The Follower by Kate Doughty (ebook reader with built in dictionary TXT) 📕

show you something. I wasn’t able to fall asleep this morning. First, I put another notification alert on the follower’s new username. But there’s something else . . .” She walks over to his bed and sits down beside him, pulling out her phone. “I was thinking, about the posts we’ve done, and about how dad said that no one would know how to target Cecily through her makeup, and I . . .” Her voice trails off as she scrolls through their channel on her phone. Rudy knows what she’s going to show him before it comes up. After all, the video is one of their top posts. It shows a younger Cecily, showing off her go bag. Listing all the things that were in it: Eyeliner. Concealer. The same makeup remover that burned her skin. He watches as his sister holds up the makeup remover to the camera, talking about how it’s one of her “tried-and-true, ride-or-die,” products. How she’s never without it.

Rudy feels his eyes go wide as everything clicks into place. “I mean—”

She cuts him off. “There’s more.” He looks at Amber. Her face is tight, determined. He hasn’t seen her like this before. She scrolls back, way back, and pulls up another video.

Messing with My Sisters: Allergy Prank. 673,112 views. 9,778 comments.

And there he is: Rudy, barely thirteen, pretending to gag in front of Amber and Cecily, acting all chokey and melodramatic as he gives a peanut candy an exaggerated chomp. He watches little Amber and little Cecily scream and go into all kinds of theatrics, sprinting for the EpiPen as Rudy writhes on the floor. Screaming about his allergy. About how he is dying.

This is one of the first videos they’d ever made together.

Rudy stares at the video for a long moment. “Are you saying that . . . someone tried to kill me? That they contaminated something on purpose?”

Amber swallows. “I mean, I know it could be cross contamination with the bagels from the factory or whatever, but . . .”

“But you think someone hurt Cecily,” Rudy says. “And . . .”

“If they wanted to hurt you based on things they gleaned from our profile, that would be the way to do it.”

The words hang in the air.

“How?” Rudy asks. Amber flips to another video:

Get Swole: My morning routine

And there is Rudy, explaining about how he makes a protein shake every morning. Holding up the canister of protein powder, explaining why this one tastes best and provides the most nutrients to fuel his workouts.

Rudy thinks back to that breakfast. Of how easy it was to just blame it on the bagels because of the damn warning on the bag. But the more he thinks about it, the more obvious it seems. “I had never had an allergic reaction from those bagels before . . .”

“But putting ground nuts into protein would be easy enough,” Amber says softly.

“There’s no way we can know for sure, because Mom threw everything out . . .” Rudy shakes his head, thinking. Could someone have really tried to hurt him? To kill him? And then, when that didn’t work, could they have gone after Cecily instead?

“You believe the follower. You think they did these things to us,” he says finally.

“Yes,” Amber nods. She steps forward, sitting on the other end of the bed. “Don’t say I’m crazy. Think about it—”

Rudy’s mind is racing. “The comments,” he says, trying to piece things together. “Those were the first things that were strange, weren’t they?”

Amber nods.

“And then there was the paint on the turret. Then Speckles. Then my allergic reaction, and now Cecily . . .” Rudy trails off.

“It can’t be a coincidence. Tell me I’m not crazy,” Amber pleads.

“I mean, what do we know so far?” Rudy asks. “That Alex Grable killed her mother here, that Evan Andrews died in some kind of freak accident—”

“The messages,” Amber says.

Rudy nods. “Get out of my house,” he whispers, remembering. “Why? Why does whoever want us out so badly?”

Amber’s eyes stray across the room, to Rudy’s nightstand. Rudy follows her gaze as it lands on the cassette recorder and the tape inside it.

Alex Grable. The name the follower chose for their account. The name their follower chose to use while stalking them.

Alex Grable is the key to finding the follower, Rudy realizes.

He’s about to vocalize this when the sounds of tires crunching up the driveway draw his attention to the window. The police are here, trailed by Mrs. Cole, home from the hospital just in time.

Rudy and his sister dart downstairs. This time, their father is ready and waiting to rush the police into the foyer. Rudy watches Sheriff Yang’s gaze hover on the less Instagram-worthy aspects of the Cole household, as Mrs. Cole follows him inside: the dust from the recent flooring, the dishes in the sink, the paint swatches littering every wall. He and Officer Perry take a seat at the table that their parents had set up in the demo’d kitchen for their meeting. With shaky breaths, Mrs. Cole gives an abbreviated version of recent events. She ends by turning to Amber and Rudy. In a slow, halting voice, Amber tells her story of the night. She leaves out the drinking and the cassette tape.

Sheriff Yang nods, his expression grave. Next to him, Perry makes detailed notes. “We’ve spoken with the hospital staff,” Yang finally says. “They haven’t been able to confirm the exact chemical compound of whatever burned Cecily from her wounds alone. We aren’t yet ruling out foul play. I’ve been told that you suspect something in her makeup or makeup remover?”

“Yes, officer, we do,” Mrs. Cole says, trembling slightly. “At least, the kids say that was all she touched, before . . .” She cuts herself off in a strangled sob. “You said foul play. You really think someone might have done this on purpose?”

“We can’t yet rule out the possibility,” Yang says.

Rudy exchanges a look with his sister.

“Can we see the room where all of this happened?” the sheriff asks.

The Coles lead the officers upstairs. They proceed without