Chapter Text
[MESSAGE CORRUPTED. To reconstruct the message, type YES or type STOP to no longer receive these notifications. Only reconstruct messages from people you trust. RECONSTRUCT?]
Yes
[RECONSTRUCTING...]
Received 44:44
[ERRORinvalidtimestamp]
Heeeey conN0R
i 60T lost
Come find me
"Connor. Connor!"
Connor's eyes fluttered and his lips slammed shut on an aborted snore. A spot of drool on the script incriminated him, and he tried to subtly wipe it away.
Bright, mismatched eyes peered at him with undeserved kindness, considering he fell asleep during recording. Again.
"Hey, Daniel, can we go ahead and cut?" Markus's tone held no judgment, but Daniel's resulting groan certainly did. The sharp snaps as North flipped through her copy of the script spoke volumes.
Connor wanted nothing more than to sink further into his seat, perhaps through the floor itself, but instead he sat up with barely a grimace.
"What's up with you today, Connor?" Markus laid a hand on Connor's shoulder that felt like a brand. "The Ripley case may not be as flashy as some of the others we've covered, but it's not like you to just fall asleep like that. Are you feeling alright?"
"I'm fine," Connor said as the script in front of him blurred in and out of focus. 'Missing' and 'fire' stood out like a bruise.
"This case is our chance to make the leap from your run-of-the-mill true crime podcast to an actual web series. People are buzzing about it online, and we're only an hour's drive." Markus leaned forward and squeezed Connor's arm in a firm but gentle grip. "I know you - and Daniel - are new to Crime Doesn't Play, but North, Kara, and I have been at this for years so believe me when I say that this is our moment. And, if you put in the effort, it can be yours too."
Connor squinted under the onslaught of Markus's blinding smile. He had all the charisma of a diplomat or perhaps a cult leader. Compared to him, Connor felt like a particularly slimy toad.
"Sorry," he croaked, much like the aforementioned toad, "I haven't been sleeping well lately."
"You mean the eyebags aren't just a style choice?" Daniel snarked.
Markus shot him a Look over his shoulder, which shut him down quickly. It wasn't a nasty look, just disappointed. That was what made it so potent. Markus had a way about him that made people want to impress him, present company included.
When the twin spotlights of Markus's gaze turned to Connor again, he shrank back.
"You're actually from here, aren't you?" Markus said. "You mentioned moving 'back' in your interview."
Connor nodded mutely, picking at the hem of his sleeve.
The silence dragged on, only interrupted by North clicking her pen. Markus was expecting an answer.
"Yeah, I grew up near Rosswood Forest. My brother, Six- Sydney and I used to play there. We were twins." Connor folded his arms across his stomach, as if protecting his soft underbelly would lessen the feeling of vulnerability as his well-meaning friend interrogated him.
"Were?" The single word felt like a blunted blade to the gut.
Connor’s chair squeaked as he slouched further, practically curled up like a pillbug now. "Missing five years. Presumed dead."
"Shit, man," Daniel said, finally stepping away from the tripod-mounted camera, "That's rough. If something happened to my twin, Simon... You sure you can do this?"
Connor scowled, forcing himself upright. "I can! I may not have Kara's skills, but I can still contribute."
"We never said you couldn't," Markus said, tone eminently reasonable. "We're just worried that it might not be good for you. You never mentioned your brother being missing, and with two young women missing now..." he trailed off.
"All it did was make me want to try harder," Connor said. "Maybe they're still out there! We could save lives." His fists clenched as his renewed determination battled his exhaustion.
"Burning yourself out won't help anyone," North said. She didn't look up from the script as she said it, but Connor could still see the olive branch for what it was.
North was tough, constantly coiled with anger borne from fear, but every once in a while, Connor was permitted to see glimpses of the loyal, deeply passionate person buried beneath the armor.
"I was managing just fine," Connor said, "But then I got this weird text from Sixty's old number. It's been out of service for years, but two nights ago..."
That got everyone's attention. Connor focused on keeping his hands steady as he unlocked his phone, all too aware of Markus, North, and Daniel closing in like a pack of wolves.
"Well, it's definitely creepy," North quipped. A gentle nudge from her elbow took away any sting Connor could have pulled from her words; a subtle reassurance that she was here with him.
"This impersonator, whoever they are... they referenced you by name. This isn't just the number being assigned to someone else... this is intentional ." Markus's grim proclamation sounded like something from the podcast. It was odd to hear something so deeply personal spoken of in that tone, like Markus was no longer listening as a friend, but as an investigator. Perhaps Connor should have interpreted this as a sign of compassion, that Markus was so eager to solve the case of this mystery text, but it sat poorly with him, like he was merely a bug under a microscope.
"Kara could look into it," Daniel suggested. "Sure, she's not a full time member after she got full custody of Alice, but she's still your friend, right?" He sent a pleading look at Markus and North.
