The Fall Girl

by T. B. Markinson

  “And the police?” I asked.

  “Did nothing. They never believed Bri was raped, and the majority of the threats were made by 4chan trolls. You’re familiar with 4chan?” She raised both brows.

  It was nearly impossible to be in this line of work and not know the briefest of details about 4chan, a place on the internet that displayed countless photos of cute kittens as well as disturbing images of dead bodies. It was paradise for internet dwellers to say whatever they wanted without fear of being identified in real life.

  Out of all the individual boards, 4chan’s random and anonymous bulletin board /b/ was the most disturbing and the place that fostered the “hivemind.” Many have called it the “asshole of the internet” and the best place for trolling—the process of finding ways to destroy a person’s or organization’s reputation in the real world. There were no rules, for the most part, and the anonymous users referred to themselves as /b/tards.

  “Once the trolls set their sights on someone, they don’t let up. The police said their hands were tied. Their job was to solve actual murders, not the sources of e-mails, social media messages, and texts that may or may not have pushed Bri to the brink. As soon as you mention anything to do with cyberspace, most people’s eyes glaze over. They assume it’s nearly impossible to track down 4chan users because all users are anonymous.”

  “Isn’t it?” Cora asked.

  “Impossible? No. Extremely difficult and time intensive, yes.” Janie held Cora’s gaze. “Luckily, I don’t like to quit.”

  “So the other suicides—did they happen the same way?” I asked to change the subject. I wasn’t overly keen about starting an investigation involving the Dark Net and the tricky free speech component, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued by the complexity as well as horrified by what had happened to Brianna.

  “Basically. I haven’t pinpointed how Mean Heather finds her targets, but her MO is the same. She’s a pro when it comes to slut-shaming. For one of the victims, she remotely accessed the girl’s laptop and recorded her having sex with a boy. Then she plastered it all over the internet.”

  “Sounds like someone I know,” I said.

  “I didn’t record us having sex,” Janie snapped.

  “True, but you took photos of me naked while I was sleeping.”

  Janie pinned me with her hard eyes, displaying zero regret.

  Cora snapped her fingers. “I’m not going to tell you again. Behave. If you can’t let bygones be bygones, I’m asking you to bury your differences until this is over. Even FDR had to work with Stalin to stop Hitler.” She tapped the desktop with the side of her thumb, staring me down.

  I perched on the edge of the chair near the bed, white-knuckling the armrests. “Okay, how do you plan on getting to Mean Heather?”

  “I need time and resources to investigate if there are more victims. Each instance I’ve found, Mean Heather only uses a letter on 4chan. A, B, D, and F, to be exact. My theory is I’m missing C and E. It’s impossible to know if any of the initial Facebook or Twitter accounts belong to her. Setting up fake accounts is way too easy. A lot of the time, someone will post a thread on 4chan, encouraging everyone to add each other’s troll accounts.”

  I stroked my chin. “Are you suggesting she’s some type of alphabet killer?”

  “Exactly.” Janie pulled a purple spiral notebook out of her black shoulder bag and tossed it to me. “Here’s your copy. Whatever you do, don’t type notes on your laptop, send e-mails, or anything that can be traced by…” She left the rest unsaid. This instruction, along with her insistence we take the batteries out of our cell phones, was a pretty good indication that Janie was scared of Mean Heather or didn’t want to tip her off. The nagging feeling I was being played nibbled on my mind.

  I thumbed through the pages. Half of the seventy sheets were filled front and back in Janie’s print-like quality writing, outlining dates, websites, and samples of the abuse. I flipped to the B section. “So Mean Heather was known as B when attacking Brianna.” I leafed to the D section. “And the victim in D was Dana.”

  “A was Alicia, and F was Felicity. All fifteen-year-old girls.”

  “And each ultimately committed suicide?” Ian wasn’t that much younger in the grand scheme of things knowing how quickly the years would fly by. What would the world be like by the time Mia entered her teens?

  Janie nodded.

