Find Me

by Romily Bernard

  “That one has all sorts of problems,” the old lady explains when she sees me staring at it. “They get it running and then it goes all crazy and they have to call the IT people.”

  “Crazy how?”

  “It won’t let you type anything. It’s like it just shuts you down.”

  I smile my thanks and slide into the seat. Shuts you down, huh? More likely it locks up because he’s overriding the user so he can use the computer.

  I check the ports on the back of the tower. The inputs feel worn, like someone might have been messing with them. I unhook the neighboring computer’s monitor cord, re-hook it into the broken computer. Once I get the connector firmly in, the neighboring screen returns to life.

  Griff sits down next to me and pretends to search for something on Wikipedia while I do the upload.

  “You’ll still need a computer for him to contact you,” he says, eyes not leaving the remaining librarian. She’s refiling books at the moment, but every time she turns in our direction, Griff tenses. “You’ll still need a system to hack from so he can’t trace you.”

  Good point. I finish the install, close my program, and pull the jump drive from the USB port. A very good point.

  Not that I’m going to admit it.

  “I’ll figure something out.”

  Griff shakes his head once. “No, if you’re going to do this, you’ll do it with my computer.”

  “Forget it,” I say. And I mean it. You can’t just give a hacker any old computer. We have preferences. There are setups. You don’t just start working from someone else’s gear.

  And you don’t involve someone you care about.

  “I’ll come up with something, Griff. Don’t worry.” And because that doesn’t seem to sway him, I add, “I hunt alone.”

  Griff tightens like a fist before the punch. “Not anymore.” I try to stare him down, but he doesn’t soften. “What will it say?”

  I hate it, but I hesitate. I’m proud of my Pandora code, but I’m not sure I want him to see it. It’s too personal, too abrasive . . . too me, but I turn to the computer screen.

  “When he accesses this computer, he’ll get a message,” I explain. “And once he clicks on the message, I’m in. I can get at his information. Here, look.”

  I tilt the screen a little toward Griff so he can read the message across the screen. It says:

  Welcome back, pervert. I have you logging in. I have your identity. I have everything I need to go to the cops—unless you contact me first. Find me here.

  Find me.

  I dare you.

  Even though we stop by Griff’s house to pick up another laptop, Todd’s still at work by the time we return. There’s a note on the fridge saying he’ll be home after dinner, and the house feels too quiet.

  Because Lily is gone?

  Best not to think about it. Her absence is a good thing, and let’s be honest, it’s good Bren’s gone too, because there’s no way she would let Griff come up to my room.

  He follows me upstairs, spends a few minutes looking around while I set up the laptop. I’m grateful for the space, actually. Right now my skin feels electrified. My vision’s going haloed. Oncoming migraine? I’ll have to take my pills. Can’t afford for this to get worse or it’ll slow me down.

  I rub my neck where the muscles have curled into rocks. Griff notices. He starts toward me and . . . stops.

  “If you pull this off, Wicked, you have to turn in everything you find to Carson. Tomorrow. First thing in the morning.”

  Turn everything over? So Carson can do nothing with it again? Just like he did with the diary?

  Then again, if I can get enough evidence, Carson will have to act.

  I hesitate. “Yeah. Fine.”

  Griff closes his hand over mine. I don’t even realize I’m leaning into him until my cheek brushes his hoodie’s sleeve.

  “So what do we do now?” he asks.

  “We wait.”

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  There’s no end to this, you know.

  —Page 61 of Tessa Waye’s diary

  Ten hours later, something’s ringing.

  I roll on my back, blink up at the ceiling.

  For three seconds or so, I’m confused. Then everything clicks. My hand shoots across the nightstand, snatches up my cell. “Hello?”

  “Wick?”

  “Griff!” I sit up straight, press the phone a little closer. At first, I think it’s static on the line, but it’s not. It’s his ragged breathing. “What’s wrong?”

  “It worked. The Pandora code worked.”

  Course it did. I push the covers off, wondering why he sounds so freaked. The migraine meds I took are making me feel fuzzy and sluggish. I wrench myself around so my feet hit the floor, and I stand up.

  “Wick? Did you hear me?” Griff’s voice jumps high. He sounds . . . scared.

  And that scares me. “Yeah, I heard you. This is great, Griff. I think—”

  “Don’t think.” Something crashes on his end. I hear a door slam. “Don’t think, just run. Get moving.”

  “Get moving?” Why? I need to stay put. This is working like we wanted it to work. Why would I screw that up by taking off?

  I lean toward the window; look for Carson’s unmarked sedan. He’s not here. Yet. “I’m not going anywhere. We’ve got him.”

  “Wick, I’m begging you.” Griff’s breath goes rough-edged, and I can hear his tennis shoes start to slap pavement in a run. “Run. I installed spyware on the laptop I gave you. It notified me as soon as he clicked on your message. The IP address for the computer that took the Trojan matches your house’s IP address, Wick. Whoever took the bait is inside your house.”

  I look at the computer, my bed, the open door to my bedroom. I can’t make sense of this. It can’t be right. It’s not possible.

  Chills push goose bumps through my skin.

