The Forum

by Marie Reyes

  Pipes1983: I'm sure. LOL. Maybe it doesn't have to be a woman. Hello, the first victim was a man.

  Shortstacks: Not catfishing this psycho with my own picture.

  Pipes1983: But you're happy to use some poor girl's photo. Imagine if they did use the dating site to find victims, and you just guided them to some random, innocent woman. Or, what if the police find your profile and think you're the killer? You were the one that lead them to the body. Did the cops ever contact you about that?

  Shortstacks: Nope. Heard nothing. It's strange. Anyway, I don't live in America. I have a watertight alibi.

  Pipes1983: Okay. Well, it's your funeral. Just write anything for the bio. They all sound the same anyway. Say that you love extreme sports and you're an international swimsuit model by day and a heart surgeon by night. Might as well have some fun with it.

  Shortstacks: I don't want it to look fake. Mundane is the way to go.

  Pipes1983: Well, I can definitely help with that. My life is as mundane as it gets. Say you're on welfare, two kids, and a failed art career.

  Quicky_Mart: You have kids?

  Pipes1983: Yeah. Probably shouldn't have mentioned that. You can never trust strangers online.

  Chapter Eleven

  CHICAGO

  Kristen sat in front of the computer. She had work to do. This client's website was due to go live in a week, and she'd barely even started. Despite working from home and her short commute to the living room each day, she was exhausted.

  Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. Propped up in the chair in the middle of the room, blood everywhere. His face crushed beyond recognition, and the unnatural pallor of his skin. He wasn't her dad anymore. She wiped a tear away from her cheek and loaded up the forum. They had to have come up with something, and she needed to fight through the feelings of helplessness that left her crying herself to sleep most nights.

  Shortstacks: I've already had three dick pics. I can't believe what you woman have to put up with. They present it to you like you should be grateful. Like it's an amazing gift.

  Pickletubs118: Haha. Just think. One of those penises might be the killers. Hang on, is it penises, or penis's.

  Shortstacks: Peni? Like cacti?

  Pickletubs118: Wouldn't it be funny if a dick pic was this guy's undoing?

  K-Meister: This isn't a joke you know.

  Shortstacks: Sorry. Didn't mean to be insensitive.

  K-Meister: It's fine, I suppose. I see they found the second victim.

  Shortstacks: Yes. I assume you still don't know who the second victim is?

  K-Meister: No idea. Never met them. Police are checking for any links. Nothing in my father's phone records or internet history to suggest they knew each other. So, looking at the forum posts, you don't have any real leads.

  Shortstacks: Not yet. I don't suppose you know if your dad did any online dating at all?

  K-Meister: Not that he mentioned. It doesn't really seem like his style. He wasn't exactly tech savvy. Besides, he was quite an old-fashioned, traditional kind of guy.

  Shortstacks: In that case, I'm at a complete loss as to how the killer knew them. Still, it's not a long drive between the two. Maybe they met on a commute or something?

  K-Meister: I feel like we're just clutching at straws.

  Pickletubs118: What we need is another video, another body. More to work with.

  K-Meister: Are you for real? That's a horrible thing to say. I wouldn't wish this on anyone.

  Shortstacks: Read the room mate.

  Chapter Twelve

  LILY LAKE - ILLINOIS

  From her position in the corner of the cabin, Piper watched her kids playing with their father. They decorated the small artificial tree that had been shoved in the trunk of the car last minute. The cabin, booked on Christmas eve after another family had to cancel last minute, was now their Switzerland. Neutral ground; neither of them at home. The children seemed to like it though. The woods surrounding the cabin, and the light dusting of snow, screamed Christmas.

  Trent had gone overboard, as usual. Garnering dad points from the high-end, top of the range tablets he had brought them, that would inevitably end up with a broken screen, or with gunk smeared across it. Piper had gone for practical gifts as she had no choice. She knew all too well, the disappointment of receiving a sweater they didn't want instead of a toy that they would lose interest in by the next day. She never used to care about keeping score, and playing off of each other, fighting for the top spot. It used to be above her, until it wasn't. During the breakup, she had been more petty than she would care to admit. Now, she had got to the point where she didn't care: the kids could hate her, he could hate her, his girlfriends could pity her. She was just trying to survive. Just getting through the day.

