CHAPTER TWELVE
Curtis Brennan had been livestreaming for an hour.
Just over four hundred people were watching him, and that number was fluctuating by the second.
He was mid-discussion about an ongoing case in Indiana, involving a man on trial for stabbing his girlfriend.
Not a rare occurrence in the USA, but made worse still by the fact it wasn’t the first girlfriend this man had stabbed.
It was, however, the perfect case for tonight’s chat, because the headline alone would enrage his followers.
‘People make mistakes. I never said they didn’t,’ Curtis yelled into his mic.
‘Call me na?ve, but to me, a mistake is leaving the hose running, or forgetting to lock the garage. Stabbing your woman isn’t a mistake.
It’s a long series of mistakes. It starts with being crazy enough to be the kind of person who stabs someone, and ends with actually doing it. What do you all think?’
The comments rolled in faster than Curtis could read them.
He scrolled up and found a good one. ‘JimmyTwoFingers says he should’ve stabbed himself first and saved us the trouble.
Gotta agree there, Jimmy. Deborah K says he was probably mentally ill.
I’m sure he was, Deborah, but the man was in jail for years.
You’re telling me nobody picked up that he was kooky? ’
A new yellow bar popped up. Superchat. Ten dollars.
‘Thanks, PigCake. He says the killer should be sent straight to death row. Well, PigCake, that would solve the problem, wouldn’t it?
I can’t disagree. While we’re on the subject, we might as well address the elephant in the room.
The murder in Rock Creek Park today. Anyone hear about it? ’
Curtis’s channel had a global audience, so he wasn’t sure if news of the D.C. murder would have reached his far-off viewers. However, judging by the burst of responses, at least a few people had.
Redshoes: Yeah saw it on news this evening. Body was found at the renaissance fair.
Silver_Knight: Nobody on the news will say what actually happened. They only said suspicious death.
tommyg: Victim was a former criminal. No big loss.
JimmyTwoFingers: Another murder in DC? What a shocker.
‘So you guys know about it. Okay, so we don’t know exactly what happened, but it’s yet another killing in D.C.
, and that makes this the fifth major news story this year alone.
Something needs to be done. We’ve got the MPD and the FBI in this city, and the CIA are right next door.
Criminals still have no fear whatsoever because there’s no deterrent.
We only have the death penalty for federal crimes, and murder isn’t a federal crime.
These lowlives are making a mockery of this whole part of the country, and I seem to be the only one who cares. ’
More comments came in.
Redshoes: It’s a joke. The MPD won’t give us the details for weeks. The Post won’t either. Meanwhile there’s a lunatic on the loose.
MaryB_87: We’re going to need a bigger morgue!
tommyg: Off-topic, but where do you stream from, Curtis?
Curtis read each comment, some aloud, then formulated responses that would keep the energy up. ‘Wouldn’t surprise me if it was an ex-con, Tommy. And I stream from my office upstairs. Why?’
He scrolled.
PigCake: Bigger morgue, lol
Silver_Knight: Curtis, what do you actually want to happen here? You want the death penalty for state murder?
‘Listen, I’m going to say something controversial.
If our dead man was an ex-con, and the killer turns out to be some Joe Public who’d just had enough, I’m not saying I support that.
Let the record show. I am not saying I support it.
But I’d like to hear his reasoning. Wouldn’t you?
Sit down with the guy for ten minutes. Hear him out and-’
Curtis felt his feet tremble. That only happened when Kate was stomping around in the kitchen below him, and Kate wasn’t here. She only stayed over two days a week. That was the deal.
‘One second,’ Curtis said. He removed his headset, opened his office door and listened. It could have been the wind, or something collapsing. Maybe that clock he’d put on the kitchen wall had fallen off.
He strained his ears and heard nothing. It was warm up here, which meant there was no wind outside.
His imagination must have been working overtime. It always did on Mondays, because he knew he still had three more livestreams before the weekend and despite what people thought, online personalities didn’t make the big bucks until they were pulling in hundreds of thousands of viewers.
Curtis went back to the office, shut the door and resumed the stream. The chat had continued without him.
JimmyTwoFingers: Curtis going to investigate, RIP Curtis.
Redshoes: He heard the killer.
MaryB_87: Where did you go??
BeansOnToast: Aliens.
‘Sorry, where was I?’
tommyg: Rock Creek Park and the dead man.
‘Ah, yes. Thanks, Tommy. Joe Public sits down with me for ten minutes. We were there. Tell you what, in our hypothetical, I’d ask him one question.
I’d ask why him. Why was this the case that pushed you over?
Because everyone’s got a line, folks, but most of us never find ours, and the man who finds his and crosses it is a man with a story, and I am a man interested in stories.
And let me ask you – has anyone in this chat actually been to D.C.
? The MPD – I’m not saying this to be cruel – the MPD is a stretched, underfunded police force, and I love them dearly.
They can’t even handle the murders they’ve already got. Adding another isn’t going to help.’
RonaldR: MPD is not underfunded, they’re mismanaged.
Redshoes: Killer is probably watching this stream!
Curtis read the last comment. Redshoes had a point. If someone had killed in D.C. last night, he’d want to know what the city was saying about it, and where better to get his news from than D.C.’s number one justice advocate?
‘Funny, but you might be-’ Curtis began. His own voice came back to him through his headphones, and amongst the echo was external sound. The floor didn’t rumble this time, but he became aware of a peripheral noise that he didn’t himself create.
This time, it came from the stairs.
Curtis yanked his headphones off again.
JimmyTwoFingers: Curt you look terrified.
PigCake: The headphones are off. Business is about to pick up.
Curtis’s pulse came up. It was damn cold in his office, but sweat formed on his lower back regardless.
Curtis slowly rose out of his chair and grabbed the door handle, hoping that whatever made the sound might reveal itself before he actually had to confront anything.
He turned the handle, cracked the door open and peered out.
Darkness pervaded the landing area. A gleam from a lamp downstairs provided just enough light for visibility, and Curtis saw exactly what he expected to see, which was nothing unusual.
He could see down the stairs and into his hallway, and it was a direct path with no unexpected barriers.
For a moment he wondered whether Kate had decided to surprise him, but besides the fact she didn’t have a key, it was past eleven and she’d be asleep by now.
Imagination. Nothing more. Curtis stood at the top of the stairs with his hand on the rail and his heart going at the base of his throat, and he understood, slowly, that he was being an old man in his slippers in a quiet house.
He turned back toward the office, toward the lit screen and the four hundred or so people still waiting in it, and he had already half-composed the line he’d open with – sorry guys, old house, where were we? – when the spare room door came open behind him.
It should have announced itself, but the door simply was not open and then was, and a blur stormed through the darkness with a speed that did not belong to anything that size.
Curtis got halfway through turning, got as far as a single raised hand and the start of a sound, before the cold point went into the side of his neck.