JUST FINISHED POSTING LINKS TO THIS PART IN ALL COMMENTS IN PART 4. I DON'T THINK I'LL BE ABLE TO DO THAT AGAIN SO PLEASE CHECK BACK 24 HOURS FROM THE PUBLICATION OF THIS POST. RIP MY FINGERS.
Hi again, everyone!
As I do in every new post, thank you for your support and encouragement! I read every single comment and reply to as many as I can or have something useful to reply. David is nowhere to be seen in this new town, thankfully, so I don't think he's realized that I've moved on. I've had some time to keep figuring out where things are in this town.
Once again, just reminding everyone: these are past events, we haven't caught up to the present day yet. I also want to remind everyone that I am writing these each day. No, I don't have parts built up so I can't make them longer or release them all at once. Sorry, guys. A few people keep asking, so I'm just clarifying.
One more thing. As I was reading every comment, like I do, I noticed one person whose birthday is today and they got downvoted for suggesting this could make a good manga series. So I want to wish them a public happy birthday! Happy birthday, /u/Superqami!
Let's begin!
The police took Isaac out in a body bag. Mrs. Watson left with the body, still sobbing uncontrollably.
I was told that I couldn't go into my apartment until they were completely done with the crime scene. No, they didn't know when that would be. They suggested a hotel room, which I laughed at. I asked if I could grab a blanket and a pillow from my room so I could sleep in my car. They reluctantly brought it to me, and I gagged when I grabbed them. They smelled like death.
Hernandez offered to get me a motel room, or let me stay at his place, or even begged me to call a friend and stay with them. I refused all three.
I walked to my car and ignored Hernandez. I was still too mad about everything and devastated that Clark had left. Besides, we couldn't do surveillance on the car while I slept in it. I marched all the way to my car and slammed the door hard.
I decided I didn't feel safe parking near my house to sleep, so I went to a Walmart parking lot for the night.
It was as if fate had finally begun to root for me. I was walking towards the Walmart entrance from the parking lot to buy some food. When I was only a few cars away, an armored truck pulled up. The ones that carry the money over to the bank, you know what I mean.
And who do you think stepped out of the truck?
David. Fucking. King.
I strafed to my left and got behind a car, using the back tinted windows to observe. He was laughing with his partner, who got out of the passenger side. I was too far away to hear what they were saying, but I definitely didn't recognize the partner as anyone I knew. It was obviously paranoia, but I wondered if he could be the one who had made Katie speak into the phone.
The two of them walked into Walmart, and I took note of the company that owned the truck. And then I had an idea. My first real idea on how I could fight back now that I knew where David was right this second.
I sprinted back to my car.
A little while later, I pulled up to Mrs. K's house. I got out and looked around, making sure David hadn't somehow beaten me here or followed me. I had to hurry. Who knew how much longer his shift would last?
I knocked on the door, and Mrs. K opened it.
"Hello, Zander," she said cheerfully.
"Hi, Mrs. K! Can I come in?"
Five minutes later, I was rifling through David's room. Had to hurry. Had to find something useful and fast. I'd told Mrs. K that years ago I'd let David borrow a video game and just now remembered and wanted to pick it up. She had happily let me go into his room and find them.
I had booted up his ancient laptop, but it was taking forever to load. Why the hell hadn't he bought a new laptop with all the money he stole? That would have made good evidence.
I glanced at every paper I saw, hoping for something. Written plans. A checklist. A receipt. Anything. Every paper I found was normal, from what I could see. His room was a disaster, which worked in my favor. He may have dropped something incriminating and not known about it.
I stuffed every flash drive I could find into my pockets as I went. He had four of them laying around. They might have incriminating evidence on them.
The laptop finally booted, and I instantly tried to log in. No luck: password protected. I should have known, considering how tech-savvy he'd been in hacking my accounts. In fact, all the incriminating data was probably on the laptop. He wouldn't bother printing anything out.
That gave me an idea. I picked up the laptop and flipped it over. A toolbox laid under the table and I snatched a screwdriver from it. Using the screwdriver, I went to work disassembling the laptop.
When I'd finished, I held his hard drive up in my hand.
"I will ruin you, David King," I whispered.
As I reassembled the laptop, something caught my eye under the bed. A box. Furrowing my eyebrows, I pulled it towards me. It was a shoe box with dust covering the top. A few spots were less dusty where someone had handled the lid. I opened it slowly and peered inside.
It contained a quarter-inch thick stack of pages all bound together by a binder clip. The box was too small to let the pad lay flat, so it curled in the box. The pages were old and worn. They'd clearly been handled frequently. I lifted it out and noticed that it looked like a research paper. The front page had a title in the middle of the page and an author at the bottom.
"Psychological Evaluation for: David Edward King." The bottom of the page had the name of the institute and psychologist that had done the study as well as the year. I did the math, and the evaluation must have been done when he was 16.
Jack. Pot.
I stuffed it under my shirt as best I could to hide it's square form. The laptop was set back in its place as if it were never moved. David would know something was wrong eventually, but not until he booted it up. I gave a last look around and wondered if there was anything else I should do.
