Girl Gone Viral

by Alisha Rai

  He gathered up some basic gadgets and headed downstairs. No alarm system, which he’d also have to figure out. For now he installed a simple doorstop at each door. The metal stick wedged under the doorknob wasn’t the most sophisticated way to keep intruders out, but it would be effective enough for warning him if someone was entering the place. At each window he attached a high-decibel alarm sensor that would shriek if it was opened or the glass was broken.

  Did he actually think someone would hurt Katrina? Not really. He genuinely believed it would be difficult for anyone to get through all the digital roadblocks he had in place to protect her home address.

  At the same time, he also understood her reaction. The potential threat of doxxing was scary enough for people who hadn’t been through what she had.

  Jas shuddered, recalling the day of the incident. Her security had claimed they’d barely been a couple feet behind her. They’d heard a noise, glanced away for a second, maybe two, and she’d been gone. It had taken one whole harrowing day for the ransom call to come. Jas had been there a few days later for the handoff in the parking lot behind a deserted warehouse. Would he ever be able to forget the way Katrina had looked when she’d stumbled out of the van? Dirty, small, still in the now-torn clothes she’d been abducted in. Bleeding.

  He shook his head. No, he’d been too far away to see the blood at first. It was only in his nightmares that he could see each drop of blood curving down her smooth cheek.

  Hardeep had been told to stay away from the scene, lest he be targeted as well, so it had been Jas who had pulled her away while the cops swarmed, Jas who had held her hand in the ambulance, Jas who had stood by while a doctor stitched her cheek in the ER. It had taken her days to start speaking in anything but one-word sentences. Weeks for her to leave the house, and then only because Hardeep had gently browbeaten her into it, much to Jas’s disapproval, though he’d only aired that with his boss in private. In Punjabi, because, though Katrina was quick, she hadn’t picked up enough Punjabi to understand them when they spoke rapid-fire in their own language.

  She doesn’t want to go to a movie or dinner or anything, Hardeep.

  If we let her hermit, she’ll stay in here forever.

  So?

  Hardeep had sighed. There’s no use in coddling her.

  Jas’s lip curled. Coddling was such an infantilizing word for respecting the wishes of an adult and encouraging them to take things at their own pace.

  He scrubbed his hand over his face. Look at him, dwelling on the past. Must be the novelty of being in this house where so much had changed.

  It was time to head to bed. He tested the front door one more time, ensuring that it was secure. Or as secure as it could be.

  He wasn’t sure what made him glance over into the living room as he headed to the stairs, but it was the mantel over the fireplace that made him stop.

  So not everything had changed.

  His steps were leaden as he made his way to the fireplace. When he’d been young, it would have been impossible to reach, but now he easily pulled down the shotgun hung up high in a place of honor.

  It was old and worn, from his great-grandparents’ time. Hung for décor, not function. It was unloaded, and there wouldn’t be any ammunition left carelessly lying around the house.

  He ran his hand over the old weapon, searching out the scratches and nicks. He’d grown up around guns, had known how to use them safely well before he’d headed to the armed forces.

  He swiped his arm over his mouth. His upper lip had broken out in sweat. Jas hadn’t touched a weapon more lethal than a Taser in years. That did make him an oddity in his field, but he’d learned to compensate for the lack of a gun.

  He pivoted and made his way back to the front door, removed the security bar and jerked it open. He had the presence of mind to close it behind him, even though he wasn’t going far, just to the SUV parked in the driveway.

  He opened the trunk and dropped the shotgun inside, concealing it with a blanket and the luggage cover. Once it was enclosed in there, the tightness between his shoulder blades eased.

  He was so exhausted he almost walked into the room he’d placed Katrina in, but turned away at the last second. That would be a true disaster.

  Jas settled into his grandparents’—well, his now—bed. The bedding might have all stayed the same, but the mattress had been changed at some point. This one was memory foam, which he hated. Give him those old springs any day of the week.

