The Forum

by Marie Reyes

  One day, out of the blue, maybe, she could just decide to be happy and leave all the negativity behind, like it was just a simple choice. She could choose to be happy. She snorted at the comical thought. Any hint of positivity sounded like fanciful, brazen lies told by weak people to get them through the day, or a fairytale for children, but something a realistic adult should be able to see straight through.

  She always expected the worst and was rarely wrong. The thought would cross her mind every now and then, that this may be a self-fulfilling prophecy, but the thought quickly disappeared when life threw its next hurdle at her. Alcohol and prescription painkillers were the only thing that quietened her mind, but it was just compensating one type of misery for another. It was just that the misery was furloughed, put on layaway, something to worry about later.

  She uploaded the tattoo artist’s response to the forum. The others could tell her if she was on to something, or if she was just clutching at straws. Hopefully, someone else would be online. She needed a real human being to talk to. Someone who didn't know her, couldn't judge her.

  Quicky_Mart: Good work Pipes. I can see this guy is based in Milwaukee, so I think there's a good chance it is him. It is worth sending to the cops, I think. They could probably get access to his sales records, maybe find out who the customer was.

  Pipes1983: So, what do you do when you're not solving murders online?

  Quicky_Mart: Like I said before, I like to run. I enjoy hiking, food, hockey. You?

  Shit. It didn't cross her mind that she would have to answer the same question she had asked. Her mind went blank, and she started typing, embellishing the truth a little, then deleting what she wrote. The blinking cursor taunted her. She didn't want her lies out there in permanent black and white.

  Pipes1983: Fancy using the chatroom instead, would probably be easier?

  She waited for a response. After a minute, nothing had come back. That familiar sting of rejection. To be rejected, when this person didn't even know her, hadn't even had the pleasure of seeing her rotten black core yet. It hurt, yet she wasn't sure why. She didn't know this person.

  There would be plenty of other lonely, desperate people looking for company online. When in a certain mood, there were chat rooms she would visit. Somewhere to go for an ego-boost. Rooms full of men after one thing, and she was more than happy to give it to them.

  These days, people used video chats and all manner of new apps, but she was old-school, as were plenty of her companions, which suited her just fine. They couldn't see her, and she couldn't see them. They would say nice things, and she would pretend to believe them, even though there was no way these strangers would know if this vision they had of her in their heads was even true. She didn't care who they were, only their words.

  Quicky_Mart: Sorry, had to let the dog out. You still want to chat?

  As she started to respond, her phone vibrated against the table, snatching her attention away from the screen. Her ex-husband's name popped up on a little bubble on the phone screen and she clicked the message.

  Trent: Hey Pipes. Listen. I thought I would message you before you heard from anyone else. Me and Lucille have broken up. I was thinking, maybe you should spend some time with the kids soon. It's been a while.

  She often daydreamed about Trent and Lucille breaking up. Not because she wanted him back, but because she was miserable, and she couldn't stand the thought of them being happy, not after they carried on together while she and Trent were still married.

  It was an anger that grew inside her like a foreign object being rejected from her body, and she couldn't keep it inside. It would come bursting out inappropriately in tantrums, breaking household objects, until the only way she could excise it, was through a night with a bottle of rum, vodka, Scotch, or whatever was available.

  She'd always enjoyed a good drink with friends, but this wasn't some social lubricant in public, this was hidden, like a binge eater taking their stash of fast-food packages back into some dark corner. That desperate chemical need. The brain screaming out, not stopping until she succumbed. That feeling started surfacing as thoughts raced through her head.

  Why was he telling her this? He rarely offered to let her have the kids outside of their agreed custody arrangement. Maybe he was struggling without Lucille around to help him and wanted to act as if he was doing Piper a favor.

  She knew she should feel grateful for the opportunity to spend more time with her children, but the main thing she felt was terror. The responsibility all-consuming and anxiety producing. She wanted what was best for them, and she was not it.

  Piper: Okay. Let me know if and when you want to bring them over.

  Trent: Well, I was thinking, we could do something together. Something as a family.

  She hadn't even realized she was clenching her jaw until her teeth ground together. Now. Now he wants to be a family! Lucille probably came to her senses and dumped him. Her hand was clasped in a tight grip, nails digging into her palm, reminding her to take a breath and release the tension from her body before she turned her attention back to her computer screen.

  Quicky_Mart: Pipes?

  Quicky_Mart: I assume you've gone. Chat soon?

  Pipes1983: Sorry. Got distracted. You still there?

  She waited five minutes, but there was no response, so she sat in front of her computer screen, staring blankly. Thoughts raced through her head. Trent's voice swirled around in her skull in a whirlwind of negative thoughts. She imagined his reaction to what she was doing in her spare time. What are you doing? You seriously think you're going to help? Someone as useless as you? You couldn't even be a mom to your kids. Something that should come as naturally as breathing.

  She dreaded seeing Trent again. She could feel his searing stare burning across her skin like a laser, or an X-ray, looking straight through her. He was the only person who could make her feel so exposed.