With no decent ideas, I left David's house.
Mrs. K gave me a brownie on my way out.
On the drive back to the Walmart, I tried to come up with a plan. I couldn't take this to the police because it was illegally obtained evidence and wouldn't be admissible in court. I knew that from a bunch of crime shows. I had to get at the evidence myself and somehow get it into the police's hands legally.
When I parked at the Walmart, it still wasn't that late. I walked inside, carrying the flash drives and psychological evaluation with me.
I used the demo computers to look at the contents of the flash drives. Looking back now, I'm amazed they let USB sticks work on the demo machines. The first flash drive had old high school papers on it. Nothing useful there. The second and third drives were bootable drives that could boot Linux. I don't expect everyone to understand what that means, it's not important.
It was on the fourth flash drive that I had my first breakthrough of evidence. It contained a single text file that had been edited the day before. As I read through it, I realized that it was a conversation. With my current understanding, the flash drive was how David and his kidnapping partner had been communicating. David would write a message and hide the flash drive in a predetermined place. Then the kidnapper would go pick it up and read the message. The process would reverse when the kidnapper had a message to pass along.
A lot of you will probably say "why wouldn't they just use encrypted emails? That's so much faster and safer." If they had used any kind of network to communicate, some Internet Service Provider or some cell phone provider like Comcast would have a log entry of the messages being exchanged, even if the data was encrypted. Encrypted data is never 100% secure. If you dedicate enough processing power, you can crack any encryption. It may take thousands of years in some cases, but it could still be cracked. With our current advances in computing power, that could change to be even faster.
David and his partner had reduced their risk of being caught by limiting who had access to the information. If you send an email to me via Reddit, I'm not the only one that "gets" the message. It passes through several servers and routers who all make a note that a message passed through at a specific time. It leaves a trail. Unless you can erase the logs of those servers, you leave a trail no matter how you send your data.
There was certainly risk that someone could find the flash drive, plug it in and find all of this data like I had, but that could be reduced by choosing decent hiding places. If you plan to pass messages this way, don't leave it laying around your room. Especially don't leave it unencrypted. I still don't know why it wasn't encrypted.
The text file would have a line, then skip a line and add another where the next response was. I don't have the flash drive or a copy of the conversation anymore, so I'll have to paraphrase as accurately as I can remember. I'll use bullet points here on Reddit to format it more easily for you.
Payment received?
Yes.
Last half of payment comes when this is all over.
How long?
Depends on him.
Good?
Good. No suspicion. A quiet grab.
Was she harmed?
She fought. A couple bruises. Otherwise fine.
There were some extra lines in between, marking the start of a new conversation.
Any new information?
A kidnapping report has been filed with the police. Change locations every two days as previously discussed. Are you well supplied?
We have enough in the truck to keep moving and stay operational.
Good. With any luck, this will be over soon once he makes an irreversible mistake.
I shuddered as I closed the text file. That was damning evidence. I checked who the owner of the file was. It was blank. Well, that would have been too convenient.
I googled the kind of cable I would need to hook the hard drive up to a computer, and bought a SATA to USB cable. I was thankful that the demo computers were in an aisle out of the view of employees in the tech center. To people who don't know technology, I'm convinced I looked like a hacker.
Let me give you another lesson on technology, since I seem to be giving so many in this series. When you boot your computer, it asks for a password if you've set one. Without that password, you can't access the hard drive unless you do some hacked up work-around. In some cases, however, you can unplug the hard drive and plug it into another computer instead. The new computer will treat it like a regular external hard drive and voila, you have access.
Unfortunately, David had encrypted his entire hard drive, so it was useless to me at the moment until I had some spare time to either guess the password or find someone who could crack it.
Going to the summer supply section of the store, I took a seat and pulled out the psychological evaluation and looked at the cover page again. "Psychological Evaluation for: David Edward King." I hope you realize that I've removed the institution, author, and date for privacy's sake.
I spent an hour skimming the contents, using the table of contents to navigate. I constantly had to look up lengthy words on my phone, but I was beginning to understand what went on in David's sick little mind.
I won't give you an entire rundown of his whole life, but the report contained transcripted interviews with his parents about incidents, a psychologist's observations while holding David in confinement, and a general list of events that had occurred in David's life that may have traumatized him.
These are the ones I remember:
David set fire to animals constantly and poked them with various objects. When a snake lunged and bit him once in his backyard, his mother came out to find him whipping the limp body against a tree, guts spraying everywhere. His only explanation was, "it tried to hurt me."
He was found designing traps for rabbits and other animals that were expertly hidden and designed. He claimed to have never looked at a wilderness guide to make them. His mother later found entire notebooks containing designs for traps. The traps were aimed at getting both animals and humans.
His father died when he was 12, which affected him greatly. He became quiet and reserved for years. The first day of high school, however, he changed overnight and became charismatic, energetic, and clever.
In middle school, one of his teachers had been interviewed after an incident. She had noticed that three boys had begun picking on David, but he quietly took whatever they gave him. One day, she came to class, and all three boys sat ramrod straight and stared straight ahead. They didn't dare look at David, and David was smirking and trying to hide it.
