Why me? I’d wondered when anonymous racists called me a chink, jap, or gook on those gaming message boards, and no one came to my defense. Some idiot had even called me a spic and no one contested him. These fools couldn’t even get their racist terms straight.
I’d questioned Why me? when an angry keyboard warrior claimed that my silence on social media was evidence that I secretly passed judgment on those who engaged in trolling me. This guy received hundreds of likes for his post. What kind of messed-up logic was that, when silence and lack of retaliation somehow meant I was a judgy bitch?
What was motivating these haters? Competitiveness? Gender, class, or race entitlement? Jealousy, or boredom, or maybe combat for combat’s sake? Perhaps just good old-fashioned caveman-with-club misogyny? Were they doing it for the laughs? Or worse, all of the above? It could be anything. Or everything.
Danger lurked everywhere now, both online and out in the real world. Even though no one had physically harmed me, yet, could anyone actually ensure my safety? Like paranoid prey, I continually checked my surroundings and flinched at even the smallest unexpected noise. How had control over my own life slipped away so quickly?
Nolan folded me into him as we waited for the police squad to check for any possible larger threats to the establishment and to the patrons inside. With my cheek against his warm, taut chest, I felt his heartbeat pulsing as hard and fast as mine. Slowly, he stroked my hair as I cried into his shirt.
Candace volunteered to take Jane home. During the sergeant’s interview, she’d screamed at one point, “My maid of honor is HOT, look at her! No wonder people want to stalk her. She’s HOT!” Her outburst was comical at first, but after about twenty seconds of that on repeat, it became unbearable. Candace gave me a final hug and helped put hiccupping Jane into the Liftr car. I could say with 100 percent certainty that Jane would be puking her brains out within the hour, and Candace would need to deal with that. That tiara, an unfailing beacon for alcohol donations, had earned Jane a lot of extra free drinks.
Sergeant Banks came over and wiped a handkerchief across his sweaty forehead. “Well, to me this stalking sounds like it’s the responsibility of the internet companies who host those message boards. One would hope that one of the biggest technology meccas in the world would have a police department that was better at investigating cases like these. Give us a burglar or car jacker or something and we can handle that better.”
“So what you’re saying is . . . even though we have clear-cut evidence of stalking, death threats, and assault warnings, you can’t help her?” Nolan asked.
His slight shrug said everything. “Our resources are limited—it’ll take us quite some time to pull everything together.”
I didn’t have “quite some time.” I sent WheedWacker a screenshot of the anonymous message with my text, Can you ID this stalking asshole?
An immediate reply. Fuckers like these are tricky. Need more info. Dynamic IPs, IP spoofing, using relays is the norm these days for these guys but we’ll hunt ’em down. We’ve been deleting and reporting your personal info when we see it online and on the Darknet. When you reactivated your social media accounts to post tonight’s photos, we think the anon creepster wanted to spook you. Delete all your photos and suspend accounts immediately.
I did. I deleted everything. All my social media accounts, gone. I asked the sergeant, “What if I find out these stalkers’ identity? Can you make arrests then?”
He raised his eyebrows. “It would be more likely.” Much more encouraging than a shrug.
Candace and Jane had already gone, and as the police entourage thinned out, it was time to leave. With Nolan’s arm still draped over my shoulder, I turned to face him, to thank him for being there with me. Supporting me through yet another crisis.
His eyes gleamed, even in the cloud-covered darkness. For what felt like an eternity, we stared at each other, like we did on top of those stairs, just moments before our lips met and he returned my kiss, leaving me roused and confused. I thought back to when Candace and Jane had said I was too picky when it came to men and needed to be open to opportunities.
Well, here was opportunity standing right in front of me.
This time I knew what I wanted.
I wanted Nolan.
When I stepped a little closer to him, his lips twisted into a slight frown as he pulled his arm away from me. “Hey, you’ve been through a lot tonight,” he said, offering me a wavering smile. “You’ve been drinking and under duress, and the last time we did this”—he hesitated with his next words—“you regretted it. Like, a lot.” He stiffened and scratched his cheek. “The most important thing for me right now is to get you home safely. Is that okay?”
Numb from both the frigid weather and his rejection, I barely nodded. Had I missed my chance with him?
