Flicking

the right direction. He thought how weird it was that all those MySpace users thought they were safe, when really, anyone could get in. It hit him, though, couldn’t the same be said about his parents, who thought they had the best locks on their front door? Didn’t help them. No, he had to focus.

  In the admin console he pulled up the phone number. Interesting, a Florida area code. Well, at least the guy was a little bit further away than Dorian had feared. Well, a couple hours on a plane from there to where Dorian was, not that far.

  He picked up his phone, pulse thumping in his temples. This was for keeps.

  The call picked up instantly, no ringing whatsoever. That probably meant it was an answering machine, though those usually let the phone ring a few times so someone could answer. Or could it be some kind of voicemail system?

  Two seconds later, a laugh came through the line, first quiet and slow, then building gradually louder and faster. Maniacal cackling, really, was the best way to describe the sound, like the Joker in Batman, or the cackling of a witch. He found it very unpleasant. The sound increased and sped up until Dorian had to hold the receiver away from his ear. And suddenly it stopped and the line hung up.

  Another ReeperG dead end. Fuck.

  Dorian looked at his watch, exhausted. Nothing whatsoever is what he’d gotten out of all this; he’d spent the whole night, not to mention yesterday. And he’d been outdone. Simple as that. He rapped his knuckles on the desk. Where had he not looked yet?

  ‘Friends space.’ It was a bit lower on the page, and he’d assumed that it would be random. But looking more closely, something wasn’t right.

  There were only two friends, one ‘The Family’ and the second ‘The Son’. A chill ran through his body. For the first time since the murders, Dorian felt truly scared.

  The anguished minutes Dorian had spent standing outside his parents’ apartment a few weeks ago, ran through his head. Again he stood here, no idea what he’d find, but not sure he wanted to confront it. What did this ReeperG actually know, and why did he put it on MySpace for Dorian?

  But then, did it matter? Dorian had to open the profiles, no matter what ReeperG had put there—because how else could he find the killers? What other way did he have to trap this guy.

  He clicked on ‘The Family’ before he had time to hesitate further, teeth clenched.

  The background popped up first, a living room somewhere repeated endlessly across and down the page. No, not somewhere. That was his parent’s living room, recognizable even in black and white. There was the painting, and there the dresser. It looked exactly like when he’d seen it last, that terrible day in Milan.

  The profile picture, right under the caption ‘The Family,’ was a picture of the Cassos. His family! He remembered the picture clearly. They had been down at the coast in Liguria. He couldn’t remember which time of year, but probably Spring or Fall, because it wasn’t that hot. They’d just had lunch at their favorite restaurant, Da Vincis, right on the beach, though he couldn’t remember the food. What had they had? Anyway, probably the waiter had taken the picture. He remembered the argument about Federica’s sunglasses. She’d wanted to wear them, complaining bitterly about the sun stabbing into her eyes, but in reality wanting to look cool. She’d refused to take them off to the point where Babbo gave up. ‘I guess we have enough photos,’ he grumbled. Other than the minor discussion, they had all been happy on a pleasant day out.

  He looked more closely. The photo had been altered, with Dorian’s entire figure drawn over in red, eliminated completely, so nothing could be recognized.

  Dorian had to look away. He gripped his mouse to try to stop his hand shaking. It didn’t work. The shake spread to his leg. Again he willed it to stop, but the leg wouldn’t. He stared at them, the hand and the leg, but could see nothing. He could feel them vibrating violently, but the shaking was inside.

  It didn’t matter, he told himself. It didn’t matter what ReeperG had prepared for him. Right now, he needed to finish looking at the profile.

  But he couldn’t. He didn’t want to know what else ReeperG had for him, no matter how important.

  He stood up, rubbed his chin, walked a circle around his chair, and sat down. He absolutely had to do this right now. No excuses.

  But couldn’t he just send the links to the police?

  Great idea, except for the part where they dismissed everything he said, and ridiculed him. No, Dorian had to do this.

  He continued looking at the profile. There was actually nothing on the page. The only friend was ReeperG and other than that, only the standard buttons.

  That left the pictures. What else could this guy have photos of?

