Copycat. Alex Lake

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      ‘Here it is,’ Toni said. ‘I’ll bring it up.’ There was a pause. ‘OK, got it on my screen now. There you are, posting stuff. What’s the big deal?’

      ‘The big deal is, it wasn’t me who posted it. Any of it.’

      ‘What do you mean? These are your photos. There’s one of us in Portland with Anne.’

      ‘I didn’t post them,’ Sarah said. ‘That isn’t my account. It’s someone else’s, someone who has been posting photos of me, under my name. And there’s one from inside the house.’

      There was a sharp intake of breath.

      ‘You didn’t do this?’ Toni said. ‘This is crazy.’

      ‘It isn’t’ – Sarah hesitated, but she had to ask – ‘it’s not you, is it?’

      ‘What? Why would it be me?’

      ‘You do have a track record of pranking people, Toni.’

      ‘Yeah, but firstly that was when we were in college. And secondly, even I would never come up with a prank like this, let alone be able to do it. I mean, where would I get the photos?’

      ‘You could have asked other people.’

      Toni laughed. ‘Look, Sarah,’ she said. ‘Let’s put this one to bed, once and for all. I had nothing to do with this, OK? And in any case, my pranks were funny—’

      ‘I wouldn’t say funny, exactly,’ Sarah interrupted.

      ‘Well, at least harmless. And this is neither. This is creepy. Very fucking creepy.’

      This was not what Sarah had been hoping to hear. She had been hoping – although, looking back, it was probably a vain hope – Toni would say, Yeah, it was me or don’t worry, it’s a thing millennials do to tease people, but instead, she was agreeing.

      ‘I know,’ Sarah said. ‘I’m worried.’

      ‘Have you called the cops?’

      ‘You think I need to?’

      ‘I don’t know. It can’t hurt. And you could tell Facebook. Contact somebody there and ask them to take the profile down.’

      ‘Would they do that?’

      ‘Probably not. They’d cite freedom of speech or whatever to justify their unwillingness to lose a user, but you might as well ask the question.’

      ‘OK,’ Sarah said. ‘Thanks for the suggestions.’

      ‘No worries. And keep me posted, OK?’

      Sarah ended the call. Ben appeared in the doorway to their bedroom.

      ‘How was Toni?’ he said.

      ‘Good. The divorce is nearly done.’

      ‘What did she think about Fake Sarah?’

      ‘She suggested I contact Facebook and ask them to remove it, and also call the cops.’

      Ben wagged his head from side to side. ‘I’m not sure what the cops will do,’ he said. ‘There’s not really a crime for them to investigate. But you could try.’

      ‘I will,’ Sarah said. ‘I’ll do it in the morning. I need to go to bed. I barely slept last night.’

      She didn’t sleep much better that night. She got out of bed early and decided to start with Facebook. The police could wait; there was no point calling them at this time anyway as they would hardly rush over because of some Facebook account, and besides, she didn’t particularly want them showing up at her house at 7 a.m. She preferred to be dressed and showered before a face-to-face meeting with a police officer.

      She logged on to her account and looked for some contact details. Under ‘More’ there was an option for ‘Help and Support’; she clicked and a link appeared for reporting abusive content. She was about to follow it, but she stopped herself.

      Was it really abusive content? She wasn’t sure it was. It was weird and unsettling, but it wasn’t abusive, or obscene. It was merely photos. She needed to think about how she was going to approach this.

      She decided to take a look at the fake account so she could tell Facebook exactly what was going on. She could gather her thoughts, and at the same time see if anything new had been posted.

      She clicked the link.

      It wasn’t there.

      She searched Facebook for Sarah Havenant.

      There was her account, and there was another Sarah Havenant, but she was a teenager from Ohio.

      The profile had been deleted, so now there was nothing to show the cops or to write to Facebook about.

      She felt a momentary surge of relief, but it was quickly replaced with a nagging unease. Maybe, just maybe, this was the end of whatever had been going on.

      And maybe it wasn’t.

       10

      She will look, today, at the account. Maybe she will wake up and decide not to, decide she is going to ignore it, but eventually she will want, need to look, like a drunk who wakes up with all the best intentions – I will not drink today, I will not – but then as the day goes on and all the old feelings and insecurities come back, the glass of beer or wine or vodka starts to look more and more appealing.

      And then you’re drinking it, and you hate yourself, but at least you scratched the itch.

      When she gives in, though, the account will not be there. It is unlikely – but possible – Facebook would take her seriously and help her trace it, although they would find it hard to locate the owner even if they did. So it is better to close off that avenue before it becomes a problem.

      And the account itself is not important. It’s merely the hook.

      And the fish is hooked now.

      Well and truly hooked.

       11

      In the evening Sarah googled herself again; in the morning she repeated the exercise. She was there – her MD page, some records from 10k and half-marathon races she had run, a photo of her and Jean at a charity dinner that had made it into the Portland newspapers – but there was nothing from her doppelgänger.

      The other Sarah Havenant was nowhere to be seen.

      She wondered whether it was an error of some kind in Facebook itself, a bug in the code that created shadow profiles then shut them down when it realized they were there. СКАЧАТЬ