Page 120 of Fame and Obsession

“It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack,” Helena grumbles, thumbing through her pile of papers.

“It’s worse…” Phoebe lets out an exhausted sigh. “We’re looking for a needle in a pile of needles.”

“Would you two stop?” I rub my forehead while flipping pages. “Just highlight every time you see it.”

“What’s the point, Julian?” Helena groans, slamming her highlighter on the desk. “I don’t get why we’re looking for this one name, and I really don’t get why you made me print out eight weeks’ worth of Surge’s message boards and Chatter feeds.”

“Phoebe said something that made me remember a conversation.” I look up to see both women staring at me with raised eyebrows. “Helena, do you remember our meeting after the album release? You shoved that printout of pissed-off posts in my face to prove a point.”

“A lot of good that did me, huh?” she mutters, glaring at Phoebe.

“Cut the shit, we don’t have time for this.” I swear, those two are too alike for their own good. “Something seemed familiar about them at the time, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.”

“So?”

As I scan the paper in my hand, it jumps off the page at me, typed boldly as if she didn’t give a damn about being discovered. Pointing to the name, I slam it down on her desk.

“Well, I finally put my finger on it.” I plant my index finger beside the name, my blood boiling. “Right fucking there.”

@AngElmie: Bitch took him from concert! Shld b hung by hair & taught manners.

Helena shrugs. “So it says AngElmie. Big deal.”

“No, it doesn’t. Read it again, out loud. Take the emphasis off the capital E for a minute and disregard the I. Say it smoothly.”

“Angelemee.” She draws the name out, then shoves the paper back at me. “Julian, I don’t think—”

“Angel, me,” Phoebe whispers.

“What?” Still confused, Helena slumps back into her chair. “I’m tired of this, Julian. Can’t you just take it to the police? It’s their job, not yours.”

“Angel, me, Helena,” Phoebe repeats sharply. “As in, Your Angel, Me.” She looks to me for confirmation, and I nod.

Helena lifts an eyebrow. “Your stalker’s signature?”

“Exactly.” I toss the highlighter. “She’s been hiding in plain sight from us for months.”

“But these are old messages, Julian. The police can’t do anything with this.”

“It’s a start at least,” I argue. It’s more than we had before.” I tip my chin at the marker on her desk. “Highlight anything resembling that screen name and then I’ll pay Detective Jaxon Hough a visit.”

She cut her eyes at Phoebe and snatches the highlighter, scanning the page again.

An hour later we have multiple piles of papers with slashes of yellow streaks through them. My stalker had been everywhere. I’d been too busy hiding behind my own guilt, and I’d let this woman taunt me in plain sight.

“Julian, how do you know Vivian didn’t do all of this?” Helena asks.

“Because she’s dead.”

We’ve pored over message boards for hours, and the stress is showing on everyone’s faces. Even with my discovery, I still don’t know who she is….

I still lack concrete proof of anything substantial that could help in finding her.

Dropping the papers, Helena kicks off her high heels and massages the arch of her foot. “You said you suspected her after she made threats against Phoebe, right?”

“So? It’s not like she calmly walked into an alley by Phoebe’s apartment and stabbed herself to death.” I grit my teeth. The last thing I want to do is imagine Vivian bloody and lying in a dirty alley.

“Well, maybe she pissed off the wrong person. I’ve been doing this a long time, Julian. Vivian was about as nutty as they come. I wouldn’t put it past her to stalk you right under your nose then have someone act as your personal executioner.” She shifts her eyes toward Phoebe.

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