“Digital Divide”, 2/3
Second installment.
Part 1 here
Part II
There were three false alarms before Jeff saw a woman he didn’t dismiss almost in the moment of spotting her. Plenty of young women about, but without fail they were clearly too young: dog walker, girl in a sun dress talking on her phone, two together carrying tennis racquets and laughing about something … mid- to late teens, every one of them, and the carefully circumspect personal description Connie had provided made it clear she was past that point in her life. Plus, they all went by the diner without stopping or even glancing inside. Yes, lots of young females passing by, which only served to make Jeff more and more impatient as the minutes ticked away and none of them were the right person. Finally, finally someone came in the door, and she was female and she wasn’t obviously a teenager (young, yes, but the hairstyle and the way she dressed were more mature and restrained than he’d been seeing) and, most importantly, her eyes swept the tables till they settled on Jeff, and she headed his way.
He didn’t get up from the table, but nodded and gave her a relieved smile. She stopped a few feet short, studied him for a moment. “Eiling?” she asked.
“Moondarkmaid?” he replied.
She returned the smile, and took a seat across from him. “I almost didn’t come,” she said to him. “You have years of good reputation in fan writing, but real life is a different matter. And … well, the little you’ve said sounds far enough off-the-wall to set off a lot of second thoughts.”
* * *
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[-Comment Thread 1319462.23-]
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::]hatgirlvi[:: OMG I LOVE THE SCENES WITH DONNIE!
::]caridadxansgrl[:: Yes. I enjoy how he can be so gruff and cynical, and STILL come across as soft-hearted.
::]sunnyslayr[:: Right, he’s like the fun dad while James got stuck being the strict dad.
::]keyguy[:: You’d know. Except I’d say YOU wound up having both in the same guy.
::]keyguy[:: Whereas some of us never got either one.
::]hatgirlvi[:: G?
::]sunnyslayr[:: Who else? But come on, Xan, you know he was basically that for all three of us. For years.
::]keyguy[:: Never really saw it that way myself, but not gonna argue about it. But IF it was true, you know who was his favorite.
::]caridadxansgrl[:: Oh, yes, very much so.
::]rona-b734[:: Big time.
…
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[-Comment Thread 1330015.67-]
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::]caridadxansgrl[:: What is being shown in these stories, and in the show, is PTSD. Presented in dramatic form, not clinical, but we know how such things work, do we not?
::]marta-1270[:: It is easier for us to admit this to each other, but we have seen it, yes. And we are a larger community. The brothers can look only to each other.
::]keyguy[:: Maybe. But we handled it okay when it was just the four of us in the Dale.
::]rona-b734[:: Really? Cuz I’ve heard stories.
::]hatgirlvi[:: Uh-huh. Stuff like running away from home to L.A., tackling a zombie crew solo, going after A & S & D in the factory with just a crossbow and a torch …
::]bluddywm[:: Factory bit was fun to watch. Still get warm tingles at the memory.
::]hatgirlvi[:: … and *OH, BOY* the whole destroy-the-world deal after you-know-who was killed.
::]keyguy[:: Are you crazy? DON’T SAY THAT ONLINE! Oh my God, you could make a *wish* and not put your head on the block as bad as you just did!
::]hatgirlvi[:: oops
::]treespirit12[:: No, she’s offered a legitimate example. But not for *here*. People, we need to have a serious talk about operational security.
…
As time has gone by and the same basic group has continued to talk to each other in the story comments, it’s become apparent that there is something in the background they aren’t addressing directly. (‘SD’? San Diego? Maybe, but then it seems to have been deliberately vague.) It’s as if his stories have become the catalyst for some kind of unofficial, impromptu forum; but a forum of what? and why do they need it? and (central to everything else) who the hell ARE these people and what’s their deal?
* * *
Connie’s appearance would put her age at no more than 25; her hair was dark, smooth, and chin-length, and she wore a short-sleeved light blouse and twill slacks. Rather than a purse, she carried a half-sized backpack of the type that could be slung by a single strap going diagonally across the front. At her approach she had appeared to be taller than the average for an adult female in the U.S.: perhaps 5'6", less than statuesque but enough to make her legs look even longer than they were. No make-up that he could see, which meant either that it was expertly done or that her basic coloring simply didn’t require it.