  “Griff, I have to go.” And I hang up while Griff is still yelling. The cells lights up again, but I ignore it and open Griff’s laptop instead.

  “Work it like any other hack,” I whisper, waiting for the computer to return from sleep mode.

  Except it’s not just any hack, is it? Right now, my head feels filled with ginger ale, and my hands are shaking.

  Once the laptop is up, I open Command Prompt. It takes only another moment for me to turn on the remote computer’s webcam feed, and this time, it’s the sound that comes up first on my machine.

  I know the laugh even before I see his face, and when the image pops up on my screen, I want to vomit. I start to scream, but nothing comes out as Todd looks straight into the camera and says, “Hello, Wicket.”

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  He always hits me where no one can see. The first

  time it happened, I thought I was seeing him for

  who he really was . . . Then I realized I was lying.

  I’ve always known who he is—what he is. I was

  just too afraid to name it.

  —Page 79 of Tessa Waye’s diary

  Todd?! It was Todd? I push back from the desk, feet kicked under me, ready to run. No, he’s been so upset. Her death gutted him. Remember the tears? How he fought her dad? How he was eaten up with guilt? It couldn’t be Todd.

  Except he’s smiling and nodding like he knows what’s tumbling through my head and he likes it. The pieces click into place. Access to Tessa. Access to Lily.

  And now we’re alone.

  “Surprised?”

  Todd holds up his cell phone so I can see the screen. It’s my bedroom. It’s me. “Amazing what those security system install guys will do for an extra hundred bucks. He put another cam in your room’s heating vent and routed the feed to my cell. For a while, it was enough t
o know that it was there. I didn’t turn it on until recently, and guess what I found out?” Chills skitter up my spine and I reach for my bat, but my hand grabs air.

  It’s gone.

  When I turn around, Todd laughs harder. “Missing something?” He holds up my bat so I can see it.

  “You said you wanted to protect her,” I blurt. “You said you should’ve done something.”

  “Protect her from him, from that asshole father of hers.” Todd’s hand grazes the edge of his jaw, as if he’s remembering Tessa’s touch. “She didn’t need protection from me. She seduced me. She wanted it. They always want it. I could have had any of them, but I wanted her because she was broken.”

  Todd’s eyes flick down to the desktop, where his fingers tap against the wood. “I loved how much Tessa wanted me. She thought I was a god, but it wasn’t until she fought me and I forced her anyway that I felt like a god. In one afternoon, I finally understood why her father hit her—because nothing tastes better than power over someone else. Made me think about sweet, little Lily . . . and what I could make her do.”

  My breathing’s gone rough and ragged, making me sound like some animal run to ground. I start to grab random objects. Books. Computer cords. A laptop bag. There’s nothing here! How am I going to defend myself?

  “But what I realized is Lily would never be a challenge,” Todd continues. “I don’t want her anymore. Right now, I want you.”

  Me? I look back at my computer. The chair is spinning. It’s empty. Todd is gone.

  He’s coming. I run for the door, grabbing the knob with both hands to work the lock except . . . the lock just spins and spins.

  “No,” I whisper. He must have disabled it. It’s useless. “No, no, no!”

  I hurtle around, launch myself at the window, but when I lift up on the frame, nothing happens. It doesn’t budge, and my fingertips graze freshly hammered nail heads.

  He’s nailed the window shut. There’s no escape.

  I back away, my eyes darting over the room. I need a barricade, but the bed’s too heavy. I’ll never be able to move it. My desk? Too light, and it’s too small to wedge against the door.

  “Oh, Wiiiicccckkkkeeet.” Todd’s voice floats from somewhere farther down the hallway. “Are you going to run from me?”

  What am I going to do? My eyes fall on my bedside lamp. I’ll fight.

  “I hope you do run.” Todd laughs, and I fling myself toward the bed, unplugging the lamp, dipping the room into dark. “I really hope you do. I like it better when I get to chase.”

  Footsteps. My hands are sweat-slick and sliding along the lamp’s metal base. He’s on the stairs.

  I yank the shade off the top, break the cord from the base. Makeshift bat. I hoist it to one shoulder, test the weight. Lighter than I want, but short enough that I’ll be able to do some damage. It’ll work.

  I stand in the dark and wait. When he comes, I’ll nail him. Except . . . maybe I shouldn’t wait. I shift my weight from foot to foot, trying to ready myself and ignore how my knees want to crumble.

  I ease forward, opening my bedroom door so I can see Todd coming—and lights sweep the street outside my window.

  “Well, look who’s here,” I whisper as Detective Carson pulls up.

  “Not a runner then.” Todd sounds disappointed . . . and intrigued. “Guess you just go for what you know, huh, Wicket? Having that fucking loser for a father, I can’t imagine this is the first time you’ve been chased.”

  No, it isn’t. And you’d think it would make this easier, but it’s not. I’m trying not to breathe so hard. I’m trying to be quiet, but I can’t get enough air.

  He’s a few feet from me now, just outside the doorway, and I can’t see for shit. After Todd saw my room was dark, he flipped out the hallway lights. Now we’re both blind.

  Until a dim glow crawls across my floor from Carson’s headlights.