  He clicked on ‘View My: Pics.’ It was either here, or there was nothing.

  He glanced across the five pictures which appeared, dark and grainy as they were, with strange shaped blobs which didn’t quite read as anything in particular. The confusion lasted a moment, and then Dorian could see exactly what he was looking at. And at that moment, a sharp pain stabbed straight through his heart, as if he’d been impaled on a knife. It couldn’t be.

  The shaking in his leg got worse. But he forced himself to look at each picture in turn, this time not so sure why it would help, when the police had already been through all of it.

  The first showed his sister’s room, bathed in a ghostly light. On top of the wooden floor lay an irregular dark reddish blotch, in the middle of which lay a woman. Dorian’s head jerked to the side, trying to stop the inevitable. He looked back again, and saw a reddish welt in the middle of the woman’s chest, and saw her face, his sister’s face. It looked so strange, angular, as if cast in wax. It looked like the whole world had ended in that moment, and all that was left was a shadow of the real world.

  He clicked to the next picture. This time is was a closeup of the side of her neck, and the blot of blood below her. He squeezed his eyes shut. The pictures had completed the image from his trip to the apartment. Nothing was left to know.

  Quickly he clicked next, not wanting to see more. This time the picture was of his parent’s room. It had been taken after the attacks, as the walls had the same loop of bullets he’d seen back in Milan. On top of the bed, he could see a male body, clutching some kind of can in his hand, and the arm of another person. No faces were visible, but who else could it be? The sheets bore dark stains that turned into puddles in a few instances. Again he clicked next. This time he could see the same scene, but from further back. The two bodies lay next to each other, rigid, as if trying to push away some tremendous force. He clicked next, not able to dwell on the picture longer.

  The picture that showed up on his screen made the others seem easy to look at in comparison. He stopped for only an instant, not able to look at it any longer than that. It was a close-up of the second figure. The woman on the bed. It must have been Mamma, although there was no way to know. He could see a mouth that had frozen in a scream, or a grimace of terror. A terror that looked absolutely true, not like the movie kind he’d spend so many hours looking at. Above the mouth, he could see a nose, but then nothing more. The rest of the head was missing, leaving only a bloody stump.

  Dorian vomited as he stood up, not able to hold back before reaching the bathroom. It landed on his pants and the floor, the acrid smell piercing his nose and the sour acid and little lumps sticking inside his mouth and lips. Oh god! Dorian shook. Why him? Why his parents and sister? More vomit wanted to come out of his empty stomach. Once in the bathroom, he rinsed out his mouth struggling to get rid of the taste, the sticky tendrils between his teeth, spitting into the sink.

  He didn’t want to live at that moment. All he needed was a bit of change, head down to the T in Harvard Square once the subway opened in the morning. All he had to do was wait for the first train to arrive, and jump at the right moment. And he’d be done with all this shit. There was nothing to be found in those pictures. Nothing. They’d only wanted to hurt him.

  Which was why he couldn’t stop now. His fami
ly had given their lives because of his movie tricks, so he had to make sure the people that did it, paid. There was no other angle. Bring it on, he shouted inside his head.

  He sat down at the computer, this time clicking on ‘The Son.’

  Again, he could see pictures of the inside of some rooms, again at night. But he couldn’t see blood. At least that. Although, it made sense, since he wasn’t dead.

  He clicked on the first picture, zooming in to see it close up. The room looked vaguely familiar, though he couldn’t place it. He scrolled the image around, looking at all the features. He noticed a computer in the middle. Suddenly it clicked. What an idiot he’d been. It was the room he was sitting in right at that moment. His dorm room, as seen from his roommates desk. That’s why he hadn’t recognized it. How the hell did ReeperG have that? What was ReeperG doing in his dorm? He clicked to the next picture. This one showed the door to his bedroom. Now that he knew, it was easy to recognize. He clicked again, his temples throbbing. The third picture showed a figure lying on the lower level of a bunk bed. A quick zoom later, it was clear that it showed Dorian, apparently asleep. He couldn’t believe it. Had he slept properly since getting back from Milan? How had they taken the picture? He clicked to the last picture, not knowing what to expect. It was simple and