Chapter Fourteen
MAPLE RIDGE - BRITISH COLUMBIA
Stood in front of the window, Martin watched the clouds swirl overhead. The cabin fever was already setting in, but his anxiety was stronger. There was something about being indoors, in his soft baggy sweatpants, that kept him trapped there. He imagined the harsh, biting wind against his skin, which furthered his resolve to stay inside. It wasn't fair. Dana needed to be walked. He let her out into the large back yard as often as she wanted, but it wasn't enough. He vowed to do better tomorrow and poured himself a drink; it was Christmas after all.
Wistful Christmas songs crooned from the radio, transporting him to a different era. He had managed to avoid them so far, but it was inevitable. For a supposedly joyous occasion, he wondered why so many Christmas songs sounded so depressing. Low, nostalgic tones, and sad lyrics. It wasn't any song in particular, but all of them made him feel this way now. Christmas would never be the same and was now worse than all the other days of the year. Screaming of what he was missing. The thought of asking one of his friends for an invitation had crossed his mind, but he quickly decided against it. He didn't need a pity invite, and to wedge his way into their intimate family gatherings.
To fight the urge to go rooting around in the basement for old Christmas home-movies, he turned on his computer, and sat at his desk with a whole carton of eggnog. The warm illumination of the screen replaced the glow of the roaring log fire. This was his life now. He took a sip of eggnog before logging in. The thick creamy liquid was filling enough that he wouldn't even need to bother to cook. It coated his throat as it traveled down and sat heavy in his stomach. His social media was flooded with pictures of his friends and acquaintances gathering around full tables for Christmas dinner, and photos of their children ripping open huge mounds of presents. #blessed.
An inkling of an idea fluttered around in the periphery of his mind, but he couldn't quite make it out. Couldn't grasp it. He needed something to give him a good kick-in-the-ass. Something to get him out of this funk. All he could think of was doing charity work, or a change of scenery. He probably wasn't in the state to help anyone at the moment, considering he could barely look his work colleagues in the eyes for the last couple of months, and barely recognized himself.
He couldn't see himself going on vacation either. Would he be just as depressed and disconnected on some Caribbean island? Of course, the warmth and the liberal flow of rum would help. Even though he doubted there was any update since last time he checked a couple of days ago, he had a look at the forum. To his surprise, there were two other members active, but he couldn't determine who they were. He considered posting a message asking if anyone was around to chat but concluded that to be a desperate move.
No one had been on the forum, and he felt even more alone. They were all busy celebrating. The fact the killer had left them a message probably hadn't helped. Although, it may have just been a troll. As he took a sip of his drink, he noticed the red circle in the top right-hand corner of his screen and clicked on the notification. A group message.
K-meister: Hiya. Making a private group. Just people we trust. I'm inviting Pipes, Shortstacks, Quicky_Mart and I'm considering inviting Pickletubs118. What do you guys think? They haven't made much input, but they did start the group in the first place.
As soon as the post popped up on screen, Martin's heart lightened a little. He wasn't completely and utterly alone.
Quicky_Mart: I'm in. Not sure about Pickletubs. Maybe worth inviting them. We can always block them later if we need to. How come you're not busy enjoying Christmas. Do you celebrate Christmas?
K-meister: I used to love Christmas. This year it just feels wrong. My dad was the human embodiment of the grumpy cat meme, but he loved Christmas.
Martin breathed in sharply, winded, as the grief came out of nowhere, punching him in the gut. He stepped away from his desk, gasping as if the room was starved of oxygen. He paced the room for a minute before returning to his chair.
Quicky_Mart: Yeah, it sucks. You never know when it'll be the last time you'll see someone. You should enjoy being with your family, not on the internet with a sad sack like me.
The self-pity was coming hard and fast now, and he was even shaking a little as he tried to keep it together.
K-meister: U OK?
Quicky_Mart: My dad died recently.
At first, Martin felt strange being so candid, but what did he have to lose. Nothing. Literally, nothing.
K-meister: Wow. So you know what I'm going through. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to open any wounds.
Quicky_Mart: No. Not at all. You weren't to know.
K-meister: Anything I can do?
Quicky_Mart: Just have a good Christmas.
K-meister: You too. Well, as good as you can in the circumstances.
Martin smiled. There was something so strange about the exchange. Two people who have never met, with this one strange thing in common. This thing that still hung over them, unresolved. Maybe he could travel to Chicago, or Milwaukee. Follow the hunches of strangers that he had met online. Get his name in the paper. fifteen minutes of fame. A flutter of
