Free Never Knowing by Chevy Stevens

wonder if it’s true” and “Can you imagine what his kid looks like?” But then more members joined in.
    Someone had gone to the university site and found Julia’s office information. Then they linked to articles she’d written and Web sites that had photos of Karen Christianson. One commenter actually Photoshopped her picture to make it look like the Campsite Killer was standing behind her with a bloody rope in one hand and his other on his penis. They talked about Julia’s looks, complimenting the Campsite Killer’s taste. One jerk said he wondered if I was as twisted as my father. Another compared me to Ted Bundy’s daughter, saying they should hunt these “bitches” down before they could spread the disease. I read every vile comment, sick with shame and fear. I felt ripped open, exposed to the world.
    I clicked from site to site as fast as I could—the majority of hits were coming from true crime blogs and a couple of Web sites devoted to serial killers, including the one I’d already found on the Campsite Killer. The more legitimate sites were careful to just say that Karen was “rumored” to have a daughter. It was the commenters, always anonymous, who added my name and that I lived in Nanaimo. Then I noticed a University of Victoria Student Forum was one of the hits. My stomach in knots, I clicked on the link but couldn’t get in without a student ID number.
    A wave of panic came over me. What do I do now? How do I stop this? The cordless beside me rang and I jumped.
    Lauren said, “I have to tell you something.”
    “Is it about the Internet buzz?”
    “You’re online?”
    I stared at the screen. “It’s everywhere .”
    Lauren was quiet for a moment, then said, “What are you going to do?”
    “I don’t have a clue. But I think I should talk to Julia.”
    “Do you really—”
    “If she hasn’t heard, I should warn her. And if she has, she’s going to think I told everyone. But if I call to explain, she’ll probably just hang up on me.” I groaned. “I’ve got to go. I need to figure out what to do.”
    Lauren’s voice was gentle. “Okay, hon. Call if you need me.”
    *   *   *

    After I hung up the phone, I collapsed onto the couch. Moose joined me, grunting and snuffling into my neck. My mind spun in a million panicky directions. The whole world is going to know the truth about my father. The Campsite Killer could find Julia—and me. Evan’s business could be ruined. My business could be ruined. Ally’s going to be teased at school.
    The phone rang. I checked the call display. Private number.
    Julia?
    I answered on the third ring.
    “Hello?”
    A male voice said, “Is this Sara Gallagher?”
    “Who’s speaking?”
    “I’m your father.”
    “ Who is this?”
    “I’m your real father.” His voice sped up. “I read about it on the Internet.”
    A jolt of fear ran through me. Then I realized the voice was too young.
    “I don’t know who you really are or what you read, but—”
    “Are you hot like your mommy?” I heard laughter in the background, then another young-sounding voice called out, “Ask her if she likes it rough too.”
    “Listen, you little—”
    He hung up the phone.
    *   *   *

    I phoned Evan right away, but his cell went straight to voice mail. I thought about calling Lauren, but she’d be scared for me—hell, I was scared, which made me even angrier. Some teenagers were calling me and pretending to be my father just for kicks. What if Ally had picked up the phone? I was pacing around, fuming, when the phone rang again. I was hoping it was Evan, but it was Ally’s teacher.
    “Sara, do you have time to talk when you pick Ally up today?”
    “What’s going on?”
    “Ally had a … disagreement with a classmate who tried to use some of her paints and I’d like to discuss it with you.” Great, just what I needed right now.
    “I’ll talk to her about sharing, but maybe we can meet another time—”
    “Ally pushed the