SPIN

by K. J. Farnham

  “Okay,” Joseph stood, “this isn’t going to help. Jenna, sit down, and both of you stop yelling.”

  Jenna sighed as she pulled out a chair to sit. Bonnie and Joseph found it peculiar the way Jenna eased her bottom onto the seat.

  “Jenna, are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I just . . . slipped on the stairs at school tonight and hurt my butt bone.”

  “Well, after we talk, maybe you should put some ice on it.”

  Jenna nodded and looked up at her dad. She did her best to hide the panic she felt thinking about what they might have read in her diary. Did they read any of the entries about Thomas? If so, would they know she was talking about Thomas? Suddenly she couldn’t remember if she’d ever written his name in any of the entries. Did they know she’d started smoking pot?

  “Jenna,” her dad said calmly, “your mom was extremely worried. We both were. So, out of desperation, she read one entry from your diary. But—”

  “But then I stopped,” Bonnie said, her eyes falling to the table, “because, yes, it was an invasion of your privacy. But we need to talk about what I read.”

  Oh, God. What was the last thing I wrote about? Jenna tried to remember. “Jenna, the mention of you doing pot and drinking excessive amounts of alcohol is disappointing . . . and so is this bottle of Tylenol PM we found in your drawer. But that’s not the most concerning thing to us right now.” Bonnie looks at Joseph before continuing. “We want to talk about the poem that was in your last entry.”

  Jenna wracked her brain. The poem. It was about Thomas, and she’d written it after she wrote all about the arguments she’d had with Dustin and her other friends at Tommy’s party and at school on Monday.

  “Jenna did Dustin hurt you?” her dad asked.

  “What?” Jenna looked up, confused.

  “You came home so upset last Saturday night when you and Dustin broke up. Then you wrote that he grabbed your arm at school. And then in your poem . . . did Dustin force himself on you? Is that why the two of you broke up?”

  “No,” Jenna breathed the word instead of saying it. She was still a little drunk and high, and on top of that she was now angry because of her mom’s betrayal and disoriented because of the accusations against Dustin. How could her parents mistake a poem she’d written about Thomas as being about Dustin? Dustin would never hurt her the way Thomas did.

  “What was that poem about then?” her mom asked.

  “It was just a poem, Mom. That’s it. I write a lot of stuff like that.”

  Bonnie and Joseph looked at each other again, neither of them sure what to believe. Finally, Bonnie said, “Okay, then what about the drinking and the drugs, not just the pot, but this Tylenol PM too? Why are you taking this?” Bonnie asked, picking up the bottle and giving it a little shake.

  Jenna rubbed her eyes with her fingers to afford herself some time to think of an answer. “I haven’t been running well because my knee was bothering me a couple weeks ago, and I didn’t want to say anything because I was afraid you’d make me go to the doctor and that I’d end up having to stop running for a while. Those pills helped with the pain better than ibuprofen.” Jenna laid her head on the table and mumbled, “I guess I should have sat out instead because I’ve been running like crap anyway.”

  “I think this is enough discussion for tonight. It’s late,” Jenna’s dad said. “How about we get some rest and revisit all of this in the morning?”

  Jenna sat up and looked from her dad to her mom. “What’s there to revisit? I broke curfew again, I’ve tried pot, I’ve been drinking at parties, I like to write emotional poetry, and you invaded my privacy by reading my diary. So, what’s my punishment going to be?”

  “Hand over your phone,” her dad said, reaching his hand across the table.

  But instead of placing her phone in his hand, Jenna removed it from her bag and dropped it on the table. Then she picked up her diary from her lap and stood. “I guess it’s pointless to keep one of these around here,” she said, tossing her diary in the garbage and walking out of the kitchen.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Jacob

  Tuesday, October 31, 2017

  Four Days After Jenna’s Disappearance

  “For the record, do you know who this girl is?” Detective Collins asks, sliding a picture of Jenna in front of me. In addition to Jenna’s picture, he also has a leather-bound notebook and a manila folder.

