Issue #133
.
note : while this is a stand-alone story, it is part of a four part series so if you haven’t already, I would encourage you to start from the beginning. Click here to go back to the first installment. Thanks for your interest and support!
.
.
.
Details are sketchy at this late hour regarding a series of grisly murders, and an apparent connection that authorities have discovered. While the victims are scattered across the country, and seemingly never knew each other, police feel that there are enough similarities in the method, and circumstances of the killings for them to state that these murders have been at the hand of the same perpetrator.
In each case, the victims were found alone in their homes, with no clear sign of forced entry. There has been no clear motive or theories until now, but after expert analysis of the computers found at each crime scene, police feel like they have found a common thread. In all the killings, there was sign that the victim had been using the Internet at the time, and after analyzing the browsing activity of each individual, police feel confident connecting these murders with cyber-bullying.
In all cases, the victim of each killing was found to have made a large number of offensive and inflammatory statements to other users on various websites relating to product and film reviews, as well as social media. The victims’ activities in this regard was so rampant, that police believe their killer may have been acting in some kind of self-appointed, avenging capacity.
Police have also indicated that they might also be close to naming a suspect and when these details are available, we will keep you apprised of—
Brett turned off the television. He knew that this had always been a possibility, but was surprised that the national media had picked up on it so soon. There was no way to know how much time he had, but if his name was about to be plastered all over the place, the police had to be close.
He looked around the room, pondering everything, and taking it all in. One way or another, he wouldn’t be coming back here, and there was nothing around him that he could bring along, where he was going.
From the street below he heard nothing, save for the normal sounds from commuters, returning home from work. He peeked out through the curtains, and down at the traffic in the streets. Nothing out of order, no sirens or red flags to indicate that anything was about to happen.
He had tried to prepare for this inevitability. Over the past year, since he had begun his “projects”, he had started alleviating himself of most of his personal possessions. His thinking was that the fewer things he owned, the easier it would be to vanish when he needed to. No matter how careful and how talented he was, eventually they would figure him out. Everything leaves a trace online, and there’s always at least one person who is smart enough to follow that trace. Today was simply his day.
There was a sound of commotion in the hall, yelling and pounding on doors. This would be the hardest part It wouldn’t do to simply vanish, they would just keep looking for him. The police had to be convinced to just walk away, as if he had never existed. It had to happen right under their noses. He looked up as the banging started on his door, moments before it exploded inward, throwing splinters everywhere, as bright lights flooded in, ready to take him down.
It was hours at the station before the first detective sat down with him.
“Brett Campor. We’ve been trying to track you down for some time now.”
“I been in the same place this whole time,” Brett said. “It isn’t that hard to find me.”
“Well, we didn’t always know it was you we were looking for, that was a more recent development What I mean is that we’ve been clued in to the trail of bodies you’ve left behind you for some time.”
“Sorry, I don’t understand.”
“I suppose not.” He reached down and brought up a large pile of folders, placing them on the table between them. “You know at first, these murders were all written off as flukes, single events. But eventually we were able to connect them all, and once that happened, it was actually pretty straight forward to follow all the trails back to you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The detective nodded, playing along with the script in his head that he had evidently come up with for this little exchange.
“Of course you don’t. I’ll tell you what, I’m going to leave some of these in here with you.” He opened up each folder and removed what looked like pictures from the crime scenes and placed them on the table. “You can look these over, and decide if you really don’t know what I’m talking about.”
He stood up and turned to leave. Brett shook his head. They really had no idea what they had stumbled into, or how much he was capable of. He saw the smart phone, resting snuggly in the man’s belt holster. He stared at the screen, out a long breath and, as he stepped through the door and just before it closed, Bret squeezed his eyes shut and jumped. He jumped, out of his own body and towards the phone. There was a feel of electricity, running up and down him as every cell and molecule instantaneously converted into data, insubstantial and shapeless as he rushed out, towards the detective and into the phone. From inside the device, he was aware of the lock on the door clicking as it engaged.
The timing would have to work out perfectly. As the detective made his way down the hall, Brett exited the device through the wireless network and made his way into a workstation in an unoccupied room. As he flowed out of the computer and back into solid form, he looked around the darkened office, and rummaged through the desk drawers, looking for something he could use. His gamble proved true, as he found a pack of cigarettes buried underneath some crumpled newspapers, a cheap bic lighter stuck into the cellophane wrapper.
There was enough garbage in the trash can that it went up like a torch, catching the curtains, and spreading faster than he would have even expected. There were only moments before he had returned himself to the data stream of the stations network, and was sending himself away, through the pathways and away from danger.
The hotel he picked was in downtown, close enough that the news would be covering the event, but far enough away that he wouldn’t have to worry as much about being caught. He listened as the patrons groaned at the offense of seeing the game interrupted by the breaking report of the fire engulfing the police precinct. Officials had no idea how the fire had started yet, but were reporting that all employees had been safely evacuated. The only reported victim was a suspect who had been in custody at the time, locked into an interrogation room.
Brett smiled as he looked out into the street. It was good enough. Now he had the luxury to continue his campaign without hindrance, without the need to put up any kind of a front to hide what he was doing. He didn’t exist anymore. Brett Campor was dead, and that was all that mattered. He could live on the net, if he chose, coming up for air whenever he felt like it.
He heard sirens out in the street and even though it was just a fire truck, it reminded him that he should probably not hang around here for too long. There were any number of devices in here that he could use to make the jump out. Maybe he’d go to New York, or Paris or London. Anywhere but here. There were no shortage of bullies out there that needed a harsh lesson in the importance of respect.
He would be the one to show them.
One download at a time.