  A pinging notification on her phone brought her back to the safety of her apartment. No one was here to shame her except her own thoughts. What good was it doing her dwelling? The amount of time she spent chastising herself for gaining a pound or two, or living in 'squalor,' she could have actually used that energy to give the place a little clean, or to go on a little jog around the block.

  She could show him. Put herself together again. Maybe make him miss her a little, even make him think he had a chance, but then, she could tell him to go fuck himself. He wouldn't have her, or Lucille. He would probably find someone else in the blink of an eye though. Someone younger, and hotter, and then he would rub it in her face. Make her feel inadequate all over again.

  Chapter Nine

  LONDON

  It was chaos already. London seemed to get busier year after year. Hordes of Christmas shoppers and tourists rammed the streets. Aadesh swerved to avoid a large group and looked around to see where Nadia had disappeared. He caught a glimpse of her being carried down the road with the crowd, as if it were whisking her away like the torrent of a swollen river. He picked up his pace and almost ran past her.

  "Addy. I want to go in here. Need a nice dress for my work party."

  His heart sunk a little. There was nothing he enjoyed less than sitting around while Nadia tried on clothes. She took forever, sometimes trying on the same outfit more than once. And of course, every single thing she tried on made her look 'fat,' despite the fact that he had put turkeys in the oven that were bigger than her. He wondered what she thought when she looked at him. His doughy body that had been honed from years of watching television and sitting on the sofa. She called him ‘cuddly’ as half compliment, half insult.

  He didn't speak but followed her through the doors. The transition from the gray drizzle outside, to the bright florescent lighting inside, was migraine inducing. He followed her from one rack to another. Every now and then, she would ask him for his input, but he wasn't sure why. He knew nothing about fashion. All he wore was jeans, hoodies, and band T-shirts, day in, day out. Being a woman looked exha
usting.

  Once Nadia had half the shop slung over her arm, she made her way to the changing rooms. Aadesh sat on a chair the shape of a cube outside and waited, wondering what people did before they had mobile phones to distract themselves. He toyed with playing Medieval Village, online poker, or checking the forum. Before he could even get there, he noticed he had a response on the urbex group.

  Jon_doe1981: Hello. I recognize that place. Went there once. Not much to see, just an old factory. There are much better urbexing spots. If you're looking for somewhere cool in the area, I would check out the old school. They closed the place because it had a serious asbestos problem. Left loads of cool creepy shit in there. Makes a great photo. But if you want to go to the other place, I've PM'd you the address.

  Aadesh clicked on the private message and typed the address into his search engine. It was impossible to tell if this was the outside of the place in the video, but he found a search result from another urban explorer showing the inside. Hell yeah. This was the place. The guy had taken a selfie of himself pretty much in the exact same spot where the video was shot. Fuck.

  He sent a link to the forum and tried to find an email address for the police department that covered the area. He almost couldn't believe he'd actually pinned down the location and couldn't help but smile.

  She'd been five minutes. He probably had another fifteen minutes or so to research. Having seen the messages from K-Meister, he wasn't convinced that the killer knew his victims, at least not intimately. Where did he find them? How did he target them? There was nothing else on the internet to suggest a body had been found. For all he knew, she could still be there, or somewhere else.

  Part of him wished he could go to the location to find out for himself. Steve would surely come along for the ride. He lived for this shit. No, it was a stupid idea. To fly halfway across the world for something that probably wasn't even true. Now he had a location, it was time to try to find the victim, but where to start?

  Shortstacks: Thanks Jon. I'm not actually looking to go there, or anywhere to be honest. The screenshot was from a video posted online. A video of someone being murdered. I had a look at the place you suggested. It's definitely the same location.

  Jon_doe1981: No way?

  Shortstacks: Seriously.

  Jon_doe1981: Do you want me to check it out for you?

  Shortstacks: You'd do that?

  Jon_doe1981: For sure. This is unreal.