  Why couldn't she just make the most of this? She had wanted this for so long. Everything was actually perfect. The cabin appeared to have been updated since the last time they had been there, which must have been three years ago; Piper struggled to remember. Trent kept glancing over at her, his cheeks flushed red from the fire. Why did he keep looking at her? Was he looking to make sure she was paying attention, and bearing witness to his efforts?

  "Mom look," Stephen screeched, waving around his latest gadget like it was indestructible.

  "That's great." She fought hard to appear as enthusiastic as possible, but it was always hard to put on a smile. One of the many reasons she was such a shit mom. There's nothing that made her feel more of a piece of shit, than not being able to even feign a smile when it mattered. Those mornings where she couldn't get out of bed, and she could feel her negativity infecting their youthful innocence. It didn't happen all at once, but when they saw her crying for days in a row, they knew something was up. Trent was right. They were definitely better off with him. She could see that now, after a year of fighting. It was too exhausting, and she wasn't up to the challenge.

  Trent got up off the floor, brushed stray bits of tinsel from his jeans, and turned on the Christmas tree lights. He looked like a knitwear model on a catalog cover for Christ’s sake.

  "Ooooo." Clara sat in front of the tree. She still believed in Santa, and everything was still magical. Green and red lights illuminated her face in the dim cabin.

  "Not bad for a last-minute job, right?" Trent rested his hands on his hips, taking in his handiwork.

  "This is great. Thanks."

  "I'm going to make us a special Christmas drink. You're going to love it." Trent jerked his head in the direction of the small kitchen at the back of the cabin, hinting at her to follow.

  "You know I don't drink." Piper's heart started thumping. Had he forgotten? If he had, would she be strong enough to refuse? Maybe he was testing her.

  "Of course you don't. It's non-alcoholic. How do you feel about pomegranate?"

  "Oh, yeah. That sounds great." Her heart slowed again. "We need to make the kids hot chocolate anyway."

  "Yes!!" Stephen exclaimed, seemingly forgetting that he promised if they let him have a hot chocolate, with extra marshmallows, that he would go to bed without complaint. She doubted he would stick to his word.

  Stephen rushed behind them, such loud footsteps for such a small child.

  "Me and mommy are going to have a chat. You two go put on your PJ's. I'll let you know when it's ready."

  "I want to put the marshmallows in," Clara demanded.

  "I promise, you'll be able to put the marshmallows in, and you can squirt the cream. Just give mommy and daddy a minute, okay?"

  "Okay." She gave them a toothy smile before running over to the tree. The pajamas were strewn on the floor by the other gifts. The kids were always allowed to open one gift on Christmas eve, and this year was no different.

  Piper tensed up. Why was he so keen to get her on her own? He must have something awful to tell her. It felt a lot colder in the kitchen, from the chill of the tiles permeating through her thick socks. She could probably do with some slippers as a gift this year. "So, what's up?"
she asked, hoping he would cut to the chase.

  Trent avoided eye contact, and rummaged in a brown-paper grocery bag, pulling out two cartons of juice. "Give me a minute." He grabbed two glasses and mixed various ingredients. What the hell was he making? He finished whatever it was with mandarin peel and a sprig of rosemary. He refrained from adding any alcohol to his as well. She was taken aback. It was surprisingly thoughtful. She choked back the warm feeling of fondness that came up way too easily. Maybe he was buttering her up for something.

  "You know I'm sorry about everything that happened between us, right?" He took a sip from his chipped glass and slid her glass across the counter.

  "You were right. About everything. It's better this way."

  "I wasn't right. I was angry, and rash. I was unsympathetic. If I could go back, things would be so different. I would have helped you instead of blaming you. I should have supported you. I was a terrible husband."

  "I almost killed our children Trent. You were right." There was something about him trying to make her feel better that just made her feel more guilty.

