Never Saw Me Coming

by Vera Kurian

  “Huh?” he said.

  “Straight white male.”

  “Very funny,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets and contemplating me. “Did you disable—?”

  “Of course I did!”

  “You’ve been avoiding me.”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  He blinked. In the dim lighting there was only a thin band of green around his big pupils. “Chloe...” I knew with absolute certainty he was thinking about Will.

  “You met with Emma?” I interrupted. “How’d it go?”

  He stared at me for a long moment before he answered. “I asked her to dinner—I get the impression that she might like me.” He seemed to be struggling with something. “Emma is weird—it’s like she’s from another planet. I actually don’t know if I walked away with more information. But here’s another thing—I tracked down her sister and talked to her.”

  “Megan?”

  “She’s a barista over by American. She’s protective of Emma, which is strange—”

  “—because her social media makes it look like they’re not even sisters.”

  “Right, like Megan’s got this embarrassingly weird sister. And I got the impression she was suspicious of me because I was asking her about Emma. There’s a good chance she might say something to Emma about me. I mean, I gave her a fake name, but if she describes me...”

  “Isn’t that scary? Knowing that an angry probable serial murderer wants to jump your bones?”

  “Fancy that,” he said without smiling.

  “Well, Andre and I found some documents from Wyman’s old student. We’re still going through them because I lost an entire day yesterday tailing Trevor.”

  “Tailing?”

  “It was actually pretty funny—he had no idea I was right behind him all day. I went to his dorm, the SAC, to his classes, even a dumb party. One time he almost turned around and caught me! I can’t say I found any specific evidence—”

  “He could have seen you! You could have gotten yourself killed!”

  “How else am I supposed to find clues?”

  “Clues? This isn’t a game. We could have set up a plan or something where the three of us worked together. You can’t get into a situation where he turns around and you’re right there. I told you, he’s dangerous.”

  “So am I,” I said. Charles sighed, putting up his hands in an expression of frustration.

  “He’s scrawny and I was armed.”

  “Why won’t you listen to me!”

  “Because I don’t have to listen to anybody,” I said. “Besides, why do you care what I do?”

  “Is it so weird that I don’t want you to get bludgeoned to death? Can you please promise me not to do anything like that again, without the three of us agreeing?”

  Oh, I had done it.

  Charles was mine. Hooked like a little fishy. All I needed to do was keep him swimming the same direction with me, and Will would never be a problem. “Of course not,” I said. “We have to be active rather than passive.”

  “Chloe.”

  “No. Why don’t you want something bad to happen to me?” I asked. “Why can’t you just admit it?”

  “Admit what?”

  I stalked closer to him and pressed my index finger into his chest. “That you care about me.”

  Charles put his hand over mine. He moved my arm back to my side as if he were moving the limbs on a doll. Then he put his hands in his pockets again as he stared at me. A look overcame his face, one I couldn’t read. Someone howled upstairs; I turned my head to glance in that direction. When I turned back at Charles he was still focused on me.

  He stepped forward. Suddenly I felt his hand on my waist and he kissed me. Not the way he had in my room, but harder, furious. Some part of me had been waiting forever for him to be like this and I responded naturally, wrapping my arms around his neck, turning my head to the side to let him kiss me more deeply. He pulled me to him, his hands on my ass.

  Charles hauled me into the empty dressing room, then pressed me up against the wall beside the door. I locked it, closing my eyes and craning my neck back, feeling his mouth on my throat. I tugged at his tie, pulled him up by the hair so I could kiss him. He jammed against me and I wrapped my legs around him, not breaking our kiss when I heard someone trying to get in, the locked door jiggling. I tried unsuccessfully to stay quiet when he pushed my skirt up farther and I felt his hands on my thighs. I murmured his name. I was tingling everywhere.

