The Death Club

by Rick Wood

  “What is this got to do with Harper?” Dad asks.

  “Well, Harper. Why don’t you tell us? Have you been approached by anyone on the message board recently?”

  He looks at me.

  Dad looks at me.

  Their stares are like daggers being fired at my skin.

  Felix knows. Of course he knows. He’s asking me questions he already has the answers to, and it annoys me that he’s trying to play me — that he’s trying to get me to tell him exactly what he wants to hear.

  So I say nothing.

  Dad looks from Felix to me.

  Eventually, Felix breaks the silence.

  “We know you’ve been speaking to a boy, Harper. We know he messaged you via the message boards, and we know that you’ve been texting on your phone.”

  Dad stares at me like I’ve done something awful, and I hate him even more in this moment. I have done nothing wrong. I met a boy, he likes me, and Dad can go to hell.

  “So?” I say.

  “This boy may not be who he says he is.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “We don’t know that yet—”

  “Exactly.”

  Felix pauses, giving himself a moment to think about what to say.

  “I know this isn’t easy to hear,” he says. “But we believe he may be the one who manipulated Linda into—”

  “You believe?”

  “Yes, we believe.”

  “So you don’t know.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Then why are you saying these things?”

  “Harper, I…” Dad interjects. “How could you be so foolish? To give your number to a boy you met online… You have no idea who he is.”

  “He sent me a picture.”

  “And how do you know that is a picture of him?”

  My arms are shaking I’m so angry.

  No, I’m beyond angry. I’m enraged.

  Who the hell does he think he is?

  He’s never been a father before. Never bothered. What, now the police officer is here he’s going to pretend to care?

  It’s all a show. Trying to look good. Trying to look like he’s a parent, but he’s not.

  And I don’t believe a word of it.

  “I know this is tough to hear,” Felix says.

  “You don’t know anything. He’s nice to me.”

  “Harper, come on,” Dad says, with increasing condescension. “Of course he’s nice to you. That’s how these predators get you. He’ll be nice and get you to trust him.”

  “You should listen to your father,” Felix says, and I direct my scowl at him.

  “My father?” I say. “He’s only pretending to care because you’re here. Normally he doesn’t give a shit.”

  “Harper!” Dad says. “Of course I care. You’re my whole world.”

  I scoff.

  “You barely talk to me. You never try.”

  “You make it pretty hard.”

  “So you give up. Like you always do. You’re pathetic.”

  Felix shifts uncomfortably.

  Dad says nothing.

  “Perhaps you and your father should have a conversation after I’ve left,” he says. “But I really should explain to you what I want you to do. What the plan is.”

  “What the plan is?” Dad says. “Surely you want her to cut off all contact with this person?”

  “Imagine she does, Mr Coady. What then? He’ll just turn his attention to another woman, and we’ll end up with another suicide we could have prevented.”

  “So what do you suggest?”

  Felix turns his attention to me. “Harper, I know this is tough, but we need to catch this guy. I would like you to keep messaging him.”

  “What?” Dad says. “Are you crazy?”

  “It’s okay. We will add some software onto your phone and be tracking every word of the conversation. Our hope is that we can find out who he is, or try and track him via your messages.”

  “So you want to use her?”

  “We will be doing the messaging. All we need from Harper is for her to make sure the messages sound like they are coming from her. If he suspects that we aren’t Harper, if there is even some irregularity in her word choices, then we may lose him.”

  “Can’t you just trace the IP address? Check the cellular tower the mobile phone uses or something?”

  “It’s not quite that easy. He’s used a different IP address every time he’s spoken to her, routed to various phones at different locations — he’s done everything he can to prevent us seeing anything more than the messages he’s sending to Harper.”

  I hate how they are talking about me like I’m not here. Like the decision’s been made. Like I have nothing to do with this.

  “Danny is a nice guy,” I say, and even though I say it quietly, they seem to listen. “He’s been nice to me when no one else has.”

  “I know he may seem like that, but he’s just trying to make you think—”

  “I won’t do it.”

  Felix sighs. “You don’t have a choice, Harper. If you don’t agree, we already have a warrant to take your phone. We’ll have to do it without you, but I’d much rather do it with your help and cooperation.”

  So I don’t have a choice.

  They are going to use me to setup the only person who’s ever made me feel special.

  “Please go get your phone,” Dad says.

  “No.”

  “You heard the officer. They can to take it anyway whether you give it up or not.”

  “It’s not fair.”

  “I know.”

  He smiles comfortingly and places a hand on my leg.

  “Get your fucking hand off me!” I scream as I stand, marching to the stairs.

  “Harper—”

  “I will get you my phone! Then you can leave me the fuck alone!”

