CHAPTER 1  

​

​

  It was Aera Wright’s habit to drag a finger over the scar on the left side of her face. Nervous, frustrated, angry, or just plain thinking it through, that’s what she did. And it’s what she was doing when she slumped and admitted, “He’s going to kill me.”

  But that’s only because he’d done it before.

  Three times already. Dead.

  So yes, she was feeling nervous, getting frustrated, and growing angry, though maybe not so much thinking it through. 

  Dressed in her favorite pink T-shirt and a loose pair of cotton khakis, long black hair pulled back in a ponytail and topped by a pair of bulbous white headphones, Aera–or KoreanDiggerGurl as she was known online–lowered her hand back onto the computer keyboard and with the other, deftly guided the mouse, keeping her eyes locked on her curved twenty-seven inch LED monitor. 

  The game was Descender’s Rise 3: Eclipse, a role-playing adventure title she’d been streaming for the last few nights, and it was going pretty well: doing quests, collecting loot, leveling up. But it was the boss fights. Always the boss fights. The timing, the patience, the accuracy; it tripped her up, this one particularly so, a troll king named Gruel the Inveigle who just would not let her kill it. What was the deal?

  She was too impulsive. Too impatient. Straight in she’d go and start swinging, hacking at anything and everything. At least her followers and subscribers were supportive. About eight thousand were watching, a pretty average number for her channel. They called themselves ‘Diggers' and in the chat window on the right side of the screen, urged her on.

  But she died again, faster now than the last. That made four.

  Oh well. She laughed and shrugged, mugging into her camera with a pouty frown as a flurry of hearts and laughing emotes poured into the chat. Giving up for the night, she spent a few minutes plugging her website and social media accounts, then finished with her usual quirky sign-off, something that had stemmed from her hopes of using the platform to help others struggling to find courage in becoming the person they want to be, a topic that arose often among her followers. It was now a staple of her streaming. “Thanks, Diggers,” she said, “and don’t be afraid, when you’re on that edge, take the leap. Be your true self. You know what to say.”

  In the chat, as was always the response, a flurry of ‘I’m ready’s followed, most in bold capital letters with all kinds of emotes.

  Aera said it too–I’m ready–like she always did, then smiled and waved, blowing a kiss before ending her broadcast, spinning in her chair, feeling charged. It always felt good.

  Just as she did, her phone dinged with a video chat invite. It was Imogene Carlyle, her friend in Australia who’d often call after Aera signed off. She could see right away Imogene was anxious. 

  “You okay?” Aera asked as soon as they connected.

  Imogene adjusted her floral headband, pushing back a thick mass of curly black hair. She nodded, bright brown eyes set against smooth cocoa brown skin. “Go to YouTube,” she said. 

  Aera obliged, on her computer, clicking to the video hosting site. “What’m I looking for?”

  “Should be near the top. ‘Creepy Girl on Train.’” 

  Aera winced. “Imogene,” she protested. “You know I hate that fake horror stuff.”

  “It’s not that,” Imogene assured. “Just watch.”

  Aera made a face, then clicked play. 

  It was CCTV footage, a timestamp running in the lower right corner. The angle was from the top left, looking down into the cabin of an electric city streetcar at night. It was empty except for a young white woman sitting alone in the far corner, gently rocking to the steady rhythm of the train. She sat upright, her back to the large tinted window, unmoving, hands on her knees.

  She wore a high school uniform: white button up shirt with maroon piping on the collar, six button black vest and fitted blazer, short black pleated skirt, and black leggings with white tennis shoes. On her head, bright red hair dangled in spools, falling to her shoulders. Just visible through the bangs, an odd set of steam punk-styled goggles that covered half her face.

  The girl glanced across the car to the digital information board displaying the current and next stops, then rose from the molded plastic seat, steadying herself in the middle of the aisle. Locking her legs in a brawler stance, she put her knees shoulder width apart, arms tight to her sides. She clenched her fists, standing perfectly still, eyes forward, red hair curtaining her face in shadow. 

  Two seconds later, she began a strange set of jerky motions, like she’d become possessed: both elbows straight out to the sides, hand up fingers wide, shoulders pinched, neck scrunched down, head jutting out. She took three steps forward, then lifted her right knee, then down. Left knee up, then down. Her head faced right, then left, then front. With arms almost twitching, her hands came down, open hands covering her face. The streetcar stopped.She straightened, arms at her sides. The doors opened, she stepped out, then disappeared into the night. 

  The screen went black. 

  Text from the Freyr Falls City Police appeared with a hotline asking for help. The girl was missing. Two days so far. 

  “Freyr Falls?” Aera sat up surprised. “That’s right here. My city. She’s on the Green Line Light Rail. The LR. I ride that to work every day.”