  Shortstacks: I'd be careful if I were you.

  ~~~

  "Keep the camera up will you Damon? This could be huge." The sight of the dilapidated building got his pulse racing. He considered himself an adrenaline junkie, but this had taken his hobby to the next level. He'd watched the video, witnessed the horrors that had taken place here, and was terrified at what he might find. His stomach churned. If he remembered right, it was easy to get in around the back where large sections of the wall had crumbled away. The place looked like someone had started demolishing it but gave up halfway through, leaving the building in some sort of limbo, turning it into a place only the foolish would go.

  He braced himself for anything. Usually, homeless people and meth addicts were his concern, but today was different. Despite being freaked out, he was also excited. Excited at the prospect of finding a body. What kind of fucked up person gets excited about that? Him. He tried to dismiss the guilt by convincing himself that he was doing this for the greater good, but he knew full well, he thrived on drama. He wanted his life to be like a film. To push out the dull and mundane with anything he could find to distract himself.

  If there was a body there, surely it would have been found already, by a squatter, or another urbexer. Maybe he was using this logic to comfort himself. He liked the excitement of it all, but the reality would likely be different. If he did find something, would it scar him? Haunt his dreams?

  He turned the corner and Damon stuck close with his camera, filming everything for their online channel. If they did find something, it could propel him into viral stardom. He stepped over a couple of discarded needles and they came to a dilapidated section of wall. He couldn't see anything particularly concerning as he scanned the area. Just trash, rubble, beer bottles, and more used needles. He was careful where to tread. Having a needle puncture his foot through his canvas shoes was the last thing he wanted.

  "So, we're here. The location of the horrific video. Maybe the first people here since it happened." He spoke into the camera, putting on a brave veneer.

  Broken glass and stones crunched underfoot as the sound of water running down from a hole in the roof murmured in the background. The wall with the graffiti was located at the other end, and he walked slowly in that direction. The place smelled dank and faintly of piss. Moss flourished in the damp environment, covering parts of the floor in patches of green, making it look almost beautiful where nature had reclaimed the gray concrete and weeds poked through the cracks in the ground.

  Their footsteps echoed, bouncing off the concrete walls. It was probably his imagination, but he had that feeling, like he was being watched. "We're nearing the exact spot where it happened. You can feel it in the air. It feels thick." When he found a gap in the partition wall, he saw it. "Shit."

  He stood there, petrified. The whole sorry scene was far enough away that he could turn back at any moment. He didn't have to get closer, but he did anyway. He didn't even want to, but he felt like he had to, for the views. It only took two more steps to disturb the flies that hung around the body, feeding off the decay. It only took three steps for the smell of death to hit. When he held his nose, it didn't help. He inhaled the putrid particles into his lungs instead. He coughed, retching, but not quite vomiting. Damon ran in the opposite direction, with the camera.

  Even though no one was filming, he still didn't turn back. The flies moved with a synchronization that reminded him of the flocks of starlings that flew above his house in the evenings, making shapes and patterns in the sky. A murmuration, except, in this instance, it wasn't beautiful. He couldn't take his eyes off it, but it wasn't beautiful.

  Chapter Ten

  LONDON

  "Shit," Aadesh muttered to himself. Jon sent him a link. He saw the YouTube video first, then the news article. This couldn't be real, surely. He felt like a protagonist in a film, and he could almost hear the soundtrack playing in the background. It was the same feeling he would get when he was on stage. A rush. A surge of adrenaline. They had even already identified the victim. He pulled up the photograph of her from the article. It was weird seeing her smiling and happy. Bryony Finch. She had a look of hopeful innocence. It was even more real now. Now he knew who both victims were, it might be possible to find a link between them.

  Dammit, her profile was set to private. He typed her name into a search engine instead. Most of the top search results were about the murder, unsurprisingly. It wasn't until the second page that something caught his eye. www.flirtmatchmeet.com/115531/profilebryonyfinch

  On her dating profile, was a large photograph of her with a fishbowl full of bright blue liquid, fruit, and straws, her beaming smile, brimming with life. He read her bio. Apparently, Bryony Finch enjoyed hiking, movies, and animals. It was impossible to glean much from a short description and one photo. All the profiles seemed to blend into one. Michelle Baker, event planner, looking for Mr Right. Likes partying, vacations, and computer games. Who doesn't?

  Aadesh wondered if the murderer found Bryony on this website. After 30 seconds of contemplation, he downloaded the app onto his phone. It couldn't hurt, right? He briefly thought he was losing his mind as he tried to find a picture to set up a profile. If he was going to lure the killer in, he needed the right photograph. This wasn't right, he knew it wasn't, but couldn't stop himself. At first, he looked at stock photos. Too obvious. He didn't want to pick someone who might stumble upon it and realize he had appropriated their photograph. In the end, he settled for a woman he found on Instagram. He chose someone similar to Bryony Finch. Same
build and hair color. Not too similar, because he felt that it would arouse suspicion somehow.

  This really was a long shot. It's not as if the killer was stalking women. His first victim was a man. Still, it couldn't hurt. No one had to know. No one but him. He stared at the blinking cursor, trying to think of a bio. What traits would appeal to a person that liked to tie people to chairs and cut them up?

  Shortstacks: Hey guys. Anyone about?

  Quicky_Mart: What's up?

  Shortstacks: I found Bryony Finch on a dating site. You don't suppose that's where he found her? I have a gut feeling that the killer didn't really know his victims, or, I mean, they didn't recognize their killer. The way they looked. Their eyes. There was no recognition there. So, if that's the case, where did he find them?

  Quicky_Mart: Was the first victim on the site?

  Shortstacks: No. But he may have found him from somewhere else?

  Quicky_Mart: Not online though. He really didn't have much of an internet presence.

  Pipes1983: So, you're trawling dating sites to find a killer? That's... interesting.

  Shortstacks: I know, stupid idea. Already had two dick pics. LMOA.

  Pipes1983: Whose picture did you use?

  Shortstacks: I used some rando's picture. Want to tweak the bio though. Could use some help.

  Pipes1983: You just used some stranger's picture? Didn't fancy your chances huh?... jokes.

  Shortstacks: I'm sure I'd make a very hot woman, but I prefer to stay as I am. I'm a bit of a babe magnet, actually. Woman flock from miles around to get a piece of this action.