WEBCAM - A Novel of Terror (The Konrath/Kilborn Collective)

by Jack Kilborn

  Tom nodded. Tanya reached out a hand and Tom gave it to her. She held it to her face, squinting as she pressed the screen with her thumbs. After about fifteen seconds, she put the phone on the desk.

  “Maddoksim Chmerkolinivskiy. The nose on the guy I saw was wider, eyebrows thicker, but otherwise they looked like twins.”

  Tom stared at the Wikipedia page of the actor, who was, as Tanya said, handsome.

  “What was he wearing?”

  “Long black coat. Jeans. A wool cap.”

  Roy’s turn. “Was he carrying anything?”

  Tanya shook her head.

  “Plastic bags?” Tom asked. “Shower curtain?”

  Another head shake.

  “And he was in a hurry, you said?”

  “He was practically running. Bumped me. Almost knocked me over. For a second I thought it was Maddoks. You know, from the show. But he also had a gut on him.”

  “A gut?”

  “A pot belly. Maddoksim Chmerkolinivskiy does not have a pot belly. He’s got the body of an underwear model.”

  Roy and Tom took turns questioning Tanya for another fifteen minutes, but she didn’t add any more details. Roy ended the interrogation with, “If you had to spot him in a line up, could you?”

  Tanya nodded. “Absolutely. He got even closer to me than I am to you. So close I could smell his breath.”

  “What did it smell like?” Tom asked.

  “Like meat. Like he’d just eaten a really rare steak. You know. Bloody.”

  Tom and Roy exchanged a glance. Then they thanked her, and Tanya left.

  “What do you think?” Roy asked.

  “Send a team to the building. Show all the tenants a pic of Max, or Maddox, or whatever this celebrity’s name is, see if he lives there or if he’s our guy.”

  “How about the blood breath?”

  “I’ll call the M.E. Have him check the body for saliva. If The Snipper is drinking blood, maybe he left some DNA.”

  Roy nodded. “What did you think of Tanya?”

  “She’ll make a good witness. Sure of herself.”

  “Could you tell she was intersex?”

  Tom blinked. “Huh?”

  “Either intersex or transgender,” Roy said. “I’m not sure which. No facial hair, and no equipment—the skinny jeans don’t lie. But big hands and feet, thick wrists, slim hips. She’s either post op, or intersex.”

  “I’m not sure what the difference is.”

  “Transgender,” Roy said, “is when a person who presents as one sex identifies with another. Intersex is when someone is born with no distinct gender.”

  “Like a hermaphrodite,” Tom said.

  “True hermaphrodites are really rare. But Tanya could have any number of conditions.”

  “And you know so much about this because…?”

  “Trish is intersex.”

  Tom blinked. “Your girlfriend?”

  “She was born with CAIS. Complete Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome.”

  Tom wasn’t sure what to say. “But she looks…”

  “Like a woman. I know. She looks completely like a woman. But Trish has a Y chromosome, and no ovaries. She has testes inside her.”

  “So… she has balls?”

  “Don’t be ignorant, Tom.”

  Tom spread his hands. “I’m not trying to be. I just don’t understand.”

  “Externally, she’s a woman. Got all the parts a woman does, except she can’t grow body hair. Internally, no ovaries. So she doesn’t have periods, can’t have children.”

  “Instead, she has testes.”

  Roy nodded. “Underdeveloped. They don’t make sperm.”

  “And you knew this all along?”

  “She told me on the first date.”

  It was a lot to absorb. “Roy, don’t take this the wrong way, but I never expected you to be so… progressive.”

  “Love is blind,” Roy said. “And the sex is incredible. Would you feel any different about Joan if she told you she was intersex?”

  Tom didn’t have to consider the question. “No. In fact, I’ll be honest; no periods would be nice.”

  “See,” Roy said, “you got to be a sexist dick. Here we’re having a high level conversation about gender, and you go for the cheap PMS joke.”

  “It’s not a joke. She’s like Lon Chaney Jr. during a full moon.”