Jeff approved. She was far too young for him to be considering her for any kind of personal connection, of course, but the assessment was automatic and Connie passed it easily.
“I really thought you’d be older,” Jeff observed, as he saw that she was quickly looking him over just as he had done with her.
“I am older,” she replied, dimples appearing in her smile. “Older than I look, anyhow. And you look just about the age you named, so I don’t think either of us can be accused of … ‘catfishing’ the other.”
Jeff nodded. “Okay, I’m glad I didn’t misrepresent myself, even by accident.” He pushed his menu over. “I told them I’d order after you got here; I already know what I’ll get, so you can look over their selection.”
He was just in time, the waitress was already heading their way. Jeff told her he’d have the standard cheeseburger, and managed to stretch the order out enough (mayo instead of mustard, seasoned curly fries in place of regular, toppings on the side) that Connie had time to make a quick scan of the menu and select a basic patty melt with iced tea. That done, they were left to themselves again.
“Did she seem … I don’t know, a little unfriendly to you?” Connie asked, looking after the departing waitress.
Jeff gave it some thought. “I might have picked up a hint of disapproval,” he decided. “Maybe I should have told her I was meeting my daughter.” He shrugged. “That would have been embarrassing, though, if we’d had trouble recognizing each other. Or if you’d been of an obviously different racial background.”
That brought a raised eyebrow from her. “You think things out.”
“It’s like setting the plot for a story,” Jeff explained. “Sure, you can always go back and change something in writing - unless you’re posting installments as you go, and I don’t do that anymore, too much hassle - but it’s easier to just look ahead a bit and watch for anything that might trip you up.”
She shook her head, smiling. “Okay, then. You talked me into a face-to-face meeting because … Okay, because some of the things I’d already noticed, stuff I mentioned to you - which I guess is why you thought it might be a good idea for us to compare notes - made me understand why electronic communication might not be secure, maybe not even straight phone calls. But I still don’t know what’s really going on, just that it’s … weird.”
Jeff nodded. “Right. Well, you contacted me in the first place because some of the comments on my stories had been removed …”
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[-Comment Thread 1338681.52-]
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::]sunnyslayr[:: Seriously, folks, guns aren’t the answer to everything.
::]keyguy[:: Yeah, but they answer SOME things. Gotta remember, Dan & Sean aren’t superhuman.
::]5by5hottie[:: bullets fr the normies, sure, still need cutlery fr backup
::]keyguy[:: Besides, who was it that used a rocket launcher at SD mall?
::]treespirit12[:: Attention, evbody: remember security issues!
…
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[-Comment Thread 1374638.48-]
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::]5by5hottie[:: dude, mad props! that biz with the grain silo really saved my ass
::]rona-b734[:: Oh, my God. You didn’t. PLEASE tell me you didn’t.
::]5by5hottie[:: rlax, nobody cn prove anything. but it totes fukin works!
::]caridadxansgrl[:: Someone please tell me that does not mean what I think it means.
::]emeraldawn[:: I’m checking. Nobody panic till I can confirm.
::]treespirit12[:: Hey! Work talk goes through OUR channels, people! I’m serious about this!
::]5by5hottie[:: who knew a buncha dust in the air would make that big a boom? guys, it was AWESOME!
::]treespirit12[:: OPSEC! OPSEC! ***I mean it!***
…
* * *
“That was a mystery,” Connie agreed. “I couldn’t understand why you’d have deleted the comments, because they were, I don’t know, offbeat but not harmful or offensive or any reason to take them down. And you’re still saying that wasn’t you?”
“No, it wasn’t me.” Jeff bit his lip. “Look, did you notice that there were several people who were, I guess, talking to each other on the message boards as much as they were commenting on the stories?”
Connie gave it some thought. “Yes, I could see that they seemed to know each other. In real life, probably, there were so many references to some common pool of knowledge that they never actually said straight-out.”
“And ‘treespirit12’ brought down the hammer any time somebody got too close.” Jeff sighed. “It was after the third or fourth time it happened that some of the comments started vanishing.” He made a vexed gesture. “And I don’t know how.”
With a small frown, Connie offered, “You said it wasn’t you, but they could do it, right? If this Treespirit really cracked the whip.”
“They could,” Jeff admitted. “But they didn’t. Or, if they did, it wasn’t the regular way.”
“No?” Connie said. “Why not?”