  He placed his phone next to his head, as was his habit, so he wouldn’t miss any notifications. Or if Katrina needed him.

  Really, it was the second thing he cared about most.

  Chapter Eight

  KATRINA WOKE UP in slow degrees from her sleepy cocoon. Without opening her eyes, she rolled over onto her stomach and buried her face in the pillow. She needed to get up soon. Read her paper, feed her sourdough starter, go make breakfast, get to work.

  She groped next to her for her phone to check the time, but nothing met her hand. Katrina frowned.

  The sheets didn’t smell like her sheets. She’d used the same detergent and fabric softener combination for longer than she could remember. She ran her fingers up the cotton, which was rougher than her high-thread-count stuff. Wait. This wasn’t her bed.

  A surge of adrenaline coursed through her veins. Her eyes flew open and she rose up on her hands and clambered to her knees.

  The place looked like it had been ripped from another time, with old wood-paneled walls and sturdy furniture hand-carved out of oak. The blue and white quilt she was tangled up in was clean, but deeply loved, the fabric worn.

  Holy Laura Ingalls Wilder, where am I?

  Not her room.

  Because you’re not at home, remember?

  Jas’s place. His family’s farm. She breathed out through her nose, then did it again. That was right. She was safe.

  “You’re fine,” she whispered to herself. “I know this is out of the ordinary for you, it’s not what you’re used to, but you’re fine.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself to give herself a hug and took her time examining the room. It wasn’t her bedroom, but now that the confusion had worn off, she could see that it was quite nice and tidy. There was an inviting, well-used fireplace in the corner and a stack of firewood next to it.

  You’ll like this place. You came here to feel better.

  She inhaled and exhaled, letting the knee-jerk fear leave her completely. She reached into her jeans pocket, where her phone was uncomfortably wedged. She vaguely remembered staggering up here, but she must have only taken her shoes off before sleeping. This particular prescription always left her groggy.

  Her thumb hovered over her Twitter app. She’d downloaded it yesterday, for this nightmare. She had little use for social media, and this hadn’t made her want it. She got her news from print papers, connected with others who had similar panic issues on online forums. Social media was exposure.

  She almost opened the app, but then backed off. She didn’t need to be in a fetal position immediately upon waking up, now, did she? Twitter and fetal positions could wait. For a shower, at least.

  Her bag was next to the door, and she made her way to it and pulled out her toiletries and jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. She’d packed cool-weather clothes. A girl liked a nice blanket scarf and boots every now and then.

  The hot shower revived her, as did her morning skin care routine. Each product she dabbed onto her face and neck felt like an extra protective layer, even if the essences and serums were watery and light.

  She turned the lights off in the bathroom and went to her bag with determination. She would be here for a while, and she’d get used to it. Though she was in a new place, there was no reason she couldn’t have a bit of order and discipline.

  She unpacked her suitcase, hanging up her clothes in the closet and putting her undergarments away in the dresser drawers that smelled vaguely of lavender sachets. She frowned when she noticed a blue
sweatshirt wedged into the corner of her bag. It was Rhiannon’s favorite one. How had it gotten in her suitcase?

  She pulled the hoodie out and shook it. A small scrap of paper fell to the floor. She picked it up and found Jia’s handwriting.

  Rhiannon told me to give this to you in case you need a hug. Does that make sense? I thought it was weird but figured I’d pack it for you.

  She clutched the cotton close to her. She was very lucky in her friendships.

  She drew the hoodie on, even though it didn’t go with her outfit. Rhiannon was taller than her and skinnier, and she couldn’t close it over her chest without smashing her breasts down. That was okay, it fit fine. Sisterhood of the traveling hoodie.

  Katrina grabbed her phone and took a selfie, sending it to Rhiannon and Jia in their group chat. She purposefully kept her tone light and cheerful.

  Everything’s fine! Got here safely. Thanks for the present, Rhi.

