by Willow Rose
“That has been the pattern so far, yes. They all stream on Twitch, a live video streaming service that primarily focuses on video game live streaming.”
“Just like Tim,” Liam said. “It was all he ever did.”
“And they’re all celebrities either from YouTube, or they have a famous parent like your son had. Something to make sure the story reaches the news.”
“How did you know him? Victim six?”
I swallowed. “It was a she. KittyWolfGamer was her online name. In real life, she was Stacy. She was also my old neighbor and best friend, Priscilla’s daughter. She was twenty-two when she died.”
“Next-door neighbor here?”
I shook my head. “Back when I lived in D.C. Stacy was killed two months ago, and her mom called me crying the next day and told me everything. I’ve known Stacy since she was eight. I loved that kid. I promised her I’d take a closer look at exactly what happened and why Stacy’s condo was raided. By then, Stacy was still in ICU, and they thought she might survive, but she died three days later. I contacted everyone I knew up there in law enforcement and had every paper and file in the case sent to me. I went through it and just couldn’t believe what had happened. I then started to search through the Internet and found similar stories all over the country. And some of them had more than a lot in common, among them the time of receiving the call.”
“What else? What else do they have in common?” Liam asked.
“Well, as I said, they’re all gamers, which tells me the killer is one himself. And, as I said, they’re all celebrities in some form, enough to make headlines.”
“What else? I have a feeling there’s more?”
“Well…he sort of tells us who will be the next victim. This, I found out later.”
“I see. And that’s how you found out that my Tim would be next?”
I nodded. “Yes. I didn’t know this until his last victim, and that’s why I rushed to tell you. You were the first one I knew beforehand.”
He sighed and slumped his shoulders. “So, it is all my fault. Because I didn’t listen.”
I looked away. I knew it had to be eating the guy up, and I certainly didn’t want to rub salt in an open wound. It had to be killing him. But I guess he was right, even though I couldn’t blame him for not believing me. I was, after all, a stranger, and as a celebrity, he had to have met his share of crazy people.
“So, what is it? How does he tell you?”
Chapter 19
Amal didn’t even realize that she had fallen asleep until she woke up. She blinked a few times when she realized that the lights had been turned on in the cabin, and the flight attendants were walking up and down the aisle, telling people to put their seats up and make sure their seatbelts were fastened.
Are we there already?
Amal looked at her watch. They had only been in the air for an hour. It was a four-hour flight. What was going on? Were they about to enter heavy turbulence?
Amal turned to look at the flight attendants. Their faces were strained. They were smiling and talking in a calming manner, but still, there was an uneasy nervousness behind it. A female flight attendant who walked past her mumbled under her breath. It sounded like a small prayer.
What the heck is this?
Amal had never been keen on flying and hated turbulence like nothing else in this world. She pushed her head back in the seat and closed her eyes to calm herself, mumbling the phrases she knew to be true.
“No plane has ever fallen due to turbulence. It’s just wind and bad weather on the ground. It’s not dangerous. You will not die from this.”
Amal exhaled and opened her eyes again, then met the eyes of the man sitting next to her. He, too, seemed confused. She was trying to smile, but then she spotted something out of the corner of her eye that just about made her heart stop.
“Is that…Is that an…?”
Amal leaned toward the guy by the window who turned his head to look at the F-16 that flew by their window.
That was when panic erupted both inside and outside of Amal. She turned to look at the other side, where another F-16 fighter jet pulled up and seemed to be escorting them.
Around her, all the passengers sat up straight and started to talk. People looked around them, casting nervous glances around the cabin. Tension was thick in the air, lots of furrowed brows and frowns. Some pulled out their phones and began to film. Amal decided to do the same. If nothing else, then to document her last hours in case the phone survived.
Finally, an announcement was made by the captain.
“Ladies and gentlemen. We are preparing to make an emergency landing in a few minutes. Please make sure you are all in position. Seats are up, seatbelts fastened. I need all of you to remain calm.”
“Kind of hard when you don’t sound calm,” Amal said to the camera. She felt terrified as she stared out at the F-16 escorting the airplane, then spoke with a low voice to her camera.
“What I’m asking myself right now, just like probably most of the people here, is if they will shoot us down if necessary? I mean, that’s why they’re there, right? That’s what I heard, at least. To protect the people on the ground. Why else would they send out military planes?”
The man sitting next to Amal whimpered slightly. Amal couldn’t blame him. She was terrified, too, and she was beginning to wonder if she’d make it out alive. The cabin crew tried to keep their cool, but Amal could see how anxious they were. Amal felt claustrophobic. The cabin suddenly seemed so small. People were chatting nervously to one another. A child was crying and asking her mother if they’d make it home alive.
“I heard there was a bomb on the plane,” someone turned her head and said. “Someone further up heard the cabin crew talking to one another, mentioning the word bomb.”
That confirmed Amal’s deepest fear. That was why the F-16 planes were there. If the person who brought the bomb threatened to explode it, they’d shoot them all down.