“I checked off the Activity Reports boxes on JournalNet,” Jeff explained. “If somebody modifies or deletes a comment on one of my posts, JN sends me a little note that it was done and who did it. I mean, it does that even if I’m the one who deletes them. And supposedly the only people who can remove any comments are me and the ones who actually made the comments.” He shook his head. “But no, no reports. The comments are just gone.”
Connie considered that. “What about the people running the JournalNet forum? Couldn’t they have taken something down for reasons of their own?”
Jeff spread his hands in exasperation. “But what reasons? Like you said, the comments were puzzling, maybe a little strange, but there wasn’t anything controversial or extreme.” He sighed. “No, I’ve never had any of the JN people contact me about any of my posts - and if they did, wouldn’t it be about that, instead of what someone said in the comments? - but I’ve seen arguments and discussions about moderation, and the JN folks always provide some kind of warning or at least notification. There’s been nothing of the kind.”
Connie was nodding as he finished. “So, if it was Treespirit or any of the group, they must have done it by some method outside the normal process. And if that’s the case, it would just as easily have been some hacker with no connection to them or you.”
“Which still leaves the question of why,” Jeff acknowledged, “but there’s more to it than that.”
“Hmm.” Connie sipped at the ice water the waitress had left for her. “And that’s what made you think this was better discussed one-on-one?”
“Uh-huh,” Jeff said. “Only, this is where things start to get really out-there. Far enough out that … that me saying it aloud might make you think I’m delusional.” He shook his head. “Which, I wouldn’t blame you, because I’ve honestly had to wonder about it myself.”
Connie frowned. “Okay,” she said. “I’ve been warned. So what is it that would have me wondering if you have your head bolted on straight?”
“I keep records,” Jeff said. “I like JournalNet the best, but it’s not the only one I post to, I have a story site on a free server and I also keep copies of my fics on the main fanfiction sites: FanficPrime, Site Indy Archive, plus a few crossover stories at Crossfic Extreme. And I get feedback from all of them, so I keep separate files of the comments on each story and any responses I’ve made; that way, I don’t lose track and forget to answer anybody who’s done me the favor of commenting on one of my stories.”
Connie nodded understanding. “Because feedback is the only payment you get. I know, I’ve seen other authors talk about it and you’ve said yourself how much you value commentary.”
“Okay,” Jeff said. “Well, I’m old-school. I love the convenience and versatility of computers, but I have to hold a story in my hands before it actually feels real to me, and it’s the same with the feedback files.” A quick glance let him see Connie’s blank expression, and he clarified, “I print them out. Paper records.”
“Oh,” Connie said. “All right.”
“Well, I needed to check the files for one of those stories, and … and the file I kept on my own laptop had blank spots corresponding to what had been taken off the JN site.”
Connie whistled. “They didn’t just hack the JN people, then, they got into your system.”
“It goes further than that,” Jeff told her. He steeled himself; this was where the truly outré part began, and the only way to avoid it was to just never say it, which he simply couldn’t bring himself to continue doing. “When I went to check the file against my paper copies … the printouts of those sections were fading.”
Connie frowned. “You’re talking about the pages you’d printed off from these things before they were erased online?”
“And from my own system,” Jeff confirmed. “High-level hacking I could believe in, but what kind of anything could find and start blanking out paper printouts? And only the sections that treespirit12 had pronounced off-limits?”
Connie was nodding slowly; it was as if her eyes had darkened, and she gave the disconcerting impression that she was both assessing and looking inward as she considered his words. She hadn’t instantly rejected his claims - that was good - but at the same time she seemed something short of fully convinced. “This is a lot to take in,” she said at last.
“I know I don’t actually have any proof,” Jeff put in. “And believe me, I know just how crazy this sounds.” He reached for the portfolio he had laid out on the seat next to him. “But I can at least show you what I’m talking about.”
She watched while he took out several sheets of paper, and then a small tablet computer. “Look here,” he said, passing over the papers. “These are some of the printouts I was talking about.”
Connie took them, leafed through them, eyes pausing at the blank stretches appearing on each page. “And these … the empty spots faded out after they were printed off?”
“I know I can only offer you my word on that,” Jeff admitted. “Or for what I’m about to show you next. But here -” He had been starting up the tablet while he spoke, and now turned it so Connie could see the screen. “These are the same pages, four days before those selected spots went blank completely.” He handed the tablet to her. “Just swipe the screen to change pages.”
