For the first time in years, Roland threw the curtains completely to the side, and stepped out onto the deck. The sun was high in the sky, occasionally piercing through gray clouds as they rolled along with purpose. The ocean churned in the distance; a few boats were out there, as if running that direction was going to help anyone survive. Roland had witnessed the simulations on the news.
He placed a hand over his eyes as a visor, noticing an unmarked white van on the street below his property line. A momentary panic coursed through him, and the van fired up its engine, pulling away. Sunlight glared off the windows, and he couldn’t see the occupants.
The van left, and Roland rushed inside. They were here for him.
“They aren’t here for you, Rollie. It’s just a coincidence. There are a lot of vans out there,” he told himself out loud, hoping to calm his fears. It didn’t work. He’d been paranoid his whole life, feeding himself a constant stream of conspiracy theories and digging where he shouldn’t. He knew too much, and there were probably a half dozen agencies out there that were searching for him, or at least for his online moniker.
“Get it together!” he shouted, and took a deep breath. Computers. They were a priority. He unlocked the drawer, pulling his pill bottles out. He swallowed two pills from the second bottle to the right, and reached into the deep part of the open drawer, pulling out a black box. It had a scanner on it, and he used his thumb, pressing it firmly on the small square.
It flashed green and clicked open. A shiny metallic thumb drive with chrome finishing sat inside. He flipped it around in his hand and pressed it into the desktop computer. A window popped up, and he confirmed he wanted to use the drive.
A bar appeared on each monitor, displaying the progress. Everything he’d ever worked on, his entire twelve-year obsession was being wiped away by the worm. It ate all of it, tracing his movements through the internet, both public and dark, as well as clearing anything saved to a cloud. The entire process took only twenty minutes, and he was sweating bullets by the end.
Roland grabbed his laptop and shoved it into the pack with his clothes. He could access everything he needed from the portable computer, and was glad he wasn’t cut off completely. Most of his life had been spent online, and there was no way he could go cold turkey, not yet.
“You can do this.” Roland’s pep talks rarely worked, but today it sparked hope in his chest. He was at the door—pack in hand, car keys in the other—when the idea struck him. The gun. He needed the gun.
He rushed downstairs, flicking the light on. He’d only been down here a handful of times since his grandmother passed away, and it was full of all her old furniture. He hadn’t been able to live in the house with it stored upstairs, not when he could picture her sitting on the floral-print couch, watching daytime television with a smile on her face.
He pushed it all aside, and moved through the blanket-covered curio cabinets and stacks of dishware. He found the gun cabinet where it had always stood, ever since he was an inquisitive little boy. He recalled the code, emblazoned in his brain along with so many other numbers and facts. He pressed the numbers—3, 7, 4, 9 —and it opened. Inside sat a rifle and a handgun: an old 9mm pistol. He took the handgun, made sure it wasn’t loaded, and grabbed the box of ammo before running upstairs.
With a final moment of silence for the house he’d called home the last twenty years, he opened the door, and saw the van parked in the driveway. A man and woman stepped out, slamming the doors shut. They were in suits, and Roland didn’t think they planned to spread the good word. He slammed the door just as he caught the flash of steel in the man’s hand. They were coming to kill him.
All those years of believing he was crazy. It was all true. Someone had found him, and they were going to end him. He needed to escape and somehow reach Capetown. He bolted the door shut and ran to the patio, chucking the pack to the grass below. He wasn’t athletic, but he managed to climb over the railing and dangle toward the ground. With a deep breath, he dropped, his ankles rolling as they hit the grass. He fell to his side, the gun jostling from his belt. He snatched it, took the pack, and crouched beside the house.
He could hear them knocking on the door, and it quickly escalated. That sound could only be the big guy trying to kick the door open. Roland moved faster than he imagined he could, rushing along the untrimmed hedges that lined the property.
He glanced toward the front of the house, and saw the woman was missing. Roland kept moving to his car, which he always left parked on the street. He didn’t want it seen in the driveway, and didn’t trust it in the garage, where he could easily become boxed in. At that moment he was glad for all his paranoia and foresight.
