die catfish, die. - 4. pink necktie

So he can see the man in disguise
So he can see the big surprise
So he knows he's got to find
Gotta find some peace of mind
And he knows, he's the Fortune Soul

_{BLACKMILL- FORTUNE SOUL (2011)}

* * * * *

Birds indistinctly chirped somewhere in the distance; somewhere, a train sounded its horn. The large park was fairly desolate aside from a playground on the far, east side. For being the beginning of March, Eli thought it was a little too fucking warm.

He sighed. He had reservations. He couldn’t believe that he was about to meet some random man off a gay dating app.

DHG wasn’t a floating torso, nor was he posed like some sort of provocateur. His photo was much like Jacob’s—a silhouette with a lack of facial details taken from a fair distance. Eli had talked to the man for an hour, but he couldn’t find any message history between DHG and Jacob in the app. He didn’t find out anything helpful, either.

The idea of Jacob meeting a random stranger troubled Eli, and the thought of him sleeping around almost made him sick.

Still, Eli doubted himself. What the hell am I doing here? Who is this guy? Why was he talking to Jacob?

Quietly, he shuffled through the park with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his backpack weighing heavily on his shoulders.

The opposite end of the park opened up to a plaza; it was situated near a roundabout and a string of small storefronts. The area was clean and inviting despite the gray clouds that blocked out the sun. An older man sat on the bench ahead of him, where DHG told him he’d be; Eli wondered if this old guy had scared him off.

“Crap,” Eli muttered.

There it was. As Eli passed, he saw the dark pink necktie gathered neatly behind the lapels of a long wool jacket, the one DHG said he’d be wearing. The man also wore leather gloves, and for a moment, Eli wondered if the man might have been some sort of hitman, or maybe even a cop. He had short salt-and-pepper colored hair, almost militarily style, and steely blue eyes that cut like razor blades.

The benches in the park were clustered in groups of two, back-to-back.

Eli nodded as he walked past the guy; the man nodded back. Eli cut across the grass and quietly sat down on the back part of the bench, pulling his book from his backpack.

“It’s a good day for reading,” the man said. He twisted around and looked back at Eli. “Don’t you think?”

Eli shrugged. “It’s just a stupid school book. I don’t know why it was even banned to begin with.” Truth was, he did know.

The man leaned forward with his brow scrunched. “Catcher in the Rye? Not a lot of kids these days relate with a story like that.” He sat back. “What don’t you like about it?”

“It reads slow. Its ideas on what it’s like to be a teenager are mostly outdated, and it really doesn’t provide much historical value. Not to mention, Holden is a whiny bitch.” Eli blushed. “Sorry.”

“Well said.” The man chuckled. “Often times we don’t like in others the things we don’t like in ourselves.”

“I might be pathetic, but I’m not as bad as he is.”

The man turned forward and leaned on his knees. “Maybe you should invest in the abbreviated version. Do they still have CliffsNotes?”

Eli packed the book away and leaned back. “You’re not really what I expected.”

The man sighed deeply. “And you’re nowhere near eighteen.” He stood up, nodded at Eli, and began to walk away.

“He’s dead,” Eli called.

The man stopped and glanced back. “Who’s dead?”

“Jacob is dead. He was my friend. It was his profile, not mine. I found his phone in my room, and I think he left it there on purpose.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said.

“I need to know why he did it. Why he thought he had to kill himself. I only wanted to talk.”

The man turned his shoulder toward Eli. “He committed suicide?”

Eli nodded. “He got messages. They said they were going to tell everyone at school about him.”

He returned to the bench and sat back down. “How old was your Jacob?”

“Barely sixteen,” Eli said softly. “He seemed happy the last time I saw him.”

The man shook his head. “Mister Bobberson’s been busy.”

Eli sat back, startled. “How do you know that name?”

The man pulled a wallet from inside of his jacket. “There’s a coffee shop up the road. Probably about half a mile on the right.” He opened the wallet and pulled out a bright red business card. He stood and faced Eli. “We should meet there and talk.”

“Talk about what?”

“What’s your name?”

“My name?” Eli’s mind raced. “J…… James.”

“James, take this card to that coffee shop down the street. Give this card to the barista, and tell her that you heard there was someone there who could help you. Tell her that you need to talk to someone. She’ll call me and tell me you’re there.”

Red flags started going up in Eli’s mind. “What?” he asked. Slowly, he stood up, mentally preparing himself to run if this dude got any creepier than he already was.