  Her phone rang immediately. She didn’t know what time it was for Rhiannon, but she imagined her best friend must be dead-tired. She answered. “Hey. Are you at your hotel?”

  “Just got here.”

  “How’s India?”

  “Hot and seen through jet-lagged eyes. I have been waiting for you to wake up. What the hell are you doing in Yuba City? Where is that, even?”

  Katrina’s smile was rueful. “Jia told you.”

  “No, I tracked you.”

  “Did you?” Katrina rubbed the skin under her ear. Funny, she didn’t feel a chip there. “Ah. How’d you do that?”

  “I have Find Friends set up on yours and Jia’s phones.”

  “Oh right.” When Jia had come to live with them, they’d followed each other on the tracking app. Now that Katrina thought about it, she wondered if that made her phone less secure. She made a mental note to ask Jas.

  “I’m glad to have it. I get worried. I listen to true crime podcasts.”

  “You know you’re too paranoid to listen to those.”

  “Okay, fair. Now answer my questions.”

  “I’m north of Sacramento.”

  “I don’t mean where literally, I mean, like . . . where in the grand scheme of things?”

  “I actually don’t know what you’re asking.”

  “What the hell are you doing in the middle of nowhere, Katrina?” Worry dripped off her words.

  “It’s not the middle of nowhere.” Katrina went to the window and squinted out at the landscape. All she could see were trees from here, and a little barn set off from the house, its red paint chipped and weathered. “I mean, it’s rural and definitely small, but I skimmed the tourism page and there are many shops and restaurants. A Target.”

  “A Target is not a surefire sign of civilization. It’s a sign that your wallet is empty because you walked in to buy milk and left two hundred dollars poorer. With no milk.”

  “Do you know the Target Effect is a real thing? Social scientists think it has something to do with the lighting—”

  “Katrina. Stop trying to distract me. Why did you leave the house?”

  Katrina traced a finger down the window, where her face was reflected in the glass. “I had to go.”

  “I’ve been monitoring since yesterday, even while I was in the air. I’m certain this will blow over. If you let me tell Lakshmi, we can even make sure it does blow over.”

  Rhiannon’s assistant was impressive, but Katrina didn’t know how she’d make the internet bow to her. Katrina had already considered and dismissed flexing legal muscle yesterday. The tweets were, literally, everywhere. “You can tell Lakshmi, but I don’t want her, like . . . hacking the CIA or whatever she might want to do.”

  “She has never hacked a government database.”

  Interesting, that left a lot of other databases for Lakshmi to hack.

  “I know this sucks, but are you sure you shouldn’t be home? I worry about you out there, in a place I don’t even know, and me not in the country—”

  “I told you I was kidnapped once,” she blurted out. She’d given Rhiannon the barest of explanations back then, mostly to explain the scar on her cheek.

  They’d met a few years prior, at a party, when Katrina was twenty-two. For once, Katrina hadn’t needed to be prodded by her opportunistic dad to go speak to a wealthy person. Even in her twenties, Rhiannon had glowed with a confident, brilliant light. She seemed bigger than she was, her personality shining out of her.

  Katrina had felt like the opposite at the time. Smaller than she looked. She’d craved what Rhiannon had. Her self-esteem had been so low, she’d been shocked when Rhiannon had seemed to return her desire for friendship.

  Rhiannon sucked in a breath. “Is the kidnapper out? Because I’ll kill him.”

  “Thank you for that offer of murder, but he’s still in a British jail and will be for a while.”

  “Oh.”

  Katrina rested her forehead against the glass, the coolness grounding her. She didn’t like to think too much about the small flat she’d been kept in for those few days or the fear Hardeep wouldn’t be able to pay the ten million dollar ransom the kidnapper had demanded. Or that he wouldn’t want to. Theirs had, after all, been an odd alliance—he got a pretty young escort and the satisfaction of saving her, and she got protection from her dad.

  He’d paid it, though. On the day of the exchange, blindfolded and gagged, she’d struggled on the way to the van, certain the man was going to kill her. That was when he’d cut her cheek. Going by the way he’d cursed, she was pretty sure now it had been an accident, but she’d backed down, cowed.

