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I don’t trust myself to call it.
But I can see what happens when I text.
She opened another new browser window, then went to myfreetexts.net and, registering with false information, created a new account that assigned her a new telephone number with an 831 area code.
That page was then replaced with one that was almost a mirror image of the text message screen she had on her cell phone. Almost, because the difference was that both sides of the My Free Texts page had annoying advertisements scrolling from top to bottom.
A small price to pay, I suppose.
She watched the cursor blinking in the field for the recipient’s cell phone number. After a long moment, she typed in the phone number.
And then her stomach suddenly knotted.
That could be the killer. Probably is the killer.
Or, if not the killer, then a killer.
She inhaled deeply, then slowly let it out.
I’m okay. He can’t get to me here.
And if I’m going to get to him . . .
She hit TAB, putting the cursor in the bubble that represented the message field, and typed:
MAYBE I HAVE YOUR BOOKS. MAYBE I DON’T.
She read that three times, nodded, then added at the end, “Who is this?”
She read it all once, then clicked SEND.
Maybe whoever it is will be stupid enough to tell me.
Or, more likely, lie to me.
She stared at the screen. She picked up the water bottle on the table beside her and sipped.
She then realized that she was shaking slightly.
I’m terrified.
What if I screw this whole thing up?
She drained the water bottle.
Well, I can’t sit here forever waiting.
Who knows when they’ll reply?
She put her fingers to the keyboard and started to sign out.
Under the bubble that held the message she sent, a new bubble suddenly popped up:
267-555-9100
WHO THE HELL IS THIS?
She immediately yanked her fingers back.
