Risk

by Fleur Ferris

  ‘We’ve copied all the data from each device. Joel and Callum: nothing was found on any of your devices that was helpful so you get everything back.’ He hands them back their stuff. ‘Riley, you get your computer back, but we haven’t finished with the phone and tablet. We’re hanging onto them because you used them when Taylor was online with the suspect. It corroborates the time of contact.’

  Riley nods as she takes her computer.

  ‘Taylor, I have your journal for you, but your phone, tablet and laptop are still being examined and will most likely be held for the time being, should they be required as evidence in the future.’

  I feel a bit dazed by the whole thing. I thought we’d get everything back.

  ‘Unfortunately the man Sierra communicated with used what they call a proxy box, which is how predators can troll these sites, lure young people in and remain invisible – even to police. Unless you are particularly cautious and aware, someone can find out who you are and where you are, because you leave a trail everywhere you go online.’

  He eyes each one of us.

  ‘Every time you’re online you can be tracked to your exact location, give or take a few metres.’ He speaks slowly, emphasising every word, using one of those syllable rhythms that so many of our teachers use to drive home a message. ‘It’s that accurate. After his first contact, he probably stalked Sierra from a distance. He would have gone through her photos on her social media sites. He would have found out her interests, identified locations she’d been to – probably said he’d been to the same places on the same day, before she even told him she was there. This is how a predator draws a victim in. The victim thinks it’s an amazing coincidence. Suddenly they have so much in common. How amazing to meet here, online, in this chat room. We believe this is how the man who called himself Jacob Jones would have groomed Sierra.’

  It’s chilling to hear this. So calculating. I shift in my seat and think about Sierra telling me that Jacob was in the same crowd as her, watching Chumpy Pullin compete in the Olympics. The Pink concert, too. It’s hard to get my head around. If what the detective’s saying is true, Sierra never stood a chance.

  Anger pulses through my veins, but it is not anger at Jacob Jones. It is anger at me. My stupidity and carelessness. I should have swallowed my pride and gone with Sierra. If I could change one thing in this world, that’s what it’d be.

  ‘Taylor.’

  I jump at my name being spoken.

  The detective continues. ‘The photo you received from the alias Jacob Jones is two photographs merged together.’

  Mum gasps and covers her mouth with her hand.

  ‘The background photo was taken by a well-known South Australian photographer, Cabe Osric, two years ago. You can find the actual photo on his website.’

  The detective holds a copy of the background image in one hand, and the photo of who we thought was Jacob Jones in another.

  ‘The person in the photo has been doctored in. That image was downloaded from some guy’s Instagram account. He’s been interviewed and ruled out as a suspect. You can see why alias Jacob Jones chose this image: you can’t really see the person’s face – it could be anyone.

  ‘The second image he sent you – the one of the Brighton boat sheds – is another Cabe Osric. His copyright tag was cloned out, but it was easy to find once we examined it.’

  I feel the colour drain from my face. I realise that, until this moment, I still believed Jacob Jones was really Jacob Jones. Nausea comes in waves. I wipe my palms on my hips; keep my eyes to the floor. My mouth has gone dry. Fear and relief – relief that it wasn’t me – curdle inside me, churning my stomach.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I say. I walk until I’m out of sight and then run to the bathroom. I empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet. Sweat beads on my forehead and another wave comes. When there’s nothing left to come back out, I rinse my mouth, clean my teeth, gargle mouthwash and return to the lounge room.

  ‘I’m getting a drink. Does anyone want one?’ My voice is breathy.

  Mum gets up and follows me to the kitchen. Before we get the drinks, she hugs me and then holds my gaze for a moment. She knows me too well. She knows what I’m feeling. And I can tell she’s feeling the same.

  Guilt.

  I should have gone with her. I’m sickened that Sierra is missing, but at the same time relieved it wasn’t me.

  That’s what Mum’s struggling with, too. Sierra’s like her second daughter. Rachel’s like her sister. She’s scared to death for Sierra – but she can’t help being thankful that it wasn’t me. And she’s wretched for feeling this little bit of relief.

