These Deadly Games(83)

I always had trouble reading him. Or so I thought. Maybe my instincts had been right; I had trouble reading him because he wasn’t him.

Marcia’s post from right before Brady died was of him and Andrew solving a jigsaw puzzle at the coffee table. My heart squeezed like a vise; I hadn’t seen Brady’s face since that awful, awful day. White-trimmed ruby socks dangled from the fireplace, and a Christmas tree nestled in the corner. The caption read, Best of brothers and best of friends.

I stared at Andrew. This made no sense. The helpless misery I’d seen on his face after Brady died had burned into my mind, making Caelyn’s safety and happiness my top priority, turning me into an overprotective big sister. How had I not spotted even a slight resemblance before, when I thought of that image so often? Maybe my memory had warped his features over time, making them fuzzy and unrecognizable.

I zoomed in on the graduation picture again. No. It couldn’t be. Dylan and Andrew were lookalikes, that’s all. Lots of people had doppelg?ngers. Lots of boys had eyes that crinkled in the corners, with a mole in that exact spot. I was sure if you took inventory of everyone in the world who fit those criteria, there’d be at least a thousand of them. Maybe more. There were almost eight billion people in the world. Statistically speaking, it was a coincidence.

Besides, I’d gotten a message from An0nym0us1 when Dylan was standing right in front of me, and he wasn’t using his phone at the time. And lots of people die in car accidents. Wasn’t it one of the leading causes of death in the United States? Just because Andrew’s parents and Dylan’s mom died in car accidents didn’t make them the same people.

Dammit, I didn’t trust my own judgment anymore. I’d jumped to so many conclusions over the past day, chased false leads, wasted time. I’d tied up Zoey like some maniac because we’d both jumped to conclusions.

This time, I needed proof.

My own laptop was still open to An0nym0us1’s profile on Reddit. At this point, I had to guess they hadn’t hacked my laptop; otherwise, they would have contacted me by now. I tapped on the Chat button, and a chat box appeared. I could send a message to An0nym0us1 and Dylan at the same time—

Oh! Zoey’s IP matching widget! The one she created to find our troll. I’d bookmarked it, right?

Yep, there it was. I jogged my memory for the steps. I had to upload two images, then send one to An0nym0us1 and one to Dylan. The tool would log the viewers’ IP addresses, and if they matched, I’d know they were the same person. So simple. So clever. Dammit, I should have thought of this sooner. Regret overwhelmed me as I marveled at Zoey’s cunning. I remembered how we used to wordlessly communicate with the colors of our lights. With some cleverness, I could’ve found a way to confide in her. I could have gotten my teammate’s help. My friend’s help. Instead, I let suspicion and fear get the best of me.

Paranoid.

Zoey had denied telling Dylan I was paranoid and mentally unwell, but I hadn’t let her finish speaking. What if it was really the other way around? Had Dylan been sowing seeds of distrust, gaslighting me all along?

I’d know soon enough.

What image should I send Dylan? Some random pic of puppies or something would be too obvious, so I took a screenshot of the Reddit page, uploaded it to Zoey’s widget, and copied the URL it spit back out. Then I typed—Please don’t get mad. I can explain.—and pasted the URL. Sent. I twirled my pen as I stared at the blank spot where the IP address would appear.

Within a minute, a series of numbers popped up. Dylan had clicked the link. A moment later:

WHAT? YOU PROMISED ME.



A sob tried clawing its way up my throat as I imagined his lips on mine. Promise me, he’d said. Promise me you won’t go stalking him.

He sent another message: Where are you now? Are you okay???

Panicked. Concerned. Could be an act. Ignoring his text, I uploaded a recent selfie to Zoey’s widget, then quickly created a throwaway Reddit account and clicked to An0nym0us1’s chat pane. My fingers shook as I typed, Are you sure this is her?, pasted the URL, and sent the message.

Back on Zoey’s app, I waited, twirling, twirling, twirling my pen, the events of the past day flickering through my mind like a movie reel.

Yesterday morning, Dylan left our MortalDusk practice in his Jeep. I never saw him follow Matty’s car, never asked if he went to Starbucks with everyone else. He could’ve followed me to Caelyn’s school, kidnapped her, tied her up, and taken the videos and pictures of her to send later. I hadn’t seen him until fourth period.

What about the exam in his locker?

He could have made himself his own first victim so I wouldn’t suspect him. If he’d already graduated high school, getting suspended wouldn’t matter. Cutting class wouldn’t matter. He’d been using his Chromebook in history class—he could’ve sent those messages through an app, discreetly from his seat in the back row. He could’ve emailed Mr. Chen through my account. He could’ve sent me the correct locker combination the instant Mr. Chen asked him out into the hall. That’d explain the perfect timing.

Then, after I got home, I had to wait for An0nym0us1’s next set of instructions—probably because Dylan was stuck in Mr. Chen’s office as he tried to contact Dylan’s father. Tried, and failed.

Because Dylan’s father was dead.

Dylan was the first to come over after I’d saved the brownies from the oven. He’d eaten one right away—perhaps to demonstrate how “safe” they were. Icy tendrils wrapped around my heart. God, I’d been so gullible.