The Forum

by Marie Reyes

  The dining room was bright and busy, assaulting his senses. Martin set the tray of chicken pieces down on the main table.

  "Hi Martin. So. Just take a plate, serve each person, one portion each. That's one piece of chicken, a scoop of mashed potatoes, and vegetables you can go wild. They're frozen and cheap, so we can always boil up some more if needed. Use the ice cream scoop for the potatoes, just to keep things consistent. Then, if there's anything left towards closing, then we can always do seconds. Sound good?"

  "Yep. Seems easy enough."

  "Oh, and try to be as friendly as possible. Sometimes the conversation is even more important than the food y'know."

  That was the bit he was not prepared for. The conversation. He used to be able to hold a conversation with no problem, but now it seemed beyond him. Something had broken inside of him one day, and now, he couldn't seem to connect with anyone. A dividing wall had been erected in his mind, there was him, and there was everyone else on the other side. Just smile. Talk about anything. It's fine.

  "Hi," he said as he served the first person. He searched his mind for conversation topics, but they were fuzzy, undefined concepts floating away. They didn't seem to mind. He served them — they kept their head down. He said his pleasantries.

  "Hi, I'm Lisa." A girl came with a huge metal bowl of bread rolls. She had bright blond hair, one of those friendly, genuine faces, and she floated around with ease, making it look so easy. A ray of sunshine in his miserable day. "Clarissa said you were a little anxious. Don't worry. We're all friendly here."

  ~~~

  Martin sat across the table from Lisa and looked down at his cookie.

  "You did good," she said. "It was a busy night. Seems to get busier every day."

  "Life's hard, and I swear it's only getting harder. Jobs are so hard to come by these days." He broke a piece of his cookie but couldn't bring himself to eat it.

  "I think you're right." She sighed and then turned to the man next to her. One of the people he'd served earlier. They talked as if they had known each other a long time. He must have been a regular.

  Martin's phone whirred as it vibrated against the table, so he picked it up and unlocked the screen, if only to have something to hide his awkwardness. He had a message from the group asking if he'd seen the new link yet and his heart quickened, fluttering in his chest like a butterfly caught in a net. Another murder? It had to be. He didn't waste any time going back to the forum.

  Not.all.heroes.wear.capes: Don't think I can't see you've started up your own private group. I told you to leave it alone, but you just couldn't help yourselves. It's almost as if you're enjoying all this as much as I am. Y'all want to be involved so bad. Why don't you click on the link?

  Martin broke into a cold sweat, and the room seemed to spin. He clicked the video to see a woman just sat on the couch watching the television. Was the killer in the house with her? He couldn't be, she would be able to see him from where the camera was positioned. It must have been a small hidden camera, but he must have already been there to plant it. It just looked like any other home.

  Nothing stood out to him to signal where it might be, and he wished he could just scream through the camera at her, warn her. The first thing he did was email the video to both the police in Chicago and Milwaukee, just in case lightening would strike in the same place twice. They hadn't had a substantial response to their previous contact, so he posted it to their Twitter accounts. Maybe a member of the public would recognize her. Maybe the public would pressure them into taking the videos seriously.

  "Martin?" Lisa looked at him with worry. "Everything okay?"

  "Sorry, I have to go." He went to get up. The metal legs of his chair made a grating squeak as they dragged along the floor.

  "What is it?"

  "It's nothing."

  "It doesn't look like nothing. I'm a good listener." She had a steely look of persistence on her face, like she wouldn't drop it unless he just walked straight out of there and didn't look back.

  "It's stupid."

  "Hey. No judgment here."

  Fine, he thought. If he made a fool out of himself, he didn't have to come back. "There was this online video of someone being murdered. Me and some other people were trying to track the guy down, but now he's posted a third video, this time, the victim's still alive, but they've said that if we don't find out who they are in time he's going to..." He realized how ridiculous this sounded.

