by Stella Hart
As nice as Harry seemed when we first met, I was starting to think I’d dodged a bullet with him.
“Right,” I murmured, slipping my phone back into my pocket. “I have to get going. Thanks for clearing that stuff up for me.”
“No problem. I guess I’ll see you around.”
I started to head out of the bakery. Then I whipped back around, brows dipping low. “Wait. You’re an engineering student, right? Or did I remember that wrong?”
Harry turned around to look at me again. “No, you’re right. I am.”
“So you must be pretty good with tech-related stuff, right?”
“Yeah, I guess I’m okay at it. I can’t fix your old phone, though. Once it’s fried like that, it’s done.”
“I wasn’t asking because of that. I was just wondering—would you be able to tell if whoever gave this phone to me put some sort of tracking device on it?” I asked, pulling my phone out again.
It had just occurred to me that there might be some sort of tracking software on it. How else would Nate know where I was all the time? He was always lurking somewhere near me when I was on campus, and I’d seen him hanging around this bakery a couple of times in the last week as well.
Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe. I’d probably have to connect it to my laptop to get a proper look at all the stuff on it, though. Do you happen to have a USB cable on you?”
“I have a cable in my car that I use to charge it when I drive. Would that work?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Go and grab it while I order my lunch.”
I went out to my car to retrieve the cable from the center console. From somewhere behind me in the tree-lined parking lot, a twig snapped. I whipped around, certain I was about to find myself face-to-face with a black-clad stranger in a ski mask—or worse, Nate—but nobody was there. I could still sense a presence, though. The human body reacted to danger before it registered consciously in the mind, and right now it felt like someone was softly breathing on the back of my neck, making every hair stick straight up.
“There you are!” A sweaty, shrill-sounding woman stepped out from the trees a few seconds later. At the same time, a black Labrador barreled toward my car.
“Sorry,” the woman called out as the excited dog jumped up to lick me. “He got off his lead!”
“That’s okay.” I breathed a heavy sigh of relief and smiled as I petted the dog’s head.
Content that no one was stalking me—for now, anyway—I headed back into the bakery with my USB cable. Harry was sitting at a corner table with his laptop. I handed him my phone along with the cable, and he made me unlock the phone before connecting it to his computer.
“This might take a few minutes,” he said.
I nodded and slowly chewed on one of my pastries as he worked. When I started on the second one, Harry looked up.
“You were right,” he said. “Whoever gave you this phone has been tracking you.”
“Can you see who’s receiving the data?” I asked, even though I was almost certain it was Nate.
Harry shook his head. “No, sorry. It’s masked. But basically, whenever the phone is on, it uses the GPS to transmit your exact location to them.”
“Great.” I let out a sigh. “Time to get another phone, I guess.”
“That’s not all.” He held up a hand. “There’s a keylogger on it as well.”
“What does that do?” I asked, furrowing my brows as I leaned forward.
“Every keystroke you make is recorded,” he explained. “So every text and email you’ve sent from this device is accessible to whoever set this up. Every search you’ve made on the internet, too.”
I swallowed hard. “Shit.”
“I’m not done. I’m assuming you logged straight onto your email account when you got this phone so that you could import all your contacts and other stuff from the cloud?”
“Uh-huh. My stuff is all stored on Chrome through my Gmail account.”
Harry sighed. “Well… whoever gave you this phone isn’t just tracking you and reading your messages from this device. They have access to your email account, apps, internet bookmarks, and your entire search history as well. From before you got the phone, I mean.”
I put my head in my hands and rubbed my temples. “Oh my god.”
“I would suggest you log out and change all your passwords right away. And obviously, like you said before, get yourself a new phone. One that only you have ever touched.” He leaned back and scratched his head. “There are no decent phone stores in Arcadia Bay, so I’d suggest Cellmate in Avalon City. They have the best range.”
“Okay.” I stood up. “Thanks for all your help. I’ll head up to the city now.”
“Wait. Don’t you want this?” Harry pulled my cable and phone away from his laptop and held them in the air.
I took the cable, but I left the phone on the table.
“You can keep that. Do whatever you want with it,” I said.
Harry’s forehead wrinkled. “But it’s almost brand new. You could wipe it and sell it to someone for two grand.”
I smiled thinly. “I hate to sound like a dick, but I don’t need the money. Not as much as I need to mess with the person responsible for this shit.”
Comprehension dawned on Harry’s face. “Oh. I see. If I hold onto it, they’ll think they’re tracking your movements, but they’ll be tracking mine instead. That’ll confuse them.”
“Exactly. Keep it logged in for now, too, so he doesn’t get suspicious and realize the jig is up right away.”
“All right.”
I thanked him again and headed out of the bakery. The drive up to Avalon City was quiet without my phone playing my favorite music through Spotify, but it was a small price to pay for privacy.
The store Harry recommended was in a mall in a nice neighborhood, across from a large park with a lake. I bought myself a new phone and quickly imported my contacts from the cloud. Then I texted my sister.
