with.
His jaw clenches tight, and I’m pretty sure there’s smoke pouring from his ears and nose, like one of those bulls in a Looney Tunes cartoon.
“Dad, you know me. I wouldn’t lie about something like this. I swear there were messages on this phone from someone trying to mess with me. Please believe me,” I beg, but it seems like it’s fallen on deaf ears.
“You know, I thought I was disappointed in you before, but this is a new low, Dani.”
He won’t even look at me, and my heart cracks in two. Then anger fills me like a roaring fire on the inside, and I just glare at him. I know I get my stubbornness from him, but words can’t even describe how pissed I am right now.
“You may return to class,” he says.
I don’t say a word. I just let out an irritated breath, grab my things, and shove back the chair in a fit of frustration. Deputy Samson tries to stand in my way with a stupid smirk on his face. Damn, I just want to punch him right in the jaw.
“Out of the way, ass.”
“Dani!” I hear my dad chastise from behind me.
Deputy Samson steps to the side with that stupid smirk still present and accounted for as I push toward the door, wrench it open, and then slam it behind me.
Chapter Thirteen
My break at work couldn’t have come quick enough. I’ve spent the entire day at school—and so far, at work—in a daze, going over everything that’s happened. My mind is cluttered to the point of driving me insane. I even had to turn off my phone because I was afraid of getting a mocking text from that unknown bastard. I mean, how was this person able to make that video pop up on several screens in the computer lab, and then erase all evidence of the video and the texts? Not to mention the fact the person got a hold of one of my earrings. What did I do to deserve all of this?
I turn on the computer in the back office to do a Google search for “How to erase text messages on someone else’s phone,” and it comes back with a ton of results. Most of them say it’s not possible, but I know that it is since it happened to me. Then I find articles about phone apps with these capabilities. That must be how the person is doing it—an effing app. There’s one called Text Destruct, and it allows the sender to set a timer on the message before it destroys it. Great. Looks like I’ll never be able to prove this unknown person is sending me texts. Advancements in technology are great and all, but this shit’s ridiculous.
Feeling defeated, I resort to checking my email. I’m expecting some Friday issue corrections from Mr. Whitman. His email is at the top of the list, but right under it is one from a nameless sender. Thinking it’s one of the hundreds of emails I get about free cruises and winning the lottery, I flag it as spam and press delete. The moment I delete it and go to click on Mr. Whitman’s email, another message from a nameless sender appears right above it. This time, there’s a subject. It simply says:
Turn on your phone.
I stop in confusion and study the title. Clicking on the email, it appears on the screen. All that’s written is:
You can’t get rid of me that easily.
I want to yell, “Screw you” at the computer, but my boss would probably hear me and think I’m crazy…er. I fight with myself about whether to turn on my phone. Do I really want to give this creep the satisfaction of doing what they want?
Another ping on the computer screen draws my attention. There’s another email just above the one before with the subject:
I’m waiting…
How does this fucker know my phone’s still off? I’m getting really tired of this.
Once more, a ping sounds from the computer, bringing along with it yet another email. I almost don’t even want to look at it, but I can’t resist taking a quick peek. I’m unable to read the subject by glancing at it, so I give it my full attention:
This is far from over...turn on your phone!
I sense from the exclamation point that the person is getting frustrated. Good! It’s about damn time they’re frustrated rather than me. Ignoring the emails from the unknown sender, I click on the one from Mr. Whitman. As