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Authors: Owen Laukkanen
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wouldn’t
get it
. You don’t know how hard it is to grow up in this awful place.”
“Are you kidding?” Gruber replied. “Of course I know. I didn’t ask to move out here. Your dad fricking hates me. This place is
hell
.”
“You got that right. Even more so when you’re around.”
Sarah looked at him, hard, challenging him, defiant. New life in her eyes, like she’d found something in that razor blade the same as what he’d found when he hurt her.
“These scars are mine,” Sarah told him. “And no matter how much he or you or anyone else tries to fuck up my life, this is something that will never be yours. The way the blood comes, that’s mine, and mine alone.”
Gruber watched her study the scars, run her fingertips over those ragged lines. “Cool story,” he said. “Maybe someday you’ll have the guts to actually do it right.”
< 26 >
Even with Drew Harris’s blessing, Ashley Frey wasn’t easy to find.
Stevens and Windermere combed the NCIC—National Crime Information Center—database for records of anyone named Ashley Frey. For cases with a similar profile. Found nothing.
“It’s like Harris said,” Stevens told Windermere. “This is a legal gray area. People kill themselves. It’s not like anyone’s putting in too much legwork tracking down the buddy who told them how.”
Windermere had been searching for suicide cases that fit the description. Came up just as empty. “Thirty-five thousand people commit suicide in this country every year,” she said. “Four thousand teenagers. It’s impossible to track down the details on every single case.”
They had Mathers reading through Ashley Frey’s old chat logs, dating back nearly four years. Hundreds and hundreds of pages, the victims mostly complaining about their parents, their classmates, how much they hated their lives.
“It would be tedious if I didn’t know how these stories ended,” Mathers told them when they gathered for coffee and a status report. “Instead, it’s just chilling. This Ashley Frey person plays along with the whole thing. In one version, she’s the only child of an absentee father. In the next, her stepfather’s molesting her. In another, she’s just a rich kid who’s depressed. It’s like she tailors her profiles to fit the situation, like she waits to see what kind of personality the victim will like best.”
Windermere drank her coffee, imagined Adrian Miller online, trolling the forums. Imagined this Ashley Frey girl befriending him, playing him, guiding him to his death. Shook her head clear and tried to focus.
“But you’re not finding anything that points us to Frey,” she said. “She’s not giving you any clues?”
“Nothing concrete,” Mathers said. “She uses a lot of the same arguments to coerce her victims, though. That’s a constant.”
“What kind of arguments?” Stevens said.
“Like when she was telling Adrian Miller to do it for her,” Mathers told them. “She did the same with Ramirez and Clark and the others. Like, she talks about how she’s too scared to do it by herself, how she needs someone to do it with her, to show her how it’s done.”
“She’s worked out a formula,” Windermere said. “Figures this isthe best way to get kids to kill themselves for her. Like it’s a freaking science.”
“There’s something else,” Mathers said. “Frey has all these made-up stories, like I was saying. Her backstory is never the same, from victim to victim, but there are common elements. The biggest one is this Earl thing.”
“What’s the Earl thing?” Windermere said. “Like, she talks about knowing someone named Earl? Please tell me it’s more solid than that.”
Mathers put down his coffee mug. Picked up a sheaf of printouts, Ashley Frey’s chat logs, and she could see he’d highlighted passages. “In the absentee-father scenario, Earl’s the dad,” he said. “Ditto the stepfather who’s molesting her. A couple of times, with Shelley Clark
get it
. You don’t know how hard it is to grow up in this awful place.”
“Are you kidding?” Gruber replied. “Of course I know. I didn’t ask to move out here. Your dad fricking hates me. This place is
hell
.”
“You got that right. Even more so when you’re around.”
Sarah looked at him, hard, challenging him, defiant. New life in her eyes, like she’d found something in that razor blade the same as what he’d found when he hurt her.
“These scars are mine,” Sarah told him. “And no matter how much he or you or anyone else tries to fuck up my life, this is something that will never be yours. The way the blood comes, that’s mine, and mine alone.”
Gruber watched her study the scars, run her fingertips over those ragged lines. “Cool story,” he said. “Maybe someday you’ll have the guts to actually do it right.”
< 26 >
Even with Drew Harris’s blessing, Ashley Frey wasn’t easy to find.
Stevens and Windermere combed the NCIC—National Crime Information Center—database for records of anyone named Ashley Frey. For cases with a similar profile. Found nothing.
“It’s like Harris said,” Stevens told Windermere. “This is a legal gray area. People kill themselves. It’s not like anyone’s putting in too much legwork tracking down the buddy who told them how.”
Windermere had been searching for suicide cases that fit the description. Came up just as empty. “Thirty-five thousand people commit suicide in this country every year,” she said. “Four thousand teenagers. It’s impossible to track down the details on every single case.”
They had Mathers reading through Ashley Frey’s old chat logs, dating back nearly four years. Hundreds and hundreds of pages, the victims mostly complaining about their parents, their classmates, how much they hated their lives.
“It would be tedious if I didn’t know how these stories ended,” Mathers told them when they gathered for coffee and a status report. “Instead, it’s just chilling. This Ashley Frey person plays along with the whole thing. In one version, she’s the only child of an absentee father. In the next, her stepfather’s molesting her. In another, she’s just a rich kid who’s depressed. It’s like she tailors her profiles to fit the situation, like she waits to see what kind of personality the victim will like best.”
Windermere drank her coffee, imagined Adrian Miller online, trolling the forums. Imagined this Ashley Frey girl befriending him, playing him, guiding him to his death. Shook her head clear and tried to focus.
“But you’re not finding anything that points us to Frey,” she said. “She’s not giving you any clues?”
“Nothing concrete,” Mathers said. “She uses a lot of the same arguments to coerce her victims, though. That’s a constant.”
“What kind of arguments?” Stevens said.
“Like when she was telling Adrian Miller to do it for her,” Mathers told them. “She did the same with Ramirez and Clark and the others. Like, she talks about how she’s too scared to do it by herself, how she needs someone to do it with her, to show her how it’s done.”
“She’s worked out a formula,” Windermere said. “Figures this isthe best way to get kids to kill themselves for her. Like it’s a freaking science.”
“There’s something else,” Mathers said. “Frey has all these made-up stories, like I was saying. Her backstory is never the same, from victim to victim, but there are common elements. The biggest one is this Earl thing.”
“What’s the Earl thing?” Windermere said. “Like, she talks about knowing someone named Earl? Please tell me it’s more solid than that.”
Mathers put down his coffee mug. Picked up a sheaf of printouts, Ashley Frey’s chat logs, and she could see he’d highlighted passages. “In the absentee-father scenario, Earl’s the dad,” he said. “Ditto the stepfather who’s molesting her. A couple of times, with Shelley Clark
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