Hey, it’s A. Had to get ANOTHER new phone. Will explain later. Anyway, I’m in the city, at Sherman Mall. Are you free right now? I desperately need some retail therapy. It’s a nice day, too, so we could go for a walk in the park afterwards if you want.
Sascha replied a few minutes later. Would love to, but I’m at an artist workshop thingy. Sorry!
Even though she couldn’t make it, I decided to do a bit of shopping by myself. The shoe sales at the mall were too good to pass up, and I needed to do something fun after all the shitty stuff I’d endured over the last few weeks.
When I was done, I went into the underground parking lot and dumped everything in the back of my car. Then I decided to go for a walk in the park across from the mall, like I suggested to Sascha earlier. It was still nice outside, and I wanted to savor the good weather while it lasted. It wasn’t often that Avalon had sunny days like this in October.
As I headed out of the lot and up to the street, I was suddenly struck by the same creeping sensation from earlier; that strange prickle on the nape of my neck.
I looked around, and my heart skipped a beat as I caught sight of a gray car with tinted windows. That very same car had tailed me up here from Arcadia Bay a few hours earlier. At the time, I thought it was just someone who happened to be going the same way as me.
Now I wasn’t so sure.
I decided to test them to see if they were actually following me. I crossed the street and headed toward a stone bridge on the other side which overlooked the lake in the park. Then I stood on the sidewalk near the bridge and pretended to look at something on my phone. As I did so, I also pretended to pick my nose.
I once read somewhere that doing something gross or embarrassing was the best way to make other people think you were totally oblivious to them looking at you. After all, who would pick their nose if they knew someone was watching them?
If the person in the gray car was actually following me, they’d think I had no clue about their presence, and they’d feel safe enough to come c
loser.
I was right.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the gray car start up and slowly creep closer to the bridge. I kept scratching at my nose, waiting for them to get even closer, and then I started walking toward the edge of the park.
The car kept following me.
Heart pounding, I stepped into the lush green park and headed up the main path toward a café and playground which stood in the center. On the opposite side of the park, there was a café strip on a narrow street. That was where I needed to pretend to be going.
I walked briskly along the path, eyes focused on the café strip, and then I quickly stepped in front of a group of moms with strollers so that the person in the car would momentarily lose sight of me. After that, I ducked behind a thick tree. A minute later, I doubled back to the park café and went straight into the bathroom.
I peeked out of the window on the far side of the bathroom and spotted the gray car slowly heading down the road that ran along the side of the park. After a moment, they headed over to the café strip and sped up, presumably realizing that they’d lost me.
“Too bad, asshole,” I muttered under my breath. I sank down to the tiled floor and played on my new phone for a while.
When I figured it was probably safe to leave, I headed back through the park and over to the mall parking lot. My heart was still pounding, and I kept looking over my shoulder, half-expecting to see the same gray car stalking me again.
When I finally left the city and turned onto the road that led to Arcadia Bay, I called my sister.
“Hello?” Her voice sounded slightly tinny as it came through my car speakers.
“Hey, it’s me,” I said. “How was your artist workshop?”
“My what?”
“You said you had an artist workshop event earlier.”
She let out a short, irritated sigh. “Oh, that,” she said. “It didn’t go for as long as I expected, but it sucked.”
“Oh?”
“Some guy from LA was there judging everyone’s stuff. I swear, everything that was done by a man, he loved, even if it wasn’t that great, and then everything that was done by a woman, he insulted nonstop.”
“Sounds like a dick.”
“Yeah. Anyway, how was your shopping trip? And why’d you need another new phone?”
“That’s actually part of the reason I decided to call you,” I said. “Some creepy shit has been happening.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, voice laced with concern.
I hesitated for a moment before I answered.
I hadn’t filled Sascha in on the fake sex tape incident, and I hadn’t told her that Nate knew our true identities, either, because I didn’t want to upset her. She was a very anxious person, so I worried that I’d send her to an early grave from stress if she knew everything.
“Well, basically, there’s this guy at Blackthorne who totally hates me,” I began. “He’s been following me around and doing weird stuff, and I was worried he might’ve hacked my phone, so I got a new one today to avoid him. Then the weirdest thing happened after I was done shopping.”
“What?”
I quickly filled her in on the incident with the gray car.
“So I managed to lose it in the end, but how fucking creepy is that?” I said. “It was following me for ages.”
Sascha paused. “Hm. That guy you mentioned sounds like an asshole, but are you sure it was him following you?”
“Who else would it be?”
“Well, honestly, I thought it might be our grandparents.”
“Why?” I asked, brows knitting.
She sighed. “Remember how they really wanted us to leave the island?”
“Yes.”
“They were scared we’d ruin their reputation by telling people that we’re related to them. So maybe they’ve hired someone to watch us and make sure we aren’t doing anything to embarrass them or let our true identities get out.”
I chewed on my bottom lip as I thought about it. “That’s a good point,” I finally said, brows dipping low. I meant what I said, but privately, I still thought it was Nate or one of his frat minions stalking me.
“They’re definitely rich enough to hire private investigators to track us,” Sascha added.
“That’s true.”
