Carissa Lynch - Like, Follow, Kill

For one silent second, my next move became clear.

Valerie could be in danger. And if there’s no one to help her or warn her, then I could be the only one who does.

As I sat up, there was a new form of energy pumping through my veins.

I composed my message in a Word document, then read over it a dozen times before finally copying and pasting it into a message on Instagram. I exhaled, then clicked send:

Valerie,

I know it’s none of my business, but I couldn’t help but notice something strange in the background of your latest video. A strange man peering in the window behind you. I noticed him in the background of some of your other pictures as well. I know we don’t know each other well and we weren’t all that close in school … but I’m worried about you. After that other video about the man following you from the bar, I was a little concerned that maybe the man in the window was him … that maybe you have a stalker. Please write me back.

Next, I looked up the phone number for Rook Pharmaceuticals. The receptionist who answered was young, her words breathy and practiced.

My words, on the other hand, sounded like someone else’s—throaty and strained.

I cleared my throat, “My name is Janet Hutchens. My niece is employed as a rep with your company.”

Silence.

“Umm … her name is Valerie. She was traveling on business to Kentucky, and then her next stop was New Orleans. I’ve been unable to reach her on her cell the last couple days, and I was hoping you had another line where I could reach her. Or could you just check in on her, please?”

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