Linkd

Chapter 1: First Date, I Fucking Guess

Doesn't every story from the perspective of a murderer start with "I can't tell you my real name"? It's a cliché I've heard a thousand times, every book, every podcast, every shitty movie and TV show. Fuck that. Hi. I'm Leora. I'm a serial killer.

Before you make any assumptions about me- or at least, any more than you already have- none of them deserved to live. Rapists, pedophiles, wifebeaters and kidbeaters, corrupt politicians (which is a lot of them), the works. I do what the cops would never have the tact or the code of ethics to do; I get justice. And I'm rather good at it, if I do say so myself.

I spend late nights working most of the time, frequently pushing into early mornings. I usually don't get home until around 1AM, and by then I'm dead tired and ready to drink, binge eat, sleep, rinse and repeat until I'm back to work. It's a vicious cycle, but it's an effective one. However, there's a grey area between the time when I get home and the time when I inevitably pass out, and I often don't fill this with much but mindless browsing of the Internet- you know, as one does in this generation. And this is when I found it.

It was a fairly simple concept- Linkd: Find Your Perfect Connection. The algorithm analyzed your search history and matched you up with someone who had similar interests to yours. I am not the kind of person to download this kind of thing, and I really shouldn't- in my line of work, your search history gets absolutely absurd. But it was 3AM on a Saturday, the app was free, and I was bored out of my mind. Also maybe a little tipsy. But that's beside the point. Against my better judgement, I hit the "get" button.

I set up a profile with my real name. I use the fake one for the victims. Not sure why everybody else does it the other way around; fake IDs are a pain in the ass to acquire. Leora Andrews. 24. Female with a big ol' question mark at the end. Lesbian. Chronically incapable of settling on a hair color. Complete and total nerd about death. I snorted as I typed the words- that's a funny way of describing a serial killer, isn't it? I uploaded a few photos of myself; I was anonymous, but I wasn't catfishing, even if I doubted anybody would show up. A few taps later and I was swiping through photos.

The first several were incredibly unappealing. A forensic investigator- too risky. A true crime podcaster- creepy, and could easily put me together. A psychologist who worked with offenders, namely exactly the kind of people I worked to get rid of. With the utmost respect, hard pass. But there was one who caught my attention, for some reason.

Her name was Elise Marks. 22 years old, long wavy ginger hair, wide green eyes, 5'4" out of the wheelchair, and admittedly not unattractive. But she looked so... vibrant. Joyful. She did not look like the kind of person to have any kind of similar search history to me. I tapped her profile and scrolled down, and the last line fascinated me. You probably know me, but I can't say from where. Was she like me? I mean, if she was, this was a relatively stupid thing to be putting online, even if it was some kind of weird psychological trick to distract people. And then if she wasn't, then my curiosity was piqued. What the hell did this woman think she was playing at?

There was a button with an envelope on it at the top of the screen. I tapped it and started typing.

Leora: so, uh, not to ask the obvious question, but where do i know you from, exactly?

She opened the message and started typing. At that point I was debating closing the app and deleting it entirely. I was being incredibly stupid by downloading it, I knew how dangerous it could be. But by the time I was ready to do so, she had already sent a reply.

Elise: Have I not established clearly that I can't say on here?

Leora: so if i asked you to coffee, i would maybe have a shot?