Chapter XXIV
Click Me
Abby Fitzgerald got home from school and went straight to her bedroom. She ignored all attempts on her Mother's part to have a conversation and locked the door. She dumped her school bag on the floor and went to her computer. The laptop hummed to life and she dragged it with her to the bed. She opened up the internet and checked her email, disregarding spam and porno offers, setting aside newsletters and group emails for later. Her personal messages were also set aside for later perusal. There were more important things to do first, like check her MySpace.
She tapped her Converse-clad feet along to the Green Day pouring out of her iPod and waited for her profile to load up. The new friend requests popped up and made her grin. She picked through them, looking at each before hitting the accept or reject button. GD990 got the 'okay', anyone who liked vintage shows like Salute Your Shorts and the hipper MTV hits like My Super Sweet Sixteen had to be pretty cool. LoneGunman341, however, got a big fat 'reject'. Creepy Shane could change his user name a million times, but he would always get a no. She couldn't stand him in real life, why would she want to mess with him on MySpace. She clicked around a bit, took a survey. Apparently if she were a sweater, she'd be navy blue turtleneck. She was about finished when something caught her eye. A new blog entry had gone through one of her friends. She shrugged and decided to read it. Sometimes you could learn interesting stuff, and if it was dumb, well relief from stupidity was only a click away.
Abby clicked the link and waited for the new page to load up. The next song, by Panic at the Disco, came up and she was mumbling along with the words as the page loaded. Her over-tweezed and over penciled eyebrows jumped to her bleach-blonde hairline. Her stomach rolled and soured at what she saw. The picture of a bomb in a backpack and a Goth girl with a big red X through it. Bellow it was the picture of the fiery bus crash. She clicked another link, randomly, needing to get away from the destruction. The next page was no better. It featured a grainy video that showed the explosion at Saints and Sinners. She threw the laptop back against the pillows and backed away from it. When she fell off the bed and hit the floor she got to her feet. The images on her computer, bloody and brutal, made her face go white. "MOM!" She unlocked her door and ran. "MOMMA!"
Liz Fitzgerald heard her daughter scream but before she could get away from the dishwasher she was loading, her daughter had made the trip from her room to the kitchen. She was about to ask what was wrong, but found her arms full of a sobbing teenager.
"Abby? Abby, sweetheart, what's the matter?" The girl was sobbing, hiccupping and gasping. Recognizing the signs of an asthma attack coming, she gave the girl a little shake, "Abigail, breathe, big deep breaths, now. Her mother's tone broke through the panic and Abby started to take deep breaths. Her words were jumbled and they tumbled together. Liz pieced it together and went to look at her daughter's laptop. Abby refused to go back and look at it with her. What she saw made Liz want to vomit, she almost did. How could a website let people put that up? People had died. She fumbled for the phone, she had to warn people before other children saw this. Children who had family that had been killed. She dialed the operator. "Yes, I need the number for Channel 5."
Maria Rymer laid down the phone and thanked her lucky stars individually and by name. She was going to be the one to break the story, again. Katie Couric move over, Maria Rymer was on her way to fame, glory and a network job.
She dialed the LVPD. "I need to speak to Detective Sofia Curtis. No, I think she'll want to hear this." There were a series of clicks and beeps and then the detective's husky and obviously annoyed voice came over the line.
"Curtis."
Maria smiled, "Get a statement ready by the evening news, Curtis. Oh and I suggest you get a computer expert lined up, I'm sending you a big fat lead." She hung up before the detective could respond.
Author's Note: Say it with me folks, you know the words. I do not own MySpace. All aspects and facets of said website and the services it offers are used in a fictional manner here. Any screen names, liknesses or any other link to said site is completly coincidental and no harm is intended. In other words, please don't sue me.
On a more personal note, I do not have a MySpace account. So any specifics of using and or accessing the site are things I've heard my sister yammer about.