The Watcher in the Wall by Owen Laukkanen

teenager, “DarlingMadison.” Gruber clicked on her profile picture. Stared.
    The resemblance was uncanny.
    She was Sarah, this person. Give her lighter hair, just a little. Maybe put a smile on her face instead of that tough-girl glare. She
was
Sarah, though, the same bone structure. The same way her bangs curled down over her eyes. She looked like Sarah had, years ago, in her bedroom in that double-wide.
    Gruber stared at her picture and felt his heart pounding. Felt as if he could reach through the screen and touch her.
    He’d gone online to talk to Dylan. To cultivate his next prospect. He hadn’t intended to make more friends; he had a rule about these accounts, one prospect per persona. Plus, he’d just opened a new Death Wish account no more than five minutes ago. But this girl, this DarlingMadison—if ever there was a sign from above, this was it.
    Gruber clicked through to her message.
So why haven’t you done it yet?
she’d asked.
    He hesitated, his mind searching for just the right words. Draw her in slowly. Don’t scare her off.
    Guess I’m just waiting for the right partner,
he wrote. Hovered his hand over the mouse for a long time.
    Then pressed send.
    < 30 >
    “Here it is,” Mathers said, looking up from his computer. “Someone behind that anonymizer software just opened up a new account on the Death Wish site. Links back to that same Ashley Frey Outlook account.”
    Stevens and Windermere hurried over. “‘Azrael99,’” Windermere read. “‘Sixteen years old. Vancouver, Canada.’”
    “Guess she’s broadening her range,” Stevens said. “Trying to get a piece of that Canadian market?”
    “Whatever she’s doing, she literally just did it,” Mathers said. “This account wasn’t here fifteen minutes ago.”
    Windermere studied the profile. As with Ashley Frey’s previous personas, there wasn’t much information. A username. A profile picture—poor Chantal Sarault, standing in yet again. A location, and a tagline— LIFE IS FOR THE DYING —that could have belonged to anyone on the forum. Nothing to give away Ashley Frey’s real identity. Nothing but a blank slate onto which the next unhappy teenager could project his desires.
    “It sure didn’t take her long to get over Adrian Miller,” Windermere said. “This chick is picking up speed.”
    “She’s found a model and she’s using it,” Stevens said. “Refining her MO, streamlining it. Just like we figured.”
    “So how do we stop her?” Mathers asked.
    Stevens and Windermere looked at each other, and Windermere knew Stevens was having the same thoughts as she was.
    “We create a fake profile,” she said. “Lure Ashley Frey to us. String her along as a potential victim, and hope like hell we can pry something out of her to reveal her location. Best-case scenario, we catch her. Worst-case, she spends her time with us instead of some other poor teen.”
    “Works for me,” Stevens said. “So let’s do it.”
    < 31 >
    Madison hadn’t really expected a response from Gabriel98. She’d logged off as soon as she sent the message, ashamed that she’d even bothered. But then she’d logged on again, just a few hours later.
    Maybe just to see,
she thought.
Just to see, what if he actually answered.
    He had.
    Guess I’m just waiting for the right partner,
he’d written. Kind of a cheesy line, like something he’d practiced. Or maybe he’d used it before.
    Slow down, tiger,
she typed.
You on here to get laid, or do you really want to die?
    Then she waited. Regarded Gabriel98’s profile picture again, those haunted, piercing eyes. Felt something, and it wasn’t necessarily the urge to die.
Write back,
she thought, and immediately hated herself for thinking it.
    Then her computer chimed. His reply.
Oh, I’m going for it,
he wrote.
One hundred percent. I’m just searching for someone who’s actually serious about doing it with me
.
    There are so many posers on these sites,
Madison wrote back.
Most of these assholes