  He pushed me onto a nearby ottoman and dropped to his knees. He parted my legs and I felt him kiss my inner thigh, just above the knee. He pulled at my underwear so hard that I heard a seam rip. I wriggled and he pulled them off, then grabbed the lower part of my body to pull me closer. He wasted no time—his head bowed and I gasped when I felt his warm mouth directly on me. I closed my eyes momentarily as I felt one of his hands slide down my thigh to my knee, then push upward, changing the angle of my body a little. He made a hum of satisfaction in the back of his throat, the vibration hitting me. I squirmed uncontrollably, burying one of my hands into his hair as his head moved steadily. I stared at the ceiling and gave a helpless little laugh when someone tried the door again. “Charles.” I gripped him harder and he picked up his pace. A heady feeling began to overtake me, an orgasm building. He edged right up to it, then, to my frustration, pulled back, planting a demure little kiss on my thigh. I grabbed him by his hair and redirected him, eliciting a little self-satisfied chuckle from him. He delivered quickly and I came, crying out, a bolt of pleasure shooting from my middle to the rest of my body, making my muscles tense, then shudder. Charles stopped, resting his head on my leg, and we both caught our breath. I felt like a melted candle, soft pliable happy wax.

  Charles pulled back, kissing my left knee quickly before he stood up, fixing his tie as he headed toward the sink. Contented, I watched him wash his face and hands, wearing no expression as he performed these rituals. He fixed his hair, which was comically sticking all over the place. He got it into a presentable state with some water. Yes, he needed to look innocent, as if something hadn’t happened, because he had to go back to his girlfriend without her knowing what we had done. He was keeping everything a secret from her: the person who hunted us, and now me. I smiled, satisfied.

  I was edging my skirt back down as he turned to go. “Wait a few minutes before you leave,” he said, then unlocked the door and left. I cleaned myself up, still feeling residual sparks in my body, my fingertips tingling. My glasses had fallen off at some point. I retrieved them and looked at my reflection as I polished the lenses with my shirt.

  Put a check by Charles’s name, move him to the Chloe column.

  I sauntered through the party, examining people, sometimes pushing their masks straight off their faces. I grew bolder with impatience, maybe a little drunk off my postcoital glow. My phone vibrated—a push notification from Instagram. Pinprick52 had uploaded a new post.

  It took me a second to realize what it was. A photo of the closed bathroom door from downstairs. #sluts.

  54

  Charles was calling. He had been pointedly avoiding me since our Halloween tryst so I let the phone ring eight times to punish him. I know he’s not capable of feeling guilty, and so had concluded that he was frightened of his attraction to me mixed with whatever he had surmised about Will. I had to play this carefully. I put my feet up on my desk, petting my stuffed whale, and assumed a bored tone as I picked up. “You rang, Charlie Bear?”

  “Why did you just send me a video of you blowing Chad?” he asked.

  I put my feet down. “I didn’t!”

  “You did. It’s from your email.”

  I woke my laptop up and opened my email but saw no such thing. “When was it sent?”

  “About a minute ago... Oh, huh—there’s a bunch of people on the To line.”

  The we
bcams. Trevor. He had recorded. It must have been from one of the nights Chad had come over to “study.” I sat in front of my computer and opened a new email, rage filling up my chest. “Read me the names it was sent to.” He began to list them. A handful of friends, two of my professors, one TA, and Elena and Dr. Wyman. I muttered out loud as I typed: Please delete the email that appears to have been sent by me two minutes ago. My account has been hacked and the attached file contains malicious malware. Then I sent it.

  “Isn’t all malware malicious?” Charles said.

  “Send me the video. I want to see it.”

  “Do you think that’s safe? It might actually have something encoded in it. I’m running my antivirus software right now. Wait—oh... I think you’d better get over here.”

  * * *

  Charles had on a flat expression and was on the phone when he opened the door. “Do I look like I just spent three thousand dollars in a Walmart in Kenosha? Freeze the goddamned account.” He hung up and closed the door.

