a local craft beer, and feel almost civilized.
I take a long sip of the beer and feel myself relax, but the feeling doesn’t last.
I look around. How the fuck am I going to get out of this place?
40
I was exhausted after the conversation with Declan. I spent the subway ride trying to figure out who had been harassing me but found it hard to come to any conclusions.
When I got home, I had a glass of wine, popped two Ambiens, and collapsed. When I woke up, I was already late for work. My phone, which I use for my alarm, was dead.
I brushed my teeth, got dressed quickly, and ran to the subway, where I sat trying unsuccessfully to restart my phone.
When I got to my desk, I popped open my laptop, and discovered I had a fresh email from my sister, which was odd.
From: Jess Walker
To: Candace Walker
Date: June 21, 2018
Subject: What is that on your Facebook page????
Mom is freaking out. I’m freaking out. What are you doing?
I clicked on Facebook. The Notifications logo showed I had dozens of comments. I clicked on my page and felt like I was going to vomit.
My profile pic, which had been a nice shot of me with a goat, had been replaced by the topless picture.
I emailed my sister: Fuck!!!! I’ve been hacked again.
I switched back to Facebook and deleted the image.
I thought for a minute and entered a status update: Apologies everyone for the profile pic. My account has been hacked.
My sister emailed me back.
You’ve been hacked? For real? Someone stole your private photos and keeps posting them? That’s illegal. You need this to stop.
I know. I thought I fixed it. I changed my passwords.
Change them again.
I tried to do that, opening the settings and looking for the password page, but it was really hard, because my eyes were filling up with tears. I couldn’t help myself. What would everyone think?
I could hear Beatrice say, “Hey, want to see something really funny, guys?”
She turned to look at me and could obviously see I was upset.
“Hey, Candace. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said, my voice cracking. I got up and headed for the bathroom. I didn’t want everyone to see me bawling.
In the hallway, I ran into Wayne, on his way into the office.
“Candace?” he said. “Are you okay?”
I didn’t say anything, just fled to the bathroom, where I hid in a stall.
My phone vibrated in my pocket.
Fuck! Why wouldn’t it stop vibrating? Wait. It was dead.
It was not dead anymore.
I looked at it and saw a text message.
That won’t work, silly goose.
It was from Not Declan, whoever was tormenting me.
Did you do that Facebook post?
You tried to block me.
What do you mean?
You changed your passwords.
I took a deep breath, rubbed the tears from my cheeks, and stared down at the phone. There was no way I was going to let Not Declan blackmail me like this.
You’re trying to wreck my life.
Take off your panties and go back into the office.
Why are you doing this?
Everybody’s checking out your tits. I thought a whore like you would like that.
Stop. Stop.
Do you want to get raped?
I want you to stop.
Do not defy me. Do as you are told and you will prosper. Defy me and you will regret it, roastie.
I powered the phone off.
I washed my face, fixed my makeup, and walked into Rebecca’s office. She had changed the sticky note emoticon in her window to :-P. She was typing. I waited until she looked up and registered my expression. I definitely had her attention.
“Rebecca, I’ve got a problem I’d like to talk to you and Craig about.”
She frowned. She probably thought I was talking about Alvin grabbing my ass.
“It has to do with my phone. I think it’s been hacked again. Someone used my Twitter and Facebook accounts to post that topless picture of me.”
The frown was gone. She looked freaked out.
“What? Are you serious?”
I nodded. I was very serious.
“At first I thought that I might have sent that tweet myself by mistake, but this morning the same picture was posted as my Facebook profile pic. I know I didn’t do that. I think someone’s hacked my accounts and is messing with me. They’re sending me the worst messages. They just threated me with rape.”
I held up my phone and couldn’t speak anymore because I was going to cry. Rebecca looked alarmed.
“We need to get to the bottom of this,” she said.
“That would be really great,” I managed to say. “Because this sucks.”
She took me to Kevin’s office.
“Kevin, it looks like Candace’s phone’s been hacked,” she said.
“Not again,” he said.
“Can you try to find out who’s doing this?” she asked, then left, saying she was going to find Craig.
“Weird,” said Kevin. “You changed all your passwords?”
“I did, but it didn’t do any good. In the latest message he told me he posted the topless pic to Facebook to punish me for changing my passwords.”
He looked like he couldn’t believe what I was saying.
“He texted you that?”
“Yes. And he called me a whore and threatened to rape me.”
“Can you show me?”
“I powered the phone down. Here.”
He took it from me and rebooted it. I stood over his shoulder and waited for the black screen to come to life.