With Nolan’s hand barely touching my back, we walked over to a Subaru. My eyes widened when he unlocked the doors. “You have a Subaru Legacy? I pegged you as a BMW guy.”
He smirked. “Really? I don’t know if I should be flattered or offended by that. I bought this car when I realized I’d be moving to Seattle. I read somewhere that it was one of the most popular cars in Washington State.” His face fell instantly when he remembered something. “But I might need to sell it soon.”
The early morning mist had already settled on his windshield. With his wipers on full blast, he swished away the dewy wetness as he drove me home. Biting my lip during the quiet drive, I couldn’t help but wonder if he was moving to New York. If anything could ever happen between us. If this attraction was just one-way. How different would everything be if I had stopped worrying, doubting, and overthinking and had just let things play out on that stairwell?
I CALLED MY parents early in the morning after my apartment building was swept for bombs (yes, BOMBS).
“Your daddy and me still wonder how you get a stalker. Stalker usually go after beautiful girl.”
“Thanks for being so supportive, Mom.”
“We watch local evening news every day. All the stalkers want to be boyfriend. Maybe you have secret admire crush.”
I closed my eyes. “Mom, not all stalkers are infatuated with who they are stalking.”
“Well, if you choose doctor or lawyer career like we want, you not have this problem. Those job you don’t have people stalk you. Unless you are psychiatrist or criminal defender, maybe that is problem.”
I sighed deeply. For once, I’d have to agree with them about this. “That may be true about doctors and lawyers, but I still don’t want either of those careers.”
My mom asked, “So what you do now? You have a plan?”
“Of course I have a plan. Don’t worry about me.”
I had no plan, but there was no way in hell I’d tell them that.
My dad got on the line. “Melody, you okay? You farmer friend Nolan, he helping you?”
“Yeah, he is. A lot. He’s been a big help.”
“Good. Good. He is nice guy.”
I laughed nervously. “Yeah, he is.”
We quickly said our goodbyes. What were you supposed to talk about with your parents when you had originally called to let them know a madman stalker was hunting you down and they tell you that for once, they actually like a guy that you like, but he maybe doesn’t reciprocate your feelings and you can’t date him anyway while he works at your company or you’ll get fired? Not exactly something Google could help answer.
Chapter Twenty-Three
First thing Monday morning, my phone buzzed with an international text from my hacker friend. Traced UltimateDDay’s IP to your company. BetaGank user login UltimateDDay changed from HashAsh four months ago. More to come.
HashAsh?
That was Asher’s college nickname.
He was the one who leaked the news to BetaGank? Why did he lie to me?
I hunted down Asher in the kitchen. Where all could see and hear, I simply lost it. “Asher, you fucking son of a bitch! You leaked my game info on BetaGank? You destroyed my reputation online and then you acted like we were buddies at work? Fuck you . . . you . . . fucking fuck!”
Onlookers stood up from their workstations to get a better view of the spectacle. A crowd of coffee drinkers had gathered around, like we were opponents sparring in a spectator sports arena. People had probably never seen anyone unleash fury to this level during working hours.
Color drained from Asher’s face, and he took on a chalky, sickly hue.
I shouted, “You’d better not get sick on my new Chucks!” His green pallor and sad, downcast eyes almost made me feel sorry for him, but I didn’t. This douchebag was my enemy. “You thought I wouldn’t be able to trace it back to you, is that it? Stupid, naïve Melody? Well, I did figure it out. If you’re going to troll online, at least be smart enough not to use a work IP address.”
Asher looked at the crowd of people around us and said to me in a hushed voice, “Melody, I need to talk to you in private.”
“Oh no, Asher, there’s no private anymore!” I looked around at the onlookers. “Get your popcorn ready, folks.” I turned back to Asher and poked his chest hard with my index finger. “NOTHING is private now. You made sure of that when you started posting shit about me online. Because of you, people are doxing me and sending my personal information around for everyone to see. Did you know that there’s a picture of my mom, dad, and me eating hot dogs from the Puyallup Fair floating in cyberspace now, thanks to you? And people are now making obscene comments about me and my affinity for hot dogs? I don’t even like hot dogs unless they’re on a stick and wrapped in cornbread. But whatever. Anything you want to say to me, you can say in front of our jury here of gaming peers.” I made a sweeping gesture toward the bystanders. Screw Asher and his request for privacy.