Anarchy by James Treadwell

death.”
    â€œOh yeah, that thing.”
    â€œThey got photos.”
    â€œDad. Jeez. People have seen that thing everywhere. I bet there’s scientists in Antarctica who looked at a penguin funny and said it was that thing. People see what they want to see, you know?”
    â€œYou should be here. Thérèse said it’s the same in Montreal. What are you doing?”
    The papers were rustling loudly. “Oh. Just some unpacking.”
    â€œAt this time of night?”
    â€œI’ve been busy, Dad. New job. New place.”
    â€œYou sound tired.”
    â€œYeah.” She knew she ought to spend a few minutes trying to talk a bit of sense into him, especially if he’d just been listening to Tess and getting wound up by her drama-queen thing, but she wasn’t in the mood. She was in another mood, and wanted to get rid of him. “Really tired.”
    He let her go a few minutes later, by which time she’d got the folders straight and every disk in the right case. She pushed them out of sight behind the bed. Out of sight, out of mind. She was going to forget the Knoxes for a little while, forget that she might be officially reprimanded the next day, forget what it might mean for her career. She’d figure something out tomorrow. She’d start early.
    She twisted the lamp back down until the light softened, moved the laptop around to the foot of the bed, and settled herself on her stomach facing it. She pulled up the site. She examined herself in the window on her own screen again. Another window listed scrumgrrl ’s friends online, a little pink heart next to each name. She sent an inquiry to daisy19ab , who wasn’t too much of a talker and liked to get going quickly.
    Moments later a little strip of text blipped onto her screen.
    hey u
    A powder-blue bedroom, a spiky-faced spotty girl with a phone to her ear. Goose typed:
    u busy?
    The girl tapped at a keyboard with her free hand.
    no a boy brt
    boys suck
    The jaw opened and closed, the head tilted from side to side, while the finger tapped slowly. Two conversations at once. Goose, as so often, wondered why she bothered.
    brt 1 min
    All right, Goose thought. One minute exactly.
    ok
    where ur pic
    ?
    no pic
    ??
    o wait
    The girl blew kisses into the phone and tossed it aside onto her bed. She shifted around to lie on her elbows, propping the keyboard in front of her, and typed rapidly.
    couldn c u 1st comin up now
    ok
    Goose watched as the girl, who probably wasn’t nineteen or called Daisy or even in Alberta, frowned and cocked her head. She went very still; her eyes seemed to grow too wide, and younger, a child’s eyes. They lit up with shock. She pushed herself violently away from her computer, her mouth opening in what looked like a scream. Her hand swooped with blurry speed down onto her keyboard and the window vanished. Goose’s laptop trilled at her, and then again, over and over again: a window appeared saying “Begin Live Chat With?” and then another, and another, windows spilling all over the screen like the unstoppable iterations in a hall of mirrors. She slammed the machine shut and pulled out the cable.

6
    N o luck?”
    Goose handed the folder back to Jonas, shaking her head.
    â€œYou look like you were up all night.”
    â€œI didn’t sleep too good.”
    â€œYou worry too much.”
    â€œYeah. It’s only my freaking job.”
    â€œWhoa.”
    She stared out of the window. As soon as it had turned light she’d done a circuit of the town, without knowing what she’d hoped to find. Footprints, maybe. Torn clothes in the undergrowth. A suicide note. The crows flitted from pole to pole, passing compulsive opinions on her efforts. Plotte. Chienne.
    â€œYou told me you’d find her, Jonas.”
    â€œMmmm. Guess I lied.”
    â€œThanks for that.”
    â€œHey.” He ambled over to stand behind her. “It’s gonna be okay. She’ll