Page 2

Chapter 2

Elijah Grant

“No, you don’t get it, Zack. This person sounds batshit fucking crazy.”

I sat next to my best friend on one of the benches next to the Washington Square Arch. It was early evening, so the blazing hot summer heat from this afternoon was much more bearable. Even though it made the subways smell like one of the nine circles of hell and it had a detrimental effect on New Yorkers’ already short fuses, I had to say I loved the summer. Wearing shorts, hanging out at the park, longer days, bright green trees.

Everything about it made me happy.

“And you’ve already reported them to the website?”

“Yeah, man. They keep creating new accounts with different IP addresses. But all the accounts always start off with Nomad.”

“Do we know anyone that considers themselves a nomad ?” Zack asked, using air quotes and an eye roll. He’d been my best friend since high school—over twelve years now—and he’d known about my issues with this Nomad guy since they started. He knew about pretty much all my problems.

“You think it’s someone I know?” I asked. I leaned forward and rested my chin in my hands. A couple of pigeons hopped near my feet, pecking at the ground. I’d been assuming that the aggressive troll was some faceless dude miles and miles away. Or at least, naively, I’d been hoping it was some dumb troll who lived states away from me. It hadn’t crossed my mind that this person could be someone close to me.

Shit.

“I think it’s someone who’s definitely got it out for you. And from all the true crime shows I watch, it makes the most sense to start closest to the victim. Not that you’re a victim, obviously.”

“Damn, already offing me?”

Zack chuckled. He nudged me with his shoulder. The tattoo he’d gotten only a week ago was bright against his forearm, a watercolor hummingbird splashed with bold blues and vibrant greens and rosy pinks. “Just want you to be safe, that’s all.”

“I know… I mean, I have been thinking. There’s that one performer on the platform, Damon, who is always messaging me about problems he’s having and why he’s jealous of how well I do. Which is, I dunno, weird. Like why tell me you’re jealous of me?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty weird. Have you ever met him in person?”

“Nah, I think he lives somewhere down south. Florida, I think.”

“That’s not too far from here… And what about Bryan? He still giving you trouble?”

“Ugh, yeah,” I answered. Bryan Diaz was my neighbor and an annoying vulture of a human being. He somehow found out what I did for a living and decided it was his job to “cure” me of my sins and bring me over to the light. He would leave a countless number of religious pamphlets in my mailbox, would corner me in the hallway any chance he got, and had recently resorted to leaving prayers written on sticky notes attached to my door. “But I think he’s just a harmless religious fanatic.”

“When have those three words ever gone together?”

I sighed and rubbed the bridge of my nose.

“Maybe you should take a few weeks off camming?” Zack suggested. “Just until things calm down?”

“I’ve thought of that. I have enough money saved up. But then I feel like I’m letting this person win. I don’t want that. I don’t want someone having that kind of control over me.”

“Right, but at what cost?”

“I know, I know. It’s not ideal. I’m making the most money I’ve ever made in my life. Is it exactly what I thought I’d be doing? Obviously, no. I thought I’d be acting and singing my gay ass across a Broadway stage. But I know I want to keep doing this, but I don’t know how to get rid of this person.”

Zack rubbed his shoulder. “What if you hire someone? Like protection?”

“I’m making money, but not bodyguard money. Especially not here in New York. Not if I want to keep living in an apartment with a washer and dryer.”

“True, true.”

“ But I am going to be hiring someone. A detective. Someone to look into this for me.”

Zack raised a brow at that. “That sounds… hot?”

I scoffed. “My life’s not a soap opera. I’m sure the detective is going to be some half-balding guy with Cheeto dust covering his fingers, at least with my luck. That or a boss-ass woman who I’d rather be best friends with than hook up with.”

“You never know, dude. It’s like in those romance novels I read all the time.”

“Damn, you’re bouncing from true crime to romance?”

“It’s dark romance.”

“Ah, gotcha.” I chuckled and glanced at my watch. “Speaking of detectives, this one agency I found closes in like thirty minutes. I think I want to drop in.”

“They close by?”

I nodded and stood. The pigeons near my feet bounced away on their hunt for my crumbs. A busker played with a deck of cards laid out on a table in front of him. He made a few of them disappear in his sleeve, a pair of young kids watching the magic show with wide eyes. “Yeah, I can walk it from here. Want to come with?”

Zack sighed and dropped his head back. “Nah, I’ve got to study. I have a midterm coming up.”