  An exclamation point appeared on my watch. I tapped it. On a scale of 1 to 7, how much of a slut are you? The screen changed to a dick pic, then another and another. I took my watch off grimly. Charles looked at his, then tilted it to show me. His screen was flashing gay porn.

  “Why is he doing this?” I took a seat at Charles’s desk in front of his laptop. A media player was open. It was definitely a video from one of my webcams. Chad blissed out with his eyes closed as I tended to him. “That—” My cell rang, and it was Yessica calling.

  “Chlo, you need to get on Facebook.”

  I opened a new tab and went to the site, then felt a new rage come over me. I told Yessica I had to go. Tons of people at Adams joined various Facebook groups that produced memes about college life—the dorms, the cafeteria, the white albino squirrel people spotted on occasion. There was even a group just for our dorm. Posted on every single one I was a member of was a naked picture of me. I recognized it—it was probably pulled from a very old email or my iCloud account.

  I hissed and began to type directly under the comment “is this a meme I dont get it.”

  Hi this is Chloe Sevre. I am not ashamed of my body—I should be charging you bitches for looking. But full disclosure: this picture was taken of me when I was 14 by a 22 year old who then faced criminal charges. bc of my age in the picture, technically it is child pornography which makes disseminating it or even looking at it a crime. I have already contacted campus police, the MPD and the FBI’s Cybercrimes Unit. Don’t think that they won’t come for you byeeeee.

  I copied this and posted it on every single other post of the picture.

  “Is that true?” Charles asked.

  “Not the last part obviously.”

  I fumed, trying to collect my thoughts. My problem is that sometimes I get so mad I act rashly. “Maybe Trevor actually spotted you when you were following him,” Charles said. His tone seemed careful. I went to Instagram to see if that weird account had posted anything about this. I hadn’t told Charles or Andre about Pinprick52—I couldn’t, not while that picture of me leaving Will was still there. There was a new post but it was hard to tell what it was—a crisscross of shadows, a neon red light.

  “He didn’t, I swear! Do you think Andre got hacked?”

  I texted Andre: Did you get hacked? Development—come to C’s place. Charles leaned over my phone and I inhaled his scent while Andre typed back.

  Huh? Nobody hacked me. Can’t come—in the middle of it, figured out the list

  “So, us but not Andre,” Charles said. “What list?” He hit the side of his phone as it made noises, then put it down on his desk, frustrated.

  “I’ll let him explain when he gets here.”

  “I have a theory.”

  “Pray tell,” I said without looking up as I typed back to Andre. Big Trevor development. What’s going on with the list?

  “Trevor’s been watching you. He’s the type of misogynist who is really black-and-white in his thinking. Virgin-whore dichotomy. If he likes a girl, she’s pure and good and worthy of him. If she proves herself a whore, which could include any sin from liking another guy to simply existing, then she’s a cunt and a slut who brings any harm upon herself to be attacked by the righteous. So maybe he discovered you’re not so innocent.”

  “And since when have I ever marched around like a virgin?”

  “Someone tried the door on us at the ball,” he said in a low voice, as if Kristen were in the room. “It could have been him. He thinks we’re fucking and he got mad.”

  “What a shame to be attacked for something we’ve never even done,” I said archly. He didn’t smile but looked back at me. I sighed, turning back to the computer. “How do we destroy him? I want acid to be involved. I guess the silver lining is that if Elena asks about why our watches aren’t geolocated we can blame it on this.”

  “She hasn’t said anything to you, has she?” Charles asked. I shook my head. “I don’t think she’s noticed yet. I don’t know how often they actually look at the data for analysis.”

  “That might buy us some time.”

  Charles’s phone blooped. “Andre just texted—he says he’s coming.”

  “How about we send our little friend the hunter to take care of Trevor?”

  “Unless Trevor is the hunter,” Charles said. I could feel him standing behind me suddenly. He reached around me to sign out of Facebook, then clicked on the video to drag it into his trash bin. “You know that actually doesn’t delete it,” I pointed out. “Maybe you’d like to watch it a few more times.”