He held the card toward Eli. “I need to run back to my office to get a few things before we talk.”

Eli hesitantly grabbed at the card and examined it.

“James, your life might be in danger. The coffee shop is a safe place. Just do as I’ve told you, and you’ll be fine.”

He rubbed his wrist. “What do you mean my life is in danger?”

“Please. Trust me.” Quietly, the man backed away and walked up the sidewalk toward the plaza.

“Who is he?” Eli screamed. “How the fuck do you know that name?!” His eyes watered. He stomped his feet and kicked his bag. “Goddamn it!”

Eli’s stomach sank; that had possibly been the strangest exchange in his life that he had ever had with another human being. He glanced around at his surroundings, thankful nobody had seen his outburst, and glanced again at the card.

PLEASE! I NEED HELP.

On the back was an address and a little coffee cup logo.

He wiped his sleeve across his eyes.

“What fucking episode of The X-Files did he come out of?” Slowly, he hoisted his bag to his shoulder and set forward, ambling nervously the way the man had pointed.

I have to be crazy doing this, he thought to himself. What the hell am I doing? He’s going to kidnap me. He’s going to skull-fuck my corpse—Jesus-fucking-Christ, what am I doing?!

Then, there it was: an unassuming little café with a big neon-green coffee cup in the window.

Lightheaded, Eli reached for the handle, a gust of coffee-scented air hitting him in the face as he pulled the door open. Slowly, and unsure about everything, he shuffled in.

The barista stood at a small sink tending to some dishes. She leaned back and watched Eli approach the counter. “Hello,” she called, cheerfully.

Eli faked a smile and nodded at her.

She dried her hands on her apron and walked toward the register. Her nametag claimed she was Courtney. “What can I get going for you?”

Nervously, he pulled the card out of his pocket and slid it across the counter. “I was told to give this to you.” He kept his eyes locked onto her face, trying to gauge her reaction.

She glanced up toward the loft above them, and back to him. “Let me get you a drink started.” She smiled. “I’ll bring it right up.”

Eli held up his hands. “Oh, I don’t have any money on me.”

Courtney leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Don’t worry about it. Let me get you set up with something to drink.” Everyone was acting so weird. Whenever he was in trouble, or something strange was happening, Eli always got a tingling in his perineum and all over his scalp; anxiety started to bubble up inside him.

“Uh, Jesus, I don’t know.” He looked around the menu. He was about to have a panic attack here in the middle of this stupid little coffee shop. “Just an Italian soda, I guess. Peach.”

She smiled warmly. “You got it. There’s a set of steps toward the back,” she leaned over the counter and pointed, “that’ll take you up to the loft. Make yourself comfortable.”

He nodded back at her and walked quietly across the café and up the steps. The loft had three vacant tables, a couch and two large, plush chairs. He plopped down on the couch next to the banister and looked around the café below him.

There were a few people scattered around, some studying or reading books. There were a group of ladies sitting at one table who looked like your quintessential soccer-mom types. The barista darted around behind the counter with a cordless phone resting in the crook of her neck as she poured syrup into a plastic cup.

The feeling of anxiety crept back into his mind; the man would be there soon.

What did he know? How did he know about Bob Bobberson? Why in the world a coffee shop?

Eli pulled out his phone and thumbed in a message to his mother:

I’m meeting someone from school at a coffee shop to do a report. Can you pick me up when you get off work?

He examined the coffee shop again, and twice more to be sure. The phone beeped in his hand.

Sure. Where are you?

He sent her the address.

I’ll be there by 5:15. Will you be ready to go?

Yeah. Thanks.

At least she’d know where he had been if something went south.

Courtney came up the steps and carefully set the drink down on the coffee table before him. She knelt down. “Are you in danger?”

Eli shook his head. “I don’t think I am.”

She nodded. “If anyone comes in that you think might hurt you, just hide back here away from the edge. I chained off the loft, so you should be by yourself for a little bit. He should be here in about ten minutes.”

“Who is he?”

“Doctor Hague. He’s a good guy. He helps people with their problems.”

Eli glanced around. “Okay. Thanks.” He smiled weakly.

She stood up. “I’ve got to get back downstairs, so just wave if you need anything else.”

Eli nodded. Once she was gone, he leaned forward and grabbed the straw off the table. He put the paper wrapper in his pocket and took a sip. He considered taking out his book, but the door chime caught his attention.