  I know it’s Jenna without even looking at the photo, but I lean forward and examine the picture before answering. “Yes. Her name is Jenna.”

  “And you’re aware that she’s been missing since Friday evening?”

  “Yes, but I have no idea where she is,” I offer.

  “Mr. Bickers, how did you meet Jenna Kemp?”

  “We met on a chat room site called ChillChat.com.”

  Detective Collins remains expressionless, but I note a twitch at the corner of his left eye. If I were him, I’d be wondering why a married man with children would be chatting with young girls on a site like ChillChat. “I imagine there are thousands of users on this site. How did you and Jenna happen to find each other?”

  On my way to the police station, I told myself to stay calm—tell them only what they ask, offering no additional information, and be careful not to show any emotion. But now I wonder if that’s the best approach to take. After all, I don’t want to make myself look guilty of something. Don’t guilty people act like nothing is wrong? Maybe I need to rethink my strategy.

  I break eye contact with him and sigh heavily. “We were both in this group called Lost and Alone, Looking for a Friend. Her nickname—Runner Girl—jumped out at me, so I sent her a chat request. That’s how we started chatting.”

  Detective Collins nods. “Mr. Bickers, we’ve read through your ChillChat conversations with Jenna, and . . .”

  I panic, wondering how they accessed our conversations since I deleted my account shortly after finding out about Jenna. Who am I kidding, though? Nothing really disappears from online. Plus, they could easily have accessed Jenna’s account by now, or maybe ChillChat gave them access.

  “. . . Actually, we’ll get back to your conversations. Could you first explain how you ended up on this site? How did you find out about it?”

  I draw my eyebrows in, leery about the way he backtracked. Is this some sort of mind game? Did he want to see how I’d react to the mention of my private conversations with Jenna? I’m also perplexed as to why they need to know how I found the site.

  “This information might help us determine how Jenna found out about the site,” he adds as though he read my mind.

  I nod and pause to decide exactly how much I should tell him.

  “I found it one night when I was browsing the Internet. I was overnight somewhere for work . . . I think I was in Eau Claire that night—I’d have to check my calendar. Anyway, I don’t remember what site I was on, but an ad for ChillChat popped up. I actually didn’t even mean to click it, but you know how tricky those pop-ups can be.” I shrug, and Collins nods. “Then one thing led to another and . . . well, you see I’ve been feeling stressed about a lot of things in my personal life, and . . .” No, stop rambling. “Anyway, I created an account and ended up browsing chat rooms for a couple hours. The next day, I logged in intending to delete the account, but I’d received a couple of chat requests, so . . . I started using the site.” I leave out how the requests were from women offering live nude footage. “About a week later I started frequenting that Lost and Alone chat room, and I kept seeing Jenna’s nickname pop up, so I sent her a private chat request.”

  “Mr. Bickers, did you have any idea how old Jenna is?”

  “No. She told me she was nineteen.”

  Detective Collins opens the folder in front of him and rummages through the papers inside. They appear to be transcripts of our chats. “I’m glad you mentioned that because my next question was going to be if you’ve ever had communication with Jenna outside the ChillChat site.” He plac
es a piece of paper in front of me and points to my last chat message to Jenna when I gave her my phone number.

  “Yes, we spoke on the phone and exchanged some text messages after I sent this last message,” I say, handing the paper back to him. He places it back in its spot and closes the folder. Then he folds his hands atop of the folder and leans forward.

  “Why is that? Why move communications off of ChillChat?”

  “I don’t know. Partly because I’m not the best typist, have always been a hunt-and-peck kind of guy, and partly because it seemed like a natural progression. We’d become close, and I thought it would be nice to hear her voice. I was a shoulder for her to lean on, a confidant. She seemed sad and lost, and I felt bad for her. And she filled a void I’ve been feeling lately in my life . . . in my marriage.” I sigh, wondering if I’ve said too much or anything to incriminate myself. “But now that I know how old she is, I don’t feel that way. I mean I would never . . .”

  “Are you willing to provide us access to your phone records?”

