by A. V. Geiger
But where had it come from? Everyone seemed too busy making new #EricThornObsessed tweets to ask any questions.
Tessa flicked onto MET’s account again, her lips curving with satisfaction at the header:
MET (@MrsEricThorn) FOLLOWS YOU
She still felt a glow of pride at the sight. Five days had passed since MET had followed her, and Tessa’s own follower count had skyrocketed as a result. Everyone knew that MET only followed the accounts that really mattered.
But a follow from @MrsEricThorn meant more than just a vote of confidence. It also gave Tessa access to the coveted, little button beside MET’s name—the one that allowed her to send a private direct message.
Tessa entered a DM now, and she let out a small sigh of pleasure when a reply popped back within seconds.
Tessa H: Where did that pic come from??
MET: Some new kid tweeted it earlier. This one’s going viral. WOOT!
Tessa’s forehead furrowed. Why hadn’t MET retweeted it, if it came from another fan’s account? She sent back a quick reply.
Tessa H: Who? Can you tell me?
MET: Just an egg making trouble. Nice try, troll! LOL
Tessa H: What username?
MET: @EricThornSucks
An egg? Tessa searched for the account and brought it up on her screen: an egg account as the other girl said, with the anonymous eggshell silhouette that Twitter provided as the default profile picture. Whoever owned this account hadn’t bothered with a bio either. Just the first name Taylor and that one lonely tweet:
Taylor @EricThornSucks
What a narcissistic pretty-boy douche nozzle. Get over yourself @EricThorn #EricThornSucks
pic.twitter.com/Z4GGn0HZpj
The link brought up the picture once again. MET must have poached it and composed her own tweet with an ever-so-slightly revised caption. Tessa saved the photo to her camera roll, ignoring the other thousand pictures of Eric Thorn she’d already accumulated. There was something extra drool-worthy about this one. She wanted it preserved. A fresh blush of heat crept up her neck as her eyes drank in the image:
Eric Thorn, shirtless, with a white towel around his waist…making out with his own reflection in a steamed-up bathroom mirror.
6
UNREAL
Eric silently mouthed the lyrics of the chicken nugget jingle, while his team of stylists sculpted his unruly hair into some semblance of order. He sat perched on a high stool in front of the same hotel mirror that he’d used for his early-morning selfie shoot. The scene of the crime, he thought to himself, lightly drumming his palms against his thighs.
It was no use. He couldn’t focus. His mind kept turning back to the same topic. How far had that photo traveled in the hour since he posted it? How many memes had it spawned, calling him out for his self-absorption? Did it break the Internet, like that famous picture of Kim K’s ginormous naked ass?
He’d hit Tweet without a moment to spare this morning, barely throwing on some gym clothes before Maury came knocking again. Now, with his workout behind him, Eric longed to check the retweet count, but he didn’t dare. Not with the prying eyes of the hairdressers all around him.
Eric felt a cold trickle work its way down the back of his neck. Doubt or stray hair gel? He wasn’t quite sure. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done something so impulsive. Was it all a huge mistake? If anyone at his label figured out where that picture came from…
A harsh voice rang out behind him, and Eric’s hands stopped drumming in midair at the sight of his manager’s cell phone, thrust into his face.
“You wanna tell me what the hell this is, kid?”
Eric expected to see the bathroom mirror, but apparently that photo hadn’t yet registered as a blip on the PR radar screen. His eyes fell instead on a Hollywood Life blog post. He’d forgotten about that one. It was a pap photo from LA a couple weeks ago. The cameraman must have taken his sweet time selling it to the highest bidder.
“That dickwad was asking for it,” Eric muttered.
Maury glared. “What did he do? Did he get up in your face?”
“No, he didn’t get in my face, Maury. He tailed me for three hours straight!”
“So you had a pap following you? That’s it?”
A hairdresser placed her finger at the base of Eric’s jaw. He swatted her hand away in annoyance. “It was my first day off in a month! It’s kind of hard to relax when some prick has a telephoto lens pointed at your face all day long.”