He watched carefully as the man removed his gloves, finger by finger and glanced up at Eli. He talked quietly with Courtney as she pointed up to the loft.

His breath faltered. “This is fucking weird,” Eli mumbled to himself.

Courtney handed him a cup of coffee, and the man bent at the knees to collect his briefcase and started toward the steps.

Eli watched him as he made his way across the loft and sat down in one of the chairs across from him. Carefully, the man set his cup on the table and pulled his briefcase to his lap. He pulled out a small pad of paper.

“You seem nervous,” he said plainly.

“Huh?”

“You’re sweating, and the color’s drained from your face.”

“If we’re being honest, you’re freaking me out,” Eli said.

“Speaking of honesty, James isn’t your real name, is it?” He winked at Eli. “I’m thinking middle name? Or someone you know?”

“How did you know?”

“Normally, someone who is lying or trying to hide something repeats the question they were just asked.”

Eli sighed. “Who is Bob Bobberson?”

“Getting down to the brass tacks.” He slid his briefcase back to the floor. “We’ll get to Mister Bobberson. Formalities first.”

Eli slunk back. “Okay, then. Who the hell are you? And why did you send me here?”

“Everyone around here calls me Doc Hague.”

“Doctor?”

“Psychiatrist by trade. And, I don’t feel right calling you James.”

“Elijah,” he said, curtly.

“Elijah?” He scrawled a few notes into his notepad.

“Do you normally meet your patients in a coffee house?”

“Not my normal patients, no. Most of the clients I see at my practice are adults, but sometimes I get a kid about your age who can’t see me for any number of reasons. Crazy, religious parents, abusive relatives… that sort of thing. People who need to talk and can’t be obvious about it, we meet them here.”

“We?”

“A few of us doctors do a little outreach here, and since I only work a half-day on Friday mornings, I’m the one on call Friday afternoons. We come here because it’s a safe place if there’s an emergency. It’s public, so people are less likely to make a scene. Most of all, it makes the person seeking our help feel more comfortable.”

“Shit. I don’t feel comfortable about any of this.”

“Because of your age, I thought it might better if we met here.”

Eli tried to gather his jumbled thoughts; he stared down at Courtney as she worked.

“Tell me about your boyfriend.”

Eli blushed. “Excuse me?” He looked around. “Man, I don’t know you. I don’t even know why I’m here, or what you want.”

He nodded. “That’s fair. I deserved that.”

“Why the hell are you meeting high school guys at the park? What, did you want to spike my drink and take me home and do things to my butt? You after my cookies or something?”

He chuckled. “You’re a little firecracker, aren’t you?”

Eli stared.

His grin fell. “Uhh, no. I’m not into high school boys. Your friend was using a service meant for people over eighteen. I do have a thing for younger men, but not underage men. I assure you, I’m not after your cookies.”

“What do you mean by younger men?”

“Eighteen and older.”

“You date eighteen year olds?”

“I’ve dated one or two.”

Eli shook his head. “You’re, what, sixty?”

He nodded. “Very close. Let’s say I am.”

“Why would a guy close to my age want to date a guy old enough to be his grandfather?”

He leaned forward slightly, taking the mug into his hands. “You’re not versed in the gay community, are you?”

“Versed? Not really.”

“He was your first boyfriend?”

Eli pulled his hands down his face.

“Someday, you’ll come to learn that it takes all kinds. There are all kinds. I like to date younger gentlemen because they make me feel young, but the guys that go for older guys like me carry a lot of daddy issues around with them.”

“Uh, gross?”

“Not those kinds of daddy issues. Do yourself a favor, and take a psychology course before you graduate. And speaking of psychology, your boyfriend—”

“Dude, I’m not even your patient. I already have a therapist.”

“What did the message say?”

Eli chewed on his lip and steamed for a bit. “It said…” He sighed. “It said they were going to tell everyone about him, and that nobody liked a fag.”

“Just him?”

“Yeah.”

“So they probably didn’t know about you?”

Eli shrugged.

“What if they had? What would you do if they told everyone about the two of you?”

“I’m used to being a punching bag. I don’t things would have changed much.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He sat back. “Do you have the messages with you, by chance?”

“They’re at home, and no, I’m not taking you to my house so I can show them to you.”

“I wasn’t asking you to.” He paused. “Be sure to go through his deleted messages. I’m sure you’ll find more. The sooner, the better. Before the server deletes them permanently.”