  "It was an accident. Nothing more. You learned from it. Everyone was fine."

  Why was he bringing this up again? They'd hashed it out so many times. She apologized a million times. It would never be over. The guilt made her want to drink more than anything. Anything to forget the smell of burning, the hot roar of flames, the choking smoke. It was because she drank, that she fell asleep with that cigarette. Her whole family had to be treated for smoke inhalation, and the damage to the house was extensive.

  "Sorry. I didn't mean to bring all this shit up again. I want to move past it." He put his hand on top of hers on the kitchen counter and looked into her eyes. His damned eyes. At one point she felt she could gaze into them forever, and then during the split, one glance would evoke the most powerful rage, and now... now she wasn't sure.

  What was he doing? Trying to make her feel better? Instinct made her want to pull her hand away, but something about the warm familiarity made her keep it there. It had been so long since she had any contact. She pulled her hand back after letting it linger there for a few seconds. "I'll put the kettle on... for the hot chocolate."

  "Kettle? You can't make it with hot water. That ain't right. It's Christmas Eve. We have to do it properly. Pass me the milk." He rifled through the cabinets looking for a pan.

  "Mom, is someone after you?" Stephen had appeared in the doorway, almost giving her a heart attack. She hadn't heard him coming over the sounds of Trent clattering around in the kitchen.

  "What do you mean?" Had she misheard him? What the hell was he talking about?

  "Your computer." Stephen pointed into the living room.

  "What were you doing on mommy's computer?" What had she been thinking, giving them the password earlier that day? Well, she knew what she was thinking. She was thinking that she wanted a moment of peace in the car, and their favorite cartoons were just the ticket. What horrors had they stumbled across in her search history?

  They must have stumbled across a tab she left open as they were gazing over the most recent forum posts. She ran over to close it just in time for her daughter to read out the name of the forum and ask what the word fuck meant. Piper slammed down the lid and whipped the laptop from the table, almost ripping it from the plug socket. Her children jumped, startled at her erratic movement.

  "You shouldn't have read that. It's not for you."

  "Sorry mommy." Clara looked on the verge of tears from her mother's outburst, and Stephen had a weird smirk on his face.

  "What was that all about?" Trent asked, carrying two steaming mugs of hot chocolate, one in each hand, a bag of marshmallows under one arm, and a can of whipped cream in the other.

  "Just me being an irresponsible piece of..." She stopped herself before cursing. Why couldn't she just be a normal mom? Not this cursing, smoking, ex-alcoholic who liked to hunt killers in her spare time.

  "What are you into?" He went to take the laptop from her.

  "No. It's stupid. You'll laugh."

  "I promise I won't laugh." He set the mugs down on the rustic, reclaimed-wood table and took a seat next to her.

  "I found this video online. Someone was murdered."

  "Murdered?"

  "They actually posted the murder online. I'm on this group. We're trying to help find the killer."

  "Seriously?" He looked at her, and she couldn't decipher the emotion behind his eyes. She decided to interpret it as a derisive anger.

  "It's nothing. Just a stupid thing. Although, we did find out where the second victim was and we tipped off the police, well one of the group did. I've barely been involved, just sort of keeping track." The glint of anger she had caught earlier had vanished.

  "Oh Piper. You're so funny. Probably not a good idea to be doing that stuff around the kids though, right?"

  "No, of course not. I hadn't even looked at it today. Must have been left up. Or maybe on my internet history."

  "Just get rid of it."

  "Sure. I'm on it." She grabbed her laptop and kept the screen away from Trent. Her cheeks burned from the fire and embarrassment, and she hoped he couldn't see it on her. Her heart felt like it was seizing up, and her chest tightening.

  Not.all.heroes.wear.capes: Happy holidays. I was hoping it wouldn't come to this, but you have to stop. I have no interest in you. Just mind your own business, and I will leave you alone.

  Pipes1983: If you wanted people to mind their own business, why did you post the video?