  “Her use of one-letter nicknames is clever. You can’t plug it into Google to search on forums like Reddit. I stumbled upon that fact recently.” I ransacked my brain but couldn’t remember where I had read the information.

  “Correct. The person knows the ins and outs of the dark arts of the Net and the safety that 4chan, particularly its random board, offers. Mean Heather may not have the skills of a hacker to humiliate companies like Sony, but she knows enough about trolling to cause chaos.”

  “There has to be a pattern.”

  “In each instance, she’s varied her language, such as when posting as ‘A’ she never capitalized any words, not even when starting a new sentence, and, I believe, intentionally misspelled certain words. The trend hasn’t been repeated when using different letters. This, of course, is complicating the investigation.”

  “Not to mention she’s incredibly conniving and a careful planner,” I added, leafing through the pages of supporting evidence.

  “Does she work in cahoots with others?” Cora asked.

  Janie shook her head. “Not that I can tell. She’s a lone wolf when she sets her sights on someone. Then she unleashes the trolls to do the heavy lifting, like she did with Bri. I think she gets a thrill watching the victim being mercilessly bullied.”

  I contemplated the facts. “How in the world do you plan on finding her? We’re talking about the Dark Net, a no man’s land of invisibility to cloak misbehavior ranging from sabotaging a pizza joint who got an order wrong by flooding them with fake delivery orders, to hackers exposing secrets threatening international security. Do you even know the first rule of the internet?”

  “Do not talk about /b/.”

  “And the second rule?” I pushed.

  “Do NOT talk about /b/. Just because you read a book or two about this, don’t pretend you’re the expert.”

  She was right. I was an amateur when it came to investigating the Dark Net. “Okay, do you plan to tap into your own troll-like qualities to locate her?”

  Janie gritted her teeth. “I’m hoping she’s made a mistake or makes one soon.”

  “What does that mean?” Cora asked.

  “I’m really good at spotting people’s weak spots and exploiting them.” Janie waved to me. “Case in point.”

  Cora silenced my first response with a vicious shake of the head.

  I sighed. “You’re going to pose as the meanest mean girl on the internet? I’m assuming you have experience, not just with me.”

  “Oh, please, back in the day I was one of the mean girls that all of the other mean girls idolized. Too bad I went to school way before social media became the norm for destroying people. I could have been epic.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” I reclined in my chair and crossed my arms behind my head. The notebook slid off my lap onto the floor.

  “You’re missing the point, though. She doesn’t work with others. I don’t plan on playing the mean girl. I have to figure out a way to track her down—dox the ultimate doxer.”

  “I wasn’t aware you had the computer skills for a task like this.”

  “What do you think I’ve been doing for the past year?”

  “Destroying other people’s lives—”

  Cora jammed two fingers into her mouth and let loose an ear-piercing whistle. “Back to the matter at hand. You need to find the pattern to track down this person.”

  “How?” I spread my arms out wide. “There are billions and billions of pages, unknown to most, and they have billions and billions of pages that can’t
be indexed by search engines. 4chan has millions of hits each month. There isn’t an official archive. A thread only stays at the top if people respond. /b/ is the most active, meaning the life span of a thread could potentially only survive a few minutes, sometimes seconds.” I snapped my fingers. “Although, scandalous content has a better shot of surviving.” I rubbed my chin.

  Janie nodded, agreeing with my concerns. “Catching the beginning of the wave or tracking it down after the fact isn’t easy. Expired content on 4chan is erased from the servers and becomes part of the internet ether that isn’t searchable, meaning if you blink, you miss key information forever unless by some chance a person saved the information to a hard drive. But how do you find that person?”

  I closed my eyes.

  Janie continued. “And it’s where trolls gather in search of lulz.” She stopped when Cora knitted her brow. “It’s the plural of lol and refers to anything they consider funny, which ranges from jokes to bullying people like Bri. Saying, ‘I did it for the lulz’ provides trolls an acceptable excuse to others. Seasoned users don’t bat an eye when they come across a horrific image. They’re used to them. The phrase searching for a needle in a haystack doesn’t even begin to describe how challenging the task will be. That’s why I need to do more research. Track down C and E and any others. There has to be a pattern. And I have a source.”