Roland fumbled with his keys, dropping them as he reached the driver’s door. The car was old, a classic from before the era of computers and key fobs. He twisted the key in the rusty lock and slid inside, peering at the rearview mirror. The woman was running toward him.
Roland turned the key, the engine struggling to fire up. “Come on! Damn you, start!” he shouted, and it turned over, rumbling to life. A black cloud erupted from the tailpipe as he raced away. Gunshots rang out, and he ducked, trying to avoid the other cars on the side of the road. Another shot, and the rear windshield was hit, spiderwebbing on the passenger side. Soon he was down the block, speeding away from his home.
Eight
Andrew
7 Days Left…
Andrew and Selena stayed up all night, snooping through their daughter’s accounts on both Facebook and Instagram. Selena’s nosy parent app provided the passwords they needed to access both accounts. Now, over four hours later, the sky was bright with the morning and they were both ready to give up.
All of the blond-haired guys on her accounts had short hair, not shoulder-length. There were plenty of girls with shoulder-length blonde hair, though. Andrew began to wonder about that. Maybe that neighbor really had mistaken the kid in the black hoodie for a boy. He started checking girls’ profiles one by one. Selena stood up and began pacing her living room, biting her nails. The ocean looked angry in the distance behind her. Andrew could tell that those waves had to be massive. The surfers must be happy.
Andrew shook himself out of his distraction. The crazy weather wasn’t his concern right now. Finding Val was.
“What else can we do?” Selena asked.
“We keep searching until we find something,” Andrew insisted, scrolling mindlessly through his daughter’s Instagram feed on his phone.
“We’ve been at it for hours! There’s no one matching that boy’s description!”
“There has to be, because Val knew whoever it was that she was walking with.”
“Maybe they weren’t friends on social media.”
Andrew snorted.
“What?”
“You’re talking about the wrong generation. They were definitely connected online.”
“Then we’re missing something,” Selena decided.
“Yes.”
“I can’t keep my eyes open,” Selena said. “You want some coffee?”
Andrew nodded absently and waved her away. She returned a few minutes later with two steaming cups and handed one to him. There was a suspicious, soapy cap of foam floating on top of his. “What’s this?” he asked, sniffing at it suspiciously.
“A cappuccino.”
“Thanks...” He took a sip and grimaced. She must have dumped the whole sugar bowl in his cup. Selena had obviously forgotten that he liked his coffee black.
She leaned over his shoulder. “What are you looking for?”
“A girl.”
“But the neighbor said—”
“That he was too far away to be certain. Lots of girls have shoulders wider than their hips. Add a manly walk to that, a tomboy maybe, and we have our guy. So to speak.”
Selena pulled up a chair and sat down beside him. He went on scrolling, taking periodic sips of his coffee despite the tongue-curling taste of it.
“Wait!” Selena gr
abbed his wrist suddenly. “Go back up.”
He did as she asked, then stopped and stared. It was a photo of Val and a girl with shoulder-length blonde hair. Val was blowing a kiss to the camera while making bunny ears behind the girl—a girl wearing a black hoodie.
“Jackpot,” he whispered.
The name tagged in the photo was @Ana_Claremonte. Selena reached past him and tapped a shaking finger on the girl’s name to check her profile. A few useless lines of emojis and text appeared to describe her profile, things like CaliforniaGurl!!! followed by three heart emojis.
“It doesn’t say where she lives!” Selena said.
Andrew shrugged. “Maybe it doesn’t have to.” He checked at least a dozen photos from the girl’s account, looking for a location tag. Nothing. Maybe she was taking Internet stalking seriously.
Then he had a thought and set the phone aside in favor of Selena’s laptop. A quick search of Val’s friends on Facebook found an Adriana Claremonte, and one glimpse at Adriana’s photos revealed she was the same girl. Unlike the Instagram account, there were some real, meaningful details about Adriana’s life on Facebook.