  He opened the trash and clicked on it to delete it for real. “Why would I watch a video when I have access to the real thing?” he said, his face close to my ear. He went back to his chair, crossing his legs and resting an ankle on one knee, shaking his foot. “By the way, you didn’t sleep with Chad just because you thought it’d annoy me, did you?”

  “Maybe I find Chad sex-worthy.”

  He snorted. “Chad is objectively terrible by every possible definition.”

  “Now why would you say a thing like that?”

  “General malice?” Charles suggested, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

  “Or might you be jealous?”

  “God, you’re megalomaniacal.”

  “Duh—I’m a psychopath, get over it. You’ve been avoiding me.”

  “No, I haven’t—I’ve been a little busy with the whole, you know, not getting murdered thing. And I’m not sure how many times I have to tell you I have a girlfriend.”

  “And where is this girlfriend right now?”

  The look on his face went from playful to cold. “This is me carefully orchestrating her having no idea what’s going on so she’s safe and she doesn’t have to worry. Not that you can conceive of actually caring for another human being, but I do love her.”

  “And it has nothing to do with the fact that she’s fabulously wealthy and all your country club parents can have a big society wedding.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “I’ve never objected to that,” I said gleefully. “What were you planning—B school, then working for your dad, getting married at twenty-four and white picket fences with your Stepford wife?”

  “Hardly. What do you suggest instead?”

  “We could burn down the world.”

  His eyes were fixed on me, his expression unfathomable. “I’m reporting Trevor to the police for this—if he gets in trouble for real he won’t be able to attack anyone else. It’s better than nothing.”

  “Let’s hear what Andre’s development is before we decide anything.”

  Charles sighed, looking at another dick pic on his phone, and then stood up, going over to his fridge. He ate Chinese food out of the container, not even offering me any. I took advantage of his rudeness to do some sleuthing in private on the laptop. Trevor had a Twi
tter account but mostly it was filled with nonsensical but still somehow rude-seeming tweets about computers and Elon Musk.

  His most recent tweet, though, posted today, was Fuck the American health care system. Interesting. From my day of stalking I had learned what three of his classes were: Advanced Logic, Comparative Politics, and Economics 125. I quickly logged on to the class websites for each, where professors posted syllabi and assignments, and students would sometimes post messages.

  I almost jumped when I saw that Trevor had posted a message early this morning to the entire Logic class, including a picture. Hey, I am going to miss my presentation today. Spent all of yesterday in the hospital and only just got discharged. The picture was ostensibly of his wrist, sporting a plastic medical ID tag from the Washington Hospital Center. This could just be a normal psychopath lie to get out of a presentation, but there had also been the tweet, which might have demonstrated actual anger at the medical bills that were inevitably coming his way. And posting to the entire class to get sympathy and attention, instead of just the professor, was totally something a psychopath would do. He was probably hoping for some sympathy points from the girls in his class.

  Everything made sense. Someone attacked Trevor, he ended up in the hospital, got out and, assuming that it was me or Charles who attacked him, exacted his revenge. It’s Emma, then, I realized. I closed all my windows and shut the laptop. Emma had come pretty close to doing Trevor in, and now we were paying for her attempt.

  Andre knocked on the door before letting himself in with the key Charles had given him. “Did you finish the dissertation?” I asked. I hadn’t. There was only so much time I could devote to it when I had to follow Trevor for a day and midterms were coming up.

  “I did. It’s really interesting. I think John might actually have interviewed Ripley himself, but he doesn’t specifically say so.” Andre picked up on Charles’s confused look—we hadn’t filled him in about our storage unit adventure.

  “Chloe and I found all this stuff in a storage unit that used to belong to one of Wyman’s old students. We got his dissertation, and this list, and at first we thought they were all new victims, but then I researched them. Turns out they’re all, or were at the time, literary agents,” Andre explained.