Chapter Thirteen – The Mask Slips

 The green dot pulsed, steady and expectant. Janet stared at it through a haze of smoke. Tonight she wouldn’t let Unknown gloat about another conquest. Tonight was about the person behind the voice.

Janet Brown: We’ve covered enough scams for now. If this is just a string of cons, readers will tune out. They’ll get bored. You’ll sound like a wind-up toy.

Unknown: Don’t insult me.

Janet Brown: I’m not. I’m warning you. Readers want a person. They want to know who you are, what makes you tick. Without that, you’ll vanish into the noise.

Unknown: I’m not giving you my life story.

Janet Brown: Then maybe you’re hiding something worse. Maybe you’re not even a scammer. Maybe you’re a creep with something to cover up. A child molester?

The reply hit the screen like a whip crack.

Unknown: Careful, Brown. You cross that line again and I’ll end this.

Janet leaned closer, fingers steady on the keys.

Janet Brown: You won’t stop. You want to be seen. You’ve said it yourself: invisible people don’t matter. You’re hooked now. You want readers to know you were cleverer than the police, the banks, everyone.

A pause. Then the green dot flickered with new words.

Unknown: Ask your questions.

Janet started gently.

Janet Brown: What kind of student were you?

Unknown: Sharp. Smarter than the rest. Teachers said I was wasting potential. I just didn’t care.

Janet Brown: Did you have friends?

Unknown: Friends are trouble. They take and take. I didn’t need them.

Janet Brown: What about family?

Unknown: I had brothers. Lazy bastards. Slobs, every one of them. You think I was going to wash their dishes or pick up their socks? Not a chance. They strutted around like princes while I did twice the work just to keep the place livable.

Janet’s eyes narrowed. Twice the work. Washing. Cleaning. Domestic chores framed as expected. She typed slowly.

Janet Brown: So you grew up cleaning up after brothers. That must have made you furious.

Unknown: Damn right it did. They ate, they made messes, they left me to fix it. My mother let them get away with everything because they were boys. I learned quick: if I wanted order, I had to make it myself.

She stopped. Realized.

Janet smiled faintly, ash trembling from her cigarette.

Janet Brown: You just told me.

Unknown: Told you what?

Janet Brown: You’re not a man. Men don’t grow up furious at brothers being treated like princes while they are left to clean up after them.

There was a long pause, the longest yet. Then:

Unknown: Clever trick.

Janet Brown: No trick. You ranted. You slipped.

Another pause. Then a blunt admission.

Unknown: Fine. I’m not a man. But don’t think for a second that gets you closer. You’ll never know my name.

The pause stretched for almost a minute. Janet imagined the woman on the other end of the screen, fists clenched, deciding whether to vanish. Finally, the green dot pulsed again.

Unknown: You think you’ve scored something big, don’t you? Fine. I grew up with brothers. They had it easy. I didn’t. That’s all you’re getting.

Janet Brown: You already gave me more than you meant to. And if you stop now, the readers will know you’re just another coward hiding behind a keyboard.

Unknown: (pause) You’re lucky I like a challenge.

Janet smirked, tapped ash into the tray. Time for the next lure.

Janet Brown: Tell me about when you first realized you could manipulate people. School? Home?

Unknown: Always. My brothers were bigger, louder, but I could talk circles around them. If I wanted the last cookie, I’d convince one of them it was stale. If I wanted the TV, I’d tell the other Mom needed him in the kitchen. I learned early — words move people faster than fists.

Janet Brown: So you were already practicing the trade.

Unknown: I called it survival. Nobody ever handed me anything. I had to twist for it.

Janet let the silence stretch, then typed:

Janet Brown: And your parents?

Unknown: My father was useless. Drank too much. My mother worked two jobs. She doted on the boys, said I’d be fine because I was “tough.” I hated her for that. Still do.

The venom in the words leaked through the screen. Janet felt it, sharp and unfiltered.

Janet Brown: Is that why you don’t stop? Because you’re still proving you’re tougher than everyone else?

Another pause. Then the answer, clipped but revealing.

Unknown: I don’t stop because it works. And because it reminds me I’m smarter than the rest of them.

Janet Brown: And lazier. That’s what you said before. Smart but lazy.

Unknown: (typing fast) Work is for cattle. I didn’t spend my life grinding for pennies while idiots in suits bark orders. If I can outthink people and take six figures a year from them, why the hell would I mop floors or file spreadsheets?

The outburst was raw, unplanned. Janet smiled to herself. Every rant peeled another layer away.

Janet Brown: So, a woman, smart, lazy, sharp-tongued, raised with brothers you despised. That’s already more interesting than a list of cons.

Unknown: Careful, Brown. I’ll give you just enough to make readers want more, but nothing that traces back to me.

Janet Brown: We’ll see.

The green dot blinked, alive with tension. Janet leaned back, cigarette glowing in the dim kitchen light. For the first time, the Unknown had a shape, a gender, a childhood. Still a mask, yes — but one beginning to slip.

The green dot blinked steadily. Janet could sense the woman’s pride and fury fighting inside her. Every rant, every boast was another chink in the armor.

Janet Brown: You’ve given me more than you realize. A woman, sharp but lazy, raised with brothers, bitter at your parents. Readers will eat that up.

Unknown: Don’t flatter yourself. I’m still in control.

Janet Brown: Control? You’ve already admitted you worked in a bank, that you use students and cutouts, that you live here — not overseas. You’re giving me a sketch whether you like it or not.

Unknown: You think you’re clever. But you’ll never know enough.

Janet Brown: Readers won’t be satisfied with scams alone. They’ll want to know you. They’ll want to see the person in the mirror.

There was a long pause. Janet could almost picture the cigarette burning down in the woman’s hand, her thoughts racing. Then the reply came, sharper, as if spat through clenched teeth.

Unknown: Fine. You want something human? I’ll give you this: I hate the winters. Always have. The cold cuts through your bones here. It doesn’t matter how many layers you wear, it gets in, it stays in. You wake up in February and wonder if the sun will ever come back.

The words hung on the screen, heavy and unguarded. Janet’s pulse quickened. Here. That was the slip. Not a city, not a province, but a truth tied to place — to Canada’s long, punishing winters.

She typed nothing. Just stared at the admission until the green dot went dark.

Janet exhaled smoke into the silence, whispering, “Got you.”