Eric scowled to himself even as he said the words. He knew Maury had a point. He’d lost his cool with that photographer for no good reason. He’d been more than a little on edge after the story broke about the Cromwell murder—especially out in public. He couldn’t deny feeling stalked. Maury called it paranoia, but how could Eric help it? He was followed everywhere he went. When he somehow managed to escape the fans for a few blissful moments, then the paps started sniffing around. It never stopped. From the moment he’d first signed his record deal at age fifteen, his entire life had been punctuated by the faint sound of camera shutters clicking in the background.
Maury clapped a heavy hand on Eric’s shoulder. His face was grim. “Eric, you can’t go around flipping off reporters.”
“Reporters.” Eric snorted. “That asshole was stalking me, Maury!”
“You will get a reputation for bad behavior. These guys can destroy a career faster than you can say ‘cheese’ if you get on their bad side.”
Eric opened his mouth to retort, but he forgot what he was about to say. His ears had perked up at that last remark. “Wait a minute. Do you think it’ll cause a backlash?”
Maury gave him a playful cuff on the cheek. “Nah. The publicists are spinning it that you were provoked. But you only get one get-out-of-jail-free card before—”
“I was provoked!” Eric stood abruptly from the stool. The makeup people could finish him up on set later. He couldn’t take another minute with all those hands pawing at his face.
Maury whirled a finger in the air, signaling the army of stylists to gather their supplies. They trooped out, and Eric stood to follow them, but Maury stepped into his path.
“Get yourself together, kid.” Maury poked him in the chest. “I don’t know what’s eating you lately, but enough’s enough. We’ve got too much work to do.”
Maury cast him one last warning look and shuffled out. Eric watched him go, but his foul mood faded after a moment. He was finally alone, and he had more pressing matters to attend. Eric pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped to open Twitter, still set to the new username:
@EricThornSucks
He held his breath as his eyes flicked down to check his notifications. The count normally stood at the maximum, twenty plus, but on this account…
Nothing.
Dead silence.
Really? Not one single retweet? Eric rested his weight against the bathroom countertop. Was it possible that no one had seen the picture yet? Maybe he should try directing it @ some of the fan accounts. He closed his eyes, straining to dredge up some likely usernames. They all ran together in his head:
@EricThornFan…@EricThornLuv…@MrsEricThorn… @EricThornifed…@ErictHorny…@EricThornPorn…
Where to begin? There was that one Maury wanted him to follow. The one who started the whole Obsessed trend. He’d intentionally passed her over during the follow spree, but she might be the ideal person for his purposes. He entered in her username, @TessaHeartsEric, and nearly choked at what he saw.
There it was at the top of her recent tweets. A retweet, but not from his account. Somehow she’d retweeted the same picture from a different fan.
MET @MrsEricThorn
WHYYY IS THIS SO HOT???? #EricThornObsessed
751 ♥ 1327
What the hell?
How could they fangirl over that picture? He must have snapped twenty versions before he got the pose just right. He’d caught himself at an angle to keep the reflection of the phone out of the frame
. He’d pressed his lips to the mirror and closed his eyes in mock passion, with his free hand clutching one of his well-defined pecs. Honestly, it was perfect—the ultimate caricature of vanity and self-absorption. How could they have possibly missed the point?
“Unreal,” he muttered hoarsely, balling his hands into fists. He should have known. He’d seen their smutty fanfics. His fans were nothing if not predictable. They had one thing, and one thing only, on their #EricThornObsessed minds.
Eric’s vision clouded with a surge of red-hot anger. Sick, every one of them. Someone needed to call them out. Make them feel ashamed of themselves. Tell them to get a life.
This one, this @TessaHeartsEric, seemed like a good place to start.
He raised his finger above the screen, already composing a blistering rant inside his head. But his finger came down on…nothing. Blank white space.
Where was the DM button?
He stared at the screen for a full thirty seconds before comprehension dawned.
