The Motif

Chapter 10

Sure enough, Jennifer barely had time to kick off her shoes after returning to her motel room before her phone rang.

"'Ello," she said.

"Hey Jen, it's Tim. I've got something for you. I should warn you...it only gets weirder."

"I figured as much," Jennifer replied. "What you got?"

"First, let me preface this by stating that I had to break about two hundred federal internet privacy laws in the process, so if this whole thing goes south, I'm bringing you with me."

"Just tell me what you fucking found out, already," Jennifer snapped.

"Okay, okay. First of all, I logged into your Twitter account a little while ago, to check on the message, and sure enough it's already disappeared. Can't find any trace of it whatsoever. So, unless you deleted it, then you were right about that part."

"I didn't delete it."

"Yeah, I didn't think you had. As for the website...it appears to have been uploaded by some guy named Harper Kyrie. He was a musical therapist who – "

"Wait...back up. Musical therapist? What the heck is that?"

"Pretty much what it sounds like. It's someone who specializes in using music to help their patients maintain their health – psychological as well as physical. Basically, they study the effects that various types and moods of music can play on human psyche and physiology. Seems rather wishy-washy to me, but there you have it. Anyway, this Kyrie guy apparently dabbled a bit in composition, also, but never really went anywhere with it. He lives in Roslindale – a suburb just south of Boston. I've got an address for you if you want it."

He quickly recited a Washington St. address, which Jennifer scribbled down on a notepad from the hotel room study desk.

"Oh, and there's something else," Tim said, hesitantly.

"Why am I not surprised?" Jennifer sighed.

"When I realized the supposedly random string of letters was the site's real domain, and not a re-directional link, I decided to run the letters through a code decryption software I have. Didn't think anything would come of it but figured I might as well check."

"And?"

"Well, it was a code. A fairly simple Caesar Cypher, actually."

"Sorry...a Caesar Cypher? You're speaking Greek, geek."

"Actually, Caesar was Roman, but that's beside the point. A Caesar Cypher is a basic code, where you just shift the letters of the alphabet, so in this particular example, the alphabet goes: M, N, O, P, Q, R, S, T, U, V, W, X, Y, Z, A, B, C, etc. So, to translate it, M becomes A, N becomes B, O becomes C, etc."

"Okay, so what does the website's domain translate to?"

"Are you sitting down?"

"Yes, just tell me already!"

"It translates to Harper Kyrie."

Fuck.

"Jen, look, I know it's pointless even asking, but please don't go out to this guy's house. I've got a really bad feeling about all of this."

"Thanks for your concern, Tim, but I've got it under control. I have to get to the bottom of this, and all arrows are pointing to this Harper guy."

"Will you at least tell me what all of this has to do with Kimmi's murder? I think you owe me that, after everything else."

Jennifer took a deep breath. On the one hand, she had promised John not to tell anyone about the case file. On the other hand, Tim was right: she owed him.

"Okay, but now it's your turn to sit down first," she said, and then proceeded to tell him about all the other murders that had been cropping up over the last month, and how the one link between each killer was that they had all scribbled the same, cryptic poem into their journal or web blog.

When she was finished, Tim said (after a slight pause), "Jen, this is crazy."

"Crazier than a social networking virus that somehow erases all traces of itself, and yet continues to spread infection after disappearing?"

"Yes, actually. Technology is constantly changing and evolving on a day-to-day basis. Just because I'm not yet aware of that kind of programming doesn't mean someone else somewhere hasn't figured out how to do it. What you're suggesting sounds like you think this website or MP3 file or something is making people go crazy and kill people, then commit suicide."

"Look, Tim, you know I'm just as skeptical about stuff like this as you are. But everything I have told you is real. What it means, I don't know. Believe me, I hope there's a better explanation for all of this besides the one you just outlined, but the only way to find that explanation is to follow the trail, and that trail leads to Kyrie. If you have a better explanation you can offer that will explain everything I just told you, then I will gladly turn around and get on the next bus back home."

She waited several moments, and her heart sank when Tim was able to offer no alternative. Tim, who always had a practical explanation, was stumped.

"Okay, fine," he said at last. "Are you sure you don't want me to come help you?"

"No. Don't come up here. I'll be fine. By the way...you haven't been having any...dreams, have you? Since listening to the song?"

"Nope. I'm still dream free. Why?"

"No reason."

Suddenly, her phone beeped in her ear.

"Crap, my battery's dying. Look, I'll call you in the morning on my way out to Roslindale, okay? I'll keep in touch."

"Okay. Look, Jennifer...I just want you to know, I..."

And then her battery died. Fan-fucking-tastic timing, you piece of crap, she silently cursed at her phone, as she crossed the room to where her backpack rested on the bed.

She emptied all the contents of the bag, and then cursed herself when she realized she had left her phone charger at her parents'.

"Stupid!" she snapped, smacking herself on the forehead.

She went down to the lobby, to see if they had a business center, so she could at least send Tim and her parents an e-mail, letting them know her phone was dead, but of course that was a little too high-tech for this particular establishment.

"You don't, by any chance, have any extra phone chargers behind the desk or anything? I'm sure people probably leave them all the time."

The receptionist looked at her with a somewhat vacant expression (she would not be surprised to find out he was high), and said, "Nah. We just throw those out. Easier than keeping track of them all, ya know?"

Lovely. She briefly considered venturing out in the morning to find a cell store, but she really wanted to get out to Roslindale and find out what was going on with the Kryie guy, so she figured Tim and her parents could wait a few extra hours to hear from her.

She returned to her room, cleared off the bed, climbed under the covers, and poured over in her mind the latest series of information she had received from Tim. Even more troubling to her than the revelations about Harper Kyrie was the fact that Tim was not showing any signs of being affected, and yet that damn song continued to haunt her dreams and waking hours. Why was she being affected, but Tim wasn't? And why had Kimmi not been affected, either? What did Kimmi and Tim share that the other people who had listened to the song didn't share?

Apparently, all the sleep she'd gotten the day before had been enough to satiate her need to rest for a while (or perhaps it was just apprehension over wanting to avoid returning to her slumber visions), as she had a hard time drifting off that night. Eventually she did find sleep sometime after two in the morning, but she found no reprieve in slumber for, once again, her dozing was distraught with visions, music boxes, and whispering voices.