  “Of course, but it was just some cheap disposable phone I purchased at Walmart, and . . . I don’t even have it anymore.”

  “Hmm,” Detective Collins says, eyeing me. “So, you purchased a burner phone for the purpose of talking to Jenna?”

  “Yes, but not just Jenna. I was talking to a few others as well. And I got the phone because I knew what I was doing was wrong, okay? I was doing all of this behind my wife’s back, and she has access to my phone records.”

  The detective’s eye twitches at the corner again, and this time he also narrows both eyes slightly. “When and where did you dispose of the phone?”

  “Yesterday, at a Kwik Trip gas station up in the Madison area. I was up there for work. I refueled before heading home.” I deserve the stupefied look he gives me. “I know what you must be thinking, but it was before I knew Jenna was missing. I’ve been doing some soul-searching, and I know I have to stop what I’ve been doing behind my family’s backs.”

  Collins opens his notebook and jots this down. Then he continues questioning me. “Do you recall the last time you spoke with Jenna?”

  I hesitate because there’s a good chance they already know the answer to this question. “It was on Thursday. And then—” I’m about to provide further explanation for the next few calls from my phone to hers on Friday morning, but he interrupts before I have a chance.

  “What was your last conversation with Jenna about?”

  I think about how frustrated I felt when she told me she had to cancel our plans to spend the night together on Friday and how I tried to reassure her how great it would be for us to meet in person. How I took things way too far by trying to entice her to change her mind with all the things I’d do for her and to her. “Like I already told you, I realized I needed to stop communicating with other women behind my wife’s back. So, saying goodbye was the main focus of our conversation. I felt terrible cutting ties with her, especially since she’d confided in me that she was feeling down that day. She’d recently been dealing with some family issues, and a good friend of hers had recently started dating her ex-boyfriend. I wish I could continue to be there for her, and I hope she’s okay, but I have to clean up my act.”

  “Mr. Bickers—”

  “Oh, there’s one more thing, just so you know I’m not trying to hide anything,” I put my hands up in apology for interrupting him. “I tried to call Jenna a few times the next day, just to see if she was feeling better. But she didn’t answer and never returned my calls.”

  “Okay,” Detective Collins says, jotting a few things down in his notebook. Then he checks the wall clock. “I just have a few more questions for you, and then we should be able to wrap this up.”

  I nod. “I’ll do my best to answer any questions you have.”

  He peeks inside the manila folder again. “Can you tell me about Cynthia Morris and Faith Perkins? Their corresponding nicknames on ChillChat are Sassy Sweet and Perky One.”

  Holy shit. This question catches me off guard, and I do my best to hide a hard swallow. I swear he can see and hear my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest. If they talk to either of these women, they will likely wonder why I have not cut ties with them the way I said I cut ties with Jenna.

  “Um, as you know, I met them in chat rooms on ChillChat, and I had relationships with both of them.”

  “And what was the nature of these relationships?”

  I shift in my seat and fold my hands on the table in front of me. “I met up with Cynthia a few times in person. Faith and I have spoken on the phone a number of times and have also communicated through Facetime, but our plans to meet in person fell through a few times.”

  “So is Cynthia the only woman from ChillChat who you’ve met in person?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, you never met Jenna in person?”

  “No.”

  “Did you ever make plans with Jenna to meet in person?”

  “No.”

  “Did you ever ask her to meet you in person?”

  “No.”

  “Mr. Bickers, do you have any idea why Jenna would have told a friend of hers that you’d asked several times if she would meet with you. Our source says it made Jenna uncomfortable.”

  Shit.

  “No.” I know I’m shaking my head too quickly, but I can’t seem to stop. What else did Jenna tell this source? Suddenly, I realize it doesn’t matter because my conversations with Jenna about meeting at the hotel were all verbal. We never texted about anything like that. Finally, I stop shaking my head. “I never asked Jenna to meet with me in person.”

