he was on the line.”
“You gave him your cell phone number?” Dale asked. “I thought you said you guys never talked on the phone?”
“We didn’t. I never gave him the number. I don’t know how he got it.”
She could tell by his expression that Dale didn’t believe her. Though it hurt, she was more worried about finding something solid she could take to the police. The only thing left was the picture. She sat in the chair at her desk, powered up her computer, nervously gnawing her thumbnail. Dale stood glowering over her.
“Don’t you think it’s kind of stupid to start up a conversation with some guy right after Nicki got killed? I mean, you never know who you’re chatting with.”
“I know. That’s why I made him send me a very specific picture of himself, so I’d know it was just taken and not a phony.”
“Where’s the picture?”
“I’ll show you as soon as this thing comes on.”
It took forever—the screen glowed and icons began popping up, but it all seemed to be happening very slowly. When it finally loaded, Mandy guided her cursor to the file with Kyle’s picture and clicked. She was horrified when the window opened.
“God, Mandy,” Dale said, the anger clear in his voice. “What the hell were you thinking? The guy looks forty years old.”
Mandy stared at the picture, wondering if she was losing her mind. Dale was right; the man in the photograph did look forty years old, nothing like the boy who once saluted her. The man still saluted, but now his face sagged. Wrinkles scored his eyes and mouth. His nose was larger. Where Kyle’s neatly brushed blond hair was, now sprouted tufts nearly gray. His embarrassed expression had also hardened, and now he looked amused but cruel. In his hand, he still held somethin g, but it no longer resembled a hairbrush, just a black smudge, like thick smoke, hovering over something with a sharp, silver edge.
“I don’t believe this,” Dale said. “Was being with me so bad you had to go chasing Grandpa Munster?”
Mandy shouted, “He didn’t look like this! The picture is changing!”
“Yeah,” Dale said. “That happens all the time.”
“Dammit, Dale. I’m not lying. Drew and Laurel both saw this just last week. They’ll tell you he didn’t look like this.”
“Look, whatever,” he said. “The guy threatened you. Let’s call the cops and get this over with.”
But what was Mandy going to tell them? It all seemed so impossible: no cell phone record; no instant message; her computer shutting down on its own; a picture of a guy her father’s age, someone she had no business chatting with in the first place. Who was going to believe her? They’d think she deserved what was happening to her for being so stupid.
She knew she had to call the police, but the ache in her stomach kicked painfully, assuring her that the next few hours were going to be miserable.
13
Mandy sat in her desk chair and looked up at Officer Romero, who stood straight-backed, wearing an expression that revealed no discernible emotion. Dale waited downstairs at the request of the police officer, leaving Mandy attempting to explain a series of bizarre events that revolved around a boy named Kyle.
“That picture,” Officer Romero said. “Did it come attached to an e-mail?”
“Yes,” Mandy said, with a sudden rush of relief. The e-mail. She’d forgotten about it completely. That would be some kind of proof, some real connection to Kyle. It would help them find him; they could trace something like that.
She searched her mail folders, plugged in the e-mail address as she remembered it, but came up with nothing. It had to be there. She must have remembered the addy wrong. Instead of trying another search, she scrolled through her saved mail. Nothing.
“Wait, I wrote back to him,” she said feeling insecure under the intense eyes of Officer Romero. But a thorough search of her sent mail uncovered nothing. Notes to Drew and Laurel and a dozen other people, but nothing to Kyle.
“This can’t be,” she whispered. “I swear I’m telling you the truth.”
Officer Romero nodded her head. Her face softened. “Calm down, Mandy. We have the username you gave us. I’m going to take down the e-mail address as you remember it. It’s possible he gained access to your mail service. If he already had your screen name, it would just be an issue of working out your password. We’ll check with the provider. Even if he managed to get in and erase his tracks, they’ll have a record.”
“Thank you,” Mandy said, relieved. “I thought I was going crazy.”
“You’re not crazy,” Officer Romero said. “And I don’t want you to upset yourself. I think what we have here is a hack trying to scare you.”
“But he mentioned Nicki.”
“I know. It’s mean and it’s sick, but it would be highly unlikely for the real perpetrator to admit to the crime, not when you have everything we need to trace him.”
“And you didn’t find anything on Nicki’s computer?” Mandy asked. “I mean, what if
“Unlikely,” Officer Romero said. “It’s procedure to run cell phone and Internet records. Everything of Nicolette’s checked out. I’m not saying that we won’t treat this like a real threat or a real crime, because it is. I’m just telling you not to upset yourself too much. That doesn’t mean you should take any chances. I wouldn’t walk anywhere on your own, and make sure you’re with friends if you’re out in the evenings. Also, this guy may try to contact you again. If he does, log the time and what was said and call me immediately.”
“I will. But, Officer Romero, I still don’t understand what’s happening with the picture. It keeps changing. Is it some kind of program that just looks like a jpeg file?”
“Maybe. I’m not a computer wiz, so I don’t know how all of these things work. I’ll need you to print out a copy of the image for me, though. Let’s also send the file to my e-mail and I’ll have one of our tech guys examine it.”
Mandy reached across her desk and pushed the button, turning on her printer. Then, she looked at the image of Kyle, now a middle-aged man, and felt the familiar, cold fingers of fear on her neck and spine. She sent the image to print, then closed the file. After she had e-mailed the image to Romero’s office addy, Mandy pulled the printed image from the tray.
“Oh no,” she said.
In the middle of the white sheet of paper was a black square with a narrow gray line down the center. No Kyle, young or old, no hairbrush, no room appeared at all.
“I don’t understand,” Mandy said.
“That makes two of us,” said Officer Romero.
After Officer Romero left, Mandy turned off her cell phone. She signed off the Internet, then shut her computer down completely. Once, these devices had represented a connection to her friends, an invisible thread to keep them together no matter how many miles separated them. They were gateways to the world and its people, conversation, and fun. Now they scared her, because among the welcomed and known people in her life was Kyle, unwelcome and unknown. As she severed the pathways Kyle used to find her, Dale hovered at her shoulder, standing like a bodyguard. Finally, Mandy’s mother came home. Then her father. Dale told her he had to get home for dinner.
At the door, after kissing her good night, he said, “I’ll come by later. We’d better just stay in tonight.” Mandy nodded her head and kissed him again.
Over dinner, Mandy explained her situation to her parents, told them about Kyle and Officer Romero’s visit. Her father looked at her like she’d just told him she was pregnant. Her mother, always intent on being so understanding, dropped her fork on the plate and leaned on the table, resting her chin on her hands.
