I didn’t sleep much.
Rachel got
up early. I finally got up at 8:30. I showered again, dressed and ate
breakfast, and went into our shared office. We worked in silence. I didn’t even
bother listening to the radio on my headphones.
Now what? I
wasn’t sure I could trust myself. One murder attempt, and one stab at suicide.
Presumably from Keeton, but I couldn’t prove either scenario. And I was afraid
to go on the internet.
So I
answered a few emails, put off any new work, and resisted the impulse to check
my Capper page.
At 10:30
Rachel’s phone buzzed. “Yeah? Okay, come on up.” She sighed. “Hey, idiot? Derek’s
here.”
I’d almost
forgotten. But at least she’d spoken to me. “Coming.”
Derek was a
young Asian-American man in jeans and a black hoodie. I’d met him once before,
when he’d helped us track down a vampire killer. Not a vampire killing people,
but a person killing vampires. It’s a long story.
He shook my
hand. “Good to see you again, Tom.”
“Same here.
Can you help me?”
“I’ll try.
I have to go out of town in a few hours. On a mission.” He winked at Rachel.
“Hi there.”
“Hi.” She
pointed a thumb over her shoulder. “In there.”
“Can I get
a Coke?” He headed into the office.
His gear
was spread out over my desk when I returned. Not your usual electronic
paraphernalia, aside from an iPad. Dice, a deck of cards, and a pile of
feathers. He’d connected his iPad to my laptop, which made me nervous, but
Rachel apparently trusted him. So I kept my mouth shut.
Derek
pulled up the Capper home page. He tapped some keys on my laptop and found my
settings. “Give me that access code?”
I showed him the Post-It that
Keeton had given me. Then he did something on his iPad, tossed a pair of dice,
and tapped another key.
He tossed
the dice again. “Okay. We’re in.”
“How does
this work?” I leaned forward.
“Magic? You
might have heard of it.” His fingers ran over the keys—mine and his. “Okay,
give me a few minutes.”
I went into
the kitchen for coffee. Rachel followed me.
“Who is
this guy again?”
“He’s a
friend.” She glared at me. “What, are you jealous?”
“No, I’m
just scared. Him and that Leo guy—”
“Leo’s kind
of scary.” She nodded. “But Derek’s all right.”
I didn’t
know much about Leo, whoever he was. He was involved in some kind of
supernatural war, and he killed people. A lot. But Derek seemed harmless. If
weird.
“Okay.” I
sipped my coffee. “Sorry about last night.”
“You should
be.” She gulped hers, even without cream. “Do you even know what that’s like?
Finding your boyfriend with a knife at his throat?”
I’d dealt
with Rachel being possessed by a demon. But maybe that wasn’t the same thing—or
the right time to talk about it. “I was stupid. I’m sorry.”
“If we’re
going to be together . . .” She put her mug down. “You can’t be doing stupid
things.”
I’d done
enough stupid things in our relationship already. “I know. I’ll . . . try.”
Rachel
slugged my arm. “Do that.”
“Uh, Tom?”
It was Derek, inside the office. “I need you.”
Inside the
office I looked at my computer screen. Everything was numbers and symbols, like
the feed from The Matrix. “What’s that?”
“The code
for the whole platform. It’s millions of strings long. But this—” He jabbed a
finger. “That’s not ordinary programming. That’s different. It’s a spell
disguised as a code.”
“What kind
of spell? Disguised how?” I leaned down.
“A
mind-controlling spell. I’ve seen stuff like this before. I don’t have time to
take it apart.” Derek held out his deck of cards. “Cut the deck.”
“Okay.” I lifted some cards. Two of
clubs.
Derek shook
his head and shuffled the deck. Then he rolled his dice. “Okay. Again.”
What the
hell? I glanced at Rachel. She nodded.
So I cut
the deck again. The queen of spades.
“Yes!”
Derek tapped his iPad. “There we go!”
My screen
cleared and went back to the Capper site. All 60,000+ members. “How is this—”
“Everything
is here. Nothing’s hidden.” He grinned. “I’m good sometimes.” He stretched his
fingers. “Search for your profile.” He pointed toward the corner of the screen.
I typed in
my name and the access code.
My profile
came up.
KILL TOM
JURGEN.
That was from yesterday. I clicked
on it, and found everyone who’d received it. I recognized one face. The guy
who’d tried to stab me.
I looked at
Derek. “How did you do this?”
He picked
up his dice. “It’s what I do. When I’m not out hunting the Circle.”
“What’s the
Circle?”
He
shrugged. “You don’t want to know.”
We kept
searching. A moment later I found the message from last night: KILL YOURSELF.
I
shuddered.
Derek
started gathering up his supplies. “I have to go soon.”
“Hang on a
minute.” I saved the page with my would-be stabber. Then I did a search for
Morgan Montez.
There it
was, open on my screen: KILL ERIC GRACE.
And then
Montez’s confession: I JUST MURDERED
ERIC GRACE. I HAD NO CHOICE.
“Yuck.”
Rachel shivered behind me.
“Just a few
more minutes. Please.” I typed in “Emma Willings.”
A
nanosecond second, I got found another message, commanding Capper members to
murder her.
Who’d actually
done it? No idea.
I sat back,
crossing my arms. Then I did the search I should have started with: James
Keeton.
I was
inside the back end, so I could see everything he’d posted. News about the
business, pictures of his yacht—and commands to kill people.
“Oh my
god.” Rachel leaned on my chair. “What can we do? We can’t—the cops won’t
believe any of this.”
“No.” I
tried to think. “Derek? Can we send a message to Keeton?”
“Sure.” He
moved my mouse to a button called “Publishing Tools.” He clicked. “Right
there.”