Despite being just as new to Crime Doesn't Pay as Connor was, Daniel had clearly been paying more attention to their interpersonal dynamics than Connor had realized. Connor had done him a great disservice, thinking of him as just the camera man. As a fellow twin and a surprisingly intuitive person, Daniel was probably his biggest ally. Connor offered him a wan smile as thanks.
Markus's shoulders sank. "We made a promise to Kara when she left the podcast that we wouldn't overwork her. Your twin has been missing for five years. Traci Rose has only been missing for two weeks."
"And let this case run cold too?" North said archly. "There hasn't been a break in the Ripley case in how long? Meanwhile Connor has a possible lead from two days ago!"
The two stared each other down, seeming to communicate wordlessly, though Connor couldn't fathom what was being said.
At last, Markus sighed. "Alright, I'll ask Kara to look into it, but you have to give this case all you've got, Connor. You need to focus on the podcast. These girls need justice."
Connor squared his shoulders and nodded, though it wasn't until the others resumed their positions that he breathed a sigh of relief.
"Alright people, let's take it from the top!" Markus called.
North flipped to the front of the script and gave a sharp nod.
"Rolling in 3... 2..."
"Hello, and welcome to Crime Doesn't Play, where we bring justice to the voiceless. I'm Markus."
"And I'm North."
"And my name is Connor."
"Welcome to the show, Connor," Markus said with a warm smile, as if he actually meant it rather than just reading one of his lines.
"Thank you for having me," Connor recited woodenly.
North's forcibly polite smile relaxed into something more comfortably neutral. "Tonight - a case too close to home and too close for comfort. A story of love, obsession, and madness. This... is the case of Blair Ripley."
"Before we begin," Connor said, warming to his role, "Let's set the scene."
Markus leapt in, smooth and assured. "Rosswood Park... a picturesque housing development on the outskirts of Detroit, butting up against the majestic old-growth forest from which it got its name. This peaceful community, built only a handful of years ago-"
"Rebuilt," Connor corrected absently. He grimaced, remembering that this was the actual recording, not another rehearsal.
Markus, of course, handled the interruption with a gracious smile. "Rebuilt. But we'll get to that later." He winked at the camera. "But this peaceful community was rocked to the core when, six weeks ago, a blazing fire engulfed the home of forest ranger Derek Ripley, his wife Deborah Ripley, and daughter Blair Ripley - Ripple, to her friends." Markus paused artfully, mismatched eyes downcast like a humble minister leading prayer. "And yet, it was only after the flames subsided that the true horror came to light..."
Connor picked up the thread again, widening his dark brown eyes to elicit sympathy from their future audience. "A routine inspection of the burn site revealed signs of a struggle. The bodies of Mr. and Mrs. Ripley were found in the center of the living room surrounded by the charred remains of upturned furniture. The absence of Ripple's body and the open window in the kitchen gave the community some hope that the young woman was still alive."
"None were more distraught at her disappearance than Ripple's girlfriend and fellow highschool senior, Traci Rose, affectionately known by her ArtBlr handle, Echo," North said. "Police brought her in for questioning because of course they did-"
"North," Markus said between the gritted teeth of a fake smile, "Behave."
North gave an equally fake, apologetic smile, "Police brought her in for questioning because romantic partners are statistically more likely to murder their girlfriends than strangers."
Markus put his head in his hands for a moment. He recovered quickly. "And while Echo had a solid alibi, she was able to point the police in a whole new direction."
"She reported that, over the past several months, Ripple had become increasingly paranoid; an assertion borne out by the notes she and Echo had exchanged throughout the semester," Connor said. A sudden throb in his head interrupted him, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, attempting to stave off a headache as he powered through. "Several notes mentioned someone following her during her frequent visits to Rosswood Forest which later escalated to watching from her bedroom window." God, the lights were so bright.
"Was someone actually stalking her?" North asked, making a face like she'd bitten into an unripe lemon. "Or were these the imaginings of a... a troubled young girl?" North had always been protective of Ripple during the rehearsals - it seemed unfair that she'd gotten stuck with this line, even if it was better for 'optics' as Markus put it. "She frequently described this... alleged stalker... as an old man with no face."
Technically, the script stated: She frequently described this alleged stalker as an old man with no face, a truly fantastical, albeit frightening apparition. But as one second passed, then two, it became increasingly clear that this was as far as North was willing to go.
Connor picked up the thread of the script. "This faceless man was dismissed as a figment of the young, amateur photographer's vivid imagination... up until Echo began posting about seeing the faceless man on her ArtBlr account shortly before her own disappearance, just two weeks ago."
"Folie a deux?" Markus asked the camera. "A madness shared by two? Or is there a masked man menacing this peaceful community? We'll keep you posted as we investigate... because-"
"Crime Doesn't Play!"