John Saul - Faces of Fear

SLUTTY.

That was the only word Kimberly Elmont could think of to describe the pictures Tiffany Barton had taken of her only this morning. But the poses had seemed like such a good idea when Tiffany was setting them up. Oh, well…

She scrolled slowly through the rest of the photos she had uploaded from her camera and tried to decide which ones to post on her new MySpace page, since the ones Tiff had taken obviously wouldn’t do. A couple of the best ones were from last Christmas, but they seemed too cutesy, and while she was interested in meeting some new people online, she didn’t want to give the wrong impression.

Not too cutesy, but not too slutty, either.

Then she spotted one that seemed to strike a pretty good balance. It was from this morning, but Tiffany had taken it before she started posing her. Kimberly blew the image up and looked at it carefully. It was a profile shot. Hair tucked behind her ear, she was looking down at a book, pencil in hand. It had a nice, sort of contemplative look to it, and she named it “Thinking” and uploaded it to MySpace. Then she chose another that Tiffany had taken, of her leaning against a tree. It was the least slutty of all the shots Tiffany had set up, but it showed her whole body, and anybody cruising MySpace could see she wasn’t an elephant or anything. She cropped out most of the background, saved it as “Tree hugging,” and uploaded it.

A soft tap on her door made Kimberly jump, but then her mother’s voice settled her down again.

“Honey?” The door opened. “Dinner’s almost ready,” Janice Elmont said, coming over to stand behind her daughter. “What are you doing?” She peered over Kimberly’s shoulder at her computer monitor.

“Just uploading some photos to my MySpace page.”

Janice laid her hands on Kimberly’s shoulders. “Do you really think that’s a good idea? You don’t know what kind of people are out there looking for a pretty fifteen-year-old girl like you.” Kimberly shrugged her mother’s hands away. “Come on, Mom. I know what I’m doing — I’m not stupid.” “Of course you’re not, honey, but anybody can be fooled. I just don’t think you should be doing this.” “Everybody on the planet is on MySpace, Mom,” Kimberly said. “At least everybody I know. Besides, I never chat with anybody I don’t know.” Janice shook her head. “Have you seen that television show where those men show up to have sex with girls even younger than you?” Kimberly rolled her eyes. “We’ve all seen that show. I’m smarter than that. Trust me a little bit, will you?” Janice hesitated, but then leaned over and kissed her daughter on the top of the head. “Okay, I’ll trust you to set up the page. But I’ll also trust you to consult me before doing anything that you think may be even the slightest bit questionable. Okay?” Kimberly nodded.

“Deal?” Janice said, wanting to hear her daughter agree out loud. “Kimberly?” “Deal, Mom.”

“Okay, sweetheart. Dinner in twenty minutes. You can come set the table.” “Okay. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Kimberly turned back to her computer as soon as her mother had left. Someone had already seen the photos she’d posted and left her a message. His name was Dean, and in the thumbnail photo, his face was mostly in shadow. Very mysterious.

She opened the mail.

HEY. SEE YOU’RE IN THE VALLEY. WHAT SCHOOL DO YOU GO TO? I’M IN BURBANK.

Burbank! Sally Ann, Kimberly’s sister’s best friend, used to date a guy from Burbank. He was very cool, with his own car.

She clicked on Dean’s name and his MySpace page opened up. He went to Burbank High. She was hoping for more photos of him, but he had only posted the one. His page looked a lot like hers: under construction, with very little information on it yet.

The little green flashing icon said that he was online right now.

Kimberly felt her heart beat faster. Should she talk to him? Right after she’d told her mother she would only talk to people she knew? But what was the harm? This was just another kid.

A kid from Burbank.

But what if it wasn’t a kid?

She’d know — of course she’d know. She’d know just by the way he wrote his messages. Adults could never sound like kids — they were way too old even to know what kids were thinking about, let alone how they talked to each other.

She clicked Instant Message on Dean’s page and typed: HEY, DEAN. IT’S KIMBERLY. I GO TO DAILY HIGH IN GLENDALE.

His message came back only a few seconds later.

KIMBERLY! HEY, GLENDALE ISN’T SO FAR AWAY. WHAT KIND OF MUSIC DO YOU LIKE?

Kimberly adjusted her chair and thought for a few moments before responding. She had to be cool. What was the coolest music she could mention?

Within moments their messages were flying back and forth as quickly as if they were talking to each other on the telephone. Dean was funny and nice, and it wasn’t long before all thoughts of dinner and setting the table were far, far away.

• • •

The soft sound of the computer’s beep reached the listening ears first, then echoed through the room, quickly dying away. But even before the sound deserted the ears, the legs and feet swiveled the chair around so the eyes could see the monitor.

SEARCH COMPLETED

FIVE MATCHES FOUND

The heart beat faster.

A single finger clicked on the mouse, and a window opened on the screen. Five small photographs appeared.

Five women, all young.

The arm moved; the finger clicked twice on each of the first four pictures. One by one each was expanded to fill the screen.

One by one the eyes scrutinized the pictures.

One by one, the mind rejected them and the finger on the mouse reduced them to their original tiny size.

Perhaps the parameters were incorrect.

Then the finger clicked the mouse twice more and the last photograph expanded.

The skin tingled with excitement.

This last one looked exactly right. The photograph showed the face in profile.

Young. Fresh. And with a perfectly shaped ear.

The heart beat faster.

The finger tapped again, enlarging the photograph further, for an even closer examination and detailed, professional analysis.

Yes! This was the one.

The finger tapped faster, enlarging the photograph again and again until the ear filled the entire screen.

A fingertip reached out and gently traced the shell-like contours of the girl’s pale pink ear.

Even the girl’s lobe — the most variable part of the ear — was a perfect match.

Perfect…all of it perfect.

The tongue licked the parched lips.

The fingers went back to work on the mouse.

The photograph was reduced to its normal size. A few more twitches on the mouse, and its source became clear.

The program had located the photograph on a MySpace page.

Perfect.

The finger tapped on the mouse once more, and the arm moved slightly so the mouse highlighted a single word on the screen.

SAVE

The first piece of the puzzle had been found, but there was still more to be done — much more.

Now the fingers abandoned the mouse to fly over the keyboard.

A new set of instructions was entered into the search program.

Centimeters, millimeters, geometric ratios, color scale.

The fingers moved back to the mouse.

The arm moved the mouse itself so the arrow on the screen hovered over a button at the bottom of the screen:

EXECUTE SEARCH

The finger clicked one last time, sending the program’s spider out to crawl the World Wide Web, searching inexorably for a perfect match to the precise parameters requested.