The thought wasn’t exactly calming.
“Why isn’t the pilot saying anything?” the guy sitting next to her asked. “He hasn’t said a word since he told us we’re going to make an emergency landing.”
Amal nodded. He was onto something. Usually, when there was bad weather, he’d give updates regularly to calm the passengers, but now—when there was actual danger—he remained silent.
Was it because he was scared too?
The thought didn’t feel reassuring to Amal. Yet, she continued to film with her phone. Not because she thought it would make her even more famous or because she thought about her millions of YouTube followers who might want to watch it.
No, it was all she knew how to do in a situation where she felt utterly helpless.
Chapter 20
I grabbed a book from the shelf and put it on the table in front of him. He took it into his hands and looked at it, front and back.
“You wrote this?”
I nodded. “I’m not showing you this to brag, but just to tell you that I’ve been studying serial killers for many years, and I’m considered to be somewhat of an expert. What I wrote about in this particular book is that, after studying more than two hundred serial killers, I concluded that most of them communicate in some way or another about their murders. Either during the murders or afterward. They talk about it somehow. Now, how they do it differs a lot. Some like to taunt the police, while others leave clues. A few try to explain their murders, while others try to justify their actions. Often, they leave messages at the crime scene, written on walls, or leave clues on the body or small notes at the crime scene. In my experience, when dealing with serial killers, as soon as you discover their means of communication, you can start tracking them down. That’s the best way to go about it. So, that’s what I did. I spent hours and hours researching the old cases, and I couldn’t figure out how this killer was speaking to me. How was he trying to leave me clues? There were, of course, the similarities in the killings, the time of the call, the choice of vi
ctims, and that they all use the same live-stream platform Twitch, and so on, but I knew there had to be more. And that’s when it hit me. It had been right in front of me all the time. The killer did inform me of the next victim; he even warned them.”
“Really? How?”
“By meeting up with them in the game Call of Duty – WWII.”
Liam wrinkled his forehead. “In the game?”
I nodded. “You’ll understand why it took me so long to figure out because it’s an online game. It wasn’t until I realized that several of the victims were in the middle of playing that game when the police came to their house. The first one, Victim zero, Peter James…”
“EvilPeterPan,” Liam said.
“Yes. He was playing the game when the police came to his house. It was all streamed live to his six million YouTube followers. You can’t see what happens, but you can hear everything that takes place, including the moment he is shot out on his front porch. I later saw it from a different angle, from the officer’s bodycam when it was made public.”
“You’re telling me this person, this serial killer or swatter or whatever you call him, meets with his next victims inside of Call of Duty, and then what? Like, how did you know that my Tim was going to be one of them?”
“I had to start playing it myself,” I said, “in order to figure it out. I don’t know how much you know about it, but it’s a multiplayer game, a shooting game that simulates combat from a soldier’s point of view during World War II. You play in teams and help each other out, fighting through events like D-day, and they’ve also added Nazi-zombies to make it even more creepy. Anyway, when I took a closer look into Peter James’ case, I kept coming back to the fact that he was playing when it happened, and that was the case for others as well. Not all of them. But then I thought, who could he have been playing with? I called my dad, who is a very skilled computer geek, and asked him what to do. He hacked into Peter’s account and found the players he had been playing within the twenty-four hours before it happened. Then he did the same with some of the other victims and managed to find one player profile that kept turning up. Under the name FaZeYourFeaRs.”
“So, that’s the guy?” Liam asked. “Can’t he be tracked?”
“It’s not that easy, I’m afraid. Not with this guy. He doesn’t leave any trace when calling in the threats, and he makes it look like they actually come from the house they’re about to swat, or a cell phone of the victim’s. And he doesn’t let himself be tracked either. We tried, but it led to an address in Singapore that, within minutes, changed to an address in South Africa. My dad says it’s common for hackers to hide their whereabouts this way. This killer is a skilled hacker, and, so far, he’s stayed under the radar. He knows his victim’s identity and personal information before he teams up with them in the game. That’s the only way I can see that he can do what he does. He chooses them carefully and does his research first before he makes his move, is my guess. I have naturally talked to the FBI about him and told them all I know, but they can’t open a case with so little proof. I have been tracing him relentlessly in the game and tried to keep track of what he’s up to, but it’s easier said than done. I managed to see him team up with victim nine, and twenty-four hours later, he was dead. When I saw him team up with your son, I knew I had to try and warn you.”
“How did you know it was Tim?” Liam asked.
“My dad tracked him down. I gave him his username, and he did his thing that I don’t know how he does. But apparently, he found the credit card information of the person who had bought the game for the profile that your son was playing. I was so glad when I found out I actually had the possibility to warn one of the Swatter’s victims.”
Liam rubbed his face and sighed. “But I ruined that. Because I wouldn’t listen. And now he’s…”
Liam stopped to gather himself. I remained silent for quite a while to allow the information to sink in properly. That was when Matt walked in from the garage. He took one glance at Liam, then gave me a puzzled look.
“Who’s this?”
