by C. J. Lyons
I hold my breath, hugging myself not so much against the cold but against the chance that I might never hear Miranda’s voice again. Would she still believe I hadn’t killed my uncle after hearing me confess my darkest secret?
Her laughter sounded strange. Not the full-on laughter that had made me smile earlier today. This was tight, a high-wire act between laughing and crying. “What a pair we are.”
I blew my breath out in relief. “Do you think, I mean, when your father comes tomorrow—could I meet you? Before I turn myself in?”
Probably to spend the rest of my life in prison, I don’t add. Seemed like a bit of a downer when this was the closest thing to a date with a girl I might ever have.
“Of course,” she says. “I’d like that very much.”
Cool. Great. I have no clue what to say that won’t make me sound like an idiot. She can’t see it, but I’m grinning. Stupid crazy for someone in my position, but I can’t help it. That’s Miranda’s magic.
“We can still do it, you know,” I tell her. “Out King. I still have the recorder pen.”
“No. It’s too dangerous. Besides…” She hesitates.
“What?”
“It’s not the man I thought it was. Phreak426.”
“Are you sure?”
“My dad went to see him. Turns out he did work for Telenet, but he got hit by a car and is paralyzed, had a severe brain injury. He was in the hospital on my birthday two years ago.”
I’m disappointed but something nags at me. “Don’t you think it’s kind of weird that he works for Telenet and used a screen name that King used?”
“King probably stole it while the guy was in the hospital.”
“No. That was the first one he used with me. It would have been the year before King found you.”
There’s silence, but it’s the good kind. The kind that means Miranda’s brain is churning through the possibilities. “What if Kerstater—that’s the guy—discovered someone was using his screen name?”
“That someone being King. And then King—”
“Tried to kill him.” Excitement makes her voice bounce. “I was right about the Telenet connection, I had to have been. That would explain how he found you tonight.”
“Yeah. How did he do that? With the TVs and computers?”
“Telenet installed all the AV systems when the college updated everything. That’s why the arena is named after them—the price for their corporate sponsorship was getting the telecommunications contract for the college.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Are you kidding? I sit at home day and night obsessing about tracking the Creep down. Once I learned he was connected to Telenet, I learned everything I could about them.”
“King isn’t Kerstater, but someone else in Telenet’s IT department using his screen name?”
“The upgrade happened three years ago. It could be someone working with Kerstater then, and they planted a Trojan horse in the software, letting them control all the computers—the TVs are really just computer monitors as well.”
This was getting beyond my scope. “You found Kerstater. Can’t you get back into Telenet’s database and find anyone else who worked on the project?”
“I’m good, but I’m not that good. I found Kerstater through a LinkedIn profile that went to a public profile on the company’s HR page. It just was never taken down or updated after he got hit by the car.”
“Wait. My uncle said something about a guy hit by a car.” I strain to remember, but exhaustion has my brain so foggy I’m not even sure I can remember my own name.
“Let me pull it up on the video,” she says before I can admit that I’m not clear on the details. “Here it is. He said he tracked a phone number and address to a guy riding his bike and hit by a car. That’s Kerstater. But why would King use his real-life address as well as his screen name? That’s awfully lazy—and a sure way for a someone to find you sooner or later.”
“So maybe that’s how Kerstater found King. And it was when King was just starting out; he wasn’t as good at covering his tracks as he is now.” I can almost hear her frown, and I know there’s more to the puzzle.
“My dad said something. Hang on, I need to check—” She gasps.
“What? What did you find?” Adrenaline charges through me and I’m fully awake.
“Dad said he lives with his brother who’s his caretaker. Howard. Dad actually met him tonight—right before the fire at your house.”
“My uncle’s house,” I correct her automatically. “So this brother is also a computer expert?”
“Let me see what I can find on him.” The sound of computer keys clacking comes through the phone. I imagine her fingers flying over the keys like a magician casting a spell.
Finally she returns. “No, not IT or anything to do with computers. But Howard Kerstater does work for Telenet. In their human resource department.”
I think about it. “Human resources? He hires and fires people. That sounds like King. Power, control over people’s lives.”
“Not only that. Wouldn’t anyone in human resources also have access to credit reports and background checks, stuff like that? That would be perfect for King. He could decide which clients were vulnerable to his blackmail, who had the most money, know all their secrets.”
“You think your dad’s visit tipped him off? That’s why he killed my uncle?”
“I’m sorry, Jesse. I didn’t know.” The sound of keys tapping. Fast. “I can’t find anything else. If this guy is King, he’s covered his tracks.”
“Which means I’m the last loose end. What if he blackmails a cop or jail guard or someone to come after me after I turn myself in? What if he goes after Mom or Janey?” My voice sounds hollow as it echoes through the car. “I can’t protect them if I’m sitting in a jail cell.”
35
“Jesse, you can’t keep running. It’s just as dangerous.”
In my mind, I’m already gone. How far could I get? How long? I could go anywhere, do anything. For the first time in my life, the thought isn’t frightening. It’s liberating.