  When everyone leaves, Mum flops on the couch.

  ‘I’m going to go to work in the morning,’ she says. ‘It’s up to you if you go to school. I’m not pushing you. I called the principal today so they know what’s going on.’

  I nod. ‘I wish I had my computer. I should tell Izzy what’s happened.’

  ‘Oh, you can use mine,’ Mum says. ‘It’s in the boot of the car – I picked it up on Saturday, but I forgot about it, after everything that’s happened. I know it’s archaic compared to yours, but it works.’

  It takes ages to boot up, hums loudly and has a weird delay on the keys, but it works. Eventually.

  My inboxes are loaded with messages. Stories have already circulated about what’s been happening. Mostly embellished. A ‘Where’s Sierra?’ Facebook page has begun and is being shared by everyone at school. Izzy started it. She’s as scared for her as anyone. I open a couple of messages. They’re mostly notes of support, hoping I’m okay and hoping Sierra returns. I open another:

  Remind me not to be your friend if I ever go missing. Two fucking days??? If she’s dead I hope you kill yourself.

  I sit back from the screen and stare at the words.

  Callum rings.

  ‘I’m going to go to school tomorrow,’ he says. ‘You should come, too.’

  ‘I’m not sure I’m ready.’ I burst into tears. ‘Every second minute I start crying.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I bet you won’t be the only one. I think it’ll be easier to go back sooner rather than later,’ he says. ‘C’mon, come with me. If we go together, it won’t be so bad. Joel and Riley are coming.’

  ‘You should see some of the messages people have sent me,’ I say. ‘It’s like they think I wanted her to go missing. They think it’s my fault. So many people hate me …’

  ‘Taylor, we all waited. You weren’t the only one who knew. Any one of us could have reported it on Saturday morning when she didn’t show. We all put it on you; we made you decide. I dunno why … Taylor, I’m sorry. I was the worst. You know I wanted to report it earlier – but I didn’t. And at least you did better than Riley and Joel. I really think they still wouldn’t have reported her missing … C’mon, Taylor. We have to face it eventually; let’s just get it over with.’

  It’s all right for Callum. No matter what he says, he wanted to report Sierra missing straightaway. His conscience is clear. But it’s obvious that everyone blames me. I’m almost too scared to go back. But he’s right. I’ll have to eventually …

  After a long silence I answer. ‘All right. I’ll tell Mum I’m going tomorrow.’

  ‘We’ll pick you up. Mum isn’t letting me ride yet.’

  ‘Okay.’ When I hang up, I sit on the side of my bed for a while and stare out the window. I remember back to that night when Sierra found Jacob Jones on Mysterychat. I remember her dancing around the room, singing that silly song for Riley. I remember wishing it had been me who had hooked up with Callum at the end-of-year party. I remember wishing I looked like she did in those black Taylor Wolfe shorts.

  I wished that I was her, and now I’m glad that I’m not.

  I hate myself.

  TEN

  Callum’s mum drops us outside the school gate. Callum hugs me before we enter. It’s nice being close to him again. It’s weird that we kissed and now it’s like it didn’t happ
en. It would be wrong to continue anything now. Nothing has been said since that day. Our kissing, our fight – it’s as if it were all a dream. This whole thing with Sierra is bigger than us. Part of me wonders if that was our one chance, if we’ll never be able to talk about it now.

  ‘You ready?’

  I nod, take a deep breath and walk through the gates towards the canteen.

  Riley and Joel are already here. They’re swamped by students wanting to know details. Izzy’s there, too. She hugs me. Tears flow down her face.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m just so worried.’ Her friends put their arms around her and sit her down. I’m overwhelmed and don’t know how to act.

  Riley’s a stone-faced ice queen.

  Joel is protective. ‘Guys, we don’t know anything more than you. Give the girls some space.’ He fobs everyone off and they back away a little bit – but remain close enough to hear our every word.

  Callum brings his chair close to mine and blocks me from the stares of the crowd.