Connie accepted the device, glanced at the screen, and then peered closer. “I can barely make out the words,” she noted, narrowing her eyes. “The spots that are blank on paper … they’re gray here.”
“Right,” Jeff agreed. “I saw what was happening, and took photos of the pages that were starting to change.” He indicated the tablet. “And I used this one for that because the wifi link stopped working years ago.”
“Ah.” Connie nodded. “Good thinking.”
“A little belated, actually.” Jeff’s mouth was tight. “I tried it first with my phone. After those files vanished, I switched to something that didn’t have any online connection.”
“That would still go with thorough computer hacking,” Connie mused.
“Except for the part where I started doing this because text on printed pages was fading out into nothing.” Jeff shook his head. “Crazy people never actually recognize how crazy they sound. I can see that it sounds nuts. So either I’m an entirely different kind of crazy, or I’m just flat-out lying to you.” He spread his hands. “I know I’m not, but you can’t know for sure. And that’s where I’ve been stuck for the last month.”
Connie was nodding absently, still frowning slightly in thought. “Removing the entries from JournalNet could have been by someone on the inside,” she said, “or by some fairly routine hacking. The photos of the pages you took on your phone: it would take more advanced hacking to get rid of those, but still not impossible or even really stretching belief. The blank spots in the pages you printed out … even aside from you doing that yourself, as some kind of con for whatever unhinged reason you might have, that could have been done by someone coming in and trading different pages for the originals, as a con on you. And anybody who did that might have been able to get hold of your phone and physically remove the images of the pages.”
“I know,” Jeff said. “I’ve been trying to think out every possibility, including that someone managed to hypnotize me to do these things myself. All those possibilities, though, would require that whoever did it knew that I’d printed the pages and taken the photos. And that they had a reason to do the things we’ve seen … and whatever else might be going on that we don’t even know about.”
“Right,” Connie said. “Well, just because this stuff happened along with Treespirit’s warnings about opsec, doesn’t mean that the one thing caused the other. At the same time, I think we’d be kidding ourselves to assume that the two weren’t connected at all.”
“And if there’s a connection,” Jeff agreed, “that would suggest that there’s something in … well, I started to say ‘my stories’, but more like their comments on my stories, that tells or hints at things they don’t want known about their lives and activities.”
Connie’s expression was guarded, unhappy. “From what I’ve seen, it’s as if they like your stories because those fics … resonate with things they’ve seen, done, or know about.”
“And my stories are about supernatural goings-on.” Jeff shook his head. “I mean, I suppose you could make some comparisons to strange-science adventures, like you see on Stargate or the Bionic Woman or even the original Doctor Who -”
“Or, if you want to go back that far, the John Steed/Emma Peel Avengers,” Connie agreed, with a small smile.
“Or that. But mostly it looks to match up with something supernatural.” Jeff’s grimace was aggrieved. “And I don’t even believe in things like that, even if I enjoy writing them.”
“I don’t know.” Connie shrugged. “Some of the super-science from the Bionic Woman - or, for that matter, from the first Star Trek - falls short of what regular science can do now. I mean, I don’t remember Kirk ever being able to see pictures, much less video, on his communicator, and the new smartphones can do that much. And what does ‘supernatural’ mean, except something that science can’t explain yet?”
“Either way, though,” Jeff said, “we’re talking about something beyond normal. Something that somebody seems to want to keep secret, or at least not have showing up in casual online discussion.”
Connie started to say something, but it was forestalled by the arrival of their order. Jeff was paying more attention this time, and when the waitress left he observed to Connie, “I think you’re right, she was acting like … like there was something she wasn’t saying because she knew we wouldn’t like it.”
“I got more than that from her.” Connie’s mouth was tight. “There’s real hostility there, and most of it aimed at me.”
“I guess,” Jeff said. “I’m not really good at basic social subtleties, so if I could pick up anything at all, it means something.” He shook his head. “I can’t figure why you would be the target, though. It’s not like I’m some prize anybody would be jealous over.”
Connie sighed. “Jeff, you’re a nice man, and it’s good that you don’t have a big ego … but did it never occur to you that her problem might have anything to do with your problem?”