  I march upstairs to my room and slam the door.

  A few minutes later I come out with my phone and hand it over. The officer connects it to his laptop, does what he needs to do, and hands the phone back to me.

  “You don’t have to do anything,” he says. “We will come back every day after school, and sit with you to go through the messages we’d like to send. In the meantime, if he messages you, act like you normally would, just don’t give away any personal details. We’ll be able to see all the messages you exchange. We just want you to be safe, Harper.”

  “Fine,” I say, and go to my room, making sure they can hear the slam of my door.

  I accept it, because they don’t know.

  They don’t know that, in those few seconds it took for me to get my phone, I was looking up Danny’s phone number.

  I was writing it down.

  I will not betray Danny.

  I will not hurt someone I love.

  28

  Will

  I often wonder how my life ended up like this.

  I was a young adult with dreams of being a father and having a house full of love.

  Now I have a child determinedly obsessed with an unknown stranger trying to groom her.

  And what can I do about it?

  Nothing.

  “I’m sorry to put your family in this position,” Felix says as he stands. He finishes his cup of tea and takes it into the kitchen, leaving it by the sink, and I follow him.

  “It’s okay. She’s… going through a hard time. Me and her mother are splitting up.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Yeah. She already hates me enough right now, you know?”

  Felix smiles. It’s oddly comforting. Makes me feel like I’m not alone, which I know is stupid.

  “You got kids?” I ask him.

  “A daughter,” he says.

  “So I’m not the only one, then?”

  He laughs. “If she spent as much time obsessing over her schoolwork as she did with boys, she’d be a genius. They just get to a certain age and have one thing on their mind, don’t they? All she ever wants to do i
s go out with her friends and flirt.”

  I nod, if only to make it seem like I can relate.

  I can’t.

  I’ve never known Harper to go out with boys. Not even once.

  The first time I’ve known her to show interest in a boy is now, with a stranger on the internet, which isn’t any more comforting.

  I wish Harper could be a little more like Felix’s daughter. Then I feel bad, knowing that I should love the daughter I’m given.

  Which I do.

  I just wish I could have done a better job, I guess.

  I wonder how different things would be if I had.

  “Well, I best be going,” he says. “I imagine you have some books to mark.”

  That’s odd. I hadn’t told him I am a teacher.

  Seeing the look on his face, he adds, “It’s okay; I looked you up before I came. I’m a police officer, remember?”

  Oddly reassured, I nod, and follow him to the door.

  “I will be back tomorrow. Would four in the afternoon be too early?”

  “No, that’s fine, I can make sure I’m back by then.”

  “And hey — don’t worry. Parenting isn’t easy. You’re doing a good job.”

  I force a smile. I appreciate his lie.

  He opens the door. It’s raining heavily.

  “Thank you,” he says, and shakes my hand. “Be seeing you.”

  He runs across the drive and gets into his car.

  I close the door, shutting out the weather, and return to my warm, heated house.

  I try calling Natalie. She should know what is going on, it’s important. But the phone rings out to voicemail. I try again, and go to leave a message, then don’t.

  What would I even say?

  If she cared, she’d call. She’d speak to her daughter.

  I look up the stairs. Consider knocking on Harper’s door. Talking to her. Comforting her in some way.

  But what would I say?

  I really don’t know how to talk to her, which is awful. She’s my daughter, yet I don’t know her at all. I didn’t even know that she was talking to a boy.

  Am I a bad dad?

  I scoff. Of course I am, don’t be stupid. I’m useless. And Harper knows it, and that’s what hurts the most.

  I need to stop thinking.

  It’s best I leave Harper alone. Let her have her teenage angst. There’s nothing I can do to help right now.

  So I pour myself a glass of wine and sit in front of the television until I fall asleep.

  29

  Harper

  I wake up and behave just as I normally would.

  I put on my school uniform, eat a bowl of Coco Pops, and ignore Dad’s attempts to make idle conversation.

  He offers me a lift and I turn it down.

  There is nothing unusual about today.

  Then, as Dad turns to go, he stops, and turns to me. He watches me for a few seconds, and I can imagine him rephrasing the same sentence in his head over and over until he comes up with the sentence that makes him sound the least pathetic.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “For being such a rubbish father.”

  I wasn’t expecting this.

  “I shouldn’t have gotten angry at you yesterday in front of the police officer. I know Mum leaving must be really hard on you. I know I should pay more attention, I just don’t know how, and I…”

  He trails off. Evidently this was not how he planned to say what he wanted to say.

  “I’m trying, all right?”

  Then, just as I’m starting to buy into his melancholy, he says, “And I’m sorry you felt you had to speak to some boy on the internet because you couldn’t speak to me.”