  Roy didn’t crack a smile. “Why do I tell you these things when you just act like a fool?”

  “It’s not like I’m saying anything behind Joan’s back. She’d admit the same thing. Just because it’s a stereotype doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

  “So what stereotypes do you believe about black men?” Roy asked.

  “That you’re good basketball players, care too much about sneakers, and have big dicks.”

  “I find that offensive. In my case, all three happen to be correct. But I am offended for my smaller dick brothers who can’t hit the fadeaway jumper.”

  Tom laughed, and Roy stopped pretending to be irritated and laughed along.

  “Okay, you want the apartment or the M.E.?”

  “I’ll take the apartment. Meet you in two hours?”

  Tom nodded, they did a fist bump, and Roy walked off. For a moment, Tom thought about Trish. How she probably felt when all of her adolescent friends were getting their periods, and she didn’t. He could imagine her going to a doctor, getting the news that genetically she was partly male. Or all male. Tom still didn’t understand how that worked. But he did understand what it felt like to be told you were different from others.

  Being different didn’t feel good. But, to loosely paraphrase Thomas Jefferson, happiness was based on the choices we make, not the conditions we were born with.

  He considered all of Jefferson’s vast accomplishments, considered his own minimal contribution to humanity, and then got back to work.

  CHAPTER 8

  1251… 1252.

  Kendal stood in front of her house, key in hand. She touched the doorknob three times, then unlocked it, let herself in, and blew out a stiff breath.

  Class had been uneventful, but Kendal hadn’t absorbed much of it because she’d been unable to stop thinking about the van that had followed her earlier. Walking back from the quad, she’d looked behind her so many times that her neck had begun hurting. Kendal hadn’t seen it again.

  Which made her wonder if she’d actually seen it in the first place. Which made her wonder if the hallucinations were back.

  She checked the mail bin next to the front door, took out two envelopes addressed to her, and walked past the den. Linda and Hildy were stretched out on the sofa, watching one of those movies where the heroine was in love with a hot, angsty teenage vampire who took his shirt off a lot.

  “Hey, slut, how was class?” Linda asked, not turning away from the abs.

  “I blew the professor, and then had sex with two guys on his desk while everyone watched. Too bad you missed it. What did you guys do?”

  “We had a naked pillow fight, then did lines of cocaine off of each other’s boobs. Too bad you missed it.”

  At the beginning of the semester, Kendal and Linda used to make up outrageous lies to tease the subscribers who watched them, pretending that they’d actually missed something epic. They’d gotten so used to the jokes that ‘too bad you missed it’ was as common to them as ‘hello’.

  “You got a call,” Hildy said. “Message next to the phone.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Some stalker who wanted to cut your head off.”

  Kendal froze. Hildy was a cheerleading type, and her sense of humor wasn’t as subtle as Linda’s.

  After taking a moment to compose herself, Kendal asked, “Did the stalker have a name?”

  “Message is next to the phone.”

  Kendal walked into the kitchen, found the Post-It note with her name on it beside the old-fashioned push button phone, complete with a twisty cord attached to it.

  12:26 P.M. – Dr. S
emnai, Carpenter Clinic

  Kendal squinted at the words. The Carpenter Clinic was on campus, but Kendal had thought it was closed for remodeling. She dialed the number Hildy had scrawled, and a woman picked up on the fourth ring.

  “Clinic.”

  “This is Kendal Smith,” she whispered. “I got a message to call.”

  “What was the last name?”

  Kendal held her hand over the mouthpiece and spelled it. She didn’t want anyone watching to know her real name. No Names was the first rule of the house.

  “Hold please.”

  Kendal was treated to the Musak version of an old Nirvana song. She glanced at the nearest kitchen camera, felt her neck go goosepimply, and turned her back to it.

  “Miss Smith? We called to schedule a mammogram.”

  “What, like for breast cancer?” Kendal lowered her voice. “I’m nineteen years old. Aren’t mammograms for old women?”

  “Your medical history shows you were on several anti-psychotic medications.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “Medication can continue to harm your body for years after you take it.”