Jeff looked blank for a moment. “I don’t … you mean … you think there’s some kind of plot against me, where even our waitress is a plant?” He moved his hands vaguely, searching for words. “This whole business, the reason we’re meeting, is far enough off the wall that I’m trying not to let it make me paranoid. This here, this isn’t helping.”
Connie looked at her patty melt, made a mouth in irritation. “I’d say the question is, are you being hypervigilant, or not suspicious enough?”
“I don’t think I’m falling short on taking this matter seriously,” Jeff protested. “All the time I was waiting for you, I kept seeing teen-aged girls everywhere I looked. Was I supposed to be suspicious of them? like some hidden mastermind has recruited a girls’ volleyball team and set them to watching me?”
It was supposed to be a rhetorical question, but Jeff was surprised to see that Connie had gone pale except for spots of higher color at her throat and beneath her eyes. Becoming aware of his stare, Connie shook away the seeming paralysis. “I’m about to make a scene,” she said to him in a low, warning tone. “Look shaken and embarrassed, then leave a few minutes after I do. Meet me at the city park; you know the gazebo a ways from the fountain? That one. And steer clear if anything makes you think you’re being followed.”
“Wait,” Jeff said. “If we don’t meet … how will I get in touch with you, since we can’t trust phones or email?”
“I don’t know,” Connie answered. “Maybe meeting is a bad idea.” She stood up, and her next words were loud and angry. “I said NO!” Her expression had gone ugly. “Do you not understand ‘no’? Well, this is what it means!” And she dashed her ice water into his face, slapped the glass down onto the table, and stalked away and out, the diner door shush!ing closed behind her.
Jeff sat where he was, hair and shoulders drenched, stunned despite her warning. He became aware of the eyes on him - staff and a few customers - and said faintly, “I just … asked for her phone number.”
From nowhere in particular, an unidentified voice (male, young, otherwise undistinguished) announced, “Dude, it’s all MySpace now. Ask for a phone number, you just told her she was wasting her time.”
Connie had said to wait a few minutes, but it suddenly seemed reasonable and eminently desirable to leave now. He dropped more than enough cash on the table to cover his and Connie’s orders, and made a hasty, shamefaced departure.
All right: Connie had been spooked, badly and abruptly. It might have been something she saw or something that had occurred to her, but Jeff couldn’t discount that it had come right after his comment on the number of teen-aged girls he’d seen. What did that mean? What about it had alarmed her? The disapproving waitress was young enough to be included in a prospective cohort of such girls, but Jeff couldn’t see how that could possibly fit in with the mysterious issue they’d met to discuss.
Tales of the supernatural. Young girls. Some modern-day coven, maybe, with advanced abilities or the means of simulating magic? Not impossible, but the picture still wouldn’t come into focus. At least three of his mystery commenters - keyguy, bluddywm, andrewthewise - were males or presented as male (somewhat tenuously in the case of andrewthewise), but they came across neither as subordinates nor as exercising authority over the others. Mostly, though, the tenor of their commentary, whether directly on his stories or back-and-forth among one another, simply didn’t seem to show the attitudes or perspectives of people who thought they could go at things by casting spells. If Connie was right about his stories ‘resonating’ with the unseen others, then what resonated was the straightforward physical approach of the Remington brothers.
How to reconcile that with a group of teen-aged girls (the apparent source of Connie’s alarm), or with an online group that seemed mostly to also be young females, but with a few males they accepted without any obvious problems?
It made his head spin, even more badly than the original issues he had found so troubling.
He realized he’d been walking without any attention to his surroundings, or to Connie’s injunction to make sure he wasn’t being followed. He looked around, trying to keep the movement leisurely and casual … but, honestly, what was he supposed to be seeing? He was in a small city in the early afternoon, and there were plenty of people around: walking, driving, looking in store windows, chatting on the phone or to present companions. And, yes, some of them were girls young enough to belong to his humorously speculated volleyball team, but those he saw seemed to be paying more attention to each other - or to occasional young men - than to anything else around them, no indication at all of any interest in him.
All the same, he took a meandering course in the direction of the city park, doing his best to stay alert for anything that might be of concern. On his arrival, he found basically the same situation: no shortage of other people in the area of the park, any (or many) of whom could have been surreptitiously surveilling him, none of whom appeared to be. He was feeling increasingly ridiculous, but remembered the question Connie had raised: paranoia, or too little watchfulness? So he kept a somewhat self-conscious lookout as he made his way through the park, still with no clue at all as to whether he was under any kind of observation.