“Anyway, about the douchey guy from Blackthorne—if he keeps annoying you, just let me know. I’ll come down there and deal with him.”
“How? Will you suffocate him with one of your canvases? Stab him with a paintbrush?” I said in a teasing tone.
Sascha laughed. “Something like that, yeah.” Her tone suddenly turned serious. “Anyway, how’s your investigation going? The whole Dad thing, I mean.”
“I knew what you meant,” I said softly. I paused for a beat and let out a sigh. “I haven’t really made much progress yet. I’m trying to build up some relationships with his old colleagues to see if they can tell me anything, but it’s a slow process.”
“Right. Be careful, okay? And remember, life doesn’t always have to be about revenge. You’re allowed to enjoy yourself sometimes.”
She must’ve said those exact words to me fifty times by now.
Like our mother, she believed my father was innocent of the Butcher crimes at first, but as the years went by, she eventually decided that he was guilty because of all the evidence against him. She didn’t agree with my position on the matter, and she always worried I’d get myself in trouble with my investigation, but she still tried to be as supportive as she could.
“Thanks,” I murmured. “I’ll be fine.”
“Okay. I better go now. I told my friends I’d go out with them tonight, so I have to get ready for that.”
“All right. Have fun.”
When I arrived back at my dorm, I unpacked my new stuff, did some study for a few hours, and then met Laurel and Ruby for a late dinner. After that, I went back to my dorm and settled into bed for my nightly ritual of stress-eating chocolate and watching trashy shows on Netflix.
A text from an unknown number came through to my new phone at eleven o’clock.
Stop digging or there will be consequences.
Heart pounding, I stared at my screen with wide eyes. Obviously, someone apart from my sister knew about my mission to prove my father’s innocence. Someone who was worried that I might get too close to the truth.
Someone who had my brand new phone number.
I sent a quick message to Sascha. Hey, did you give anyone my new number? And have you ever told anyone about my investigation?
She responded a couple of minutes later. No, how come? Is everything okay?
Me: Yeah, it’s fine. I was just wondering.
Sascha: Ok. Sorry, can’t chat for long. I’m being goaded into doing shots, haha. Talk soon! Love you xoxo
I texted Ruby and Laurel next, but they hadn’t given my new number to anyone either, so I still had absolutely no idea how the unknown sender had obtained it.
I took a deep breath and finally tapped out a reply to the threatening message. Who is this?
The message errored and wouldn’t send. I looked up the error code online and found that the number that messaged me wasn’t actually a real number. There were websites and apps that could be used to anonymize texts so that the receiver couldn’t reply or find out who sent it, and whoever messaged me had used one of them.
“Shit,” I muttered, pulling my blankets all the way up to my chin as if they could somehow protect me from the world. I didn’t feel any safer, though. My heart was still racing like mad, and my legs and arms were peppered with goosebumps.
I got out of bed a moment later to double-check that my door was locked. When I was sure I was safe, I climbed back into bed and tried my best to push away the intrusive thoughts about the threatening text. At some point, I finally fell asleep, lulled by the chirpy sounds of the Netflix comedy playing on my laptop.
As usual, my sleep was plagued with terrible nightmares. In the worst one, I opened a
wooden door to a small cell and saw a girl quivering on the concrete floor.
“Please,” she said, cowering away from me as I pulled out a large hunting knife. “Please don’t hurt me!”
Ardent heat rushed through me as I brandished the knife above her head. “I have to.”
“Why?” she asked in a piteous whisper.
“Because I’m the real one,” I shouted. “It’s me. Always has been.”
Then there were horrible screams as I brought the knife down again and again, spattering blood all over the walls.
I awoke with a start, gasping as a cramp wrenched my guts. I felt nauseated from the awful dream, and my thighs were sticky.
With a groan, I pushed my blankets back. My period had arrived at some point in the middle of the night.
It had always been very heavy for me, and nothing I’d ever tried could fix that—not the pill, implant, or any other contraceptive method. As a result, I practically bled an ocean’s worth of blood every month. I even had to take supplements sometimes to make up for all the iron I lost.
Usually I was prepared for the bleeding, but it had come a day early this month, so I’d gone to bed without a pad. Now my pajama bottoms, legs, and sheets were covered in patches and smears of blood. I must’ve rolled around a lot in my sleep.
I must’ve reached down and touched my thighs in my sleep as well, because there was dried blood caked under the fingernails of my right hand, and there were a few bloody handprints on the pale gray sheets.
With a sigh, I got up and trudged toward the bathroom. Irritation flashed in my mind as I noticed some dirt on the carpet. I must’ve brought it in on my shoes without noticing yesterday.
“Yay,” I muttered. “Even more cleaning for me.”
As if the bloodstained sheets and pajamas weren’t enough already.
I took a long, hot shower to ease the cramps and scrub away all the blood from my skin and nails. When I was done, I wrapped a robe around myself and went back out to my bedroom to gather up the dirty sheets.
Someone started pounding on my door a few seconds later.
Frowning, I glanced at the clock. It was only half past seven in the morning. Who the hell would want to see me this early?