  “Are you saying my meds cause cancer?”

  “They carry an elevated risk.”

  “Are you sure? Do you know what I was taking?”

  “Your medical history was pinged during a routine review. It’s important we get this checked out immediately. Have you noticed any lumps? Tenderness? Changes in the look or feel of your breasts?”

  She felt herself blush. “No.”

  “Nipple discharge?”

  “What? No. Of course not.”

  “We’d still like you to come in. I can schedule you tomorrow at a quarter after three. Do you know where we’re located?”

  Kendal was hit by a wave of vertigo. She put her hand on the counter to steady herself.

  “I… this is all happening too fast.”

  “This isn’t anything to play around with, Kendal. The visit is free. It’s included in the wellness program as part of your tuition. We really need to take care of this right away.”

  She chewed her lower lip. The cameras around her seemed to burn like lasers. “Okay. Three fifteen.”

  “See you then.”

  The nurse hung up. Kendal stared at the receiver for a moment, then placed it back in the cradle.

  Breast cancer? Seriously? WTF?

  She walked to her room, ignoring Linda when she asked, “Everything okay, slut?”

  No. Definitely not okay.

  Kendal closed her door, turned the lock, and sat down at her desk, switching on the monitor. She intended to look up her old medication, and do some searches for breast cancer, but noticed there were eight clients in her chat room.

  Shit.

  As a cam model for www.HotSororityGirlsLive.com, Kendal got a weekly paycheck for simply living in the house, plus bonuses for extras. Nudity and sex paid the highest, but chatting with subscribers got her double her standard rate, plus tips. Kendal needed the money. Much as she hated interacting with the voyeurs who watched her, it was smart business sense to play nice.

  Kendal logged in as SHY1 and began to parse through the questions.

  BOFFA DEEZ: Shy, you ok?

  Watchdawg: wassup with the cancer, girl?

  Prsnal: Need Update!

  Unique NY: shy1 what was that call about? u say breast cancer?

  ALLEC2: r u scared?

  Free-mustache-rides: please tell us what is going on.

  Tuscon4evah: this sounds serious shy girl.

  Boffa deez: deets, plz!

  1rover1: you gonna get you titties squeezed?

  Allec2: what meds were you on?

  Kendal typed, thx for caring, guys! I m sorta freaked out right now. I guess I’m gonna see the doc tomorrow.

  She watched as an outpouring of fake sympathy filled her screen. Or maybe it was real sympathy. Kendal had a hard time picturing actual people behind these screen names. They didn’t know who she was, or where she lived. She’d never meet any of them in person. For some weird, lonely, voyeuristic reason, they liked watching college girls. It wasn’t necessarily prurient. They watched the sisters surfing TV channels, and sleeping, and putting on make-up, and eating. Mundane, everyday, non-sexual stuff. Hildy, who let the subscribers watch her shower, mentioned that some users purposely logged off once she dropped her towel. They told her they were valuing her privacy, even though they stared at her while she clipped her toenails.

  Kendal didn’t get it. She understood porn. Horny guy sees sexual images and relieves himself. But what benefit was there watching a group of sorority girls do their homework? Where was the entertainment value in that?

  For some reason the thought of nameless, faceless dudes watching Kendal read a magazine was even creepier than nameless, faceless dudes whacking off while she exercised. These guys were paying to watch someone else’s life. Someone they’d never meet. It was bizarre.

  So Kendal dealt with it by not thinking of the subscribers as people. They were more like Tamagotchi to her. She had one of those virtual reality pets when she was a kid. It was a keychain with a digital dog on the screen, and she had to feed and play with it every few hours or it would die. Kendal never warmed up to the pretend animal—it died after a few days. She never warmed up to her subscribers, either. But imagining that they weren’t real made them easier to deal with. And the more she interacted, the more money she made.

  Her IM screen popped up. Instant messages could be read by her, but not by anyone else in the chat room. This one was from Allec2, a user she didn’t recognize.

  Allec2: would you do a private chat?