There was nobody waiting at the gazebo, and he was simultaneously let down and relieved. If anyone was tracking him, he didn’t want to lead them to Connie, but in her absence he didn’t know what to do next, or even if there was anything he should do. Having no other ideas, he continued to wend his way through the park, circling back toward the gazebo now and then in case Connie ever made an appearance. The day was mild, even pleasant aside from the worries that preoccupied him; only those, and occasional flashes of glare from the afternoon sun, kept this from being a relaxed outing.
It took a preposterously long time for him to notice that the direction of the glare was wrong, it came from opposite the way his shadow was falling, which meant against the sun. He looked around, now alert for something other than whether or not he was being shadowed. There, that same flash of sun, only the sun was over there, and he looked to the source and another spear of light, direct this time, and when he blinked away the spots he saw Connie, mostly hidden under a kids’ play structure. As their eyes met she lowered her hand - she must have used a small hand-mirror to catch his attention, probably a woman’s compact - and held up something in the other hand, something white; and, turning it several times to make sure he was seeing it, she tucked it into a small space in the side of the play structure, and then slipped back out of sight.
Well, that was something; even if she was going over the line into active paranoia, at least he wasn’t alone in this. He turned away, wandering more in the general direction of the gazebo, before he let his carefully aimless steps carry him back toward where Connie had signaled him and then faded away.
Probably none of this was necessary. But, if they were carrying this too far, they might at least be going far enough.
Unsurprisingly, what she had secreted in the half-shadowed crevice was a note: terse address, followed by Sorry for the dramatics, but this really is serious. All right. Jeff’s first reaction was annoyance at being strung along, but with a moment’s further thought he could see the sense of it. Connie had pulled away on the spur of the moment, delaying only long enough to provide a contact point; and, in the time it had taken him to arrive, she’d planned out the next step and left instructions for a safer place they could meet.
If they did meet at the address she’d written out. Because, if that stop came with a directive to proceed yet somewhere else, he might have to consider forgetting about the whole silly mess.
The new address was just enough distant that Jeff weighed whether he should return to his car. It would provide speed and flexibility if he and Connie needed to take off together quickly; on the downside, it would take longer than simply walking to the next address, and - if there really was anything to Connie’s fears - someone might possibly be watching his vehicle. With that in mind, he took some basic actions to spot or lose a tail: turning a corner and then immediately reversing course to catch out anyone who might be following, going into a store and then leaving it through an alternative entrance, ducking into an alley and sprinting to the next street where he again stepped into a streetside shop to take himself out of view and watch for tracking or pursuit. Still nothing, and he couldn’t decide whether to feel foolish, relieved, annoyed, or just more mystified than ever.
When Jeff found the indicated address, it was a warehouse. Seriously? How many fanfics - for that matter, how many canonical episodes of Diabolical - had taken place in just such a setting? He looked around for a way in, and jerked, startled, as Connie’s voice came to him: “Walk around the block.”
“What?” Jeff looked around, still not seeing her. “Why?”
“I can track you from in here -” There, a quick glimpse of her face behind a dusty window. “- and watch for anybody who might be following you. Don’t look at me, just walk.”
“Are you sure this is necessary?” Jeff asked, dutifully looking away down the street.
“If I was sure, I’d still be running.” Her voice was pitched to barely carry to him. “But I don’t want to take the chance. Go on, walk while I watch.”
Jeff obeyed, still doing his own checks as he proceeded. Before, he hadn’t been able to pick out any possible watchers from among the various people around him; here, there wasn’t really anybody to see, other than an occasional passing car, and it didn’t strike him as very likely that anybody would be using a vehicle to keep track of someone on foot, it would just be too conspicuous. No, if anyone was following him, it was by some means that kept them from view.
He had made one complete circuit and started a second before she called to him again: “Okay, the next door, I’ll unlock it as you come to it.”
Jeff was inside seconds later, blinking at the transition from afternoon sun to darkened interior as Connie pushed the door closed again and threw the bolt. “Okay, I’m here,” he announced. “So what’s all this about? Why did you take off so suddenly?”
“Because you scared the hell out of me.” Connie’s face was finally coming into focus, and the set of her mouth was grim. “When you mentioned seeing a bunch of really young women around -” She shook herself, as if trying not to shudder. “Well, let’s just say it tied in with other things I’d heard in other places, that I never thought of linking to comments disappearing from some random guy’s fanfic stories.”
