15. TIM
Chapter fifteen
TIM
When I see the photo, I’m sure it’s just someone else reposting one of Lion’s posts. He sent the same picture to me only yesterday. But it isn’t a share, it’s a new post from GettingBananad62, and the caption is almost exactly what Lion texted to me. There has to be an explanation. Maybe he saw this post before he messaged me, and that’s why he was thinking of that game. But he said he took the photo, didn’t he? Fuck. Could GettingBananad62 be Lion, too? But then that would mean he has two accounts, both following me, both posting about me and my game and my plays and my wins.
I have to talk to him. I have to know what’s going on, but the game starts soon and he’s on his way to the field, and I don’t think this is something I want to do via text.
“You okay?” Duckie asks, and I nod but don’t look up for more than a second from my phone. I’m scrolling through all of GettingBananad62‘s posts looking for more connections, more proof it’s Lion. Or proof it isn’t. I don’t even know which one I am hoping to find. “I got you something,” he says, tossing a duck at me.
But as I turn it over in my hand, I see it isn’t just any duck. It’s a duck wearing a lion costume.
“I thought you could give it to Lion, as sort of a peace offering for me being a bit of a dick to him. You’re right. He seems sweet.”
“I think you might be right about Lion,” I say, the pit in my stomach growing deeper.
“Wait, what?”
I show him my phone screen. “He sent me this photo yesterday of a game from last year and now it’s online under another person’s handle, someone called GettingBananad62.”
“So, they re-shared it.”
“I don’t think they did. I think GettingBananad62 is Lion.”
“But he said he was Kittyball100, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, he did. How weird is it if this is him, too, though? Like, it’s weird, right? What you were saying about stalkers, it’s a stalker thing to do, have two profiles to post online with, isn’t it?”
“It depends. I mean, has he been trying to make friends with you under both?”
“Not friends, like, he always posts cool stuff, and I comment back, and we’re just normal online friends. The real Lion, the guy we met at the restaurant that night with his boss, the guy who came out to dinner, that’s who I’ve really been talking to. Been…” I don’t finish the rest because I don’t want to think about what it means if Lion isn’t the guy I thought he was.
“Talk to him about it. Ask him if it’s him and ask him why he has two profiles. I still have my old profile from when I was writing for Unlaced , not that I go on there much, but it’s still there. Maybe it’s sort of the same. Oh, I know, maybe he forgot his password for the Kitty one and so he created another one, then remembered the password for the old one again or something?”
“That does sound like Lion.”
“Look, we’re due out on the field in like two minutes. Put that away and focus on the game tonight. Lion will still be there when we kick Animal Control’s butt.”
“I don’t know how I am going to focus on anything but him now.”
“Just remember, he’s not wrong. You changed the game that night when you clipped that ball. I was in the press area watching, and the gasp that came from the dugout from the rest of those asshats was golden. You showed them and everyone watching what was possible.”
“It was still several games before we got a win in.”
“But only a few pitches before they got another hit and the first points against them. It was the beginning of the end for their streak.”
“You sound like Lion.”
“I meant what I said before. He’s sweet, a little clueless, but kind, and he does seem to really like you.”
“Like Misery like me?”
He shrugs. “Maybe, but hey, that guy did manage to finish the book, so she kind of was still good for him in the end.”
“Why does that not make me feel any better?”
“I’m a baseball player, not a therapist. Come on, I’ll meet you out there.”
I laugh and put the lion duckie on the shelf of my locker beside my phone. I broke my rule of not scrolling unless I was eating, and now I’m paying for it. Now, I’m in my own head about Lion’s motives when all he’s done is try to support me, encourage me and make me see that I am good at this. Great even. Duckie is right, there has to be an explanation. I’ll find out after the game. It will be something silly, and then we can laugh about it, right before I own that perfect ass of his. Yep. Everything is going to be fine.