  She had typed and sent the response before she could even rationalize it. Trent just asked her to leave it alone, and here she was replying. Replying, after what was an obvious threat. It was as if she was incapable of being responsible. It didn't matter if she promised herself to be better, or if other people asked her to think before acting. It was as if her brain never developed beyond that irresponsible teenage stage. There was an article she had read about how teenagers' brains worked different from adults, making them more reckless. It wasn't her fault; it was just biology.

  Chapter Thirteen

  LONDON

  Nadia came from the kitchen with a steaming mug of chamomile tea in each hand and set his down on the table in front of him, placing it carefully on a coaster, like his table wasn't already covered in water ring marks. He had pointed out the futility of coasters in his crappy flat, on his old, worn furniture, but she didn't have much to say on the matter, and continued with the coasters. He joked that the water rings were ghosts of past drinks, and he didn't want to forget them, but she didn't crack a smile.

  He wasn't much one for specialty teas, but she swore by it. As she shuffled by, he moved his knees out of the way to make room for her, and she sat gingerly, as if not comfortable, yet she had been there for days. The hot tea burned his lips, so he put it back down to cool a little, admiring his Star Wars mug, before looking at his phone. Something had created some buzz on the forum.

  "You're glued to that thing." She snatched it from his hand and put it on the table. He'd barely had a chance to look at it, because whenever he did, she insisted he tear himself away from it. Maybe if she gave him five minutes to check his updates, then he wouldn't feel the need to keep peeking at it. "What?" She picked up the phone when a notification popped up on screen.

  Lover_Sam: You ghosting me? Why even be on here if you're not going to reply to me?

  "Who is this? What is flirt, match, meet? You're chatting with some girl from Chicago. What the fuck?"

  It took Aadesh's brain a moment to catch up. He always assumed he had done something wrong, and it took him a while to realize that he hadn't, despite not being able to do anything right these days. He had that horrible, guilty feeling that he had whenever he had to go through customs at an airport. Not that he'd ever done anything wrong, but airport workers were always suspicious by default. "It's not what you think."

  "Seems pretty obvious. You're flirting with someone called Samantha online, and who knows what els
e."

  "It's a guy."

  "A guy?" Nadia gasped and clicked on the man's profile picture, recoiling in horror, looking at Aadesh as if she had just found out he liked to torture puppies for fun.

  "It's not what you think."

  An open-mouthed look of horror spread across Nadia's face; her eyes wide as she scrolled through the rest of his chat history. "This is sick."

  "Seriously, you're going to laugh when I tell you—"

  "What else can it be? You can't wheedle your way out of this one."

  "If you're not going to let me explain, you can go." This was the last straw. If she didn't trust him, they didn't stand a chance. They were too different anyway. It was inevitable.

  "I can't believe you're not even going to try to justify this."

  He took a deep breath. He needed to keep calm. She hadn't given him a chance to explain, yet it was his fault somehow. "Me and some people online wanted to track down the killer in that video we saw the other day. We were trying to do a good thing."

  "This is not a good thing. This is..." The look of confused disbelief was stuck on her face like a mask.

  "Look at the history on the forum if you don't believe me. We were trying to solve a crime. To catch this person before he does it to anyone else."

  "That stupid video. I don't want to hear any more about it. Why would you want to associate with something like that?"

  He sighed and softened a little as his defenses went down. It was time to get real, and he had been dreading it. "Because that's who I am. I like true crime documentaries, and crime novels, and horror. I'm not flowers, and rainbows, and chamomile tea."

  "If you didn't want the chamomile tea, you could have just said."

  "It's not about the chamomile tea, okay. It's everything."

  Next, her face softened, as if she realized she had crossed a line, and was now furiously backpedaling. Her voice grew calm. "I'm sorry okay. I haven't been the best girlfriend. I realize when I'm being that way, and it's already too late. I can't stop myself. It's like a sickness. I don't want to be a control freak. It's just... hard." Her head tilted down to the threadbare blue tile-carpet, and she twirled her hair between her fingers, something she would do when she was nervous. She did it a lot on their first date, and it made him want to scoop her up and hold her close.