Even though he hadn’t been able to make anything of it, this had been the only likely explanation Jeff had seen for Connie’s reaction. “So, what things?” he asked. “And what about it was so frightening? I’ve been doing my best to take you seriously, but I don’t have any idea what’s behind it all.”
Connie’s laugh was a sharp, nervous bark. “Turnabout, right? I’m glad I didn’t brush you off or laugh at you, because now I need the same leeway from you.”
“All right,” Jeff said. “Listening, here.”
“Just like with you, fanfic is a hobby for me, something done for fun. I don’t know what you do in your regular life, and it never really mattered. In my life …” She stopped, bit her lip. “I deal with people, people who do … unconventional things. People who know things, and talk about those things in circles that, well, that don’t exactly include me, but that don’t actively shut me out, either. And one of the things they talked about, more than once - and I kept my head down and stayed quiet so they wouldn’t start wondering if they should lock me out - had to do with, well, with what you might call a modern-day cult.”
“Of young women?” Jeff wondered. “Or, actually, of teen-aged girls?”
Connie shook her head. “Understand, this wasn’t a discussion I was part of, just listening on the sidelines and hoping nobody thought better of letting me hear. But … they used the term Maenads, and sometimes Bacchae. That’s from Greek mythology, I looked it up: female followers of Bacchus, and in some traditions they were described as frenzied, or even viciously aggressive.”
Jeff frowned. “You think that’s what we’re dealing with? or might be?”
Connie sighed. “The discussions I heard parts of? They made it sound like something happening now. Groups of young women, girls, hunting in packs and … the people who talked about this sounded like it was a continuing concern of theirs. That these frenzied, ferocious young girls were an active, present threat. Nobody was laughing it off or pooh-poohing anybody else’s worries on this business. It was a real thing for them, and these are people who work in areas where supernatural explanations aren’t dismissed out of hand.”
Jeff frowned. “These people … who are they? What type of people are they, what kinds of things are they involved in?”
Connie folded her arms across her chest, not quite hugging herself. “They’re respected academics, old-style organization men. They act like they’re sharing a solemn duty, and even if we don’t believe what they do, they’re absolutely serious in believing it.” A small frown creased her forehead. “I work with them on minor items of research here and there, and now I think maybe they were bringing me in gradually and watching my reactions to see if anything made me balk.”
“Maenads,” Jeff repeated thoughtfully. “Violent, dangerous young girls in some kind of cult. And, because those people of yours take it seriously, you take it seriously.”
“I think there’s enough there to justify being extra-careful,” Connie answered. “And the disappearing comments, almost all of them looked like they came from girls, or at least females. And right now I don’t know which thought worries me more: that these girls really are a supernatural threat, or that there’s a group crazy enough to think they’re actual Maenads. Because crazy is unpredictable.” She shook her head. “I don’t like crazy.”
Well, a group delusion might be enough to motivate people to go to the outlandish lengths necessary to simulate the progressive fading out of comments from printed pages, but it still didn’t answer the question of, “Why? why would they be doing this to me? Why would anybody care?”
Connie nodded as if pleased at him saying something clever. “That’s actually where I was going next. There has to be a reason for all this, so what is it?” She leaned toward him, voice and expression urgent. “What could they want from you? What would you have, or be doing, that they would want?”
Jeff shook his head, frustrated and bewildered. “I’ve been wondering something like that for weeks, months, ever since I started getting the sense that there was something in the background of the odd things they were saying. And, I’m sorry, I never came up with anything. They liked the stories, they commented on the stories, somehow or another they connected to the stories. But I don’t know why. If I’d been able to make any sense of it, I wouldn’t have needed to talk with you about it.”
“There has to be more to it than that,” Connie insisted. “You pointed it out yourself, they never said anything like that on anybody else’s fics. It was you they responded to, you they wanted; in fact, I really think they sought you out. So why?” She put her hands on his shoulders. “What do you have that they want, that they have some use for? There has to be a reason, you have to know.”
“I don’t,” Jeff protested, uneasy at this earnest conviction. “I write advertising and tech copy for different businesses. That’s all. There’s nothing about me that could interest people who were supernatural or believed they were supernatural, nothing except that I write fanfic about guys dealing with the supernatural. That’s the only possible connection I can see.”