Finally, let me try to summarize what the psychologist wrote about David.
"David seems to have a constant need to harm other living things and cause suffering. Once, in my office, I found him stomping his feet on the floor. I asked what he was doing, and he admitted that he was trying to crush anything microscopic that could be on my floor. I seriously fear that he will not be able to remain in society without serious medication and therapy."
I had no idea that David had any of these problems or experiences. He and I had met when we were both 17. He'd been exactly as the report described: charismatic, energetic, and clever. I felt blind for not seeing any red flags, but I knew that he had hidden them well intentionally.
The psychologist made another entry a month later.
"David seems to have performed a complete 180 in his mood, actions, and demeanor. He has been polite and kind every time he has come in, and is very capable of being fully functional."
The sentence struck me as odd. Months of statements about David's instability, and suddenly this comes out?
I googled the professor's name. He'd died in a car crash the same year as the publication date on this evaluation. Son of a bitch. I reread the very last entry. I recognized the words for what they were: a coerced recommendation to re enter society. I could feel the psychologist's words scream through the page.
"Good God, he's going to kill me."
No wonder David was so prepared. No wonder he was always ahead of me. No wonder his expression had spread such an absolute fear through me that night he chased Clark and I. He was insane. He designed traps. He knew what made people and animals tick. He enjoyed inflicting pain on them, and not just that, but watching them suffer.
David was absolutely insane. Insane, but functional. That's what made him dangerous.
I hunkered down in my seat and brought up a word document in my phone where I could take notes. Then, I started googling. You know what I'm talking about. You're facing a problem, and so you start searching for anything online that could help you fix your problem. The internet was a wonderful tool for me at this moment. Without it, I'd be dead months ago.
I was kicked out of the Walmart for loitering, but I continued my research in my car. I turned the car on every once in awhile to drive around and charge my battery.
That night, I learned a lot about hacking, phones, android, surveillance, police procedure, legal procedure, and all kinds of subjects that related to my situation. I took dutiful notes and outlined areas for further research and learning.
During my research, I found a list of apps that could be used for hacking someone's phone. I checked my installed applications, and can you guess what I found buried in my phone? One of those apps.
David Fucking King had been eavesdropping and tracking me through my phone. Instead of deleting the app, however, I kept it. It could be useful in the future.
I also researched the company David apparently worked for. It was a larger company that served several states, providing "both long and short distance transport of valuable goods." This was good information. If his job was to handle valuable goods, then it could be an easy way to get him fired or even charged if some of it disappeared from his truck. His truck was long gone by then, so I had no current opportunity.
During all hours of the night, Hernandez would call me. So would Katie's mom. I ignored them both. That was a big mistake, I'll later learn.
When the sun rose, I didn't feel tired: I felt empowered.
Finally, I knew more about my situation and enough to be useful. I knew how to get those hard drives to the police legally, but I'd need Clark and Hernandez's help.
I never got to use that plan, though. Reality caught up with me. David moved too quickly.
I was driving to my apartment to see if I could brush my teeth take a shower at least before work that day, when my phone buzzed. It was Hernandez. I answered it reluctantly, prepared to get an earful for ignoring him all night.
"Zander, where are you?" he asked.
"Driving to my apartment," I replied.
"You need to come down to the police station..." he said slowly. "Right away."
"Why? What's up?" I asked.
"It's... bad," he said with a cringe.
Confused, I hung up and turned right, heading towards the police station.
I walked into the police station lobby to find Hernandez waiting for me.
"Did Isaac's body turn up anything?" I asked, looking at his worried expression.
"They're still analyzing it," he said. Then he took a deep breath. "Some... new development has come up."
I gave him a questioning look, and then felt cold metal click around my right wrist. I reacted, but the two cops who had flanked me pulled my arms together. The metal clicked around my other wrist, handcuffing me.
"WHAT THE HELL!" I shouted. The policemen each gripped one of my arms.
"Zander, I know you're upset about everything that's going on," Hernandez said quietly. "But what you did went way too far."
"What the fuck are you talking about?!"
Hernandez held up a bag containing a phone. He used the touch screen through the bag and navigated to the phone's voicemail.
The voicemail was jolty and sounded like whoever had the phone was running. Wind struck the mic, making it hard to hear in places. But the voice was unmistakable. It was mine.
"Fuck you, jackass. You ruined my credit, stole my money, hacked my accounts, and stole my shit! I'm going to kill you! You think I need motivation to hurt you? I'm going to kill you, you son of a bitch. You'll burn in hell! You'll burn!"
My heart shuddered to a halt. I had said those things. I had literally said those things. The night David chased us and pinned me to the table, I'd said every word. The bastard had been recording the whole thing, and now had edited it into a threatening voicemail.
"David King's home burned down last night," he said slowly, watching me. Gauging me.
"David and his mother were still inside. Firefighters found David alive and were able to pull him out, but his mother was already dead. That voicemail was sent to his phone from yours at around the time firefighters estimate the fire started."
I lost my breath. My eyes watered. The world closed in. I couldn't speak. Couldn't defend myself. Couldn't explain.
"Zander Jones, you're under arrest."
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