  Detective Collins opens the damn manila folder again and flips to near the back of the pile of papers inside. I wait uncomfortably while he scans a few pages. Finally, he looks up as he closes the folder and says, “Just one last thing, Mr. Bickers. Where were you on Friday night?”

  “Well, I worked until around six, then I stopped at a Chasers Pub over on Brown Deer Road for a couple drinks. Then I went home and didn’t leave until Saturday afternoon to take my son to swimming lessons.”

  “Well, I think that covers all of my questions for now,” Detective Collins says, stacking his notebook atop the picture of Jenna and the folder. “Is there anything else you’d like to add? Perhaps something Jenna may have mentioned when you spoke with her on Thursday? Something that might indicate where she might have gone on Friday night?”

  “No, I can’t think of anything. But . . . I’m just wondering . . . is everything I’ve told you unrelated to Jenna confidential?”

  “Yes, Mr. Bickers. Your indiscretions will stay here at the station.” He shakes his head and stands. Then he reaches across the table after I’ve stood too. “Thank you for coming down here today. We’ll be in touch if we have any more questions for you.”

  “I’m happy to help,” I say, shaking the detective’s hand.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Sunday, October 1, 2017

  Three Weeks Before Jenna’s Disappearance

  Jenna woke up a little after five in the morning. Her head was much clearer than it had been when she got home three hours earlier, but her eyes were still swollen from crying, and her mouth felt like it was full of cotton. As she downed the remaining water in the bottle on her nightstand, visions from the night before swarmed her. The way she’d smoked pot before the dance. The sadness and jealousy she felt when she saw Dustin dancing with Phoebe. The vodka she’d stupidly downed behind a dumpster at school. Making a fool of herself and her friends on the dance floor. Ditching out on the party she was supposed to go to. More pot and alcohol. Making out with the guy from Glendale. Was his name Nick or Nathan? She couldn’t even remember. Stripping down to her bra and underwear and going in a hot tub in front of guys and girls she didn’t even know. Telling Keeley to just leave without her. Having sex with the guy whose name she didn’t even know for sure and whom she’d probably never see again.

  Overwhelmed with guilt and panic, Jenn
a stumbled to her feet and rushed into the hallway, nearly tripping over Lulu. “Get out of the way,” Jenna whispered harshly. Then, there in the dark hallway, she crumpled to her knees and buried her tear-soaked face in the dog’s fur. What was wrong with her? Now she was even being nasty to her most loyal friend? “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. Then she stood and tiptoed downstairs. She needed to text an apology to Keeley.

  After she snuck into her dad’s office and grabbed her phone off his desk, she stopped in the bathroom for tissues to dry the uncontrollable tears still streaming down her cheeks. Then she went to the kitchen to get another bottle of water. As she was about to exit into the hallway, she froze next to the garbage can, remembering her diary. She stepped on the lever to open the top and retrieved it.

  Her tears slowed to a trickle as she recalled the conversation with her parents from the night before. How dare Jenna’s mother read her diary, and how dare she accuse Dustin of hurting her. Maybe if her mom had thought a little harder about the entry she’d read, she would have realized that Jenna couldn’t possibly have made up the poem without having experienced something traumatic, and that it had to be about a real person in Jenna’s life. Now on top of embarrassed and ashamed, she was angry. All three were emotions Jenna was so tired of feeling.

  When Jenna returned to her room, she invited Lulu in with her, and she got back into bed with her phone and her diary. She picked up her phone to text Keeley but found herself staring at text notifications from Dustin and Leighton. When she clicked to read Dustin’s message, which had been sent around three a.m., her tears returned.

  Dustin: Heard you had quite a night . . .

  No. What did he hear? And who did he hear it from?

  Jenna tried to recall if she saw anyone she knew other than Leighton or Keeley at the party, but she just couldn’t remember. So, she skipped Leighton’s text and opened the thread she had going with Keeley. First and foremost, she needed to apologize, but she also had to find out if there was anyone at the party who might have known Dustin. Surely, Keeley wouldn’t have told him what happened? But would she have told Delaney, and then would Delaney have told Corbin?