The Shadow Killer

CHAPTER SEVEN

His voice is a surprise. It’s small, high-pitched, edged with doom.

“This is loser1121-I’ve sent you some emails. Did you get them?”

“I did. Can you tell me your real name?”

“Loser1121 is my real name.” His tone is flat, the voice of someone to whom nothing matters. “I tried to be just ‘loser’ on my email address, but the name was taken.Loser1121 was the first name that was still available. That means there are 1,120 losers ahead of me. I’m not even the first.”

His pain at being denied even this small distinction makes me wince.

“I’ve felt like a loser for much of my life,” I say.

Even his laugh is a sob.

“You’re just saying that. I listen to your show every night. You’re a winner, Charlie D. People worship you. The kids at my school try to talk like you-edgy, funny, smart. I’ve tried myself-just at home in my room. I try to make my voice low like yours, but it comes out wrong. Everything I do comes out wrong. But tonight it’s going to be different.”

“So what are you doing tonight?”

“Killing my family,” he says. His voice is without emotion. He could be announcing that he’ll be sitting with a bowl of popcorn watching a dvd. “Charlie, you know what I’m going to do.” He raises his voice. He’s angry now. “I sent you the plans. You’ve been waiting for me to call. That’s why you made up all that stuff about problems with the phone lines. There were no problems with the phone lines. When I called, I got right in.”

I try a laugh.

“You’re too smart for me.”

“Smart enough not to let you stop me.” He tries for a tough-guy growl, but in one humiliating adolescent moment, his voice breaks. He’s younger than I thought- perhaps as young as thirteen or fourteen.

“I know I can’t stop you,” I say. “I was hoping you’d stop yourself.”

“Why? Just to prove one more time that I can’t do anything right?”

“Killing your family isn’t right,” I say.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Suddenly he sounds confident. I’m losing ground.

“You’ve only known me a couple of minutes,” he says. “I’ve known me fourteen years. So have the people in my family. They know I’m a loser. Every time they look at me, I see it in their eyes. But after tonight, they’ll never have to look at me again.”

“Where are you now?”

“Still up on the third floor in my room. You know what comes next. I sent you the blueprint. I’m going downstairs to close my sisters’ eyes. Then I’ll close my mother’s eyes, and then I’ll close his eyes.”

“Your father’s?” I ask.

“Don’t do that! You knew who I meant!” His voice cracks. He takes a breath. “Then I’ll come back to my room, and that will be the end.”

“Please, don’t do this,” I say. My voice is as weak as my words.

“Too late, Charlie D. It’s time to get started. I have my father’s knife. But guess what?” His laugh is childlike but haunting. “It’s not his knife anymore. It’s mine.”

My pulse is racing.

“Stay on the line-please.” I rack my brain for something-anything-that will keep him from breaking our connection. As long as he’s talking to me, he’s not killing the members of his family. “Why did you send me the blueprint?” I say. “If you didn’t want to be stopped, why did you call in tonight?”

He doesn’t answer. In the silence, I can hear my heart pounding. It’s too late. I reach for the bottle of aspirin, shake two into my palm and dry-chew them. It’s over.

I start to take off my earphones; then I hear him. His voice is small, and it seems as if it’s painful for him to talk.

“I wanted a record,” he says. “I didn’t want people to think I was just screwed-up like the two kids who did the Columbine shooting. They were weirdos who were into guns and homemade explosives. I want people to hear my real voice. So they’d know…”

“So they’d know what?”

Loser1121 is fighting tears, and he isn’t winning. He’s breaking apart.

“So they’d know that I love my mother and I love my sisters.”

“Then why are you going to end their lives?” I ask.

He raises his voice in frustration.

“Because I love them. I just told you that. They’ve always tried to protect me against him.”

“Does your father hurt you physically?”

“Not physically. He has other ways. And my mother and my sisters always tell me my father is wrong about me. They say I’m a good person, a worthwhile person-they believe in me.”

“Then why do you want to…to ‘close their eyes’?”

“I don’t want them to spend the rest of their lives having people look away from them because they’re the family with the boy who killed his father.”

“So you’re killing your mother and your sisters to protect them.”

“It’s the only way,” he says miserably. “I’ve thought about it a lot. I’m going to hang up now.”

The line goes dead. I stare at my computer screen. Nova has written the intro for the next song. I make no attempt to hide the anger in my voice when I read her words. “This is for all you dads who believe it’s your way or the doorway: Waylon Jennings with ‘Only Daddy That’ll Walk the Line.’”

As Waylon delivers his warning to the woman who’s been stepping on his toes, I bury my face in my hands. Nova’s on the talkback immediately. “We’ve caught a break. The police were able to trace 1121’s call.”