  She just looked at him in disbelief, literally speechless.

  "I told you."

  "Show me the video." She looked intrigued, but skeptical.

  He apprehensively passed over his phone and her eyes narrowed as she honed in on the screen. "Hey, James, what do you make of this?" She held up the phone between them. He shrugged, likely having other worries on his mind. Lisa passed the phone back. "Yeah, I don't know. Looks like every living room in Canada. Sorry I couldn't help. Is this for real though? Are you sure this isn't some elaborate practical joke?"

  "I should probably go now."

  "Well, if you want to do this again, or you just want a chat or anything, I'm always available." She tore a corner off a newspaper and scribbled down her number with a pen she pulled from her front pocket. He had not anticipated coming back but appreciated the gesture.

  Chapter Eighteen

  CHICAGO

  Quicky_Mart: I'm pretty sure it's North America still. It's annoying that there's no sound. Sound would be helpful.

  Pipes1983: Yeah, there's no way he's letting us get it that easily. Anyone able to zoom in on that newspaper?

  Quicky_Mart: Already tried. It's too far away from the camera. Just becomes a massive blur if you zoom in, even when using enhancement software.

  Shortstacks: It's so near, yet so far. That newspaper would narrow it down to a city at least. I've tried to find the furniture, to see if it's a local company or anything, but most of it is just Ikea, not exactly enough to narrow it down. There's one in Schaumburg, Illinois, and one in Oak Creek Wisconsin. Not that it will help us much.

  Pipes1983: What about the clock? It's quirky. Very art deco. And the painting. Looks like an original, not a print. Could track that, maybe?

  Quicky_Mart: Good idea.

  Pipes1983: Just looking now.

  Quicky_Mart: Everything else in the room looks far too generic to trace. Pretty sure I used to own a lamp just like that.

  Shortstacks: I could check to see if she's on the dating website that Bryony Finch was on.

  Quicky_Mart: Worth a shot. What time is it there? Must be really late.

  Shortstacks: It is, I just can't sleep. Besides, my girlfriend would have a go at me if she knew I was still involved in all this.

  Quicky_Mart: Especially if you're on dating websites.

  Shortstacks: Don't even go there. She already had a go at me for that.

  Quicky_Mart: Oh no. Trouble in paradise?

  Pipes1983: Guys. Found some very similar-looking clocks on this bespoke website. Deliver all over the US. I'm going to send them an image of it, see if it's one of theirs.

  Quicky_Mart: Nice work. I'm feeling a little redundant.

  Shortstacks: Nothing on flirtmatchmeet.com. Checked a couple of other sites too. Besides, the first victim wasn't on there either, so that's not how he's finding his victims.

  Quicky_Mart: K-meister, you about? Do you recognize this girl? If they're targeting people they know, then all the victims are probably related somehow.

  Kristen slumped on the couch, staring at the screen. Her dad didn't know these people. He barely had a social life. Neither did he work with them. She had never once seen the two women in her life, and she stopped by her dad's workplace fairly often. This all felt so hopeless. She was helpless to save this young woman who sat there, ignorant, unaware that she was being watched by multiple people. Surely, there must be a way to track where the video feed was coming from? There had to be something.

  She'd never felt lonelier in her life. There were people
that loved her, but she cut off her friends. The way they were with her was so awkward. The pitying looks. They had no idea what to say. She just wanted to forget what had happened, if only for a few minutes, but they wouldn't let her.

  A morbid part of her wanted to watch the videos. She had been tempted a couple of times. Maybe something would occur to her that hadn't crossed the minds of the others on the forum. The drive to bring her father's killer to justice was strong, but her self-preservation instinct was stronger. What she would see in those videos might change her, and once she had watched it, there was no unseeing it.

  She needed to forget and decided wine was her best friend at this point. If she smoked weed, she might have a full-blown panic attack. Wine was probably a safer bet in this instance. She padded across the carpet into the kitchen, opened the fridge and pulled out a chilled bottle of Californian Sauvignon Blanc. The pop of the cork, and glugging sound as the wine escaped the bottle and poured into her glass, was a comforting sound. She didn't drink often, but when she did, she meant business.