Connie made a harsh, vexed sound, her grip on his shoulders tight enough to border on painful. “All of Diabolical fandom is about dealing with the supernatural, and there are hundreds of other fanfic authors, but these people want you. There has to be something, something about you, something you can offer that they want. Think, think, there has to be something!”
“I’ve got nothing,” Jeff assured her. “I mean, people say I write convincing action, I’ve been congratulated on getting the details right on weapons, martial arts techniques, automobile performance, military tactics, even some medical issues … but I get all that by reading up on the subjects, by imitating successful mainstream authors. It’s like Tom Clancy getting known as this savant when it came to military and intelligence and advanced weapons systems, but he was just a guy who read a bunch in public-sourced information and then figured out how to write it as authentic-sounding entertainment.””
Connie was staring at him, her gaze locked with his, as if she could wrest the knowledge from him through his eyes. Then her lips twisted, and she sighed. “You mean it,” she said. “You really have no idea. You don’t know any more about this than I do.” She laughed sharply. “Less, probably. You don’t have the first clue.”
“I told you that,” Jeff answered, abruptly defensive without knowing why. “That’s what I’ve been saying from the beginning.”
“Damn,” Connie said, shaking her head again. “I really hoped … Well, even if we don’t know what they want from you, we know they want something. And I can at least screw them on that.” And something about her smile wasn’t right, and she was leaning in as if to kiss him but that wasn’t the way her mouth was shaping, and then she jerked suddenly, making an odd little coughing sound, and a bright bubble of blood burst from her lips, her eyes widening in surprise.
Somebody was shouting, many voices - female voices, and Jeff’s mind leaped electric-quick to Maenads! here, they tracked us here, Connie was right! - shouting urgently, “Flank, get in close, don’t hit him and don’t let her have him!” Connie tried to swing him around but other hands seized him from behind and tore him away, Jeff spun and staggered, helpless but still under pitiless control, and fast-moving forms flashed all around him. He got a glimpse of Connie laying about herself with an eight-foot length of heavy chain, striking with murderous force and intent but there were two arrows in her torso and a third sprouted abruptly in her throat, and Jeff screamed in horror as she went down. He heaved in desperate effort but the hands holding him were implacable, and a young woman with a Lara Croft braid almost three feet long stepped between him and Connie and struck downward with a double-bladed battle axe, Jeff couldn’t see the blow land but the awful sound of impact made it all too clear.
Jeff was still fighting, cursing, weeping, trying to kick at anybody close enough, but all other action around him had ceased. He was surrounded by beautiful, athletic young girls carrying various bladed or pointed weapons, flushed with exertion and excitement and kill-eagerness, looking at him - those who bothered to look his way at all - with the happy heedlessness of those who finally had a moment to pay attention to items of lesser importance. Then another voice broke through the gleeful babble, a male voice, not commanding but somehow the lethal females were paying attention. “Ladies! Step back for a second, our guy needs to see this.”
The warrior-girls pulled back as instantly as if it had been a barked command, and now nothing blocked Jeff’s view of the bloodied form stretched out on the concrete of the warehouse floor, in a square lit by sun streaming through a high-set window … except that the blood was an unsettling shade of too-dark, and her mouth seemed to contain too many teeth, her eyes fixed in a glare of fury and defiance, and coils of what looked like corded wire extruded from the bare skin of her arms like some bizarre version of the curled hair on a bison’s hump. Jeff gaped, mouth open, unable to reconcile this thing with the personable, attractive woman who had joined him at the diner.
“Sorry, man.” It was the same male voice, the owner standing next to Jeff, their shoulders barely touching. “We cut it closer than I liked, but we weren’t really sure about her, and then she turned out to be a lot more slick than we expected.”
Jeff turned to look at the other man: tall, lean, a ready smile, complexion of the shade that comes with the recent lightening of what had been a deep tan. “What, what was she?” he wanted to know. “And who are you people? And what in the name of God is going on here?”
The other man nodded. “Me, I’m Xander. As for her, well, obviously a demon but we don’t know yet what type, we’ll send pix and a description upstairs and take in blood and tissue samples later, see if we can get a more specific ID. And as far as what’s going on …” He grinned, spread his hands in a broad shrug. “Hey, say hello to your biggest fans!”
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