  She shook her head, lest the odor of that van invade her nostrils now.

  Rhiannon cleared her throat. “You’re scared someone might hurt you again like that?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Or are you scared of your dad finagling his way back into your life?”

  That scenario was more likely, but she’d drafted a plan to handle her father if he ever came back. It was her break-glass-in-case-of-emergency plan. She hoped she wouldn’t have to use it, but it was there.

  “Or is there something else?”

  The breath she released was shaky. “I wanted to get away. That’s all. I’m scared of people knowing who and where I am, of being exposed like that. It’s not rational, not based on any one threat.”

  Katrina, sweetheart, you must come to the party.

  Katrina, be rational. I can’t not have my wife at this event.

  Katrina, please get in the car. No one will hurt you. Face your fears.

  Hardeep’s well-meaning words rang in her ears. Being in public had been challenging before the kidnapping, never knowing where or when she might have a panic attack. After, it was like there were two threats always waiting for her. Inside her head, and around the corner.

  She clenched her fists tight, part of her terrified Rhiannon would echo Hardeep’s logical words and tell her to go back home.

  Of course, this was Rhiannon, and there was a reason the woman was her best friend. “This place you’re at, Target aside, you’re safe?”

  Outside the window, Jas came into view, striding to the car. If the glass hadn’t been there, she would have fallen out, she pressed herself so tight against it. She couldn’t see his face, but he wore a white long-sleeved shirt and jeans, and he held a ladder tucked under one arm, a black bag in his other hand.

  He looked good.

  “I’m safe. This is kind of an experiment, you know? Like how I expose myself to new establishments, but on a bigger scale. If I hate it, I can leave. Like any other typical person who goes on a vacation.” Kind of. “I just woke up, but I’m already feeling better than I did staring at that Twitter thread all day yesterday.”

  “We all need to get away sometimes. I’m glad there’s a place you could run to, however temporarily. Good for you, listening to yourself.”

  Her sinuses got a little clogged. “Thank you.”

  “Tell Jas to make sure no creepy clowns are lurking in the cornfiel
ds or anything,” Rhiannon warned.

  “There’s no cornfields here.” Katrina paused. “I mean, hopefully no clowns too.”

  “In my mind, corn and clowns and farms all go hand-in-hand. And bears. Are there bears?”

  Rhiannon was being deliberately silly, and Katrina appreciated it. “That I’m not sure about.”

  “If you see a bear, run zigzag.”

  “That’s a crocodile. Or an alligator?”

  Rhiannon gave an exaggerated sigh. “Honestly, do I look like a farmer?”

  Katrina was still chuckling when she hung up. She searched for Jas outside. At first she’d thought he’d disappeared, but then she caught sight of him at the top of the ladder next to a tree, a drill in his hands. Cameras, she guessed.

  She tucked her phone in her sweatshirt pocket, adding her little gray fidget stone before she left the room. Though she couldn’t zip up the hoodie, she did pull it tighter around her.

  Katrina made her way slowly down the creaking stairs, clutching the wooden banister for balance. There were multiple framed photos on the staircase, like a small baby museum, full of chubby thighs and fat cheeks. The photos appeared to date back maybe fifty or sixty years—she assumed one of the more recent ones was Jas—ah, that one. For sure, this was him.

  She paused at the last photo, smiling. Jas was maybe a couple years old, his eyebrows already beautiful at this young age, and he stared out at her with a militant glare.

  She imagined he’d probably grunted at the camera as this was taken.

  She ran her finger over the silver frame and looked up at the rest of the photos. There was history here, family history.

  Katrina placed her hand over her heart. She’d stopped thinking of her maternal extended family long ago, but occasionally a memory or longing tapped on her consciousness. She tried to sit with that discomfort the way she did her fear, but it was a little too sharp today, exacerbated by the upheaval.