Miranda was almost in tears. He couldn’t say no—Jesse was her lucky thirteen. And she was out of time. When he finally called, she’d dared to hope…But maybe thirteen wasn’t lucky, not for her. After all, one plus three added up to four. A bad number.
“Please,” she said, sniffing back her tears and hoping he didn’t notice. “Please, Jesse. Don’t hang up yet. Would you just listen? Just for a few minutes? You’re the only one I can talk to, the only one who would understand.”
There was dead silence. Then the sound of a metallic snap. “What’s that?” she asked. “Are you still there?”
“I’m here.” His voice sounded resigned. “Just lighting a fire. It’s cold and dark where I am.”
She pressed her free hand against her own dark windowpane, the cold racing up her arm, down into her heart. “Where I am too.”
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice hushed but with a spark of defiance in it. She remembered the look in his eyes and knew he wanted to rush to her rescue; he sounded like that kind of guy. A knight in shining armor. Or he would have been if the Creep—King, Jesse called him—hadn’t beaten him down.
Miranda couldn’t be angry with him for saying no. He had his little sister and mother to think about.
“I’m not okay,” she admitted. “But I’m safe, if that’s what you mean. There’s no pervert holding me hostage or anything. At least not physically.”
“Where are you?”
“Tyrone.”
“That’s not too far. I’m just outside of Smithfield.”
She knew that; it was why she’d chosen him. But she didn’t dare tell him that, not now. It was too soon.
Another pause but it didn’t feel awkward. Then he asked, “What you said about your folks losing their jobs and moving because of what King did to you, was that true? They really did that?”
“He found us the first time we moved, when we were still in Pittsburgh.” Being bullied out of one school had been bad enough, but then to have the Creep cybersmash her again—this time with a fake porn video that went viral—that had been too much.
But she’d survived, which only gave the Creep another chance to destroy her family. “After that I left school; my folks gave up their jobs so we could move here, but I guess that wasn’t enough fun for him. So last year for my birthday, he posted an ad online. Used my mom’s picture and all her info along with a rape fantasy. Five thousand dollars to the man who made it come true and posted a video of it.”
Dr. Patterson would be proud of her, talking about that night so calmly. When the Creep contacted her, let her know it was all her fault and that he’d never stop hounding her and her family…They’d said she was lucky they found her before all the pills had gotten into her system. Miranda had decided adults had a warped idea of what lucky really was.
Jesse made a noise like he was ready to hit someone. “What happened? Was she okay?”
“My dad’s a Pittsburgh cop—well, he used to be. Before…all this. But he’s taught me and Mom how to take care of ourselves. When my mom walked out to her car that night and two guys tried to jump her, she pepper sprayed the hell out of them, kicked them in the balls, and when they ran, used the phone they’d dropped to video their license plate. Cops nailed them.”
“But not King.”
“No. And their lawyers got them off.” It’d been months later when they went to trial. She’d been so scared, testifying about why her mom was targeted, then when the judge dismissed the case on a technicality, her dad had gone after the men in the hallway, almost got arrested.
The thought of losing him—or her mom—had reduced her to a screaming, crumpled mess collapsed in the hallway of the courthouse. That night was the second time she’d tried to end it all. A razor blade that time. The ambulance ride was the last time she’d left their apartment.
“Your mom sounds pretty cool.”
“She is.” Miranda couldn’t help but smile. Somehow he knew exactly the right thing to say. “She wants to be a poet—was in grad school and everything.” She sighed. “Now she works nights at the post office. They have a good health plan.” They needed every penny of it with the counselors and hospital and doctors. “And she teaches a few days a week, English as a second language classes, to bring in extra money. When I think of how perfect their lives would be without me—”
“Don’t say that! You did the right thing. You stood up to King and his blackmail. How old were you?”
“Thirteen. It was my birthday and he grabbed video—well, you know as well as I do how he works.” King and the others like him. Hiding in cybershadows, waiting for people to make a mistake, a single slipup, trust the wrong person, get too close to the wrong camera, cell, or computer. Damn cappers. Made them harder to catch than the child predators who trolled, actively looking for victims. Those guys the FBI and cops were good at reeling in. But cappers? They were shadows, hiding in the dark crevices of the Internet, invisible until after they already had their prey trapped.
“Thirteen? And you went up against King all by yourself? And now you’re trying to track him down, stop him?”
She thrilled to the awe in his voice. It was almost as good as when her folks told her how proud they were of her…something that hadn’t happened lately, mainly because she hadn’t done anything to make them proud. Instead, she’d retreated farther and farther away from the outside world. If she could just find the Creep and stop him once and for all, then she maybe she could face her folks again.
As it was, it was getting harder and harder to look at them—so tired and beaten down, their dreams destroyed, because of her—without wanting to die.
“Trying,” she said, her voice bitter. “Two years trying. And failing. You’re the first who has even answered my message.”
“How many have you sent?”
“You’re number thirteen.”
“How many kids do you think King has—”
“Tormented? Blackmailed? Bullied? Who knows…I’ve found kids stalked by other creeps online, been able to help a few, but he’s the worst. His victims are too scared to do anything about him, and I can’t do it alone.”
He was quiet again. She liked that about him: he didn’t just jump in with false promises. Jesse thought before he spoke. She had the feeling he wouldn’t make a promise he couldn’t keep. Just like her folks.
All victims of King. Good people, their lives torn apart.
“If I helped you,” Jesse said, his voice dropping to a whisper, “what would you need from me?”