Soul Fire

COSTS.
    I’ve never considered leaving a message on one of these sites, but no one has added a single comment about Tim. It seems like the ultimate insult to his memory. I scroll back up to the
picture. His eyes seem to follow mine.
    There’s so much I could say about him: the way he was the only one of Meggie’s boyfriends who ever showed an interest in me as a real person, the way he looked after her, the
way he sounded so lost without her when I spoke to him that last time.
    I click on ADD YOUR COMMENT , but the page takes an age to refresh, and when it does, I gasp.
    Someone got there before me.

7
    There’s one comment.
    REST IN PEACE, TIM.
    MORE PEACE THAN YOU FOUND HERE ON EARTH. THE BASTARDS WHO HOUNDED YOU WILL KNOW THE TRUTH ONE DAY. WHAT HAPPENED TO MEGGIE WASN’T YOUR FAULT.
    WHATEVER PEOPLE THINK, IT WASN’T GUILT THAT MADE YOU END IT, BUT GRIEF.
    YOUR FRIEND
    JUSTICESEEKER#1 LEFT THIS MESSAGE AT 02.07
    The comment was left just one minute ago. I re-read it three times. Whoever wrote this sounds so certain they’re right. Although the conspiracy theorists who blamed Meggie’s death on
reality TV rivals or government plots also sounded convincing, in their own freakish ways.
    I’m shivering, even though the radiator by my feet is blasting out heat. The only light comes from the laptop screen, and the black and red colours make the walls of my room look like a
furnace. Yet I’m colder than I would be in the blizzard outside.
    I look back at the screen and notice something new. There are two flashing icons at the top of the screen – I lean closer and realise they’re tiny black skulls. Next to them, a
message says . . .
    JUSTICESEEKERS ON THIS PAGE: 2
    Which must mean whoever posted the message is still online.
    I click on them and a window pops up.
    JUSTICESEEKER#1 AND JUSTICESEEKER#2 ARE READY TO TALK.
    It’s a chat app. Now what? I have no idea what to type.
    ‘Who are you?’ I whisper out loud. My typing is clumsy, my fingers ice cold as I key in What do you know?
    I hit return and wait. My skull icon has turned blood red, and my question is in the same colour. JusticeSeeker#1’s black skull blinks back once.
    And then disappears . . .
    JUSTICESEEKER#1 HAS LEFT BURNINGTRUTHS.COM
    No! I click wildly, but the chat window closes. I’m alone on the site.
    Who is JusticeSeeker#1? Is it the same person who set up the site? But surely that person wouldn’t be leaving comments . . . So that could mean there are two other people out there
who don’t think Tim killed my sister.
    I’m not alone. After so many months of doubting myself, it feels good. I should leave a comment, too, so we can draw strength from each other.
    But then I remember: I should have been on the Beach by now. I no longer believe my sister’s death has been resolved by Tim’s, so she shouldn’t have gone. Yet I still need to
be there, to discover as much as I can about what happened last night before Ade found Tim dead.
    In my inbox, I find the email that changed my life. The invitation Meggie sent me after she died is still my only way onto the Soul Beach website. You sure as hell can’t access it via
Google.
    ‘Alice?’
    It’s not the voice I wanted to hear, and I’m not where I want to be, either. I’m in the beach bar. Candles flicker on the tables. A ferocious drumming sound pulses through the
open sides of the bamboo building.
    I only ever come to the bar when there’s something wrong, or when Sam – the bartender – has to warn me of danger.
    ‘Sam. What is it?’
    But before she can answer, my door bursts open.
    Mum’s rushing towards me, wild-eyed, and Dad’s behind her.
    I don’t have a chance to do anything – not even to click away from the Beach – before Mum’s ripping the laptop cable from the wall. She smashes the lid shut so hard that
she’s probably shattered the screen.
    ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, Alice?’
    I’m about to say homework , but then I realise that’s not going to help.
    ‘It’s two o’clock in the bloody morning. We’ve just found out your sister’s killer is dead. And where are you? Bloody well online, like you always are!’ Her
voice is getting louder. OK, we live in a detached house, but half the close must have heard her by now. ‘It’s an obsession! You’re an addict , Alice!’
    Dad puts a hand on hers. ‘Bea, do we have to do this now?’
    She shakes him off. ‘Yes, we do! Alice, that’s it. Over. You’ve been lying to