  Some boy?

  Danny is not just some boy.

  I wish everyone would see that.

  “Goodbye, Dad,” I say, and he finally leaves, and I head to school.

  Then I walk straight past it.

  And I get on the bus. Number 41 into town.

  I take the coat out of my bag and put it on. It’s a big coat; big enough to cover up my school uniform. I don’t want anyone questioning why I’m not in school. The last thing I need is for the police to intercept me.

  I put my headphones in and listen to something loud. The same shops and fields pass through the window as they always do on this route, and it occurs to me just how boring it must be to be a bus driver, always driving the same route. Then again, maybe they like the routine — there is comfort in the monotony of structure.

  The bus at this time of the day is different than on the weekend. It’s full of old women who take ages to hobble on, and either sit at the front, or recognise another old woman further back and talk to them. During the gap between two songs, I hear them talking, and I hear them listing names. I pause my music to listen, and it turns out they are going through all the people who have died since they last saw each other. I resume my music.

  Twenty minutes later, the bus comes to a stop in town and I follow everyone off.

  I keep my head down as I cross the high street. Everyone looks taller than me, and they either look at their phones or at their feet or at their lunch; nobody looks up. Ever.

  I arrive at the EE store and someone is available to see me straight away. Ten minutes later, I walk out with a new pay-as-you-go phone. I’m going to have to figure out how to pay for it, but it’s fine, it’ll do for now.

  I sit outside Costa amongst a load of men in suits, either on their phone or eating. The piece of paper with Danny’s phone number is in my pocket. I take it out and enter it into this phone; it will be the only number it stores.

  Danny, it’s Harper.

  I’m texting from another phone because the police are monitoring my other phone.

  They say you’re a bad person and they’re after you.

  What’s going on?

  I don’t get a reply straight away, but he might be busy. If he’s at school, he’ll be in lessons, and the last thing he’ll want is to have his phone confiscated, so I wait.

  Ten, fifteen minutes pass, and soon it’s an hour, and I’ve still heard nothing.

  Have I scared him?

  Does he believe it’s me?

  Should I not have said anything?

  I find my way back to the bus and it drops me off at school in time for third period. I stare at my phone for the entire journey.

  Beneath my message is the word delivered, but nothing else.

  Third period is English. My teacher makes a comment about how I was marked absent this morning, and I tell them I was at the dentist. They say they’ll make a note of it on the register, and that is how easy it is to get away with truanting — no wonder all those other girls do it.

  After English, I make my way to Textiles, taking my phone out.

  I have a text message and my heart beats faster, then I see it’s not from Danny. It’s from EE, thanking me for my business and letting me know what the costs of using my phone is.

  I feel like crying.

  I really hope I’ve not lost him. If I have, I’ll never forgive Dad or that stupid policeman.

  After Textiles is lunch, and still no reply. I sit at my table, alone as I always am, and eat whilst staring at the screen. I have it open on the message I sent, waiting for something to come up. Every time the screen begins to dim, I tap it to light it up again.

  It reaches five minutes before the end of lunch and I pack my lunch box away. I feel like dying.

  Then I see it.

  Three dots that tell me he’s replying.

  The three dots remain for ages, and the bell goes, and people start to move, but I don’t. I stay seated, waiting for the message.

  And then it arrives.

  FFS.

  So sorry about that, Harper — you must be well freaked out.

  I bought this phone second hand and didn’t bother getting a new SIM card.

  I keep getting all these dodgy messages from people.

  I’m pretty sure the last person who owned
it was a paedo or something.

  Now they think I’m what?

  Some kind of crazy guy?

  I don’t know.

  They just said I have to write what they tell me.

  So if you get messages from my old phone, it’s the police.

  But this phone is just for us.

  Only you have the number.

  You’re amazing, you know that?

  I’m not amazing.

  You are.

  As soon as I saw your message I was worried I was going to have to convince you, but you just know.

  That’s because I know you, Danny.

  You do.

  Like no one else.

  And I promise I’ll never hurt you.

  I know.

  I would never hurt someone I love.

  This message takes me by surprise.

  A dinner lady tells me to get to my lesson, and I nod, and begin lifting my bag.

  You love me?

  With all my heart.

  I love you too.

  Then I am the happiest man alive.

  And it doesn’t matter what the policeman tells me to write later, or what the teacher does last period, or what Dad says — nothing will wipe this smile off my face.

  I am in love.

  Not the kind of love Mum and Dad had — this is real love.

  And they would never understand.

  30

  Will

  She comes to see me again after school.

  Again.

  She’s made me paranoid. Jumpy. I keep expecting another police officer to walk through my door, or for a parent to come charging into school, or for her to show up at my house.