***
It takes me a while to find Lion in the crowd. Animal Control is hitting first, and I’m all the way over in right field. I’m about as far from Lion as I can get. He’s closer to the box, though, so when I’m up to bat, he’ll be right there to watch me. To cheer me on. It was his cheers that gave me the fire to hit that home run the other week. Maybe I can do it again. For him.
Phillip hits it, a high fly ball to right field. I’m right under it, and it’s the perfect ball for a trick catch. The crowd loved my backflip catch, so I toss my glove, and prepare to do it again, only this time, the ball lands right in my palm and I flip over, stretching my front leg out after I land to finish in a split. The crowd cheers, Ryan drops to his knees on the mound and bows to me like I’m some sort of king, and when I look over at where Lion is standing, he’s bouncing on his toes, like all the excitement inside of him is trying to bubble free as he cheers for us. For me.
Duckie rushes my way, and I climb to my feet in time to chest bump with him before throwing the ball back to Ryan.
“Killer catch, man,” he says, jogging backward. “Told you, nothing to worry about.”
“Thanks. I think you’re right.”
“I’m always right, just ask Ian.”
I would argue that Ian would never agree to that, but he’s already jogging back to left field and Arthur Green is stepping into the box.
I grab my glove and get ready in case it’s another fly ball my way, not that I’m worried. Lion is right. I am good at this. I’m great even. Animal Control can send out whoever they like to hit, it won’t matter, because tonight, we’re going to win.
***
It didn’t go as easily as I had hoped, and I didn’t hit a home run, but I did hit off Harry’s fast ball in the last inning where every run is a point. I made it to second base. Then Calvin did hit a home run right after bringing me over home plate, too, and winning us the game. Lion’s cheer was the only one I could hear when I crossed the plate.
I’m getting dressed to go and find him when Duckie and Ian walk into the locker room.
“Hey, can we talk?” Duckie asks.
“I was just about to head out, can it wait?”
“It actually can’t,” Ian replies, and he sits on the bench opposite me. A digital notepad rests on his lap. “We need to talk about Lion.”
“Oh, it’s fine. I’m taking Duckie’s advice and just going to ask him about the other profile. It will be something silly, I’m sure,” I say, popping my foot up on the bench to tie my laces.
“It’s not,” Duckie says, his voice holding a graveness that sends a rumble through my gut.
“What do you mean?”
He sits next to Ian. “It’s not silly. It’s worse than one additional profile. I’m sorry, dude. Before the game, I mentioned to Ian what you found, and he spent the whole game going through the social profiles that frequently comment on your account or that share videos and photos, and well, there are a lot of your friends on there that only post about you.”
“Okay, but that doesn’t mean anything except I have some dedicated fans, right?” Ian doesn’t meet my eye and the rumble in my stomach becomes a deep pit.
“Well, these profiles Ian found, they all sort of share photos and videos from the games, but they’re all also pretty similar shots, and from about the same angle. Oh, and they all kind of comment at once, like immediately one after the other on everything. Sit, we’ll show you.”
“I’m up to twenty-three accounts,” Ian says, finally meeting my eye.
“Huh?”
“Twenty-three profiles that I believe Lion has set up to… well, to stalk you.”
“He’s… wait, what?” I ask, finally letting myself sit as I try to process their words. They can’t have said twenty-three. Why would he make twenty-three profiles? What could he possibly have to gain from that? I don’t direct messages to anyone, so he can’t have wanted to try to catfish me or whatever they call it. Fuck. What the hell is going on?
Ian moves across to sit beside me and opens the screen of his digital pad.
“Do you recognize these profiles?” he asks, and I hate to admit it, but I do. I recognize all of them. I pull out my phone and go to Lion’s profile, Kittyball100. There’s a picture of me from tonight’s game already posted with a sweet caption, Winning games and hearts all over Savannah. I click the comments, and reading through, I see all twenty-three profiles on Ian’s list. There are a few others, too, but all of those are there. Liking the post, sharing, commenting, and answering each other. What the hell is this?