  My eyes popped open. “Who’s your source?”

  “Sorry, I can’t tell ya. The person isn’t the type to trust anyone.”

  “But the individual trusts you?” Cora crossed one leg and flashed a Don’t BS a bullshitter look.

  “As much as possible. A true conspiracy nut.”

  “Ah, the Grassy Knoll type. Fantastic,” I muttered, picking up my sesame chicken carton, not that I was particularly hungry, but I needed to focus on something else. So many emotions were flooding my system. That moment when I woke up in the motel, knowing something…

  “What in the hell are you talking about?” she hissed, bringing me out of my head.

  I stared open-mouthed at Janie. “You know about Plato’s Ring of Gyges, but you don’t know about the Grassy Knoll and JFK’s assassination?”

  “Uh, no. JFK was way before my time.”

  “It was before my time as well, but I still know it. Everyone knows.” I scrunched my brow. “What the hell did we talk about when we dated?”

  “I don’t remember a lot of talking, really.” She batted her eyes at me.

  I rose, strode to Cora’s side of the room, and whispered behind my hand, “Can we trust her and this Grassy Knoll?”

  “Highly doubtful. Not one hundred percent at least. But do we have a choice?”

  I leaned down and said into Cora’s ear, “We can pass on the scoop. Who knows how much is true? From my experience, conspiracy nuts are crazier and more volatile than a pack of rabid dogs. And relying on one and Janie to root out a troll on the Dark Net…” I left the rest unsaid.

  Cora whispered back, “This could be huge, though.”

  I felt Janie’s eyes on us but didn’t turn to include her.

  “Or a waste of time. I mean, we’re not talking about the Pentagon Papers or WikiLeaks or anything. It’s sad—”

  “My gut is telling me not to pass. MDD needs a huge break. You know it, and I know it.” Cora’s face softened. “Remember the 2011 phone hacking scandal in Britain? No one cared that unscrupulous reporters were hacking David Beckham’s cell phone or other celebrities to feed the public’s desire.

  “It wasn’t until the public found out reporters hacked into a murdered girl’s cell to listen to her messages that the people became outraged. Rupert Murdoch, the guy who has owned the news in Australia, Britain, and the United States for decades, had to appear before British MPs and exclaimed he’d been humbled. Do you remember when someone shoved a paper plate smeared with shaving cream in his face?”

  The allure of the payoff was nibbling at me, but I couldn’t fathom working with Janie. “So, what? You want to humiliate the killer with shaving cream?”

  Janie sighed audibly, but maybe she sensed it was best for her to remain silent for the moment. Let Cora do the fighting for her.

  Cora crossed her arms.

  I parked on the lip of the desk, covering my face with both hands, not wanting to take on this story, but how could I convince Cora whose eyes blazed with potential glory? Tracking down a serial killer the authorities had said didn’t exist would be a humongous scoop for MDD. Not to mention for the greater good of society. What if someone did something like this to Ian or Mia? That was why I went into the business, not to reveal which politician liked to wear silk leopard print panties while railing against same-sex marriage. Hypocrisy among elected officials mattered, but stopping a killer—how could I say no?

  But how could I work with the person who had brought my world to the brink? What would Claire think?

  Cora continued, “Besides, this could save you from having to sell your story to Hollywood.”

  “I can’t believe you’re giving me this option over that option. Both suck. Either work with a woman I can’t stand, let alone trust, or sell the last remaining morsel of my soul. Who knows how long an investigation like this could take? Besides, it may be impossible to track down Mean Heather. Don’t say it’s either this or that, because the way it stands, the Janie option—”

  “Hello. I’m still in the room,” Janie said, waving her hands as if she had to get our attention.

  I put a finger out. “I know. My skin is still crawling.”