“She lives in Santa Monica!” Selena said.
“Yeah... nothing more specific, though. We’re going to have to dig a little deeper. Did you find any messages on her WhatsApp from someone with a name like Ana or Adriana?”
Andrew turned to his ex. She was blinking rapidly, staring off into the distance with a faraway look in her eyes. “Maybe? I don’t know! She was talking to at least a hundred people on there!”
“Well, go check!” Andrew snapped.
Selena got up and ran to fetch her iPhone from the opposite end of the dining room table. She sat down and began swiping through messages. Meanwhile, Andrew busied himself by clicking through Adriana Claremonte’s friends. He found a Justin Claremonte listed as her brother, and clicked on his name. Maybe he’d have more details listed in his bio.
“Hey! I think I found something! There’s a conversation here from someone called Miss C. Monte.”
“That sounds right.” Andrew jumped up and ran over to see.
“Look,” Selena prompted.
He read over her shoulder as she scrolled through recent messages between Miss C. Monte and their daughter.
Miss C. Monte: Hey gurl! Justin is coming back from uni this wknd. You HAVE to come out with us!
Val Miller: I’m there! When? Where?
Miss C. Monte: No deets yet. I’ll let u know!
Val Miller: Great! :D.
Miss C. Monte: Betta make him ur BAE before some slutty uni gurl does ;).
“He’s in university?” Andrew thundered.
“Just keep reading,” Selena urged.
Val Miller:... well, if that’s what he wants, I’m gonna be a real disappointment.
Miss C. Monte: You’re such a slug! When are you gonna give up your V card anyway?
Val Miller: Gotta wait for the right Mr.
Miss C. Monte: Whatevs! Chat soon BAE!
Val Miller: Call me, BAE ;).
Andrew and Selena stared at each other. “That’s it?” he asked.
“That was the last message.”
“Did she call?”
Selena flipped over to a call log report and scanned it briefly before nodding. “Yes. One call from Miss C. right before...” She clapped a hand to her mouth and shook her head. “This was only an hour before she left for her friend’s house!”
“What did she say?”
Selena scowled. “It’s a spy app, not the FBI!”
“Right.” Andrew returned to the computer. “Maybe their parents have their number listed in a public directory.”
“Yeah, because they’re eighty years old!” Selena scoffed.
“Hey, my number is listed.”
“Forget it. No one lists their number anymore. Try checking her brother’s accounts. Maybe you can find out where his parents live.”
“I already checked,” Andrew said, shaking his head.
“Show me.”
Andrew clicked over to Justin’s Facebook page and checked the about section of his profile. “See?”
Selena reached over his shoulder and stole the mouse from him. She scrolled through the about section to Family Members. Three names were listed: Rick Claremonte, Adriana Claremonte, and Tina Claremonte. She clicked on Tina, and a middle-aged woman appeared. Her 'About' page listed a real address: 238 Hill St., Santa Monica, CA. “Parents are the worst about listing their real addresses. They never stop to think that a stalker might dig more than one level deep,” Selena said.
“A stalker like you?” Andrew asked.
She smiled tightly at him. “I’m the worst.”
“I believe you,” he said.
Her eyes flashed with hurt, but they both dropped the topic there.
“We have an address,” Andrew said, standing up from the table. “Let’s go.”
Selena drained her cappuccino, and they hurried out the door.
* * *
They found Ana’s house on Andrew’s GPS app. The drive from Malibu to Santa Monica was suspiciously quiet. The streets were deserted. It should have been rush hour, but instead it was smooth sailing. It was as if there really had been a rapture.
Andrew parked out front of Ana’s house and ran up the walkway with Selena. They reached the door, and Andrew pounded on it with his fist. Selena gave him a sharp look and then touched a finger to the doorbell.
Oops, he thought, and flashed a charming grin at her. The grin gradually fell off his face when no one answered the door.
“What if they evacuated already?” Selena asked.
Andrew didn’t have an answer ready for that. If they’d evacuated, then this was a dead end, and they were going to have a hard time dredging up another lead.
