Page 3 of His Every Move

No clear evidence. I took a breath, slipped my phone into my pocket.

Could it really be him?

I hurried to the door before he left.

“Hi, hello, sorry, our front desk guy left early today.”

He was just about to leave. He had his back to me, a baby pink baseball cap on his head. He turned and smiled and nearly knocked me right over.

It really was him, standing right here, in the flesh.

Eli. The cam boy. The object of my intense desire and obsession.

I somehow managed to keep my voice steady. “How can I help you?”

Chapter2

Elijah Grant

“No,you don’t get it, Zack. This person sounds batshit fucking crazy.”

I sat next to my best friend on one of the benches next to the Washington Square Arch. It was early evening, so the blazing hot summer heat from this afternoon was much more bearable. Even though it made the subways smell like one of the nine circles of hell and it had a detrimental effect on New Yorkers’ already short fuses, I had to say I loved the summer. Wearing shorts, hanging out at the park, longer days, bright green trees.

Everything about it made me happy.

“And you’ve already reported them to the website?”

“Yeah, man. They keep creating new accounts with different IP addresses. But all the accounts always start off with Nomad.”

“Do we know anyone that considers themselves anomad?” Zack asked, using air quotes and an eye roll. He’d been my best friend since high school—over twelve years now—and he’d known about my issues with this Nomad guy since they started. He knew about pretty much all my problems.

“You think it’s someone I know?” I asked. I leaned forward and rested my chin in my hands. A couple of pigeons hopped near my feet, pecking at the ground. I’d been assuming that the aggressive troll was some faceless dude miles and miles away. Or at least, naively, I’d beenhopingit was some dumb troll who lived states away from me. It hadn’t crossed my mind that this person could be someone close to me.

Shit.

“I think it’s someone who’s definitely got it out for you. And from all the true crime shows I watch, it makes the most sense to start closest to the victim. Not that you’re a victim, obviously.”

“Damn, already offing me?”

Zack chuckled. He nudged me with his shoulder. The tattoo he’d gotten only a week ago was bright against his forearm, a watercolor hummingbird splashed with bold blues and vibrant greens and rosy pinks. “Just want you to be safe, that’s all.”

“I know… I mean, I have been thinking. There’s that one performer on the platform, Damon, who is always messaging me about problems he’s having and why he’s jealous of how well I do. Which is, I dunno, weird. Like why tell me you’re jealous of me?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty weird. Have you ever met him in person?”

“Nah, I think he lives somewhere down south. Florida, I think.”

“That’s not too far from here… And what about Bryan? He still giving you trouble?”

“Ugh, yeah,” I answered. Bryan Diaz was my neighbor and an annoying vulture of a human being. He somehow found out what I did for a living and decided it was his job to “cure” me of my sins and bring me over to the light. He would leave a countless number of religious pamphlets in my mailbox, would corner me in the hallway any chance he got, and had recently resorted to leaving prayers written on sticky notes attached to my door. “But I think he’s just a harmless religious fanatic.”

“When have those three words ever gone together?”

I sighed and rubbed the bridge of my nose.

“Maybe you should take a few weeks off camming?” Zack suggested. “Just until things calm down?”

“I’ve thought of that. I have enough money saved up. But then I feel like I’m letting this person win. I don’t want that. I don’t want someone having that kind of control over me.”

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