Dot Com Boom

Anna Martinez

There are no bodies. No weapon. No physical evidence except the laptops and notes the dotcomkiller leaves at each upload site. None of it is helping us get any closer to finding out who he is. It’s been a month and the case isn’t going anywhere. And the fucking killer keeps adding to his video count, up to twenty now. He’s killing mostly children since they seem to get the most rise out of the public, I’m assuming, but he’s killed others as well. This might end up being one of those cases where we have to wait until the dotcomkiller screws up, and he doesn’t seem like the screwing up type.
Amazon stock is just about nothing, and we’ve begun to see videos pop up on Ebay, Facebook, and smaller commerce sites that our computer savvy people are telling me are the ones benefiting from all of the Amazon trouble, as if the dotcomkiller is following the online shoppers wherever they go.
I’ve been working alongside the task force that Donald assembled. A small group of five people plus Jake and me. There are a lot of smart people involved. I’m the odd one out usually, people never taking me seriously. And Jake, he continues to be missing in action. 
I feel so alone and helpless. I have to do something. But nothing leads anywhere. I’ve latched on to the only real evidence we have. The videos. I torture myself and watch them over and over again. It can’t be healthy. There’s nothing else I can do though. Nothing else I can do to stop this psycho. To stop him from hurting people, from hurting children. 
I needed a break. I stood, and almost fell right back down on my ass. My head was pounding. I couldn’t do this much more. This needed to end. I sat back down, looked up at the laptop, and I snapped. I swiped the laptop off the desk with my arm and it flew across the room and broke into a thousand pieces. I pounded the desk with my fist until blood rushed to it and it pulsed with pain. Then I collapsed into my arms and cried. Helpless and alone. I’m black sheep of the task force. And Jake must not even care about the case. How can’t he? The fucker. Next time I see him, I swear to God.
I wiped my tears away, sadness replaced with anger. I walked out of the FBI headquarters, hoping someone dared to mess with me. I hoped that I ran into someone I really hated. Someone like Greg-Or-Y, or hell even Merv would set me off right now. I wanted someone to mess with me. I wanted them to try. I knew it wasn’t right. But I didn’t feel like myself. I needed to drive. I needed to get away. I needed to see something good. I needed to see my family. They had a way of grounding me. They could help me find my way back from this nowhere place that I had fallen into.
I pushed the doors open. Careful Anna, don’t put your hand right through the glass. As the doors flung open, I was met with the brightest sunlight I’d ever experienced. How long had I been inside? How long had I neglected myself? How long did I let The Fucking Devil control me? I probably looked like shit. What kind of superficial thought is that at a time like this? My fucking eyes are burning. I shielded them and opened them slowly and reached into my pocket for my sunglasses. Damn it. I forgot them on my desk. As I opened my eyes, I was surrounded by reporters, holding cell phones up to my mouth, and at least fifteen cameramen pointing their cameras at me.
“Miss. Martinez can we have a word?”
“Why is the killer still out there after an entire month?”
“Aren’t the FBI doing anything to solve this case?”
“What are your thoughts on the theories that what the killer has done is only possible because he is someone powerful, maybe even in law enforcement?”
“Why are most of the victims children? What is the killer’s MO?”
“Twenty people are dead, and you have the videos of the crime. What is taking so long?”
I walked along at a brisk pace, ignoring them all. I kept my composure, and it was so hard. That is until they lost their composure. They made it personal.
“You lost a sister to a violent crime, and you’re still not doing anything to help these victims families. Why has the killer evaded capture for so long?”
I knew they were trying to get a rise out of me. This was the biggest story in the country for a month now. Nearly every day there was a new video. News outlets would take any angle to get more viewers. Now they were trying to get the unstable FBI agent on camera blowing up at them. I wouldn’t give that to them. Then: Vanessa. Memories of Vanessa triggered. I turned to the reporter. “What did you say to me?” I asked.
“Your sister is dead. You of all people should want to capture the killer. So why do nothing?”
I didn’t want to give them what they wanted, but I couldn’t help myself. Vanessa. You don’t fucking talk about Vanessa. I punched a camera that was way too close to my face. I knocked a cell phone out of a man’s hands, it landed on the ground and the screen didn’t even break, so I stepped on it. I screamed and I shouted. I’m sure I looked like a crazy person. People got the fuck out of my way now. Shit. I didn’t want to give them this. But it’s over now. It’s all on camera. I got into my car and before I slammed the door I said, “You don’t fucking talk about my sister!”