I think of the couple who wandered into the computer lab. That could be me. I could maybe find someone whose touch I invited, someone who wanted to be with me. Someone I could actually love…
My uncle is gone. I never again have to fear being touched, work hard to parse the meaning of every word and gesture, train my body and face to fake pleasure just to satisfy his warped needs. Could I learn to love? Could I ever be a normal guy, holding a girl’s hand, kissing her lips, inviting her to touch me?
Free. It takes me a few moments to actually identify the feeling that makes me feel light-headed. I’m free.
If I can outrun King. “You said Mom and Janey are safe?”
“Dad said they’re in protective custody.”
“Custody? They didn’t arrest her, did they? She had nothing to do with this—”
“No. Jesse, they have cops protecting your mom and sister…” Her voice fades into the night.
Then I get it. “From me. They think I might hurt them.” Everything I’ve done for the past four years has been to protect them, to save my family after my dad left. But now they’re safer without me. “So, if I keep running, they’ll be protected from King.”
“Yes. No. They’ll be safe, but you won’t.” Urgency fills her voice. “I have a plan.”
“Yeah. One that leaves me behind bars and King out there where he can hurt everyone I care about.” Including Miranda, I realize. She’s trapped, will be at King’s mercy if he ever finds her.
“No. A new plan.” Her breath rustles through the phone, louder than the wind seeping through the broken windows of the car. “But it means not just exposing King to the world. It means telling everyone what he did to us. Both of us. Everything—the whole truth. Let the world see what a monster he
is. That’s our best chance of stopping him and saving you.”
The freedom I tasted a few seconds ago turns to ash in my mouth. “My mom would know—”
“Everyone,” she says firmly. “That’s what will happen sooner or later anyway. If they catch you and there’s a trial, they’ll want to know why you wanted to kill your uncle.”
“I can lie. Tell them I just snapped.” Suddenly the car feels too small. Despite the cold, I climb out, fill my lungs with fresh air. The moon has set, leaving a shimmer of stars in its wake. I look down the hill at the shadows cast by the assortment of abandoned junk. I don’t see cars and appliances and farm equipment. I see dragons and winged horses and strange beasts…and griffins.
Could I do it? Tell the truth? Expose myself to the entire world?
It would kill my mom. I could never lead that normal life I fantasized about—not with every pervert out there knowing my face, seeing it all over the news. Who would ever want to be with me after that? Knowing what I let my uncle and King do to me?
“You could lie.” Miranda’s voice is a whisper of hope. “But then your uncle would win. All those perverts King sold your performances to, they’d win. King would win. And if they win, they’ll never stop. They’ll keep doing this to other kids. They’ll think it’s okay to ruin our lives, to hurt us like we’re nothing more than dirt on the bottom of their shoes. Is that what you want?”
“No. Of course not. But my mom—”
“You think she’d feel better believing a lie? How does that help anyone? Wouldn’t she want to know the truth? Not just about her brother but about the kind of son she has, someone willing to sacrifice everything for his family, someone brave enough to stand up and fight for what’s right. Doesn’t she deserve that son instead of a son who lies his way to jail for a crime he didn’t commit and who lets the bad guys walk free?”
I stare at the stars. At the mythical beasts my imagination has conjured from the junk surrounding me. Disposable stuff. No good. Used, abused, and cast aside. Like me.
Like all the other kids King has tormented. How many of us are there? How many more will there be if I—if we—don’t stop him?
“It’s not that easy,” I stammer, telling myself it’s the cold that makes me shiver so hard my teeth knock together.
“I know. I’ll be with you all the way.”
“Right. From your safe little home with both your parents there to protect you.” I hate myself for saying the words, want to take them back, but I can’t. If she wants the truth, maybe we need to start with each other.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Her voice sears my soul; it’s filled with such sorrow and regret. “I can’t be there with you. Maybe you should just run.”
“No. Miranda—” I take a deep breath, air so cold it burns my lungs. “What’s the plan?”
• • •
Miranda climbed off her bed and stood at her window. “Can you see the stars where you are?”
“Yes.” Jesse paused. “The plan isn’t for us to become astronauts and fly away to Mars, is it? Because I’m pretty sure you’d need to leave your home for all that weightlessness training and stuff.”
His tone was both light and concerned at the same time, doubting her sanity. And he hadn’t even heard her plan yet.
“Ha ha, already starting with the agoraphobia jokes.” He had no idea how lucky he was. Even with everything that had happened, at least he had a choice: he could run or he could fight. The only way she could run was—her gaze darted to her journal—the ultimate escape.
Funny, after spending the day—even virtually—with Griffin, with Jesse, suicide just didn’t have the appeal it once had.
“That thing you did this morning, when you imagined a perfect day for me.”
“Yeah?” He sounded embarrassed by it.
“That was the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. Listening to you, painting an entire world just for me with your words, it was…magical. I’ll always treasure that. Always.”
Awkward silence. He cleared his throat. “You’re welcome.”
She pressed her palm against the window, absorbing the cold. “I just wanted you to know that. No matter what happens.”
