The Forum

by Marie Reyes

  He had spent some time trying to work out the meaning behind the username. It was a common phrase. The killer had written, 'you deserved it,' on the wall in blood at one of the crime scenes. He absolutely had a vendetta. Maybe he thought of himself as some sort of vigilante, but what did he think these people had done?

  Martin couldn't find out much about the victims, and certainly not any reason that they would deserve such a gruesome end. It was a throwaway account, and he couldn't find any other activity for that user.

  "Martin. You okay?"

  "Sorry. I just got an important message."

  "Everything alright?"

  "Probably. Don't worry about it. Sorry, I'll take the trash out now."

  ~~~

  He was only two blocks away now and more than ready for a good night's sleep. His eyelids felt heavy, and he needed the smallest amount of energy he had left, to keep his eyes on the road as his vision got hazy. Since he had started volunteering, his sleep had improved tenfold. Maybe it was the physical activity, and getting out the house, or maybe it was the peace of mind from doing some good in the world, if only a small amount. As he pulled up to the turning for his road,

  light smoke drifted in the air like a fine mist weaving around tree branches, and there was the distinct smell of burning. The smell took him back to watching fireworks with his parents at English Bay as college kids lit a fire on the beach. The memory made him smile and for the first time since his father died, the memory made him feel glad, rather than sad. He would always have those memories.

  When he turned, he saw it. Yellow and orange flickering through the smoke. The smoke grew thicker so fast he could barely see ahead of him. Instead of a white fog, it was a thick, black blanket. His house. It was his house.

  He pulled over to the side of the road with a screech and went to jump out of the car, forgetting his seatbelt was still fastened. "Shit," he said while trying to release the buckle with his clumsy fingers. As he slammed the door and ran towards what was left of his home, he could see the flashing light of emergency service vehicles. There was a police car and a fire engine. His lungs burned as he ran, and the police stood to attention when they saw him coming.

  "What. How. This can't be..."

  "Is this your house sir?"

  "Yes. Oh my god." Martin wanted to sob, but nothing came out. He was beyond that. He felt like he was going to explode. Feelings of rage, fear, and sadness fought for space in his brain, which spun between them like a roulette wheel that wouldn't slow or stop.

  The police officer said something to him, but he couldn't take in a single word as his mind raced. How did this happen? He hadn't cooked in the house for two days. He hadn't used any appliances apart from his laptop. There was no reason for this, just the cruel world kicking him one more time while he was down. Someone else approached him and he could barely make them out. Everything was just a blur now, fuzzy around the edges.

  "You want to come to the ambulance?"

  "I...I...wasn't in...the fire...I."

  "You might be in shock. Let me look you over, get you a blanket. It's freezing." Her voice was reassuring, but nothing would help him through this. His entire world was over. There was nothing left to lose.

  He sat in the back of the ambulance, and even though he was wearing a coat, they draped a space blanket over him. It didn't help, it just made an irritating crunching sound whenever he moved. From the ambulance, he could still hear the crackling of fire consuming his one and only home. He could hear it, but there was no way he could bear to look anymore, as his memories disintegrated before his eyes, crumbling to ruin.

  It took a while before he could bring himself to stop staring into space and answer some of the police officer's questions. He answered them without thinking, just operating on autopilot.

  Once they let him be, he wondered what to do. The fatigue had been replaced with adrenaline, but now that had been all used up, he was crashing. He needed to be somewhere safe, somewhere comforting. A hotel was really his only option. At that moment it dawned on him that he had no belongings, just the clothes on his back, his cell phone, and his wallet.

  However unhappy he had been over the last few weeks, he had discovered a whole new level of despair. Now he realized, although he thought he had hit rock bottom, it had only been a false bottom, making way for an even deeper, darker one. Now he could vaguely function, he picked up his cell phone, dialed, and waited for it to ring.

  "Hi. Lisa. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. I really need help." Asking for help was something he wasn’t used to, but he was desperate.

  Chapter

  Twenty Two

  CHICAGO

  "The kitchen is filthy," Trent said, wiping his finger across the sticky work surface. "I'm working twelve-hour days at the moment; the least you could do is clean up a little. I mean, what do you do all day?" He raised his voice. Piper's chest tightened. Even the slightest bit of anger made her want to run for the hills. Angry people were cruel and unpredictable. No doubt the kids could hear him all the way upstairs from their rooms.

  It's not that she wasn't glad to have spent more time with them, but it was tiring. Yesterday, she had already forced herself to do two loads of laundry, cook two meals, pick up after them, and force them to have a bath. That was more than she was used to as she forced herself through the incessant fatigue.

  "I was busy," she said.

  "And I wasn't?"

  "I wasn't saying that. It's just... I'm tired."

  "Don't you think I'm tired. I've been up since 5.30, and I probably won't get back until 8pm. Anyway, I'm going. Some of us have jobs."

  "It's not a competition," she called after him as he stormed out of the kitchen, but she was glad he had left. Arguing was the most exhausting thing of all. A pile of dirty dishes and pans taunted her from the sink as she turned on the faucet and sighed. Ever since he started working weekends, he was moodier than ever.

  The doorbell rang. Crap. It must have been Judy coming to pick up the kids for their play date early. They weren't even dressed. That was all she needed. Judy looked at her like a piece of garbage already. It was obvious she was annoyed at having to deal with Piper as she was used to Trent arranging everything. Not to mention, she probably had a crush on him.

  Piper couldn't ignore their intense conversations and the laughter; the laughter was the worst. Trent wasn't even that funny, yet she laughed at every word that came out of his mouth. She dried her hands on a towel and ran to the door.

  "Judy. Sorry. I wasn't expecting you yet. I just need to check if the children are ready. I'll just be a minute. Take a seat."

  Piper's footsteps as she raced up the stairs, were reminiscent of an elephant stampede. She burst into Clara's room to find her completely dressed and her hair tied back in a neat ponytail. She was deep in concentration, drawing something on her pad. "Time to go Clara. You know what. You are so good. We are so having ice-cream tonight."

  Piper walked across the landing to Stephen's room to find him partially dressed, and the contents of his room scattered on the floor. "Come on. Judy's here. Can you put some socks on?" She waited by the door.