Selena pressed the doorbell again. And then ten times more, stabbing it repeatedly with her finger.
The door swung open a minute later to reveal a haggard-looking man with thinning blond hair and glasses. His face was drawn, eyes dull and empty. “What?” he asked in a dull voice. He didn’t sound angry that they’d interrupted him with about a thousand dings of his bell. This had to be Rick Claremonte.
Selena spoke before Andrew could. “Our daughter is missing, and I noticed that the last person who called her was—”
“Yours too?” Rick asked.
Andrew felt his eyes narrowing. “What do you mean yours, too? Ana is missing?”
“How do you know her name?” Rick asked.
“Not important,” Andrew said. “What can you tell us?”
“Not much.” Rick sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “The police were no help. They said we should evacuate and forget about her.”
Andrew snorted and scowled at the memory of his meeting with Detective Styles. “Us too. Mind if we come in?” he asked.
The man’s wife walked up behind him. Tina, Andrew recalled.
“Rick? Who is it?” She sounded like she’d been crying.
Rick half turned to her. The woman’s mascara was running down her cheeks in sticky black gobs. “Some people looking for their daughter. They say she knows Ana.”
“How... who are you?” Tina asked.
“Maybe we should sit down for this,” Andrew said. “Do you mind?”
Rick shrugged and stepped aside to let them in. Andrew and Selena walked into a beachy living room with a light, airy decor. White couches and rustic wooden furniture. Blue pillows, shells, starfish, model boats, and even a lighthouse decorated the room. Andrew and Selena sat on one of two couches facing each other across a rustic wooden coffee table with the word BEACH actually spelled out on it in big wooden letters.
Mascara-streaked Tina was a tiny woman with platinum-blonde hair, an oval face, and a stick-thin frame. Her collar bone popped out as she leaned forward. “What do you know about our Ana?” she asked.
“I was about to ask you the same thing about Val,” Selena said.
“They were going
to meet up the day our girl disappeared,” Andrew said. “The last call on Val’s phone was from your daughter.”
Rick drew himself up and straightened his glasses. “So you think Ana had something to do with her disappearance?”
“Not directly,” Andrew said. “Whoever took Val obviously took your girl, too.”
Rick and Tina nodded along with that.
Selena spoke next, “Ana said her brother, your son, was coming home from San Diego—Justin?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Rick said.
“Well, Ana was talking about the three of them going out somewhere.”
“And?” Rick asked.
“And the weekend is over, so where’s your son?”
Rick scowled. “He didn’t make it.”
“Just like that? What excuse did he give?”
“You mean besides half of the city evacuating?” Tina demanded. “I don’t know, maybe he had a party to go to!”
“Look, all I’m saying is—”
Rick’s eyes flashed. “We know what you’re saying. That our son is involved. You really think he would abduct his own sister?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I think you should leave,” Tina put in.
“Don’t you want to find out where Ana is?” Selena asked.
“If you could help us find her, you wouldn’t be here interrogating us.”
Andrew grimaced. This was spiraling out of control. “Look, just—”
Rick jumped up and pointed at the door. “Get out.”
“Please,” Selena said.
Tina stood up beside her husband. “Now. Before we call the police.”
Andrew smirked. “Yeah, I’m sure they’ll be a lot of help.”
“I have a gun,” Rick said. “You want me to get it?”
Andrew held up his hands and began shuffling toward the door. “Okay, okay, we’re leaving.”
They were halfway through the hall to the entrance when the floor began to shake.
“Earthquake!” Tina screamed. She and her husband flew into the guest bathroom and slammed the door behind them, leaving Andrew and Selena to fend for themselves. Selena clutched Andrew’s arm, her nails digging in. Picture frames on the walls shook, and Andrew had to steady himself on a table in the foyer to keep from falling over. Stunned, he stared at a blurry reflection of a ragged, bearded man in the mirror above the table. Then that mirror leapt off the wall, and he jumped away as it crashed at his feet.
Final Days Page 6