“Why are you sounding like this is some kind of good-bye?”
“Not good-bye. I hope not. But if we go through with this, things might get pretty crazy.”
“You haven’t told me yet. What are we going through with?”
“We go public. Not just public. Viral. Use our stories to launch a massive social media campaign targeting King.”
“Cybersmash him? Like he does his victims? Like what he did to you?”
“Worse than cybersmashing. Because we’ll be telling the truth. Starting with the video you recorded.”
“The video of me beating the crap out of my uncle? How’s that going to help?”
“I’ll edit it to stop before that. We’ll just show him confessing. Talking about him and King and what they did to you.”
Another long pause. “And you?”
“I have copies of everything King posted about me…I’ll also tell people about what he did to my mom, tell them about how I tried to kill myself. About how I live now because of him, a prisoner of my own fear. How I plan to kill myself if he’s not stopped.”
She took a deep breath, pressed her palm against the window, but it was no good. She was trapped. Inside a cage of her own making. “How I will kill myself if he’s not caught before my birthday, in twenty-four hours.”
“No. Miranda you can’t. You wouldn’t—”
“I will. This is our chance to stop living a lie.”
“They’ll lock you up, just like they will me if I’m caught.”
“But the truth about King, about your uncle, once that’s out, they can’t put the genie back in the bottle. The truth will spread. More of King’s victims will come forward, tell the truth of what he did to them. We might not be able to save ourselves, but we can save others, stop King from stealing anyone else’s life.”
Silence. Dark and heavy. She bit her lip, counted by threes—a magic number, a safe number—until she became dizzy holding her breath and had to inhale. Her room was quiet, so very quiet.
Finally his voice returned. “Okay. Do it. But, Miranda—”
“Yes?” She could barely get the word out.
“Don’t edit the video. If we’re telling the truth, it should be all of it.”
36
I hang up from Miranda and lean against the hood of the Impala. The junkyard shadows no longer look like mystical creatures. They look like junk, rusted and forgotten.
Wish I were one of them. My stomach clenches in a fist of pain. I try to blame it on the cheeseburger but know it’s plain old fear. Helping Miranda get evidence on King, maybe needing to talk to a few cops, that was one thing. But her new plan—exposing ourselves to anyone on the planet with an Internet connection?
Insanity. Brilliant. Desperate. Brave.
After Miranda broadcasts her suicide countdown, they’ll lock her away in some psych ward, dope her with drugs, give her shock treatment, who knows what?
I crane my neck, searching out the stars above, and zip up my dad’s jacket, a thin barricade against the night chill. In a way, she’s risking far more than I am.
After tonight, our lives will never be the same.
Mom and Janey are safe, I tell myself. That’s what counts. Nothing else matters.
Except…I try to count the stars, turning fuzzy as mist rolls off the mountain behind me. I would have made a wish but there’s…nothing. I think of the future, of anything I could hope or dream or wish for, and all I see is black emptiness. Stretching out forever.
My skin burns with the cold, and I climb back inside my makeshift shelter, curl up in a ball, trying to stay warm, and close my eyes. For the first time in ye
ars, my sleep is as empty as the rest of my life. No night terrors, no panicked jerking awake worried I’d missed a call from King, no dreams at all…except maybe one.
I’m not sure if it’s a dream or a fantasy, but Miranda’s with me, for one magic moment. We’re in a field; I’m chasing after her; we’re both laughing, and she turns and reaches her hand to me, letting me catch up. I can’t see her face; she’s wearing a pretty dress that floats in the breeze, but when our hands touch, I swear I feel it in every atom of my body.
Then it’s gone, vanished along with the rest of my hopes and dreams.
• • •
Despite staying up all night, Miranda couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this energized. Not just energized—excited. Glad to be alive. The irony was intoxicating in its own warped way.
She uploaded Jesse’s video and added her own story, including reading her suicide note and promising to go through with it if anything happened to Jesse. She debated naming Kerstater, finally decided to take a chance, trust in her gut instinct. Everything she’d found pointed to the man, and if she was wrong…Well, she just had to be right.
Finally, taking a lesson from King, she used the footage to create several teaser videos, all with countdowns to the flash mob.
The other dwarves were a huge help. Clive secreted the footage in several secure sites and set them to run automatically. She didn’t tell him she wanted it that way so she couldn’t chicken out at the last moment. Jesse was risking his life to help her; following through on her own promise was the least she could do for him.
Misscreant covered Clive’s tracks so no one would be able to trace the video streams once they went live. Topaz would be monitoring the feeds so that if anyone blocked one, he could switch to another—a trick he’d learned from Syrian freedom fighters. The others were helping by reaching out to the white-hat cybercommunity as well as hitting all the local Facebook pages and message boards, recruiting members for the flash mob.
Miranda’s fingers flew over the keyboard, one window after another opening and closing, typing furiously as she carried on five conversations at once. Over a hundred responses to the flash mob invite already. And the sun wasn’t even up yet. More replies would follow after people woke up.