  Kendal answered that she didn’t do any sex stuff. He replied that he just had some specific, private questions. Since Kendal currently had eight paying clients in her room, she declined, saying she was too busy right now.

  After twenty or so minutes of broad chitchat about her health and well-being, faux sympathy, and bon mots about how much they cared, Kendal had gotten forty bucks in tips and was down to three subscribers still chatting. Allec2 was one of them, and he tipped her ten dollars, her computer making a cha-ching! sound.

  Allec2: how about now? Chat?

  Private chats paid ten times as much as regular chats. Kendal actually preferred them, as it was hard to keep up several conversations at once. She typed, ok, as long as you don’t get perverted.

  She said goodbye to her other two clients, and went into a private chat room with Allec2.

  Shy1: so you finally got me all alone.

  Allec2: finally. How are you feeling?

  Shy1: still scared.

  Allec2: U R really young to need a mammogram.

  Shy1: they said I’m at a higher risk.

  Allec2: it runs in the family?

  Kendal didn’t know. It could have. Mom had left when she was young.

  Shy1: I was on meds.

  Allec2: anti psychotics?

  Shy1: yeah. I had some problems when I was younger.

  Allec2: sexual abuse?

  Kendal shivered. She pulled a blanket around her shoulders and slunk down in her desk chair.

  Shy1: I don’t want to talk about it.

  Allec2: I took clozapine for a while. Made me feel weird.

  Shy1: I know, right? I was dizzy all the time.

  Allec2: it gave me the shakes. But it helped with the urges.

  Shy1: I don’t know if it helped me or not. It was years ago. There’s a lot I don’t remember. My old shrink thinks I blocked some things.

  Allec2: the mind tries to protect itself from bad things. We come to believe that abuse is normal.

  Shy1: that’s what my shrink said.

  Kendal never talked about this with anyone. It had been a long time since she’d been to therapy. But Allec2 seemed to get it, on some level.

  Shy1: I thought everyone lived like I did. That everyone had a dad like that. That everyone saw things.

  Allec2: what kind of things did you see?<
br />
  Shy1: well, sometimes, when things got really awful, I would go places.

  Allec2: in your head?

  Shy1: yes! I had an imaginary friend I talked to. But I thought he was real. I could see him. Or I thought I could see him. But he helped me when it got bad.

  Allec2: are you sure he wasn’t real?

  Shy1: he couldn’t have been real.

  Allec2: so you were just talking to yourself?

  Shy1: I guess.

  Allec2: could you be chatting with yourself right now? Maybe I’m not even here.

  Kendal blinked. This was getting meta.

  Shy1: so I’m typing both my responses, and yours?

  Allec2: are you looking at the keyboard when you type? Or at the screen?

  Shy1: the screen.

  Allec2: so your fingers might be typing my response right now, and you don’t even realize it.

  Kendal kept one eye on her fingers, the other on the screen. Allec2 didn’t respond. When she turned her full attention back to the monitor, he replied with:

  Maybe you should start taking your meds again.

  Shy1: I gotta go.

  Allec2: you look a little freaked out right now.

  Kendal looked around her room, at all the webcams. Of course Allec2 was watching her. He paid a monthly subscription for the privilege.

  Shy1: it’s been a tough day. I’m tired.

  Allec2: school?

  Shy1: yeah.

  Allec2: calculus sucks.

  Kendal wondered how he knew she took calculus. He’d probably heard her mention it. Or seen her textbook.

  Or Allec2 is really me, and I’m talking to myself. Maybe I’m having a schizophrenic break.

  Allec2: tell me, Kendal, was your imaginary friend locked up in the basement and screamed like hell when your dad went down there?

  Kendal hit the block key and pushed away from the computer, her heart halfway up her throat. Then she looked at her hands, fingers splayed out in front of her.

  Holy shit, did I just write that?

  He called me Kendal.

  How did he know my name? He couldn’t know my name.

  Locked up in the basement?

  What the hell was going on?

  I’m dizzy.

  I want to lie down.

  I want to lie down, in privacy.