  ‘You okay?’ The way he asks is intimate, like we are a couple. I smell his cologne. Our legs press together. We’re close, but at the same time we’re not.

  I nod.

  ‘Everyone’s staring at us,’ I whisper, as I pan the canteen. They don’t look away. Their curiosity is greater than their manners. They don’t care that they’re being rude.

  ‘I don’t know about this. How are we going to sit in class and concentrate on anything?’ I say to Callum.

  ‘If you can’t do it, we’ll go home. I’ll call Mum and she’ll come and get us. Then we’ll try again tomorrow,’ he says. He’s acting on his mum’s advice. I see that now.

  The announcement bell sounds.

  ‘All students please make their way to the assembly hall.’

  It’s the principal on the PA. Heaviness settles in my shoulders and restricts my chest. This is about Sierra. Everyone knows it and silently makes their way down the corridor. There’s no laughter, no squealing, just the murmur of low voices and the shuffle of people’s feet on lino; an eerie, unnatural sound.

  The principal stands up the front. Next to him, I see our school counsellor and also Kel. The teachers take a seat along the side wall. Once everyone is seated, the principal speaks.

  ‘Good morning teachers and students.’ He pauses for a moment and looks around the hall. ‘I say “good morning”, but so far it hasn’t been … I’m sure many of you already know that one of our students, Sierra Carson-Mills, has gone missing. The full story surrounding Sierra’s disappearance is still coming together, but what we do know is that Sierra went to meet someone in the city on Friday after school and has not been seen since. Police are investigating the matter. Senior Detective Parkinson is here and would like to say a few words so please give him your full attention.’

  Kel steps towards the microphone. He’s tall and has to bend his neck awkwardly. The principal steps in and raises the height of the microphone.

  ‘Hello. My name is Senior Detective Parkinson and I am investigating the disappearance of your fellow student, Sierra.’ He clears his throat. ‘Police hold grave concerns for Sierra’s welfare. We have security camera footage of her outside Hummingbird Cupcakes at City Mall at five o’clock on Friday afternoon talking to a guy. They then walked away together and Sierra has not been seen since. I am leaving my phone number with your principal. If anyone has any information about Sierra, the man she was meeting or her current whereabouts, we would like to speak to you. Even if you don’t think the information is important, please tell us anyway. It may be the missing piece that gives us a lead. Thank you.’

  They obviously have no idea where she is, or who Jacob Jones really is.

  The school counsellor steps in front of the microphone. I’m not really focusing on what she’s saying, but I catch her talking about how important it is for us to speak to her if we need to. She tells us she will be visiting each class throughout the day and will be available at any time to talk with us individually.

  I’m not sure how many kids will want to talk to her. Mum made me go to a counsellor after Dad died. At first it felt like it was just drawing out the pain I was feeling. It took me ages to actually believe Janelle might be able to help.

  After assembly, the day goes by in much the same way as the morning did: people staring and talking, asking questions when I have no answers.

  When I get home after school, I get a call from a police officer offering counselling services. I decline the offer and hang up. It took me long enough to trust Janelle. I think I do want to speak to someone, but I don’t want to see someone new.

  Mum went back to work today, but she isn’t home yet – she’s visiting Rachel. I didn’t go. I know Rachel still won’t want me around, but even if she doesn’t think the blame is right, I know Mum will stand beside Rachel – even if it has to be at a distance for a while – just like Rachel did for her when Dad died.

  When Mum does come home, she tells me that there’s a lot of strain between Rachel and Dave, Sierra’s dad. Apparently, as well as blaming me, Rachel is blaming herself and Dave. She told Mum that they weren’t around enough to know what was really going on in Sierra’s life. She said there were warning signs, but they were too wrapped up in getting over to America, concentrating on the business and not addressing Sierra’s issues.

  I’m not sure what ‘issues’ or ‘warning signs’ she’s talking about … Sending the boob photo maybe? But I was there when she sent it! The guys asked to see our boobs, like they always do. Sierra laughed and said, ‘Let’s give these dudes an eyeful,’ put the phone down her top and then sent the picture without a second thought. We both laughed. It seems stupid now, but at the time it was just funny. We sent the photo, disconnected, and never heard from them again.