“I don’t know why he’d do this,” I say, and Ian wraps an arm around my shoulders.
“I admit when I knew he was a fan, I thought it was sweet, too. I mean, I am Duckie’s biggest fan, so how could it hurt, but this is a bit much. This is a lot of work and time on… well, you. Have these profiles sent you direct messages, too, trying to get you to talk with them?”
“I don’t know. I don’t go into the DMs. I mean, I did once to find a way to contact Lion, but I just went right to his profile. The one he told me about. I didn’t even think… let me check.”
I open the messages section, my heart pounding, fingers shaking as I scroll through the profile names. I don’t open anything, just scroll, my stomach twisting into knots as I go. Duckie comes to stand behind me and watch on, too, looking for any of the names on the list in Ian’s hands, and when I get to the end of a ridiculously long list, I’m even more confused than I was when I started searching.
“None of them have sent messages,” I say, and Duckie sits on my other side.
“That’s weird. Why create a bunch of profiles and not try to connect with you directly?” Ian asks.
“Maybe he’s waiting,” Duckie says.
“Waiting for what? I don’t go into direct messages. I posted at the beginning of last season that I wouldn’t be looking at anything in there, so no one would get offended if I didn’t reply to them. There were a bunch of nasty comments that I really struggled to get out of my head after that first year. You know?”
Ian nods and swipes on his tablet to the socials page and starts scrolling through posts. “That’s why. You posted that, and he knew there was no point in messaging.”
“Didn’t stop anyone else,” Duckie says, and I hate to agree with Duckie, but it’s true. There are over one hundred DM’s in there, none of them any of Lion’s profiles. If he was creating them all to hedge his bets on getting to me, he would have messaged to try, right?
“Where did you first meet him?”
Duckie answers before I can reply. “At Riverside Barbeque. We were getting food, and he was there with that woman, remember?”
“Actually, we’d met before then, I just didn’t remember at the time,” I say, and my heart rate picks up pace.
“Really? When?” Duckie asks.
“He was a server at Stevie’s wedding and we talked a little at the bar. Maybe that’s where Ryan remembered him from.”
“That’s a pretty monumental coincidence, him working the wedding. I think we have to tell the management. This guy could be dangerous.”
“He’s not, he’s just… I don’t know.” Is he dangerous? Am I being naive thinking this is still some enormous misunderstanding? My palms feel sticky, and I wipe them off on the front of my pants.
“He’s at all your games, then just happens to be working a Banana Ball wedding that you will be at, and then shows up at one of your favorite restaurants, and posts nothing but images and videos of you online, on twenty-three profiles. There is something not right about this guy. I don’t want to be waiting for you at training one day, and then I find out you’ve been cut into a million tiny Tim pieces.”
“I don’t think he’s dangerous, just a little… keen,” Ian says, scrolling through and clicking on posts that one of Lion’s twenty-three profiles has posted or shared or commented on. “There’s nothing jumping out at me in the comments that screams stalker, but the fact that there’s so many profiles, all him, doesn’t scream safe either. What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to ask him. It’s the only thing I can do. We’ve got plans to meet up tonight. Now actually.”
“Somewhere public, I hope,” Duckie adds, and I nod.
“The pub on the corner near my place.”
“Okay. We’ll come, too, but we’ll stay at the bar just to be safe.”
“You don’t have to.”
“We do,” Ian adds, and I give in because as much as I want to believe this is not what it looks like, that Lion isn’t some crazed stalker doing whatever he can to insert himself into my life, it kind of looks like he could be and that thought sits in my heart like a black rock.
My phone chimes.
LION: I’m at the bar, scored us a booth at the back. See you soon.
Fuck, please let there be an explanation for all of it. I need there to be an explanation. I desperately need this to have not all been some big fake out, some giant con. Okay, here goes nothing.
TIM: On my way.