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The sickish feeling in my stomach doesn’t get any better. “I don’t know. Maybe it would be better if you did meet in a group first.”
“You’re just jealous. Milo is seventeen. He won’t want to go out with a baby, so I don’t plan to act like one. I’ve got to get ready. I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”
“K, bye,” I say weakly.
Meals is right. I can’t help but be a little envious. Milo is hot. I could probably get a boyfriend like that if I didn’t act like such a baby all the time. Since I don’t expect to hear from Amelia again tonight, I shut down my computer and visit the kitchen for a snack. I can’t wait to hear all about Milo in the morning. I just wish I understood what this bad feeling is. Maybe I am just jealous.
My mom pulls a pan of cookies from the oven right as I walk in. “The smell gets them every time,” she says with a smile.
I pour a glass of milk and sit at the bar, still thinking about Amelia. Mom serves up a fresh cookie onto a napkin and slides it over to me. I don’t reach for it right away, and my mom gets that motherly look on her face. “Something on your mind, kiddo?”
Picking at a chocolate chip, I really want to tell her about Amelia’s date, but I don’t want to be a bad friend. “Nothing. Just thinking about the science test tomorrow.”
“I’m sure you’ll do fine, Honey.”
I pinch off part of the cookie but don’t take a bite. “Hey, Mom.”
Her brow furrows, and she reaches for my hand, concern making her eyebrows pinch. “Yes, Birdie?”
After a massive internal debate, I shake my head. “Never mind.”
I climb down from the bar and return to my room upstairs, abandoning the milk and cookie.
The next morning, I’m up and ready for school early, wanting to have plenty of time to get the juicy details from Meals before our first class. I bound down the stairs, expecting to see my mom and dad in the kitchen with my little brother Benji.
Benji is in his usual spot, munching on a pop tart, but my parents aren’t there. “Where’s mom and dad?” I ask him.
“Living room,” he answers with crumbs all over his mouth.
I hang my backpack over a barstool and step through the archway into the next room. Mom’s face is blotchy from crying, and she stands up from the sofa when she notices me. “Oh, Honey.”
She wraps me in a tight hug, and my father joins her, placing a hand on my back. “What’s going on?”
“It’s Amelia. Her mom just called. Amelia… passed away last night.”
Present Day
“I’m going to need caffeine.”
I walk to the kitchen to make an ill-advised cup of iced coffee. I’m a few sips in and decide to grab an oatmeal pie to go with it before returning to my office. With the high-octane brew flooding my system, I shuffle back to my desk, pausing just long enough to inspect the blooms of my Naked Man Orchid. It’s in a dick-shaped pot—another gift from Sadie.
Picking up a spray bottle loaded with water and plant food, I give the orchid a quick spritz and finally quit stalling. I flop inelegantly into my chair, and sigh. I’d rather be in bed dreaming about a certain stoic, muscled, paramilitary operative, but I guess I won’t get that chance, just like Amelia didn’t get the chance to see her fifteenth birthday.
With the push of a button, my whole system comes to life. My computer and multiple monitors flicker on, and a screen lowers over the windows, displaying a host of maps, bulletins, and pictures of closet slimeballs soon to be exposed.
I’m not talking about gang members or drug dealers. The slimeballs I go after like to deal in children. These are the high-end kind of assholes that think they’re above suspicion because they live in exclusive neighborhoods like mine. Communities that are supposed to be safe.
I scoff at the thought. No place is safe as long as monsters hide in plain sight. And that’s why I’m awake at two a.m. I’ve made it my mission to expose the predators preying on kids. It’s the least I can do after serving up my friend to one of them. I should have stopped Amelia from sneaking out. I should have told my parents. I should have done something. If I had, Meals would still be alive.
Since I didn’t, since I failed her, I now hunt the hunters in hopes of saving someone else’s daughter, sister, or friend. It’s the only way I’ve been able to appease the guilt. Appease it, yes, but the guilt never fully goes away.
My system is up and running in seconds, and I dive right into my undercover operation. I pose as a minor on various platforms and phish for pedos. I’ve perfected my craft over several years, studying transcripts and police files for the right language to attract my quarry.
Once I zero in on a local target, I access his financial records and set up surveillance using his and his employer’s security systems. It usually doesn’t take more than two or three weeks to work them up to a meet. By then, I would’ve already reached out to one of several police contacts to give them a heads-up.
These detectives are some that I’ve gotten to know when I’ve been a consultant on cases in need of forensic computer investigations. They’re men and women I’ve come to trust, and they extend that same trust to me.
Once I have enough evidence to get a conviction, I set up a meet between the predator and non-existent child in one of four jurisdictions, submit all my evidence and meeting details anonymously to the respective tip line, and the local detectives greet the bastard.