He’d forgotten who he was for a minute there. It had been years since someone he wanted to message didn’t follow him as a matter of course. But that only applied to his real account. Now he was @EricThornSucks, with no history and zero followers. He was nobody. He couldn’t DM a soul.
He glared down at the profile in front of him.
Tessa H @TessaHeartsEric
FOLLOWING FOLLOWERS
170 30.1K
He could try to put her on blast over public tweets, but she might not even hear him. Not with 30,000 followers. No, if he really wanted to get through to her, he needed to do it over DM. And that meant he needed her to follow him.
This was going to be trickier than he’d thought.
• • •
Tessa tore her eyes reluctantly from her new favorite Eric Thorn picture. It had given her the perfect idea for a fanfic: a riff on Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, featuring a sensitive young songwriter named Eric and his bad-boy rock-star doppelgänger, Thorn. Identical twins? She pondered, tapping her chin. Or maybe one character with a split-personality disorder…
Tessa reached for her journal to jot it down (at least not all her story ideas were “projecting”), but the sight of her phone distracted her. It still displayed the account that had first tweeted the photo:
Taylor @EricThornSucks
Tessa squinted at the empty profile. Whoever this Taylor girl was, she clearly intended for that image to hurt Eric. Not a fan. Someone with an ax to grind. Maybe a fan he passed over in the follow spree that morning? Apparently, Tessa wasn’t the only one whose curiosity had been piqued. Another new DM popped up from @MrsEricThorn.
MET: Do you know a Taylor? Is there a fan I don’t know called Taylor?
Tessa racked her mind, wishing she could come up with a bit of useful gossip to impress the other girl.
Tessa H: Don’t know her. There was some other weird account tweeting me this morning. @TheRealEricT? That wasn’t you, was it?
MET: Uhhh why would you think that?
Tessa H: Never mind… Hey, maybe this @EricThornSucks isn’t even a fan? Maybe it’s one of his exes or something!
Tessa’s eyes widened as she thought of the possibilities. Eric hadn’t been in a confirmed relationship for as long as she’d followed him. Whenever interviewers asked about his love life, he always insisted he was way too busy to date. But that didn’t stop the rumors from flying. Anyone that gorgeous had to be getting action somewhere. Could it be someone famous? Someone named Taylor…
Tessa H: OMG do you think it could be Taylor Swift?
MET: Hahahah NO WAY! ARE U FOR REAL??
Tessa H: You never know
MET: LMAO kinda doubt T-Swizzle has the Photoshop chops
Tessa H: You think it’s Photoshop?
MET: Obviously. No way that’s real. Fakety fake fake. Still sexy as hell tho!!
Tessa chuckled as she stood up from her bed and paced the room. She was about to reply to Mrs. Eric Thorn again when a new notification distracted her.
Taylor (@EricThornSucks) favorited your retweet
Speak of the devil. Why was this Taylor person stalking her account?
A new mention appeared on her screen, and Tessa sank down heavily into her beanbag chair. “Not again,” she whispered. Why was she suddenly the target for every creepy fan account on Twitter?
Taylor @EricThornSucks
How can you obsess over that pic @TessaHeartsEric? He is LITERALLY in love with himself!
Tessa eyed the tweet suspiciously. She knew she should ignore it. This Taylor could be anyone. Tessa flicked on the account settings menu, and her finger hovered over the first option once again:
Mute @EricThornSucks
She was about to select it, but something stopped her. She could almost hear Dr. Regan’s words from this morning, echoing inside her head:
Any kind of social interaction can potentially hold therapeutic value.
Was it a mistake, all this muting? Maybe it was just a defense mechanism, like hiding here in her room. Wasn’t that what Dr. Regan would tell her? To open herself up? Make an effort to interact? “I need to try harder,” she whispered to herself.
What had this @EricThornSucks account really done, other than try to strike up a conversation? She and her therapist had spent weeks running through role-play scenarios for every imaginable social encounter, friendly or otherwise. She had the tools. She could do this. She was ready.