“Candace, just between us, is there any chance that some government agency is doing this to you?”
WTF? The government?
“Um, not that I know of,” I said. “I don’t think the CIA is interested in me.”
He gave me an odd look.
“It’s just, this is strange. Someone was able to hack you again, after you changed all your passwords. You did change them, right?”
“I did.”
“So it just makes me wonder,” he said. “It’s not something that a normal hacker could do. I mean phishing you once, that’s sort of, not normal, but something that happens. This is more persistent, makes me wonder if you’ve been targeted by someone with greater capabilities.”
Then the Apple logo appeared, and a little white bar below it.
He frowned and shook his head.
“Bad news,” he said.
“What?”
“It’s being wiped, again. We’re not going to get anything from it this time either.”
41
Most of the business travelers in the Scranton Radisson are drab AF.
There are basically two categories: stressed-looking middle-aged overweight guy in khakis and golf shirt and stressed-looking middle-aged overweight guy in crappy suit.
I have the feeling they’re all involved in auto sales, or storage rentals, or HVAC, but some of them could be union reps, or school board employees, or regional retail managers. I don’t know and don’t care.
So many lives seem unbearably pointless and dreary to me.
Maybe that’s why I’m in the fix I’m in. I don’t know. I can’t bear the idea of leading a life of quiet desperation, of being that formerly hot mom in the SUV, listening to talk radio, cleaning and feeding the kids, watching Netflix, getting excited about the new Mexican place opening in the mall.
Kill me.
Anyway, it’s kind of a nice bar, except that it’s full of balding drabbies, heart-diseased drudges slurping beer and shooting the shit. The bits of conversation I overhear are as dull as you could imagine. Cars. Traffic. Weather. Sports. Sports. But I notice one guy who looks a bit different. He’s sitting down the bar from me, slowly stirring his cocktail—looks like a rum and coke. He’s bored with his phone. When I sit down, he looks my way, not staring but checking me out. I scribble in my Moleskine until I’m halfway through my second beer, when I decide to eyefuck him a bit.
I look up from my notebook and turn toward him. He’s kind of cute, in a hot dad sort of way. He has salt-and-pepper hair. He seems to be tall. He looks less overweight than most of the guys in here. He is in the suit, rather than khaki, category, which I think suggests he’s of a higher social class, although you can’t tell as easily these days as you once could.
He notices me looking at him. Oh. Hi.
I hold his gaze for a moment and don’t smile or not smile, but he smiles and looks flustered. Holy. He takes off his wedding ring, under the bar. One minute he has it on, the next minute it’s gone. Abracadabra. He’s single.
I guess I’m the best thing going in this Radisson. Obvi.
He’s coming over.
42
Rebecca found Craig and we went into his office and they asked me about the second selfie.
I told them about the threatening texts while they nodded sympathetically. Craig said he was going to find a way to fix this, but when I asked how he would do that, he was guarded and noncommittal. Then Rebecca asked a series of pointed questions. Had this ever happened before? When did I take the topless picture? Did my ex have a copy of it? Were there more pics? Did he have my password? Who else had my pa
ssword? Where did I get the list of emails for the Cheese of the Month Club?
Then there was a knock on the door. Rebecca went to open it. It was Jess, looking business-like and upset. Big lawyer sis to the rescue!
I got up and gave her a hug.
“I couldn’t get you on your phone, so I jumped in a cab,” she said.
She introduced herself to Craig and Rebecca, mentioned her law firm, and sat down without being invited.
“I’m worried about my sister,” she said. “I’m concerned that SoSol isn’t protecting her privacy.”
Rebecca made an Oh-this-is-like-that face.
Before she could say anything, Kevin showed up with my phone. He passed it to me.
“Kevin, any clue what’s causing this?” asked Craig.
Kevin shrugged.
“It was wiped. Sorry. It’s like it just came out of the box now.”
Jessica gave Craig and Rebecca her business card.
“Again, I’m concerned about the situation.”
“We all are,” said Craig. “We need to figure out what’s been happening. Until we know that, we want to do everything we can to make sure this is taken care of.”
He turned to me.
“You’ve changed your Facebook and Twitter passwords?”
I nodded.
“It sounds like you’re starting to realize you’ve got a problem you need to deal with,” said Jess. “I’m very concerned that my sister’s rights have been violated. She’s been the victim of a systematic and devastating campaign of sexual harassment.”
As she spoke I realized that was true.
“When you finish your analysis of the phone,” Jess said, “we are going to want a copy of everything, to make sure you haven’t missed anything.”
Craig and Rebecca exchanged glances.