“What class?”

“Pharmacology,” Zack replied. He grabbed his book bag from between his legs and tossed it over his shoulder. I was pretty damn proud of my bestie. He’d been struggling with finding a purpose lately. He’d worked a dead-end job in retail ever since I knew him and always hated the idea of going back to school or pursuing bigger opportunities. But something changed in him about two years ago. He enrolled in a couple of classes at a community college and applied to nursing school, getting accepted a few months ago. I could already sense there was a shift happening in him. He finally had direction, no longer staying inside his apartment, passing around bong hits with his roommates and chasing meaningless relationships with trashy guys. Instead, he spent his weekends at the library or studying with classmates.

It was an inspiring change to witness.

“Alright, I’ll hit you up after my meeting with the detective. Let you know how it went.”

“Sounds good. Stay safe, Eli.”

“I will.”

We walked toward the arch and separated, Zack heading for the subway station. I continued down the street, wondering if this was even worth it. Was I overreacting? This “Nomad” person was annoying—no doubt about that—but were they ultimately harmless? The threats sounded toothless to me.

But… well, what if it wasn’t? It was unsettling that this person kept coming back to my live streams. They were clearly dedicated to their cause, whatever cause that happened to be. And the messages were pretty benign at first, almost comical, but they’d progressively gotten more and more unhinged.

You deserve more than this.

I’ll find you and stop you myself.

You’ll regret ever coming on this website.

You’re mine.

I didn’t want to give up camming, either. I came from a rough childhood, with a lot of money insecurity. My mom, sister and I had bounced between shelters for most of my early life. I remember spending Christmas morning around a bunch of kids I’d only just met the night before. Volunteers came and dropped off donated gifts that were all snatched up in minutes, before I could get anything I actually wanted. My mom had saved a couple of dollars and taken me to the zoo that day.

We were back in the shelter that night. It wasn’t until a year after that Christmas, when I was turning twelve, that my mom found us some permanent housing. She started getting us back on our feet, hustling hard every day. She started off cleaning office buildings before she realized she could handle more, that she wanted more, and so she started the process of opening up her own cleaning business. My sister and I definitely butted heads, but my mom and I were best friends, she was a superhero. An inspiration.

And even though she was gone, I still strived to make her proud of me.

The sun had crept behind a tall apartment building. I walked through the lengthy shadow, passing a bakery that must have gone viral online because people were fanning themselves as they waited to enter. Two younger girls walked out and took a moment with their colorful pastries to pose and take a picture for their social media. I had to admit that the bright pink croissant was fun to look at.

I wondered how good it tasted, though.

The Stonewall Investigations offices weren’t much farther. I took a left down a quiet street and walked past a couple of brownstones before I reached the location on my maps.

It was a cute building, with dark green ivy crawling up the brick facade. There was a sign above the door that read Stonewall Investigations, a small rainbow sitting in between the words—a subtle sign that this agency was a safe space for all. One of my longtime viewers, NightOwl, had actually told me about this spot after I confided in them about what was happening with Nomad.

Not everyone online was out to get me, which was nice.

I climbed up the steps and opened the door. Inside, the lobby area was as cute as the exterior. There was a small desk where I assumed the receptionist should be. I checked the time again. According to the website, they should be open for another thirty minutes.

“Hello?”

There was a short hallway in front of me, the doors to the offices closed. I thought I could hear a soft shuffle behind one of the doors.

“Hello? Anyone here?”

Maybe I’d come back another time. I was about to leave when I heard a door open behind me, its hinges squealing and the wooden floor creaking as someone stepped out.

“Hi, hello, sorry, our front desk guy left early today.”

I turned around and laid eyes on one of the most handsome men I’d ever seen. I had been completely wrong. My expectations were wildly off the mark. This man was hot , with a scruffy dark beard, broody hazel eyes, thick brows, powerful shoulders, sexy forearms. And his smile, it caught me totally off guard. He had a softness to the edge of his attractiveness. Almost as if he didn’t even realize the power his appearance could wield.

“How can I help you?”

Wow. This man was hot in a traditional way mixed with something edgier, sharper.

“Hi, I’m, uh, looking for Benji Morrison? I was recommended to him by a friend.”

“Pleasure to meet you…”

“Elijah. Eli.”

“Please to meet you, Eli. I’m Benji, the detective you’re looking for. How can I help you?”