  Her phone tickled her leg as it vibrated in her pants pocket. It was a notification for a dating website she signed up to ages ago on a whim, before everything had turned to shit.

  Kevin Brown: Hi there. Saw your profile and wondered if you wanted to chat. I like your pic. You're insanely hot. Sorry if that's inappropriate, but it's true.

  Her first instinct was to dismiss it. All the talk about dating websites on the forum had made her untrusting and paranoid. Sure, it's unlikely Bryony Finch was killed because she was on a dating site, but it was still a possibility.

  The rest of her body betrayed her mind as she imagined a casual hookup. Something anonymous, separate from all the shit that was going on. It had been a long time since she had been with a man and the thought of a hot, sweaty, one-night stand was certainly alluring. She could test the water. It couldn't hurt.

  Kristen McBride: Hey. Thanks for the message. I bet that's what you say to all the girls.

  Kevin Brown: Yeah. I sent out 200 of these messages and you're the only one to reply. Jokes.

  Kristen McBride: Well, don't you know how to make a girl feel special.

  Kevin Brown: I try. Haha.

  Kristen McBride: Where do you live?

  Kevin Brown: How very forward of you.

  Kristen McBride: I'll be honest. I'm not looking for anything serious right now, and I'm looking for more than a chat if you know what I mean?

  Kevin Brown: Oh. Cool. I'm down for whatever.

  Kristen McBride: That's good to hear.

  Kevin Brown: You fancy meeting up for a drink?

  Chapter Nineteen

  CHICAGO

  Kristen tipped the cab driver and got out into the chill of the night air. A tingle of excitement and nerves shot through her veins. According to her watch, she was fashionably late, but only by ten minutes. She opened the glass door to the bar and a gust of warm air hit her. It was a bar she had never been to before.

  The dim lighting and dark-brown wood could have made the place claustrophobic, but it felt welcoming, with its old antique furniture and grungy decor. There was no one that matched the profile picture she had seen, so she found herself a booth. She preferred it this way. There was nothing like a dark corner for an intimate date. An upmarket, light and airy venue would have made her feel self-conscious and exposed.

  A server dressed in black came to the table with her electronic pad. "Can I get you anything?"

  She considered getting a Manhattan but decided against it. "Could I just get a bottle of your house white please?"

  "Sure, we have a pinot and a chardonnay." She was very petite, and very peppy. Too peppy.

  "Dealer's choice." Kristen had always wanted to say that, but it seemed cheesy. Tonight was different though. Tonight, she was a different person. Tonight, she was fun and mysterious.

  "And how many glasses?"

  "Two please." She wasn't sure if Kevin would be a wine drinker but asking for only one glass might look a little sad.

  Why wasn't he here? Thankfully, she was hidden away in her booth so wouldn't receive any pitying glances from people thinking she had been stood up. Had she been stood up? She checked her phone, but there were no messages from him. There was a message in the group chat, and she went to open it.

  "Kristen?" A voice startled her.

  "Hi. Kevin?"

  He shuffled into the seat opposite her whilst taking his jacket off. "Sorry I'm a little late."

  "It's fine," she said whilst sizing him up. He didn't look quite how she'd expected and already, she could tell she wasn't particularly attracted to him, but decided to still be open to the idea. Many a time she had not been interested in someone initially, but once she'd got to know them, they seemed to become more alluring. If her memory was correct, there was a name for the phenomenon — the mere-exposure effect.

  There had also been more than one occasion, where she had slept with a guy she wasn't attracted to anyway because it was somehow less awkward to do that, than it was to reject them. The server came back with her wine and placed it on the table along with the two glasses and two napkins. "You want to share my wine?"

