Page 166 of Fake Game

“Wait,” Aleks frowns. “Could he be coming after Jackson then?”

“Possibly, but probably not. Like I said, the profilers think he’s one of the more nonviolent types. But it’s why we had Sydney ground you boys, just in case.”

“If he fucking tries to come after me, I’ll—”

“Do nothing, because murder charges are a bitch to magically disappear. Not even I have the resources for that. Do we understand?”

“Whatever,” I huff. “So, that’s it? Your news is the confirmation that Deer’s moderator is a delusional, obsessed stalker, who isn’t going to hurt her but maybe wants to hurt me?”

“Yes.”

“No other updates?”

“No.”

“Fuck, are you serious right now, Phoebe?” I run my hands through my hair.

“Watch your tone, Lau.”

“No. You’re telling me that you have no other leads, nothing. My girl is all the way in Ireland, cut off from the world—from me—and I’m stuck here because he’s still on the loose.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Find. Him.”

FORTY-SEVEN

DEER

Istare out the bay window at the dark green hills in the distance, my forehead resting on the cool glass and my knees curled against my chest. It’s windy today—the trees in the distant forest are swaying more than usual. I raise my hand to the glass, tracing my nails down as if to reach into the open fields.

It’s so empty out there.

Peaceful.

“Deir, it’s me,” my mam announces. “You decent?”

“Yeah.”

The door clicks open, and I hear her soft footfalls on the carpet.

“I brought you some tea.”

“I’m not hungry.”

She lets out a sigh, the sound of whatever she brought in clacking onto my coffee table. Well, calling it mine is a stretch. I hadn’t been back to Carlingford in three years, not since my channel started to really take off.

At first, I’d been too busy—putting out a new video every day, researching new games and perfecting my persona—and then, I’d been too scared. That fear kept compounding more and more until the idea of the outside world became a living nightmare I refused to step into.

The more time that passes here, the more I realize my new therapist is right.

“You need to eat.” Mam takes a seat next to me. “Here—a slice of coffee cake, fresh from the oven.”

My eyes flit to the baked goods, and my heart plummets.

Jackson used to be the one bringing me desserts. He was the one who would take the time out of his day to bake me something new just so I’d have something to eat. Even when I’d stopped opening the door, he’d still tried. And I just left him—like a coward.

“Oh!” Mam hurries to put down the plate and reaches out to wipe a stray tear. “Oh, now why’d that make you cry?”

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