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“I’m on Clarence’s forum. Some real deviants on here.” Ella scrolled through the entirety of page one, a little taken aback by the amount of activity on here. On the right hand side of the screen, it told her that over three hundred users were logged in at that exact moment.
As she reached the top of page two on the Davenport section, one thread stood out. It had nine pages of replies, the most recent one submitted yesterday.
What’s Your Ultimate Abuse Fantasy?
Ella reluctantly clicked in and prepared herself for nonsense that would no doubt re-ignite the fury she’d felt back at Clarence’s place.
The body text read:Let’s not kid ourselves. If we could get away with it, we would. I’ll get the ball rolling. I’d love to emotionally enslave a girl so that she was addicted to me. Like, she couldn’t function without me being near her. It would keep her in a constant state of stress and anxiety.
“Jesus wept,” Ella said.
Ripley caught it. “What?”
She took a deep breath and carried on. “These guys are openly talking about abuse like it’s nothing. It makes me sick.”
“That’s the world we live in. Read every reply, see if anything sticks out.”
Ella got to the task, consuming every little detail, every immature fantasy of these misguided males. As she scanned through, her subconscious took over and processed the information piece by piece. She began to draw up a profile of this offender or offenders in her head, and if they were one of Clarence’s ilk, they would be on the younger side, reasonably in shape, more introverted than extroverted despite the crap that came out of their mouths. They would no doubt be single, and could very likely still live with their parents.
I wouldn’t want to physically hurt a woman, but I’d like a relationship where I could occasionally reprimand her for not obeying me.
Another reply:I’d like a dynamic wherein I could punish her for not gratifying me. I believe this should be normal in every relationship. You’re her provider and protector, so if she steps out of line, you should be well within your right to chastise her.
Then time stood still for a moment. The next comment burned her eyeballs, pricked her senses, and dared her to second-guess herself. She read the comment twice, three times, taking in its tangibility and vividness.
It was all right there in text form.
Enough of the showboating here. Some of you people are pathetic. You want a real confession? My biggest fantasy is to knock on a random woman’s door, elbow my way in, and then just take whatever I want from her. I know what you’ll say: but Master D, she just wouldn’t answer the door. That’s why I’d pull a ruse. I’d pose as a deliveryman, then when the naïve little kitten couldn’t resist the allure of a gift, I’d shove my way in and take what’s mine. Easy.
The user’s name was Master D. He was a Gold Poster on the forum, which meant he’d made over a thousand submissions.
A deliveryman, he’d said.
She thought back to what the coroner had found, what they’d found beside Abigail’s body.
“Mia?” Ella called.
“Yes?”
“You ever had someone deliver flowers to your door?”
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Gail Brookes moved through the bodies on the ground floor of the Davenport Council Building, making her way up the staircase to her office where she could get some damn peace and quiet. Today had been what her old mother would have calleda real Wednesday,rife with problems and drama that could easily be solved with a few short conversations.
She marched up the stairwell with relentless footsteps, hoping the physical exertion might cool her blood, discharge the simmering frustration that had taken up permanent residence in her soul.
This morning, she’d met with the mayor to put a lid on the new development. Three similar murders in two days were a cause for concern, and the last thing Gail needed was her city being painted as a crime-ridden war zone, especially when the statistics told a completely different story. She’d spent the past decade working her ass off to give Davenport a new shine, undoing its past reputation to forge one less sinister. Gail might only be a councilor around here, but mayorhood was her end goal. The sooner they drove that chauvinist pig out of office, the better.
And in their meeting this morning, the man’s bigotry had been on full display again. The mayor had said these killings weren’t worth the uproar. They were statistical probabilities,drops in the ocean.Would he have said the same if the victims were men? If historical reflection was anything to go by, then definitely not.
The old bastard still clearly had it in for her, ever since he’d made his overly aggressive pass at her and she’d shot him down like an enemy aircraft. The wounds were still open, and she was paying the price for standing up for herself. She hadn’t kept her experiences to herself over the past year or so either. Any opportunity to expose old Mayor Williams, she’d taken it.
But he won, like he always did. Locals had sided with his claims that the three recent murders were not crimes of misogyny or chauvinism.No city is without crime,he’d said so confidently while his entourage of middle-aged men nodded along.We can’t let the actions of one resident stain the reputation of our home.
Gail had spoken up, told the mayor that it didn’t matter who these victims were. Their attacker must be brought to justice, and if that meant they needed to draft in police officers from Rock Island then so be it. There’d been news reporters in the conference room this morning too, so Gail already envisioned the headlines.
RAGE-FUELED YOUNG MEN INCREASING MURDER RATEon one page,WHY ARE WE PUTTING SO MUCH MANPOWER INTO THREE DEATHSon the other. The gossip rags had already milked the police for information on this morning’s murder, so no doubt the city would be filled with journalists by the afternoon. If the mayor wasn’t about to do any damage control, Gail would have to do it herself. Every day without progress was another step back for everything they’d worked for. Gail was going to take a stand and ensure that justice was served.
