The Forum Marie Reyes (book series for 10 year olds txt) 📖

this again, or you just want a chat or anything, I'm always available." She tore a corner off a newspaper and scribbled down her number with a pen she pulled from her front pocket. He had not anticipated coming back but appreciated the gesture.

Chapter Eighteen

CHICAGO

 

Quicky_Mart: I'm pretty sure it's North America still. It's annoying that there's no sound. Sound would be helpful.

Pipes1983: Yeah, there's no way he's letting us get it that easily. Anyone able to zoom in on that newspaper?

Quicky_Mart: Already tried. It's too far away from the camera. Just becomes a massive blur if you zoom in, even when using enhancement software.

Shortstacks: It's so near, yet so far. That newspaper would narrow it down to a city at least. I've tried to find the furniture, to see if it's a local company or anything, but most of it is just Ikea, not exactly enough to narrow it down. There's one in Schaumburg, Illinois, and one in Oak Creek Wisconsin. Not that it will help us much.

Pipes1983: What about the clock? It's quirky. Very art deco. And the painting. Looks like an original, not a print. Could track that, maybe?

Quicky_Mart: Good idea.

Pipes1983: Just looking now.

Quicky_Mart: Everything else in the room looks far too generic to trace. Pretty sure I used to own a lamp just like that.

Shortstacks: I could check to see if she's on the dating website that Bryony Finch was on.

Quicky_Mart: Worth a shot. What time is it there? Must be really late.

Shortstacks: It is, I just can't sleep. Besides, my girlfriend would have a go at me if she knew I was still involved in all this.

Quicky_Mart: Especially if you're on dating websites.

Shortstacks: Don't even go there. She already had a go at me for that.

Quicky_Mart: Oh no. Trouble in paradise?

Pipes1983: Guys. Found some very similar-looking clocks on this bespoke website. Deliver all over the US. I'm going to send them an image of it, see if it's one of theirs.

Quicky_Mart: Nice work. I'm feeling a little redundant.

Shortstacks: Nothing on flirtmatchmeet.com. Checked a couple of other sites too. Besides, the first victim wasn't on there either, so that's not how he's finding his victims.

Quicky_Mart: K-meister, you about? Do you recognize this girl? If they're targeting people they know, then all the victims are probably related somehow.

Kristen slumped on the couch, staring at the screen. Her dad didn't know these people. He barely had a social life. Neither did he work with them. She had never once seen the two women in her life, and she stopped by her dad's workplace fairly often. This all felt so hopeless. She was helpless to save this young woman who sat there, ignorant, unaware that she was being watched by multiple people. Surely, there must be a way to track where the video feed was coming from? There had to be something.

She'd never felt lonelier in her life. There were people that loved her, but she cut off her friends. The way they were with her was so awkward. The pitying looks. They had no idea what to say. She just wanted to forget what had happened, if only for a few minutes, but they wouldn't let her.

A morbid part of her wanted to watch the videos. She had been tempted a couple of times. Maybe something would occur to her that hadn't crossed the minds of the others on the forum. The drive to bring her father's killer to justice was strong, but her self-preservation instinct was stronger. What she would see in those videos might change her, and once she had watched it, there was no unseeing it.

She needed to forget and decided wine was her best friend at this point. If she smoked weed, she might have a full-blown panic attack. Wine was probably a safer bet in this instance. She padded across the carpet into the kitchen, opened the fridge and pulled out a chilled bottle of Californian Sauvignon Blanc. The pop of the cork, and glugging sound as the wine escaped the bottle and poured into her glass, was a comforting sound. She didn't drink often, but when she did, she meant business.

Her phone tickled her leg as it vibrated in her pants pocket. It was a notification for a dating website she signed up to ages ago on a whim, before everything had turned to shit.

Kevin Brown: Hi there. Saw your profile and wondered if you wanted to chat. I like your pic. You're insanely hot. Sorry if that's inappropriate, but it's true.

Her first instinct was to dismiss it. All the talk about dating websites on the forum had made her untrusting and paranoid. Sure, it's unlikely Bryony Finch was killed because she was on a dating site, but it was still a possibility.

The rest of her body betrayed her mind as she imagined a casual hookup. Something anonymous, separate from all the shit that was going on. It had been a long time since she had been with a man and the thought of a hot, sweaty, one-night stand was certainly alluring. She could test the water. It couldn't hurt.

Kristen McBride: Hey. Thanks for the message. I bet that's what you say to all the girls.

Kevin Brown: Yeah. I sent out 200 of these messages and you're the only one to reply. Jokes.

Kristen McBride: Well, don't you know how to make a girl feel special.

Kevin Brown: I try. Haha.

Kristen McBride: Where do you live?

Kevin Brown: How very forward of you.

Kristen McBride: I'll be honest. I'm not looking for anything serious right now, and I'm looking for more than a chat if you know what I mean?

Kevin Brown: Oh. Cool. I'm down for whatever.

Kristen McBride: That's good to hear.

Kevin Brown: You fancy meeting up for a drink?

Chapter Nineteen

 

CHICAGO

Kristen