Chapter 35: Other Fish in the Sea

For a moment, Eric's mind went blank with panic as he read the last DM again:

"Look up, dummy. I'm the one with the rabbits foot walking toward your car."

The appalling possibilities came to him one by one, each one worse than the last. A lunatic? Obsessed? But obsessed with what? With him, or with her? For a moment Eric stood paralyzed. He couldn't seem to hold a single thought in his head long enough to process it. He only knew one thing.

Tessa was in danger.

That damned pink rabbit's foot. It had all been her idea. "Should we have some kind of signal so I recognize you?" she had said. "They sell them at the service station. Exit 54. . . ." There had only been two pink ones left on the little hook next to the cash register this morning. Eric had purchased one and left the other one hanging.

He should have bought them both. Hell, he should have bought all the other colors too. Cleaned out the whole rack. He should have bought every last rabbit's foot in the entire state of Texas. He'd just left it there, dangling on the end of the hook. And someone else had bought it. Someone else had held it out to her. And Tessa had fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker.

The seemingly innocuous events of 20 minutes ago took on a new significance. The shadowy figure in the parking lot. . . . The pair of headlights that stopped just before the final bend in the road. . . .

That must have been her. Eric had stood right here and watched the whole bait and switch go down. The car had idled briefly, just long enough for introductions. Then it had swung around in a U-turn and gone-gone where, exactly?

They could be anywhere.

Had they gone back to Tessa's house? But where was that? She'd never given him the address. She'd never even told him the name of her town. And now she was out there somewhere, with some maniac, some total psychopath. Someone who knew about the rabbit's foot and every other detail of their private conversations - who'd probably been following their every word for months.

Eric felt the contents of his stomach heave, and he swallowed hard. He couldn't lose it. Not now. He needed to think.

He only had one hope - one way to reach her. The same way he'd had all along. He double-tapped the Cap Lock and began firing off DM's:

"STOP!"

"I'VE BEEN HACKED!"

"TESSA THAT WASN'T ME!"

"I'M STILL AT THE CLUB!"

"TESSA GET OUT OF THE CAR!"

She would see the notifications. She had to. She always did. How many times had he messaged her out of the blue at some random hour of the day or night, only to be rewarded with an instantaneous reply.

"Come on, Tessa," he whispered hoarsely. "Answer me, Goddammit!"

But the seconds ticked by with no response. 6:23 PM now. A full 20 minutes had passed since that car had driven off. She must have put her phone away. Must be busy getting acquainted-getting acquainted with "Taylor." Taylor, the first stranger that she'd dared to let back into her life. The one she thought she trusted. The one she thought she loved.

He nearly threw his phone across the parking lot.

He had to do something. Something. But what? Should he call for help? Call the police? Eric flipped away from Twitter and began to dial 9-1-1-

His finger hung suspended over the Call button, but he hesitated. Call 911 and tell them what, exactly? He winced as he played out the imaginary conversation inside his head.

"9-1-1. What's your emergency?"

"I'd like to report a missing person."

"Male or female?"

"Female."

"Age?"

"Nineteen."

"When was she last seen?"

"Never."

"I'm sorry?"

"I've never actually seen her. But she was supposed to meet me here twenty minutes ago."

"She was supposed to meet you where?"

"At the Trail Dust Honky Tonk Saloon."

"A woman was supposed to meet you at a bar? A woman you've never met?"

"Right, but then she-"

"I'm sorry, sir. Are you calling to report that your blind date stood you up?"

Eric flicked the phone keypad closed again. He'd never be able to explain the situation to some operator - someone who'd probably never even heard of Eric Thorn, or Catfish, or Twitter itself for that matter. The story would take hours to untangle. And even if he could explain it, even if he could somehow manage to convey the danger she was in, then what? What could they do? Where would they send the squad car? He had absolutely no idea where she'd gone, or where she lived, or what she looked like. He didn't even know her last name.

Another precious minute ticked by. 6:24 PM. Eric shifted his weight from foot to foot, staring at his phone. He was breathing hard now, but getting nowhere fast. Just thrashing about like a hooked fish himself - plucked from the sea, flopping on the shore, drowning in a puddle of its own helplessness.

What else could he do? He was just about to tap out another useless DM when he felt a hand clap him on the back.

"Hey Eric, I just got off the phone with-"

"Not now, Maury!" Eric brushed his manager's arm away with a violent shrug.

"Texting again with the mystery girl? She's got you reeled in pretty tight, my friend."

"I said not now!" Eric began striding down the sidewalk, desperate to get away from Maury's prying eyes.

"Sorry, kid. We got work to do."

Eric ignored him. He stopped walking five feet away and raised his phone again to finish composing his message, but he could hear Maury's footfalls coming up behind him. "What?" Eric hissed, swiveling to face the other man. "What work? There's no show! There's no one here!"

"TV gig."

"Whatever. Book it. Don't book it. I don't care. I don't have time!"

Maury didn't respond. He merely reached out and snatched the phone from Eric's hands.

"Give it! I need that!"

"It's booked," his manager responded evenly, holding the phone up over his head, just out of Eric's reach. "MTV. I just got off the phone with the producer. You know that show called Catfish?"

Eric lunged to take the phone back, but he paused in mid-leap as Maury's words hit home. "Wait, what did you just say?"

"You know, the show with all the creep-o cyberstalkers? They just so happen to be doing an episode down here in-"

"They called you?"

"Yeah, I just got off the phone." Maury tossed Eric's cell phone back, satisfied that he'd finally gotten his client's attention. "It's perfect. They got a couple of die-hard Eric Thorn fans. Fell in love with each other over Twitter, of all things. They want you for a cameo. You know, the usual meet-and-greet. Maybe play a song. They were gonna do it here at the show tonight, but-"

"Where?" Eric put his hands on either side of Maury's shoulders, barely containing the urge to shake the information loose. "Where are they?"

"Hold your horses, kiddo. They don't need you for another couple hours. They gotta give the lovebirds a little time to get to know each other-"

"Dammit, Maury!" Eric's raised voice filled the empty lot, but he made no attempt to dial down the volume. "Did they tell you? Did they tell you where they are?"

"Someone's house. About 20 minutes' drive from here."

"You have the address?"

"Sure."

Eric turned on his heel and ran toward the side of the building where he'd left his car. "Text it to me!" he called over his shoulder. "I'm on my way."

He didn't stop to listen to his manager's voice, trailing behind him. "Eric, wait. Take a guitar or something. What about hair and make-up? Eric!"

Eric reached for the handle of the car door, when another thought flashed through his mind. He looked back over his shoulder at Maury, waddling around the corner of the building in pursuit. "Call them back," Eric shouted to him. "Tell them-tell them he isn't who he says he is. Or she isn't. One or the other."

"What? Who isn't?"

"Just call them back and tell them!"

Maury stopped and looked at Eric's face, watching in utter bafflement as Eric wedged himself into the driver's seat.

"The catfish!" Eric tried again. "Tell them not to take the bait! They aren't who they say they are!"

"The catfish-"

"The other one," Eric yelled. "Not me! The other catfish!"

"They aren't who they say they are?" Maury let out an amused snort. "You think I need to tell them that? It's Catfish. That's the whole point of the show."

But Eric didn't hear the muttered comment. He had already pulled the car door shut. His manager's words were lost in the sound of squealing tires, as Eric slammed his foot down on the accelerator and sped away.

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