Chapter Nine
Malone
Why now?
The question loomed in my head. This person, a man from what I suspected, basically told me I was screwed and blocked me after letting me know I could never afford him.
Now here he was, asking me questions and delving into parts of my life that I’d hidden so well from friends and coworkers. It was like he opened up my torso and took his damned time picking me apart.
I wished I could at least see what he looked like. It had no bearing in his ability to help me and I would accept help from anyone at this point, but my instincts drew me to him.
You’re going to have to trust me.
That line hooked me. Not only was I walking blind in this situation where another person had all the power over me, but now I was handing over the problem to another stranger online who wanted me to trust them?
The worst part?
In the beginning, when I started to get all the messages and weird emails, I began to distrust myself.
I was being paranoid. It wasn’t a big deal. It happened to everyone.
My phone lit up beside me and as I read the message that popped up on the screen, my blood went cold.
No one can help you. Not even him.
I scrubbed my hand over my face and jumped up from the desk to get a glass of water.
Was asking for help exactly what this person wanted? For me to be scared even to ask others for help or even talk with my friends about it?
Isolation techniques.
Gosh, I’d read about that.
I don’t really have a choice. I have to trust you. Just received another text.
Immediate response from Sketch. I had to assume he had others he worked for. People. Companies. Entities. Maybe his whole life was faceless messages and dark deposits into his bank account.
Not that he would be getting one from me. Medical coding paid the bills, but there wasn’t much left at the end of the month.
What did it say?
I typed it in word for word. Grossed me out. They know what I’m doing right this second.
I could almost see him shrug. A pair of shoulders bobbing up and down with no care in the world. No face.
No. Don’t personalize this. It’s a transaction. This is how you protect yourself. What little protection you have left.
That’s okay. They won’t be for long. I’m looking into some things right now that might help you. Let’s take a break.
How long? My stomach dropped. Was this him blowing me off again? I wrapped my arms around myself, bracing for the impact of rejection again.
Thirty minutes. Tops.
I shut my laptop and put a timer on my phone. It was nearing midnight and I needed a snack. Again.
All my electronics stayed in the spare bedroom, my office, and I shut the door on the whole thing, trying to compartmentalize what was going on.
At least Sketch was going to try and get someone else to help me but it felt strange, like I was already connected to this hacker person already even though he’d made it clear it wasn’t him that would undo the damage.
Having my life balance in someone else’s hands was taxing.
Sketch had me check my credit file and nothing new was there. My bank hadn’t been hacked nor my credit cards. This person wasn’t after money, what little I had.
So what was the point?
Fear?
Control?
Power?
I grabbed a few cookies I’d baked earlier while pretending my life was okay and a big, cold glass of milk and stood at the kitchen counter, gobbling them up.
Twenty more minutes.
What was he doing? Offering my problems up to the highest bidder? Maybe he was doing some hacking of his own, getting into my life as easily as this other person had.
Maybe he and his hacker buddies were making fun of the plain guy freaked out over a prank.
I forced myself to sweep the kitchen and wash the few dishes in the sink to busy my hands until the alarm went off. A few texts came in while I was doing those things, but I ignored them.
I’d gotten good at ignoring them. Somewhat.
The alarm blasted a trumpet sound, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I tossed the sponge into the sink, mad for letting something silly get to me, but I lived on the edge of disaster now.
That was probably what the tormenting me wanted.
Not wanting to come off as desperate, which I was, I got online and waited for Sketch to message me first. If this didn’t work, I was screwed. Other than moving to the mountains and never having a phone again, I had little options.
Can you get a burner phone?
I shrugged as though he could see it. Burner phone?
One of those cheapie prepaids. Not a smart one. A basic model.
Oh.
Yeah, I guess I can find one.
Do that.
I would ask Alex to help me. Searching for it online would only make the stalker aware of my actions.
My whole life was on display for an unknown person who clearly hated me. Or wanted to see me squirm at the least.
What else can I do?