“I’m not saying anything else until you tell me about this Bob Bobberson person.”

“People.”

“People?”

“From what I’ve seen, I think there’s more than one of them. They’re working together. But I could be very wrong.”

Eli shook his head. “Wait… what? How do you know all this?”

“I’ve dealt with Bobberson before; I crossed paths with several of his victims. Some survivors, and some who were left behind. There’s a pattern.”

Eli pursed his lips and thought a moment.

“And the one thing they have in common is someone with the last name of Bobberson is anonymously attacking them through social media.” The first name is usually different. Rob, Robert, Bobby, Dick, Richard, John, Glen. All of the profiles are fake, and they get deleted fast. Whoever is doing this, they cover their tracks well.”

Eli shook.

“There’s a catfish on the loose.” He took a sip from his mug.

“A catfish?”

“They’re dangerous people who you don’t want to mess around with. Your Jacob was a target.”

“Isn’t that murder?”

“In this state? Not yet. The worst someone gets for it is a low-level manslaughter charge if the judge is any good. Maybe a slap on the wrist and a fine. At most, six months in jail.”

“Who’s doing this? They’ve got to be able to find them with all the technology they have out there.”

“It’s not always as easy as you’d think. I’m guessing it’s someone under twenty-three or twenty-four. Could be a college student, but more than likely a high-schooler who lives in one of the nearby suburbs. Could even be this one. They set up their victims, lure them out into the open, and then they threaten them. It could be a serial interest which might develop into something far worse.”

Eli stared at him in horror. “Why haven’t you called the police?”

He shifted in his chair, and crossed one leg over the other. “I’ve talked to several officers about it. On some of the cases I’m dealing with personally, I’ve had the patient call. But because of how they’re tied in with my patients, I can’t really say much because of confidentiality. The catfish isn’t a physical threat, just a mental one, and the police around here don’t really take the gay community seriously. Not to mention everything has been so spread out that it’s hard to get them to look at it because it’s happening in multiple jurisdictions.”

Eli was angry—at the doctor, at the police, at Jacob for not telling anyone—angry at everybody. “I just don’t get how this can keep happening.”

“I can only confirm two cases in this county, including your Jacob, but there could be as many as six.”

“Jesus shit.”

He leaned forward. “Elijah, I’d like whatever information you can give me.”

* * * * *

Eli spotted his mother pulling up to the curb. He walked to the door and climbed inside the car.

Once he was buckled in, his mother started forward. “How was your study session?”

He let out an irritated sigh. “It was whatever.”

She glanced across the cab at him. “What’s with the tone?”

“Nothing,” Eli snapped.

His mother shook her head. “Jesus, you reek of coffee. I think you need to cut back on the caffeine. You get wired, then you get snappy when you crash.”

“I didn’t drink anything with caffeine,” he argued.

“Elijah, calm down.” She rubbed the steering wheel. “What’s with you today?”

“Another fucking day in paradise.”

She stared at him, a hint of anger flickering in her eyes. She shook her head and returned her focus to the road.

A shallow breath turned into a small sigh as Eli rested his head against the window and stared at the passing street. The last thing he wanted was for the scope of Jacob’s death to be widened. He was stuck, and he didn’t know what to do.

Jacob hadn’t been out. He’d told Eli that he didn’t want to come out of the closet until he was in college.

Eli respected that, but if he went to the police with what he’d found, then everyone would find out. People would know Jacob was gay. What would it do to his family if they found out about him?

When things had changed in their relationship, Eli had become protective of Jacob and everything they had together. He would have done anything to make Jacob happy, and he didn’t even want to think about what would happen if they were to break up. Jacob had even told Eli he’d go to the local community college to get his general stuff out of the way while Eli worked through his senior year, so they could move out-of-state and go to college together.

Before the Earth had shattered into a million little pieces, Jacob had convinced Eli that he’d follow him to the ends of Gaia. And Eli would have done the same.

Doc Hague told Eli he wanted to talk to him again, maybe in two weeks or so. The man had ripped the bandages off before the wounds had healed, but he seemed more interested in being an armchair detective and profiling Bobberson.

Eli sucked in his bottom lip, huge droplets pooling in his eyes. He was suddenly very dizzy, his heart racing in his chest.

The car pulled into the parking lane.

He felt his mother’s hand on his skin, gently rubbing his forearm. His breath quivered and hitched.

She pulled him to her, holding his head in the crook of her neck as he sobbed.