  ~~~

  Now the house was empty and silent, she felt like she could catch a breath. Quiet used to signal loneliness, but now, she craved it as much as she craved alcohol and Oxy. The washing still sat in the sink, and on the countertops, but she had all day for that.

  She put the television on and perused the internet. Her defenses went up when she saw a flurry of activity in the group. A lot of exclamation marks and capital letters. The more she read, the worse it got. Danger, they could be in actual real-world danger. It wasn't just a game anymore.

  Quicky_Mart: Anyone about. I really need someone to talk to.

  Pipes1983: What's up. Can't believe Aadesh got a threat. Scary stuff.

  Quicky_Mart: It gets worse.

  The simple sentence made her hairs stand on end. Worse?

  Pipes1983: What?

  Qu
icky_Mart: My house. It's gone. Burnt down.

  Pipes1983: Oh no. That's horrible.

  Quicky_Mart: That's why I haven't been online for a while. I couldn't function. I was so low, still am. Just need someone to talk to.

  Pipes1983: I'm here. If there's anything I can do.

  Quicky_Mart: The thing is, the fire investigation people. They said it was a cigarette that wasn't put out.

  Her stomach lurched. All the memories flooded back in an instant. The sound of her children calling out for her through the smoke. The absolute terror. The guilt. She couldn't relive it, but she had been through it. She had to be there for him.

  Pipes1983: Things like this happen. I know it's hard but please don't beat yourself up. You need to be kind to yourself right now. It's a terrible loss.

  She typed the words, and she believed them, for Martin, not for herself. She had people she should have been protecting. She was the one that almost killed the people most precious to her.

  Quicky_Mart: I'm not beating myself up.

  It took her a moment to process the words. How could he deal with what happened, yet years later, she still gave herself hell everyday? What purpose was it serving her? How could she be better if she couldn't let it go?

  Pipes1983: That's good then.

  Quicky_Mart: It wasn't me. I don't smoke. Never have. All I can think is that someone broke in or something. Some kids, or a drug addict looking for somewhere to crash.

  The hits just kept coming. She couldn't work out his tone from the message, but she wondered if he despised people like her. Addicts. She never considered herself a drug addict before. It was prescribed, at first. Drug addicts were people hanging out on street corners or under bridges injecting themselves with heroin or taking crystal meth. She was not that. That's what she told herself anyway, and it made her feel better for a while, that was until she considered actually obtaining heroin.

  They had stopped her medication and left her with nothing. She just hit the drink even harder to fill the gap that it left behind. It was the only thing that came close to relieving some of the anxiety and tension.

  Quicky_Mart: You still there?

  Pipes1983: I'm here.

  Quicky_Mart: The only other thing I can think, and I know this is pretty out-there, but what if it was the killer sending me a message like he did Aadesh?

  No. It couldn't be. If it was, then why did he pick that particular method? He'd clearly done his research on Aadesh to know where he was going to be. He could have all sorts of information on all of them. If that was the case, then this was all her fault. He could have found out about the fire, got access to the news articles, the police report even. He knew what she had done, and he had used that to send a message to Martin.

  If it wasn't for what she had done, maybe he would have just called in a false bomb threat or something as innocuous. Maybe, he wouldn't have destroyed the life of this man. He used her for inspiration. Her breakfast threatened to come back up. She couldn't do this anymore.

  Pipes1983: We need to stop this. I'm never messaging the forum, or this group ever again. No posts, no private chats, nothing. I'm sorry, but I just can't. Please be careful. Goodbye.

  She got rid of the website and sat shaking for a minute until her phone buzzed. Someone had got back to her about the clock from the video. She had messaged the suspected seller advising them of the situation.

  Dear Piper

  Yes, this is one of mine. I remember it well.

  Apologies, but I'm not allowed to give out customer details for security reasons. If it is very serious, then the police will be able to request this.

