Page 20 of Under Fyre

The resounding response was that if I looked hard enough, I’d find it.

DaddyNosBest told me that it was a catch twenty-two. Most places that had media available online would only add you as a member if you providedthemwith media—usually hundreds, if not thousands of photos.

I never responded to him. That had been a wild fishing expedition which I didn’t have the gall to go through with.

After posting a few more times, sometimes with this alias, sometimes with others, it became apparent that I’d never be accepted into the flock without proof that I was just as sick and depraved as they were.

As desperate as I was to flush out these scum bags and see to it that they’d never harm another person again…I wasn’t about to start sharing pictures either.

I wouldn’t even know where to find something like that.

So I tried a new approach. For years, I hung out in various chat rooms, gleaning what little I could off the vague public posts, trying to understand their codes and modus operandi.

When pretending to be a predator stopped proving useful, I created my first underage account.

MillyD is a blond, sixteen-year-old girl with devout parents who refuse to let her participate in extra-curricular activities. She hung out in chat rooms after school, obviously desperate to make friends.

That’s when DaddyNosBest popped up again. Under a different alias, of course, but I recognized his vernacular and the way he signed his posts.

Brent92 has been chatting to Milly for over a month, and he claims he’s in love with her.

Milly took the bait. Last week she suggested they start corresponding as pen pals. It was so romantic, and her parents were still stuck on the whole “no dating” thing.

I’m hoping to lure DaddyNosBest into physical correspondence, hoping he’ll make a mistake—something I can use to track him down.

But it’s been three days since his last message. Now I’m wondering if I did something wrong. Somehow tipped him off.

I set up email notifications, so I would have known if he’d responded, but I still go and check.

My heart almost climbs into my fucking throat when I see that he’s online.

He’s only been online once since we started chatting, and that was for less than a minute before he disappeared. He’s not fond of real-time conversations.

I expect to see him disappear like he did last time, but after five minutes, he’s still there.

His profile picture is of a young man on the cusp of adulthood. It’s a poor quality shot, which makes him look anywhere between eighteen and twenty. But he’s shirtless, holding a football, and making a peace sign.

I don’t know where Brent92 found the photo, but he took a lot of care in what he showed Milly. She wouldn’t be able to pick him up out of a line-up, but I’m sure she’d be intrigued enough to meet Brent92 in person.

I drain the rest of my wine, squeeze my hands into fists, and then type out a new chat message.

HEY U

Brent92 sends back a response so fast, my heart gives a hard thump against my chest.

HEY BABE

Nothing.

I wait for a few seconds, my skin feeling too tight, and then type out a response.

U THINK IT’S SILLY DON’T U

After a second he replies.

WHAT’S SILLY?

I inhale deep and scroll back up through the chat. Did I not make myself clear? But no—there it is. Unless I’m very wrong about this, I’m talking to a thirty-something freak, not an eighteen-year-old kid who might not know what the fuck a penal is.

---