  Shit! The detective is turning his car around. Is he leaving? For a second, I think about hurling myself into the window, about smashing the glass and screaming for help.

  Would I make it?

  “I see your hero has arrived.”

  I stifle a gasp. He’s closer than I thought, just on the other side of the wall.

  “Don’t even think about screaming for him,” Todd says. “I’ll be on you before he ever hears a sound.”

  There’s a creak of floorboard, and blood throbs in my ears. I ram my shoulder against the wall and lift the lamp higher.

  “You know he’s suspected me all along,” he continues, and in the dim light, I see his fingers wrap around the door frame. “That’s why he keeps making excuses to come by, why he keeps circling the house.”

  I hold myself steady even though everything in me is screaming to start swinging. Careful, you don’t want to break his hand, you want to smash his face. You want to get him down so he can’t get back up.

  “At first.” Todd takes another step, pushing the edge of his profile into reach. He exhales, and I can smell the peppermint he’s chewing. “I thought—I hoped he was after you and your piece-of-shit father. Then I realized it was me and the game was on, but he’ll never catch me. Do you know why, Wicket?”

  He’s trying to get me to talk, get an idea of where I am. I hold my breath.

  Todd sighs, disappointed I didn’t take the bait. “He won’t catch me because after I finish with you there won’t be anything left and I’ll be gone.”

  Another step closer and I swing. The lamp base connects with his nose, and there’s a sickening crunching noise. Todd screams, lashes out. I duck, but I’m not fast enough, and his hand digs into my hair.

  “You little bitch!” he hisses, and yanks me to him. The lamp base’s corner has torn his cheek wide open, exposing a seam of teeth. “You will fucking pay for that!”

  I kick, connect with his knee, then his shin. He sucks in a hard breath, and I register one horrifying heartbeat before Todd punches me in the face.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Stars explode behind my eyes and warmth courses down my face. Blood. But no pain. Not yet. That will come later. Sticky heat floods my face, the shock making me hesitate.

  It’s all the opening he needs.

  Todd half kicks, half pushes me onto the floor. I fall on my back, rolling even before I fully connect. Surprise is gone and instinct is kicking in. I cannot get pinned. I must not get pinned down. He’s too heavy. If he gets on top of me, I’m done.

  Todd crashes down after me, one hand raised. Something metallic flashes.

  Knife!

  Todd plunges it downward, aiming at my chest and catching my arm instead. Pain rips through me, shooting all the way down to my fingers.

  “When I finish with you, they’ll never even find your pieces!”

  My good hand flails, scrabbles, and connects with a discarded boot. I grab it, smashing it into Todd’s broken nose. More blood sprays. He backhands me, and the swing hits me so hard it actually knocks me out of reach. I slide across the floorboards, crash into the dresser, and Todd staggers up, ready to come after me.

  He’s just not fast enough.

  I’m on my feet now, and I plunge into the hallway, into the dark. Todd grabs the edge of my T-shirt. It rips, but it doesn’t slow me down. He’s right. I do know all about being chased. My dad gave me plenty of practice, and Todd won’t catch me now.

  I jump the stairs two at a time until I hit the middle landing and my socks slip. I smack into the wall, go down hard on my knees. The pain in my arm streaks tears down my face.

  “Got you!”

  I look up and see him scrambling down the stairs after me. I scream even as my feet push me up for one last run that will get me nowhere.

  I slam into his stomach, keep pushing until he falls right over me. Todd flips, hits the stairs with wood-splintering force. Something cracks and he slumps. I don’t even realize I’m still screaming until he slides to the bottom of the stairs.

  Todd lies there, not moving.
>
  Holy shit, I’ve killed him.

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  If I do this, what will happen to me afterward?

  —Page 82 of Tessa Waye’s diary

  Carson. I need to get Carson. And like I somehow said the words aloud, I hear the detective bellow my name.

  “Wicket!” Something heavy hits the rear door. “Wicket!”

  My feet won’t move. I can’t take my eyes off Todd.

  But he doesn’t move. I ease down the stairs, jumping way over his chest, and run.

  Just like that first night, Carson is on the other side of the French door. This time his pistol butt is raised, ready to break the glass. When he sees me, his hands drop and his head tilts to one side, saying something into the radio pinned to his shoulder holster.

  My fingers are blood-slicked and clumsy. They won’t work right, so it takes me a second or two with the locks. If I’d tried to escape this way, Todd would’ve caught me for sure.

  The dead bolt slides open, and I don’t even have time to reach for the doorknob before Carson shoves his way into the kitchen. He takes one look at me and reaches for his radio again.

  “I’m gonna need an ambulance. Now!” Carson tries to wrap his arm around me. “Did he get you too? Wicket, what’s going on?”

  Get me too? I don’t understand. Did Todd get me like he did Tessa?

  Carson gives me a little shake. “What happened?”

  The detective tugs me down the back steps, snapping more orders into his radio. “Wicket, I need you to come with me. I need you to tell me what happened.”

  “He attacked me,” I manage. My voice sounds too high. I clear my throat, but it only breaks again. “I fought him off.”

  Carson rounds on me. “He’s here?”

  I nod.

  “In the house?”