  "Sure." He looked as awkward as she felt. Hopefully, the wine would help them both loosen up. There was something so forced about the rigmarole of going through all the niceties when you both know exactly why you're there. He would only make eye contact with her briefly before looking somewhere else. He hadn't given the impression of being shy when she had spoken with him online, but then it was always much easier to open up when you didn't have to face the other person. "So. You wanna get any food? I hear this place does a killer cheeseburger."

  "Oh no. I'm good thanks." She took a sip of her wine and scrunched up her face. It tasted cheap and vinegary. She set the glass down. "So, what do you do?"

  "Oh, nothing special," he said whilst perusing the drinks menu. "Just work in an office. That kind of job no one dreams of when they're little but end up in anyway. What do you do?"

  "IT, again, not a dream job, but I do love it. I get on better with technology than people." She laughed.

  "Amen to that." He held up his glass in a faux cheer.

  "So, if you could do absolutely anything, what would you do?"

  "Anything. Wow. Okay. Um, I would probably be a rock star."

  "Cool. What do you play?"

  "Oh, I don't. I just wish I did." He chuckled. "I tried really hard to learn the guitar, but I'm just not sure my brain works that way. I'm awesome at Guitar Hero, though. Does that count?"

  "Oh yeah. That totally counts." She was warming to him already. Now he was relaxed, his hands flat on the table, and able to look her in the eye. His eyes were brilliant blue where the light from the antique lamp highlighted them.

  "My dad can actually play the banjo. Those things look impossible." For a second, she had forgotten about her father, and even though that is what she had wanted, just for an evening, the guilt stung. It was like she had to accept the loss all over again. Not is able to play the banjo. Was. Past tense.

  "You okay?" He looked at her like a puppy dog, not sure if it had done something wrong.

  "It's nothing. I'm fine." She wasn't about to go into all that. This wasn't supposed to get deep.

  "I can tell something's bothering you. You can talk to me, you know. I mean, I know I'm a virtual stranger, but..."

  "My dad died." She hadn't planned on it, but she couldn't help it from spilling out.

  "Oh my god. I'm so sorry. That's terrible."

  "He was murdered actually." She couldn't even look him in the eye now for fear of crying, but she could hear him swallow, like he had no idea what to say, wondering what he had gotten himself into. "I don't want to talk about it though. I just want to forget about it for a night."

  "That's understandable. I won't mention it, but if you want to, you can. So, same question for you. What would you do if you could do anything?"

  "Maybe a lawyer."

  "
That seems doable. More realistic than being a rock star, at least."

  "Well, I never went to college because I couldn't afford it. Now I can afford it, I can't bring myself to give up a good, steady paycheck. What a sellout."

  "That's just how it goes I guess." His smile turned neutral, and then to a frown.

  "Sorry, I'm bumming you out."

  "Not at all. You're just being real. I hate talking to people who are all sunshine and rainbows."

  "Ha. Well, I'm definitely not that." They sat in silence for a minute. Kristen liked that. Just being able to enjoy someone's company without all the bullshit that went along with it. "You wanna hear something interesting?"

  "Always."

  "I warn you, it's a bit... odd."

  "I'm a bit odd. Go ahead."

  "I'm kind of trying to help track down a killer online."

  "Wow. That sounds pretty exciting."

  "Told you it was weird."

  "Is it wrong, I think it's kind of cool?"

  "No. I get it. There is always that morbid curiosity. Death is the one thing that no one can experience and look back on. It's the ultimate unknown. I think by getting involved, I'm trying to take back some sort of control."

  "Sorry if this is out of line, it's just... you said your dad was murdered. It's not the same person you're looking for?"

  "It is. That's my motivation. If I concentrate on that, maybe some good will come from it. I can stop someone else suffering like him or like me."

  "I'm sorry." He picked up the bottle and poured the remainder into their glasses. "Can't say I've been on many dates like this one."

  "You go on a lot of dates?"

  "Not really. I'm not the kind of guy most woman want to date."

  "Seriously?" She was surprised. It had only taken her the course of thirty minutes to go from unsure, to strangely attached to this guy. She found him sweet. Normally she went for confidence, but his modesty was endearing. "Listen, should we head out after this?"

  "You want to go home?"

  "No. Not at all. I mean, we could go to mine?"