  “You’re unbelievable, you know that? I came to you because I thought you’d help.”

  “That’s not the only reason.” Cora’s voice was too controlled.

  Janie tore her eyes off Cora and steadied her breathing with effort. Something big was definitely rippling under the surface between the two. She laid into me. “Don’t act all high and mighty, JJ. You and Cora have stooped to some unsavory tactics to get clickbait to increase your ad revenue. In today’s digital media world, it’s all about the clicks.” She snapped her fingers together repeatedly like a turtle eating lettuce.

  Janie whipped her head around to Cora. “And you have no issues riding JJ’s coattails to establish Matthews Daily Dish. I don’t need this shit.” She grabbed her bag off the bed and headed for the door. “This was such a waste of time. I thought you of all people”—she stopped and stared at me—“would know what it was like to be in Bri’s shoes.” Her voice cracked, and her eyes misted.

  I flashed to the hotel room again, when I woke, that soul-crushing moment, understanding I’d never feel clean again. So many years later, I still panicked sometimes the second I woke. Over the years, I’d wondered if it would be better or worse to know the whole truth. Had I been raped? Or was I so high I would screw anything? Could I handle the truth? Or would I slip back into an alcoholic and coke fugue and lose everything? Claire? The kids? Myself?

  I knew one thing for certain. I was truly ashamed. Penning my memoir, stating my shame never touched the surface of how deep the emotion ran. How that moment haunted me like the ghost of my former self—the untarnished. Most believed I was tainted because of the booze and drugs. I wasn’t an angel, but for me the true stain, the one I’d never wipe away, was that morning. Denial, to this day, still helped me cope. I was terrified to peek below the surface. Would chasing this story force me to mine my own past?

  Bri had gone to the police and tried to get justice.

  Cora popped out of the chair and blocked her way. “Excuse JJ. She’s under a lot of stress lately, with MDD, writing another book, the new baby, and planning a wedding.”

  Janie veered around. “You’re getting married?”

  I nodded, albeit surprised she didn’t know after all the press. Too much time on the Dark Net and not in the real world. Having Janie know anything private about me set off so many alarm bells in my head that I imagined aliens on Pluto could pick up the signal.

&nb
sp; “I never thought JJ Cavendish would settle down. Not permanently.” Janie eyed me as if waiting for a twitch of some sort to tell all. “What’s next? Taking her last name?”

  I didn’t reply. The less Janie knew about anything, the better.

  “How much time would you need?” Cora asked Janie as if it was a done deal. Or maybe she was stalling, allowing me to pull my shit together.

  “Something like this will take months.”

  I pictured Janie in a basement with aluminum foil covering all the windows, the only light gleaming from a computer screen.

  I sat down heavily in one of the chairs, concentrating on the hum of the overworked AC unit under the window. “How would it work? You’re talking about going up against not only Mean Heather, but the 4chan trolls. These are the types of people who don’t believe in laws and such. If they catch wind of the investigation—the shitstorm—it’s possible Janie will become one of their targets.”

  She laughed. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

  I didn’t confirm or deny, terrified of the true answer buried inside.

  Cora brushed over the tension. “We’d have to do everything we can to prevent anyone from finding out about the investigation and us collaborating with Janie.” She gestured to the cell phone batteries on the table.

  “How?” I didn’t like where this was heading. I flicked my head to Janie. “Stage a public spat? Feign Janie is blackmailing me again?”

  “That’s not all I’m capable of.” Janie grinned at me, baring her overly white teeth.

  I jabbed a finger into my chest. “I know better than most.” I avoided Janie’s eye and latched onto Cora’s. “Did you feed Tish the story that Janie was in hiding because of me?”

  Her non-answer was pretty damning.

  “Jesus, Cora! You set me up. With Claire at my side.” My jaw hung open, and my eyes scanned the hotel room.

  “What’s the matter? Need a drink?” Janie asked.

  Cora waved for her to be silent. “I think JJ and I need to talk privately.”