  Kind regards

  Of course. Just when she had vowed to drop the whole thing, an actual solid clue dropped into her lap. She would worry about that later. She needed to get a hold of herself and calm down a little.

  Another beep. Another message, although this one was not from Martin.

  Not.all.heroes.wear.capes: I'm glad you're all coming to your senses. I'm not playing. This is serious. www.pearsonselementaryschool.org

  She didn't need to click on the link to know what was going on. It was their school. He was threatening her kids. "This can't be happening." She rocked back and forward, her hands clasped together. Please, please, please don't let anything happen to them. This was the last straw. Her recklessness had well and truly destroyed her family. She had to tell the police, and Trent. He was going to be furious. She hated the way he would visibly shake when he was angry, like he was literally going to explode.

  He had finally forgiven her for the fire, but there was no way he was going to give her a second chance after this. She was finished. There was only one thing to do. She was a target now, and she couldn't let her toxic influence poison the people she loved any longer. She still had her apartment.

  She composed a long email to Trent. She was going to call him but couldn't bare the onslaught she would get. She then considered writing a letter, but her handwriting was abysmal. A text would not be long enough to explain all the things she had to say.

  Trent.

  Once you read this, I will not be in the house. I am going to ask Judy if the kids can sleep over. I am going to find somewhere to stay, but I can't tell you where. I can't risk you finding me.

  I know it's selfish, but I'm doing this for you and the kids. I know I'm a piece of shit and those children deserve so much better, but I can't have them endangered.

  Remember, at Christmas, I told you I had been trying to help track a murder online. Well, I was careless. I didn't think. It was just a harmless project. I thought I could do some good somehow. I know it sounds completely naïve, but I didn't know any better.

  Well now, that person has been keeping tabs on us. They sent a link to the group. It was Pearson's School. He knows where our kids go to school. I know how angry you must be, and I know it won't help, but I'm more angry with myself. You have no idea how much I hate myself right now.

  I'm cutting ties. I feel that, if I have nothing to do with you for a while, and I never visit that site again, that everything will blow over in time. I'm going to call the police now and tell them everything. You can show them this letter if they end up paying you a visit.

  Please tell the kids that I love them, and that I will be back. Just say I'm having a break, or I've gone on a trip or something.

  Sorry.

  Piper.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  JASPER - ALBERTA

  6 MONTHS LATER

  Once he had entered the confines of his hotel room, he realized just how bad he smelled as the odor of stale sweat and his damp boots assaulted his nostrils. The door closed behind him and he dropped his backpack straight on the floor with a thud. Without the weight dragging him down, he almost flew across the room. The light ease of his steps was freeing, and he plopped onto the edge of the bed to untie the laces of his clunky hiking boots. As he kicked off his shoes, the smell only got worse.

  He shook off his coat, letting it slide off the bed onto the floor. An involuntary groan sprung from his throat as he laid back on the bed and let his tense muscles finally relax. It was almost worth the hardship of the last month just for this pure moment of comfort. For tonight, he would have a soft bed and plump pillows, rather than a tarp being the only protection from the cold, hard ground.

  He shifted further up the bed and sank his head into the crisp white pillows. For the last month, his head had rested on a lumpy pillowcase filled with his clothes. The room was spacious with a large bed, writing desk, and armchair. Tap water. The thought of easily accessible water made him smile, and he couldn't wait to have a hot restaurant meal. If only he didn't have to shower first.

  He had so little energy left, the thought of everything he had to do made him want to just curl up in a ball and go hungry for the night. It's not as if he were a stranger to hunger. His tiny, dehydrated meals and trail-mix just didn't cut it. After ten minutes of just staring at the ceiling in silence, he stiffly erected himself. />
  All the clothes in his bag were damp or dirty, and it pained him that he didn't have anything clean to wear. The shiny tiles and porcelain surfaces in the bathroom looked foreign to him now after being amongst mountains, trees, lakes, and meadows for so long. Powerful jets blasted from the shower head and the hot water stung the raw areas that his poorly fitting backpack straps had left behind.

  He watched the water pool around his blistered feet, a murky grayish brown that turned clear after a minute or two as the dirt and grime disappeared down the plug hole.

  Back in civilization, thoughts started to plague his mind. He had still yet to find a place to live. The insurance had finally paid out after the fire. The thorough investigation had gone on for some time, but it was finally over. It was hard to bring himself to settle on a place. It was a huge commitment, and nowhere seemed right. So, instead of taking the plunge, he detached himself from it all. Wherever his tent laid had become his home.

  He squeezed the contents of a miniature shampoo bottle into his hands, which were also blistered from gripping trekking poles with sweaty palms, and he lathered the shampoo through his hair whilst contemplating his next steps. It had seemed so important that he complete the Great Divide Trail, but he had no idea where this pressure had come from. Now it just seemed arbitrary, like a bragging right. It was hard to admit, even to himself, that he'd had enough. Even the most beautiful places became monotonous.

  He blamed himself for not appreciating this opportunity enough, and he felt like a failure for wanting to quit here when he was so close to completing the trek. Maybe he would feel better after a good meal, drinks, and a couple of long sleeps.