  “I know,” Imogene said. “That’s why I called. The video’s going viral.”

  Aera was clicking on news websites. Imogene was right. The clip was making headlines everywhere. “What was she doing?” Aera questioned, eyes wide. “That thing with her body.”

  “Definitely creepy,” Imogene punctuated.

  Aera leaned forward, her posture shifting. “What do you know so far?”

  “Not much,” Imogene replied. “Police released the video like six hours ago. It got renamed by someone on YouTube. It’s everywhere.”

  “We know who she is?”

  “Yeah. Someone named Kylie Simon. She was reported missing by a relative.”   She paused. “You know her?”

  Aera crinkled her forehead in thought. “No. Never heard of her.”

  Imogene tapped on her keyboard. “PiperMouse started a page.”

  Aera clicked to a public website called EveryStoneSleuths, finding a new forum labeled ‘Find Kylie’. She logged in where already dozens of others were chatting and sharing information. PiperMouse was at the top, her real name Lisbeth. From Denver, she’d founded the site, starting alone nearly fives years earlier. It had grown considerably since, bringing together a growing community of online amateur detectives and internet sleuths who’d regularly meet to try and solve cold cases. Aera and Imogene were two of them.

  The site was well-organized, thanks mostly to PiperMouse and a few others, with a core group who had become regular members, such as ColdPotatoFries in London, Sunbeaners in Cape Town, FreddyPlayerOne in Ottawa, and of course SaturnRingDings, Aera’s friend in Australia who she often worked with alone, chatting about cases and life as friends.

  There was a reason for that. While the dynamics of the group could often be great, Aera didn’t much engage with anyone outside the forums other than Imogene. Disagreements were common, which were inherently useful, but personal battles made things sometimes uncomfortable. Aera avoided confrontations, sticking to the process of investigation rather than the politics.            And it got her attention.

  Ten months back, she’d located a stolen car in South Amboy, New Jersey. That was not all that noteworthy, as the group had a handful of similar wins to their record, but then, a month later, working with released security footage and tracking a twisted trail on social media, Aera’s efforts aided police in the arrest of a wanted man who had abducted a boy out of Norfolk, Virginia, making their way north to Plattsburgh, a small city in upstate New York. He was heading for Canada. 

  Aera downplayed the brief notoriety it earned her, preferring to keep free of being seen, but no matter. After that, people said, Aera knew what she was doing, and once ‘KoreanDiggerGurl’ joined a search, she was the one to follow. 

  As such, when she logged into ‘Find Kylie’, she was met with a slew of welcome messages. TimberSlacks, a regular in Baton Rouge wrote, “now we can start.” Aera posted hello’s and thanks to PiperMouse, then started in as she always did, reading what was already posted.

  Most were images of Kylie Simon taken from the police website, likely supplied by her family, maybe a few screen grabs from her social media. Either way, Kylie was attractive, with green eyes, a swatch of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and shoulder length auburn hair. 

  Talking to Imogene, Aera noted, “So the red hair. It’s a wig?”

  “Or dyed.” 

  Information compiled fast. Kylie was a twenty-five-year-old post grad student at the local university. She worked part time at an animal shelter. She’d gone out for dinner with a fellow student named Meredith Stepney, saying goodnight at around ten-thirty. CCTV cameras picked her up boarding the LR at the Barlow Junction Station at eleven-seventeen sitting alone in Car A. Two stops later she arrived at Marshall Deacon Street just before midnight. Then she did her odd … gyrations, and just … disappeared. 

  “What about her phone?” Aera asked, repeating what some were already questioning.  

  “No mention of it,” Imogene said. “Cops said they’re trying to locate the signal.” 

  “I don’t like it,” Aera stated, propping an elbow up on her table’s edge, resting her chin in her palm. Again, she stroked her scar. “Something feels off.” Her big, almond-shaped eyes focused on the video of Kylie. 

  “It always does with you.”

  “It’s a hoax, right? I mean … it’s gotta be. ‘Cept … what? She’s missing two days now?”

  “Going on three.” Imogene glumly reminded, sipping coffee from a bright red mug.

  Aera had a faraway look in her eyes. 

  This was typical. Imogene’d seen it a dozen times. It’s how Aera worked, her routine to imply at first that nothing was as it seemed. It created a platform from where she could leap, and a grad student in a high school uniform distressfully convulsing in a red hair and strange goggles on a late night streetcar before vanishing into thin air certainly gave her height to do so.

  “Three days,” Aera quietly repeated, doing the hard math for a problem with a single troubling answer.

  “It’s not gonna end well.”

