How do I find someone from social media?

Who is the faceless man from TikTok?

The faceless man’s other social media accounts.

Is there AI software to find people based on their tattoos?

See? She’d started it. And yes, I was aware that argument wouldn’t hold up in a court of law, but this was the hill I chose to die on – the belief that Aly was a little fucked up too. Just enough that she might hesitate before reporting me. And if I were really lucky, enough to play along with all the things I had planned for her.

My attention returned to the video feed as she scooped her phone up and sat on the edge of her bed. The camera I’d installed was a genius little device. It mimicked her phone charger, with a working USB port and everything. While the blank white space above it looked innocuous enough, it was actually a film screen with a wide-angle camera hidden behind it that was damn near imperceptible without a specialty device detector. I’d swapped her charger out for it right before leaving, checking on my phone to see if it was up and running before I slipped into the night and triggered another blackout to hide my escape.

I tapped a few buttons and zoomed in on Aly’s phone. She was on my social media page, probably getting ready to either block me or read me the riot act through a DM.

“I knew it,” she said as she scrolled. “Bed. Couch. Wall.”

I started to frown before I realized she was talking about the backgrounds in my videos. I filmed them all in my bedroom while Tyler was either fast asleep or out of the apartment, and those were the three locations I used. Until Aly’s bedroom. Had she noticed the difference?

She ran a hand over her face and turned to look at Fred, who sat by her side purring so loud I could hear it over the speakers. “So, he’s probably not a serial killer who uses the app to lure his victims.”

I reared back. Was that what she’d thought? Fuck. That was the absolute last thing I wanted. How did I fix this? I was half tempted to send her a DM explaining myself, but how would that work? Hey, Aly, it’s me, the man who broke into your house. I was just watching you through the camera I hid in your room, and I wanted to let you know that you are correct. I am not, in fact, a serial killer.

Jesus Christ.

I knew I should have argued with my therapist when she said it was time to wean me off the anti-psychotics. Clearly, they’d been necessary if one of the first things I did once they were out of my system was start stalking someone.

I lifted my hand and was about to kill the video feed when Aly turned on her bed and finally looked at the mask. My finger hovered over the button as her expression shifted into something I hadn’t seen before. Her eyes fluttered half shut, and she bit her full bottom lip in a way that had me leaning forward in my chair. A pretty flush stained her cheeks pink. Was she about to cry?

She glanced sideways at her cat. “Only one way to find out.”

Before I could zoom back in on what she was doing, she tapped something out on her phone, fingers flying over the screen before hitting a final key. A swoosh sound followed, like she’d just sent an email or a text.

My phone chimed on my desk.

I froze.

Oh, shit. Had she DM’d me?

Carefully, like it might rear up and bite me, I lifted my phone. A notification flashed across it, reading, “User aly.aly.oxen.free would like to send you a message.” My heart pounded against my ribs as I unlocked the screen and opened her message.

This might sound completely insane, but did you break into my house tonight, film a video in my bedroom, and leave a mask behind?

Fuck. How did I respond? If I said yes, it could eventually get held against me in a court of law. If I said no, I’d be gaslighting her. Was there some way to play it cool? Answer her question with a question that neither confirmed nor denied her suspicions?

What would you do if I said yes? I asked. There. That seemed safe enough.

Onscreen, her app pinged, and I had a front-row seat as she read and reacted to my reply. She bit her lower lip again, sucking in a breath as she pulled her phone close. A few loose strands of hair fell over her shoulder, obscuring her profile from my sight.

“Holy fucking shit, he answered,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “He never answers anyone. Ever.”

Turn right a little so I can see you better, I almost demanded, but that would give the camera away, and now that I had her talking, I wasn’t ready to have the feed cut off.

She started typing again, and a second later, my phone chimed.

That depends, she said.

On what, Aly? I typed back.

She sucked in another breath, and I grinned. So she liked it when I used her name. Did it make her feel special, knowing that the man she’d openly lusted after online, who notoriously never responded to comments or DMs, had finally chosen to speak to someone, and that someone was her? If so, I’d type and say her name every chance she gave me.

On what your intentions are, she said.

I sat back in my chair. My intentions. How to respond? There were so many options, so many fantasies I’d played out in my mind with her already. There was the one of waking her up in the middle of the night with a knife to her throat, but instead of turning the blade on her, I slid the handle between her legs and used it to edge her to the brink of insanity, teasing her but never giving her what she wanted despite how much she begged and sobbed for release. Or the one where I kidnapped her in the hospital parking garage, drove her into the middle of the woods, and told her to run as far as she could because what I planned to do when I caught her would make even the Devil weep.

But she probably wasn’t ready for any of that right now, and she might still be thinking about calling the cops, so I settled for taunting her instead.

My intentions? Oh, Aly. Why would I tell you what they are when your previous comments have led me to believe that fear is half the fun for you?

I lifted my eyes just in time to watch Aly drop her phone on the comforter and place her head in her hands. “I need so much more therapy than I’m currently getting.”

I grinned, because same.

Fred meowed and butted his head against her arm.

“Fur therapy isn’t going to cut it this time, buddy,” she said, scooping him up. “And I’m sorry for this, but I need to do grown-up human things right now, and you can’t be in here.”

As I watched, she strode to her bathroom and set Fred on the tile floor, apologizing again as she shut him inside. I waited with bated breath as she returned to the bed and picked up her phone.

How can I trust that you wouldn’t hurt me? she asked.

You can’t, Aly. I’m a stranger on the internet.

She let out a sharp exhale and shook her phone. “Don’t you think I know that? I just need some sort of reassurance that I’m not about to be headline news.”

I should have felt bad for her, but, just like her fear, her obvious aggravation only turned me on. It had been a long time since I’d made a woman this frustrated. Usually, I preferred their frustration to be sexual, winding them higher and higher until they finally snapped, but with Aly, I got a thrill from even this benign form of antagonism. There was something about seeing such a beautiful woman turn feisty that got me going. Maybe it was the challenge. I liked women with some fight in them. Ones who didn’t put up with bullshit, spoke their minds, and could take care of themselves.

Not that I had anything against meeker women; they just weren’t for me. In fact, they downright terrified me because they’d been Dad’s preferred prey. I’d never even dated one, let alone slept with one, on the off chance that I shared his proclivities. I stuck to strong, borderline-aggressive women instead. Ones who had a better chance of fighting me off if I ever…well, I’d rather not think about that while Aly still filled my computer screen.