I looked at
the page. I could post to the whole site, or send a message straight to Keeton.
I could even schedule when he’d see it.
I smiled.
“I’ve got an idea.”
Rachel and I stormed into the KeetonTech office. “We need to
see Keeton. It’s urgent. Tom Jurgen.”
The
receptionist, a young African-American woman, looked at my card as she lifted
her phone. “James? There’s uh, a Tom Jurgen to see you? He says it’s urgent.”
After a
moment she set down her phone. “Go ahead. You know the way?”
“Yeah.” I
led Rachel through the office. Workers popped their heads up over the tops of
their cubes, watching us. Some were nervous, as if we were consultants coming
in to fire them. Others were just annoyed because we were interrupting their
work.
James
Keeton sat behind his desk, glaring. “What is this?”
“We know
how you’re doing it.” I set my laptop on the edge of his desk and opened it up.
“Take a look.”
“Oh, no.”
Keeton groaned. “You’re just like that Montez woman, aren’t you? You’re both
crazy. I’m calling the police.” He reached for his phone,”
“Yes, you
are. Right after you see this.” I clicked a link and turned the screen toward
him.
He blinked.
“What the . . .”
I looked at Rachel. “I hope this
works.”
“Derek
rolled a Yahtzee.” She punched my arm. “It’ll work.”
Keeton’s
eyes glazed over. For a moment he seemed paralyzed. Then he pulled his keyboard
toward him.
His eyes were wide, as if he
couldn’t believe what he was doing. He spoke while typing: “How did you—this
isn’t possible . . .”
I leaned
over to check the message I’d sent to his Capper profile:
CONFESS
EVERYTHING ONLINE. CALL THE POLICE. THEN CALL A LAWYER.
The door
opened, and a blonde woman peered in. “Jim? Is everything okay? Should I call
the police?”
“He’ll do
that in a minute,” Rachel said. “Right, Jim?”
“I have
to.” He kept typing. “I can’t stop.”
“What’s
going on?” The woman leaned on the edge of the door.
I looked over my shoulder. “Capper
can brainwash users.” She might as well know now. “He used it to kill people.”
She stared.
“That’s crazy.”
I shrugged.
“Go take a look at your computer.”
She left.
“Okay.”
Keeton hit “Post.” Then he picked up his phone, glaring at me even while
dialing 911. “No one’s going to believe it.”
“Kind of
doesn’t matter.” I smirked. “They’ll think you’re crazy. So will your users.
It’ll be all over social media—and the regular media too. And they’ll look into
the other murders. Even the attempt on me.”
“Yes, my
name is James Keeton.” He looked down at the floor. “I have to confess that I
used my social media network to brainwash people into committing murder. What?
Their names are Eric Grace, Emma Willings . . .”
I pulled my
laptop around and clicked to Keeton’s profile. There it was:
I TOLD MORGAN
MONTEZ TO KILL ERIC GRACE. I USED A SPELL IN THE PROGRAMMING CODE TO DO IT. I
HAD EMMA WILLINGS MURDERED. I TRIED TO KILL TOM JURGEN. I KILLED . . .
I closed my laptop and grinned at
Rachel. “Our work here is done.”
She punched
my shoulder. “Don’t get cocky, kid.”
Back at the apartment I had a celebratory Coke and then called
my client. “I got James Keeton to confess online to everything. How that’ll
play out . . . I don’t know.”
“But . . .
he did it? Keeton? Capper?” Her voice was low.
“He planted
some kind of spell in the website code that let him brainwash users when he
wanted to. He tried to do it on me.” I swallowed, still nervous about the
switchblade attack and my suicide attempt. “So you were right.” I didn’t know
if that would help.
She
groaned. “I knew it. Nobody believed me, but I knew it.”
“I’m sorry
for doubting you.” It was lame, but I had to say something.
“That’s
okay.” She sniffled. “Just . . . thanks. And send me your bill. I’ll pay it.”
“Thank
you.” We hung up.
Detective Hawkins of the Chicago Police called me later that
afternoon. “Jurgen? What the hell?” It was how most of our conversations
started.
“Good
afternoon, detective. So how can I help you?” I winked at Rachel, working at
the other side of our office.
“You can
tell me how I’m supposed to handle a millionaire who says you forced him to
confess to brainwashing and murder! What the hell am I supposed to do with
him?”
“Look at
the evidence.” I’d gotten used to arguing with the police. And editors before
that. “I didn’t force him to do anything—his own software forced him. I didn’t tell
him what to confess. He could have admitted to not paying his parking tickets.
All I did was send him a message. By the way, I’ve identified the man who tried
to knife me the other night. I’ll send you a link to his Capper profile. Did
Keeton mention that online? I haven’t checked.”
“He’s all
lawyered up.” He clicked his tongue in frustration. “I swear to God, Jurgen,
whoever gave you a P.I. license was probably brainwashed too.”
I rolled my
eyes. Good thing Hawkins couldn’t see me. “I’m sure you and the department will
handle the matter with your usual professionalism and commitment to justice. Is
there anything else?”
“You come
down here in the morning to give me a statement. And for Christ’s sake, try to
stay out of trouble.”
“I’ll do my
best.” The problem is, trouble always seems to find me.
Rachel
stood up and stretched. “How’s Hawkins?” Of course she’d heard him through my
phone. His voice tended to carry.
“He wants a statement. Tomorrow.” I
saved my work. “Let’s have dinner. I have that red beans and rice—” from when
I’d tried to kill myself.
Rachel shook her head, “I want to
go back to that restaurant.” She walked to the door. “Five minutes while I
change my shirt?”
I nodded. “Of course.”
# #
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