In any case, Tessa couldn’t deny her curiosity. Who was this girl, Taylor, and where did she get that picture? Had she photoshopped it herself? Maybe she had more where that one came from.
“OK,” Tessa said out loud, screwing up her courage. “You want to talk to me, Taylor? Let’s talk.”
She flicked away from the mute option and composed a tweet instead:
Tessa H @TessaHeartsEric
@EricThornSucks who are you?
The answer popped back immediately, setting off a series of rapid-fire tweets back and forth:
Taylor @EricThornSucks
@TessaHeartsEric no one special
Tessa H @TessaHeartsEric
@EricThornSucks are you a fan or a hater?
Taylor @EricThornSucks
@TessaHeartsEric just calling it like I see it. You can’t tell me that pic isn’t douchey
Tessa H @TessaHeartsEric
@EricThornSucks it’s fake duh
Taylor @EricThornSucks
@TessaHeartsEric says who?
Tessa H @TessaHeartsEric
@EricThornSucks says my magic Photoshop detector
Taylor @EricThornSucks
@TessaHeartsEric BULLSHIT. Trust me it’s real
Tessa H @TessaHeartsEric
@EricThornSucks and you have it…why exactly?
Another notification flashed onto Tessa’s screen just before the next reply:
Taylor (@EricThornSucks) followed you
Taylor @EricThornSucks
@TessaHeartsEric I’ll tell you over DM. Follow me back.
THE INTERROGATION
(FRAGMENT 2)
December 31, 2016, 9:17 p.m.
Case #: 124.678.21–001
OFFICIAL TRANSCRIPTION OF POLICE INTERVIEW
—START PAGE 1—
INVESTIGATOR: Ms. Hart, I’m Lieutenant Charles Foster. This is Detective Terence Newman. For the record, today is December 31 at 9:17 p.m. This interview is being recorded.
HART: I need my therapist. Dr. Laura Regan. Is she here yet? She was supposed to meet me here at the police station.
INVESTIGATOR: Terry, can you look into that? [pause] OK, Ms. Hart. Can I call you Tessa?
HART: I really need my therapist. This is the first day I left my house in, like, forever.
INVESTIGATOR: I understand. We’re working on locating Dr. Regan. In the meantime, Tessa, can you please state your full name, birth date, and occupation for the record?
HART: Tessa Lynn Hart. April 3, 1998. I’m eighteen.
INVESTIGATOR: Occupation?
INVESTIGATOR: Can we say unemployed?
HART: Right. Unemployed.
INVESTIGATOR: Good. Now, can you please identify what this is right here?
HART: That’s my cell phone. Oh my God, I thought I lost it! Where did you get that?
INVESTIGATOR: How did you lose it, Tessa? Was it taken from you?
HART: Maybe. I don’t…I don’t want to talk about that. I should probably go to the hospital or something—
INVESTIGATOR: Tessa, please stay in your seat. We’re looking for your therapist right now.
HART: Can I have my phone? Maybe I can text her.
INVESTIGATOR: I need you to walk me through a few things first. I’m looking here at your Twitter account. Could you please tell me when you first set up this account?
HART: Back in high school. Junior year. But then I changed the username this summer, around the end of June.
INVESTIGATOR: June 2016?
HART: Right. Because…because of what happened. I deleted a lot of my old tweets then too.
INVESTIGATOR: We’d like to take a look at your direct messages with the account in question, if you don’t mind. Do I have your permission to read through this?
HART: Go ahead. It doesn’t matter.
INVESTIGATOR: The first message is dated August 12, 2016. Does that sound about right?
HART: I guess so. August. I remember Scott came to see me that morning. He was just about to head off for freshman orientation. So yeah. August.
INVESTIGATOR: Scott?
HART: My ex-boyfriend.
INVESTIGATOR: I see. Let’s finish discussing your Twitter activity, and then we’ll come back to Scott. Do you recall if you had any other correspondence with this individual before the first direct message on August 12?