Chapter 21
I rose to my feet and approached Matt, then pulled him into the kitchen. His confused eyes lingered on me.
“This is…”
“I know who it is,” he interrupted me. “But what is he doing in your…our living room?”
I exhaled, feeling tired. It had been a long day. I realized it had gotten late and suddenly wondered where Matt had been all night while I was speaking to Liam.
“It’s a long story,” I said. “It’s this thing I’ve been working on…you know when I went to Philadelphia. Well, Liam lost his son recently, and I believe that…he was killed.”
Matt wrinkled his forehead. “He was shot by the police, as far as I’ve heard.”
“Yes, but…I think he was killed.”
“Wait, so that’s what you did in Philadelphia? You met with this guy? That awful guy from TV?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“If you must know, I knew what was going to happen to his son.”
Matt shook his head. “I don’t understand. You knew?”
“Yes. I didn’t want to tell you because well…frankly, I didn’t want you to know I was researching this thing since…I wanted to make sure I was right before I told you, okay? I can see it in your eyes already. You don’t believe me and, frankly, it’s killing me. I knew you wouldn’t.”
“What are you talking about? You haven’t even told me what this is all about. How can I say if I believe you or not when I don’t know anything?”
I sighed and rubbed my forehead. “I can’t explain it right now. Just trust me on this. I am trying to stop a murderer.”
“And him?” he said as he nodded toward the living room with an annoyed face. “What’s his part in it?”
I gave him a look while wondering what was going on. What was this? Was Matt jealous?
“He came here because he had questions and believed I could answer them. My guess is that he wants justice for his son. Wouldn’t you want that if it was Elijah?”
Matt exhaled. “I don’t know the details, but yes. Probably.”
“Of course, you would.”
“But I would probably also trust that the police did their best to investigate it since I’m a detective myself.”
“But that’s exactly the problem. They don’t realize this is happening. I tried Isabella Horne, you know my old supervisor at the FBI, and even she couldn’t help me. I called all the local police stations in Philadelphia to warn them about what would happen, yet it happened anyway. This guy is winning.”
“And you won’t let him do that,” Matt said with a deep exhale. He grabbed my neck, leaned over, and kissed me. “I will trust you. Just promise me you’ll be careful, all right? We’ve had some scares this past year, and I don’t want to have to worry about you again. I can’t bear to lose you the way we lost Chad.”
I stared into his eyes, feeling the knot in my stomach was about to burst. Chad, my ex-husband, the father of my three children. He had been killed when saving Matt’s life of all people. I didn’t want to think about him; it hurt too much, so instead, I pulled away and shook my head.
“I should get back to Liam.”
“What? Because I mentioned Chad? Is it so terrible that you can’t even hear his name? You haven’t even cried over him, Eva Rae. Not even at his funeral did you shed one single tear. Why is that?”
I bit my lip while my hand lingered on the door handle, keeping my back turned toward him. I wanted to say something to explain myself, to justify my actions, but I couldn’t. Simply because I didn’t know. I just knew that if I allowed myself to think about Chad for even one second, the emotions were so overwhelming, I wouldn’t be able to stand it.
“You blame me, don’t you?” Matt asked. “I can see it in your eyes. You blame me because Chad took that bullet for me.”
I closed my eyes for a brief second. I paused, then opened the door, and left. I wou
ld have answered him; I wanted to, but I couldn’t. I simply didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t want to lie to him.
Chapter 22
The fighter jets disappeared as the plane started to descend and soon landed in Houston, Texas. Amal had never in her life been more relieved than when she heard those tires hit the ground and felt the great push back in her seat as the plane came to a complete stop.
As everything inside the cabin quieted down, the passengers started to look at one another. The seatbelt sign was still on, and no one was making any announcements. The built-up tension was about to be released.
“Why aren’t we at the gate?” someone yelled. “How long are you going to keep us in here?”
“What’s going on?” someone else yelled.
“We want to get off this plane!”
Amal couldn’t agree more. She found it hard to breathe properly and needed desperately to get out of this tin can. What if there really was a bomb on the plane? Couldn’t it explode while they were sitting there? They weren’t even out of danger yet, were they?
The sound of sirens blaring interrupted her train of thought. Out of her neighbor’s window, she spotted firetrucks approaching, followed closely by so many police cars that they looked like stars in the sky.
Soon after, the door in the front was opened, and the police came in first. In full body armor and helmets, they stormed inside, holding their weapons in front of them. Passengers started to scream when they saw them. The men yelled at the flight attendants. One of them broke down crying.
Soon, they came running down the aisle, stomping their boots, and the passengers screamed anxiously. Amal filmed it all while it happened, wondering what they were doing; where they were going? Was someone on board the plane going to be arrested? Was it the same person who had the bomb? If so, then who was it?
As they all zoned in on her and soon stood in front of her, Amal at first thought it had to be the guy sitting next to her. But when a gun was pointed at her, and one of the officers yelled her name, Amal knew they hadn’t come for him, but her.
