Dating a Killer Online

I ate, he killed. I slept, he killed. In our chats, he'd even send me gruesome photos. "Killed three today," he'd text with a smiley face, "I'm such a busy little bee." I'd respond with graphic descriptions of pig slaughter back on my family’s farm. I thought we were just two abstract individuals with a shared love for the macabre. Until one day, a message popped up: "Baby, after this kill, I'll meet you in person." The location was right outside my apartment building. 1 I didn't take Asher Flynn's words seriously. Waking up from a hangover, my head felt like it was splitting. But for the sake of our first meeting, I rushed to wash my hair. I casually shot back, "When I see you, I'm going to kiss you to death!" In real life, I'm pretty reserved; online, I'm a total firecracker. Just as I was testing the water temperature, a sudden clarity hit me. How did Asher know where I lived? I had never revealed any real personal information to him. When I ordered takeout or received gifts, I always had him convert it to cash and send it to me. I typed out a question. Asher replied: [You posted it in the group last night.] I quickly opened our chat group – it was a true-crime and mystery enthusiast's forum. Asher and I had met there. At midnight last night, I'd posted a location, with the caption: [Come find me, everyone!] [Thirty floors, one hundred and eighty units, guess which one I am?] The group was lively with replies: [Forensics Fanatic 1: No way, your star killer would murder us all!] [Forensics Fanatic 8: I bet you're a total bombshell, Asher's a lucky guy!] [Forensics Fanatic 16: This place looks familiar, I think I've handled a case there.] There were seventeen people in the group, all calling themselves "Forensics Fanatics." I was the seventeenth. I'd stumbled in one day after a random search. Everyone in the group absolutely loved true crime and mysteries. Asher replied to me: [So happy, my target is in the same building as you.] He had wanted to come find me in the middle of the night. He'd sent me a flurry of excited emojis in private messages. Half-asleep, I'd replied: [No late-night mischief, mister!] So he'd rescheduled for the morning. My toes curled with embarrassment. I'm a homebody with social anxiety. I quickly messaged him that I didn't actually live there. I was a "haunted house" test sleeper. This apartment had seen eight deaths a year ago, it was truly cursed. My employer had paid me half a million dollars to live here for a year. Today was the last day, and I'd happily opened a bottle of wine to celebrate. I was moving out this afternoon. I hadn't told Asher about this; I was afraid he'd judge me. I just said: [I'm moving this afternoon, it's not convenient.] Asher was insistent, saying he could "clear the scene" in an hour. Alright, fine. I felt a mix of anticipation and a secret resolution. If he was handsome, we'd keep seeing each other. If he was ugly, I'd make a run for it. 2 I'd never seen Asher Flynn; he never shared photos. He always said mysteriously: [A killer revealing their face is the prelude to their death.] We'd known each other for a year, dated for six months. Still, we maintained a mutual wariness. Addresses, names, appearances – nothing. His sudden request to meet in person put a lot of pressure on me. Curiously, I asked him: [Aren't you afraid of exposing your face and dying?] Asher replied: [Are you a cop?] Of course not. Then he added: [Even if you were, it wouldn't matter. I'd be willing to be your big break.] All talk and no trousers. I realized Asher was also a serious role-playing enthusiast. He constantly fantasized about being a top-tier assassin. And the group members always played along, hyping him up. I chuckled. Who could he possibly "kill" here? This building was full of ordinary people, upper-middle class at best. He replied: [You know the rules, can't reveal the employer or target's identity.] [I'm going to kill a woman.] The second sentence came a minute later, he seemed to hesitate. I was amused, pressing him for how much this "job" paid. [Just pocket change, enough to buy you some game skins.] Asher didn't seem to care about money. He often transferred tens of thousands to me. Over six months, it added up to well over a hundred thousand. I hadn't accepted all of it; my pride got in the way, making me feel like a kept woman. I knew he was loaded, which always made me suspect he must be ugly. Opening the group chat, I asked: [Who's helping Asher clean up this time?] Many times when Asher announced he was "going on a kill," the group would respond. They'd volunteer to go with him, and Asher never refused, just sent them cash. They'd take photos when they arrived, usually of lavish mansions. For a while, I even suspected they were real assassins. But when I searched online, there were never any murder cases reported in those places. I figured they must be actual cleaners. Professional junk removers. Asher was probably a small business owner in that field, with a weird obsession for "cleaning." The group replied: [Forensics Fanatic 8: We wouldn't dare interrupt Asher and his ladylove's sweet time!] [Forensics Fanatic 12: He can handle it alone.] They said you could tell by the location it wasn't a big job. They were curious why Asher took it. I was curious too; I hadn't heard of any resident needing a massive cleanup. 