  I think Rachel’s looking for something that isn’t there. She wants an answer or an explanation, but there isn’t one.

  I’ve borrowed a computer from school so I don’t have to use Mum’s old slow one. After dinner, I bring it into the lounge room and sit on the couch. I log on and go into my email, to the two photos Jacob Jones sent. I study each one. They are so well done. And he was so clever with the timing of his second one. I wonder what photos he sent Sierra. I search Cabe Osric’s website. I flick through each one. So many Australian places. Cities, country fields, outback landscapes. Beautiful beaches, stunning sunsets, stormy skies. Australian icons, flags, faces.

  I sit the computer on the coffee table and stare at the ceiling. I think of what Jacob Jones has done to us and I feel so violated. But I have no right. Not while I’m lying on my couch, in my living room, safe. Pain burns inside me like indigestion. It’s relentless.

  I glance back to my computer.

  Jacob Jones found us online. Maybe I can find him.

  ELEVEN

  On Wednesday I go through the motions of school. I keep to myself and when I come home I spend the night searching through chat rooms. Thursday night I’m up all night, reading people’s conversations, looking for Jacob Jones. It’s futile, and at four-thirty in the morning I place my head down next to my keyboard and fall asleep.

  On Friday I stay home from school. I call Mum at work mid-morning to let her know. Someone tells me she’s already left for the day. By ten o’clock? Maybe she’s feeling the same suffocating doom as I am. It’s been too long. For almost one whole week, Sierra’s phone hasn’t been used, her bank accounts haven’t been touched, no one’s seen her. The police finally did a media release. I watched it on TV last night, but the details were brief. Basically they just said her name and age and that she was missing. The photo they showed was of Sierra dressed in her school uniform. Her hair was tied back and she wore no make-up. I thought they would have shown one that looked more like her on the day she went missing – she looks much older with make-up.

  Callum missed school yesterday, and this morning he texted me to say he’s staying home again today. His mum drives him over at lunchtime and leaves without coming inside.
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  Callum walks in.

  ‘I hope it’s okay for me to be here,’ he says. ‘I … I didn’t want to be sitting around home by myself.’

  An uncomfortable moment passes. Is he telling me this so I don’t get the wrong idea? I don’t ask. Now’s not the right time for us, but I am glad he’s here. I don’t want to sit around on my own either.

  Callum is quiet and restless, and I wonder if he is feeling stifled by a sense of doom, like I am. I dare not speak of it, as if somehow that might bring bad news. He flicks through one of Mum’s travel magazines and channel-surfs the TV, but nothing holds his interest.

  Mum still hasn’t shown up. I try her mobile.

  ‘I’m on my way home,’ she says.

  ‘Why? Is everything all right?’

  ‘I’ll talk to you when I get home.’

  Mum walks in minutes later, her expression dark. She sits down at the table, then stands up again. She paces along the windows, wringing her hands.

  ‘Mum, what is it?’ I feel tension creep into my shoulders as I watch her. She normally just says what’s on her mind. She stops and faces me.

  ‘A body has been found … near Ballarat.’ There’s a strange hollowness to her voice. ‘A Parks and Wildlife worker discovered some clothing half-buried near a pine plantation. He thought it looked suspicious so he called the police. They uncovered a body.’

  ‘Ballarat?’ I repeat. That’s two hours from here. ‘What clothing?’

  ‘Rachel and Dave have gone to the site to see if it’s Sierra.’

  ‘What clothing?’ I repeat.

  Mum swallows hard. ‘A blue top,’ she says.

  I’m chilled to the bone. I can’t move, can’t breathe. It’s like a road-roller has just driven over me and I’m flat on the ground like in the cartoons. I’m totally deflated and can feel only the pain in my chest. All of my energy charges to that one spot and I feel nothing else. I force myself to breathe and to imagine that I’m starting to reinflate and bring myself back to the room.