Along the walls of both the dining area and adjacent living room were framed articles. Dozens of them. Nick limped along, glancing at the headlines. Local soldier saves three dozen children. Sergeant Thomas brings fellow soldier to safety. Two presidential commendations for Thomas. Congressional Medal of Honor for saving schoolchildren.

And more. All the articles had pictures of Steve in uniform, all taken more than a dozen years ago.

Staring at the history of Steve lining the walls, he couldn’t help but wonder what Steve had really been doing for the past fourteen years since he left the military. He had no real job but collected a decent pension. He’d been going to college part-time for nearly ten years, dating a girl half his age, and getting wrapped up in a murder investigation.

The thought of Steve raping a woman made Nick physically ill. He wanted to stand by his brother, but if it were true Nick would walk away. He wouldn’t be able to look at the brother he’d long admired, long respected, and see in his face a rapist. A man no better than the Butcher.

Nick had told the two detectives the truth: if Steve was guilty, he would turn him in himself.

As Nick looked at the framed awards, the commendations under a spotlight, the newspaper articles and photographs, Nick wondered if he really knew his brother.

Every answer came back no.

TEN

ELIZABETH RIMES was the most beautiful creature on the planet. It was a shame she lived three thousand miles away.

She went to Atlanta Tech, which he’d discovered through a small picture on her online journal. She would never have expected anyone to research the statue in her photo’s background, discovering its history and location on the Atlanta Tech campus.

She lived in an apartment near the campus (“I bike to school every day. It’s a nice ride, not too far. But when it rains I take the bus.”) He figured out which Starbucks she frequented (“I sat and drank my latte and looked at the small lake. It’s peaceful here, I come by almost every day.”) Her favorite singer was Enya, her favorite color sky blue, her favorite movie Sleepless in Seattle.

He hadn’t seen Sleepless in Seattle until he read her journal, then he bought it. It was fate, an omen. The movie was about a long-distance relationship. A woman who was in love with a man she’d never met but felt she knew with all her heart and soul.

Just like he did about Elizabeth.

He had some money saved. He had it all planned. He’d register for classes at Atlanta Tech. Elizabeth had announced that she would be the teaching assistant for a computer design class in the fall. He would be in that class. Find an apartment near hers. Run into her at the Starbucks. Befriend her. Ask her out.

Kiss her. Touch her. Make love to her.

So beautiful. Long, long, soft blond hair. Sweet.

He’d been talking with her through her journal page for months. They’d become friendly and she had given him more details about her life, details that would help him track her down. He knew she had two cats. He pretended to have a cat, even took pictures of the neighbor’s cat to send to her, but truth was he hated them. Dirty animals who licked their butts and ate rotten food. Disgusting.

But Elizabeth loved cats, and so he pretended to. He looked at the picture of Elizabeth with her cats on her journal page and grimaced. One of them had its filthy tongue out and was about to lick her cheek.

When he arrived in Atlanta, the cats were the first thing that had to go. He’d taken care of the beasts before, he would happily do it again. She would never know what happened to them.

He clicked on the message icon for Elizabeth and wrote a message. It was perfect, and he knew she would respond.

Hi Elizabeth. I’m sorry I haven’t been around for the last couple days, but I had some sad news. Remember I told you about my cat Felix? I sent you his picture last month, he’s black and white and very friendly. Well, he was hit by a car Sunday and I took him to the vet but they couldn’t do anything. He died this morning.

I miss him already. The car didn’t even stop.

I wanted to share with someone. My roommate never liked Felix and doesn’t care that he’s gone.

I knew you would understand. How are Scooter and Belle? I hope they’re doing well.

By the way, I’m thinking of transferring to Atlanta Tech in the fall. I applied in the computer engineering department and my professor here gave me a terrific letter of recommendation. Do you know anything about AT? If you don’t, that’s okay.

Talk to you later, I’m going to take Felix’s food and toys to the SPCA, maybe they can use them. Maybe I’ll come back with another cat, though I don’t think anyone can replace Felix.

Your friend.

He signed off with his auto-signature and the avatar of a bouncing smiley face.

If this didn’t work, there would soon be a time when she would let him know everything. He’d make certain of that.

Angie had told him things because he was safe. She trusted him. And she betrayed him by whoring around.

Slut.

He glanced up, wondering if he’d spoken out loud. But no one looked at him. The library was quiet, everyone studying. Normally he wouldn’t go to the library to go online-he didn’t have to, he had a great setup at home-but there was a pretty girl he liked to look at. She worked part-time Tuesday and Thursday nights.

Becca. Not as pretty a name, not as pretty a girl, as Elizabeth, but she was close. So he came to the library when she worked just to look, to hold her image close to him so when he went home he could picture her. Her wide mouth, red lips, sweet smile. He wanted to kiss her, but he never approached her. Twice, she’d come to him to gather books off the table. She smiled at him, murmured hello, complimented his shirt.

When he first met Angie, she was also nice to him. She talked to him, actually seemed interested in what he had to say.

She was a liar. When he’d found her MyJournal page the fantasy that was sweet Angie vanished. He was devastated, livid. She was a whore, a slut, just like the woman who’d turned against his father.

They were all better off dead.

His laptop computer beeped that an e-mail had arrived. Elizabeth.

Heart pounding, he turned his gaze from Becca working the desk and opened the message. It wasn’t from Elizabeth. It was an automatic e-mail alert.

MyJournal tracker has found a recent update on your track list. Click the link below to be taken directly to the updated content.

MyJournal.iloverealmen.com

Angie’s journal.

For a brief moment, a split second, he felt every eye in the library looking at him. Of course they weren’t. They didn’t know what he’d done, they didn’t know who he was. Becca didn’t even know his real name.

He almost clicked on the link. But he didn’t. Couldn’t. Instead he packed up his laptop, avoiding eye contact with anyone. He rushed out, heard Becca ask behind him, “Is something wrong?” He just shook his head at her and left the building. Ran to his car, heart pounding. Drove home. Fast. Too fast.

Slow down. Slow down or you’ll get a ticket.

He eased up on the accelerator a bit, but his head ran through every possible scenario.

That Angie wasn’t dead, that she was alive and the police would be waiting for him at home.

That she was dead and writing from Hell.

That she was alive but didn’t remember anything.

You’re dead! You’re dead!

In the glare of headlights, he saw her ghostly body, her bloody mouth open, accusing him. You raped me.

You’re dead. You can’t tell anyone what happened. You can’t say a word. You’re dead, you slut!