3 Asher said: [A friend was caught in a tax evasion scandal; I loaned him money to cover it.] He claimed he was broke, a truly plain and unexciting reason. I suspected this "friend" was himself. And a criminal at that. My enthusiasm started to wane. I'm a law-abiding citizen, after all. I opened another chat group, for our building residents. I asked: [Who hired a deep-cleaning service today?] It took a while for someone to respond, a resident on the eighteenth floor. They asked what I wanted in a rather surly tone. I wanted them to take a picture of the cleaner. If he was ugly, I'd know for sure and bolt immediately. The guy wasn't happy, calling me crazy. Asher messaged me saying he was heading up. I gritted my teeth, got dressed carefully, and headed out to the elevator. I went straight down to the eighteenth floor. In the elevator, I ran into my next-door neighbor. She was a single woman, beautiful with a melancholic air. "Are you my neighbor?" she asked, initiating the conversation. I answered warily. She was surprisingly friendly, pointing to my bracelet and saying they were identical. Mine was red; this was my zodiac year. It was quite a coincidence—we were the same age and had the same bracelet. But I wasn't interested in chatting further. We parted ways on the eighteenth floor. As I stepped out, a wave of pungent odor almost made me gag. One apartment door was wide open, trash spilling into the hallway. Greasy liquids oozed and pooled, sticky and disgusting. I cautiously peered through the doorway. A short, overweight man in a hazmat suit was cleaning up the mess. I called out softly, and he turned around. His round face was obscured, a messy beard hiding most of his features. My heart sank immediately. I pulled out my phone. Running away, I typed furiously: [Let's break up. We're not a good fit.] 4 Asher blew up. He started a barrage of messages: [Why? I still have money, don't leave me!] [Come out and meet me, I'm super handsome.] [Please, or I'll kill you!] I rolled my eyes. I'd meant to tell him he was ugly, in a subtle way. But then I thought, a self-absorbed guy getting upset might actually retaliate. I replied: [You're too amateur. A top assassin like you, and you didn't even know I was tracking you.] My persona in the group was also a mysterious assassin. I usually read a lot of crime novels, and someone in my family was a lawyer. I often shared case analyses with them. They were quite impressed with me. Asher had actively added me, drawn by my mystique. He went silent. I ignored him, focusing on packing my bags. My head felt fuzzy, so I rested for a bit. Checking my phone again, the group chat had also exploded. [Forensics Fanatic 1: Please, ladylove, don't leave Asher. I'm kneeling in the street!] [Forensics Fanatic 2: Please, ladylove, don't leave Asher. I'm kneeling at home!] [Forensics Fanatic 3: Please, ladylove, don't leave Asher. I'm kneeling in a restaurant!] Sixteen messages in total. Asher was the first to "kneel," sending a photo of himself kneeling in a hallway. His legs were long and slender. The others also sent photos of themselves kneeling, in all sorts of places. My social anxiety was reaching critical levels. I asked Asher in the group how he'd been tormenting them. [Forensics Fanatic 8: No threats, absolutely sincere!] I was willing to bet Asher had threatened to kill them. Whenever they teased Asher in the group, he'd just send one message: [I'll kill you.] The group would instantly fall silent. They were all law-abiding citizens, and Asher, the "small boss," was just bullying them! My inner worker bee awakened. I challenged Asher: [If you're so tough, come find me. If you can't, we're over!] It would take him at least half a day to go through the entire building, knocking on every door. Asher agreed. Rubbing my throbbing head, I suddenly realized that ugly, overweight man wasn't him. And it didn't matter anymore. Just then, the delivery guy called. He said he couldn't get into our complex. "Go through the back entrance, by that broken iron gate!" He just replied that he couldn't find it, and I couldn't even complain about him since I couldn't find him. I had to go down myself. I'd ordered seafood and spicy noodle soup. It was easy to attract stray cats and dogs. I didn't want any trouble on my last day here. As I was getting into the elevator with my food, I ran into my neighbor again. 5 The beautiful neighbor had also gone to pick up food. She was carrying several dishes. I hadn't expected someone so petite to have such a huge appetite. "You live alone too, don't you? Want to share a meal?" she asked, smiling warmly. We'd seen each other a few times before. She was always receiving packages. She didn't seem to go out much, and faint sounds often came from her apartment. She was probably a streamer or content creator. I almost agreed, ready to contribute traffic and money to her. I don't have much resistance to attractive people. But I managed to restrain myself. When we parted, we exchanged names. She was called Evelyn Shaw. As soon as I got home, my phone started buzzing non-stop. Asher excitedly sent me several messages: [I found you!] It had only been about fifteen minutes since I challenged him to find me. Only a fool would believe he'd actually found me. He sounded wronged: [I got into the surveillance room. I can see everyone.] The surveillance room could only see the elevators and the ground floor. I really wanted to complain to building management; anyone could access the cameras? Curiously, I asked Asher which one he thought was me. He said: [A girl in her twenties, not too tall.] That was too vague; I could guess that too. Then he added: [You went downstairs to get takeout.] That wasn't unusual; near noon, many people went down for takeout. The security here didn't allow delivery drivers inside. And the back gate was a tight squeeze. I sent him a disgusted emoji. He immediately replied: [You're the one with the red gemstone bracelet, right? You're so cute.] My scalp instantly prickled. How did he pinpoint me so accurately among so many people? He said with a smile: [Being an assassin, you've got to have that kind of observational skill.] I freaked out, cautiously asking: [Baby, you still love me, right?]