  That was a growing sentiment online as well, the stream of comments on the ‘Find Kylie’ page stacking unfiltered one after the other from genuine emotional gestures of grief to widely distorted cries of conspiracy. Many were trolls feeding off the drama, some gratuitously sexualizing the missing girl to outright insulting users expressing sympathy.

  Aera ignored it.

  What was the point? She instead stuck to more productive interactions, starting her own comment thread. She wrote:

          anyone recognize the outfit, school uniform, red hair, goggles? 

  Thing was, Aera absolutely did, as soon as she’d seen it. But from where, she couldn’t recall. It seemed so obvious, but try as she could, she only drew a blank.

  Others had ideas though. They came aplenty. 

  “It’s anime,” Imogene mused. “Gotta be. Must be a ton of ‘em with a girl who looks like that.”

  “Maybe,” Aera said, though she was sure it wasn’t. “But that thing at the end.  

  Whatever it was she’s doing. With that outfit. It’s not anime. I’ve seen it somewhere.”

  Imogene’s face tightened. “You’ve seen it?”

  Aera nodded. “I just can’t think where. I mean”–she pressed two fingers against her forehead–“it’s right here.”

  Imogene half chuckled, ready to say something, then looked at her screen.  

  “Who’s ScooterBoy?” she asked.

  “ScooterBoy?” Aera questioned.

  “Yeah. In your comment thread. He just tagged you.”

  Aera turned her attention back to her computer, seeing in her thread a new post from–Imogene was right–someone named ScooterBoy. Aera read it aloud. “Hey KoreanDiggerGurl.” There was an ‘at sign’ in front of her name. “You think it’s what it looks like?”

  Imogene huffed. “What it looks like?” she repeated, a rise in her voice. “What does he think it looks like?”

  “I dunno,” Aera said, leaning back in her chair. “Do we know him? ScooterBoy?”

  Imogene shook her head. “Never heard of him.”

  “Me either,” Aera agreed, leaning forward again. “Definitely not one of the regulars. There’s always new names in and out of these things.”

  “You gonna answer him?”

  Aera exhaled, briefly pressing a hand along her scar. “No,” she said. “He’s getting enough replies from others.”

  Imogene suddenly stood, looking at her watch. “Oh shoot,” she said, moving off camera, “I gotta go. I’m late for work. You’ll be on tomorrow?”

  Aera softly nodded, pausing for several seconds. “Uh huh …”

  Imogene sat again. “Hold on,” she said. “What are you thinking?”

  Aera humorlessly chuckled. “Nothing. Just … you know. That girl. I mean, if she’s really in trouble and it’s not a hoax … it is what it looks like …”

  Imogene nodded. “Then, you know how this goes.”

  Aera fidgeted. She did know. And she didn’t have to say so.

  Imogene leaned closer, putting her elbows on the table. “This one feels different though, doesn’t it?” 

  Aera straightened. “Yeah, something about it.”

  “It’s your hometown, right? It makes it … more ‘real’”

  “Yeah,” Aera agreed. “Maybe, but … it’s more, I think, like …”

  “What?”

  “This isn’t over. Something else is coming.”

  Imogene seemed to understand, but only nodded.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Aera added.

  Imogene nodded. “You gonna be okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m good.”

  They ended the call.

  On the ‘Find Kylie’ page, Aera sat for a second, then scrolled through her thread, comments taking a sharp new direction. Images and links piled one on top of the other, more and more featuring anime girls in skimpy outfits or worse, nothing at all. It’s how these things always went. Sex. Exploitation.

  She sighed audibly, turning away.

  Staring up at the ceiling, she reached for a long bamboo flute laying on the deck alongside the computer. She held it loosely in two hands like a baseball bat, the butt of the handle in her lap as she fell into deep thought.

  It wasn’t an anime girl, no way, no matter how close some might believe. The school uniform, the red hair, the goggles; even her contortions. ‘Creepy Girl’ was something Aera knew, something she’d seen before. It frustrated her, but there was something more. Not just frustration. Aera felt it deep within her, something about Kylie Simon in her odd outfit and bizarre twitching. A connection. 

  That worried her.

  So she pushed on the edge of her desk and spun in her chair, round and round, the tip of the flute swirling in circles, the base of it tucked into her belly, gripped by hands steadily growing tighter around the smooth bamboo. In the darkened room, light from the computer monitor and the burning candle flickered, sending weak bands of light across her scarred face. 

  Outside, a hot August rain pattered on the windows.

  Triggered by the dark, a slow chant, a lullaby, rose from the back of her throat, one she’d sung since childhood, taught by her mother to help hold back the darkness lurking in the shadows that to reached and tried and take her away. She whispered:

  “CornerMan, CornerMan, run, run, run. CornerMan, CornerMan, I’m not the one.”