The Final Livestream

The first thing Aaron Clark sensed when he began to stir was the taste of blood on his tongue. That tangy, metallic flavor had coated the entire interior of his mouth. The next thing he noticed was that he couldn’t move his arms. At first, he thought he might be paralyzed, but he was soon able to register that his wrists were secured together behind his back. He struggled against the restraints, but the hard plastic of the zip ties quickly began burrowing into his skin as he fought.

He was so disoriented; he couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of him. For a moment, he just lay there, blinking rapidly as if hard resetting his vision. When the blur finally subsided, he found himself on a hard concrete floor inside a windowless building. A warehouse of some sort. It appeared deserted. The floors were littered with debris: broken glass, scattered parchments, crumpled leftovers of large Gaylord boxes, and a few rusted-out crates that he was certain were empty. Any tools left behind from the previous operation would have long since been picked up, pawned, or scrapped by the homeless looking for a hot meal or a cold drink.

He collected his energy and engaged his core as hard as he could, finally able to force himself up and onto his knees. He looked around again, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. He didn’t remember how he got there or what led to it. The last thing he could recall was meeting up with some of his old frat brothers the day before for happy hour. He tried to remember how much he drank. Certainly not enough to black out completely. As he racked his brain trying to force memories to appear, he noticed something else. A tiny red light in the corner of the warehouse.

He studied it, trying to determine what it could be. The answer arrived to him quickly as he was reminded of a similar light on the exterior corners of his own home. It was a camera, and apparently a camera that was recording. He began to look around and realized that all four corners of the building had a little red light. He was being recorded. Whoever had brought him here was recording his movements. As the thought settled in, another accompanied it. Maybe I’m not just being recorded, he thought. What if I am being watched? As if on cue, a booming voice blurted out over some sort of intercom system.

“Comfortable, Aaron?” the voice asked.

It was useless to try and decipher who it belonged to, it was very clearly being distorted by some sort of the voice changer. The voice itself was deep and crackly. He couldn’t make out anything about it that sounded familiar.

“Where am I? Why are you doing this?” he asked.

“I am not doing this, we are doing this.”

“What the hell does that mean?” he shouted, looking between the cameras.

“You should say hello, Aaron. There are currently 783 people watching this live.”

Aaron looked around, now more confused than he had been before.

“What are you talking about? Watching what live?”

“Your trial,” the voice said.

“Trial? Trial for what?”

“The trial that should have taken place five years ago, but never did. You got to walk away from justice, but real justice has a way of finding you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in! You kidnapped me!”

“You don’t know what I am talking about? Think harder, Aaron.”

“I don’t know what the hell you are talking about!”

“You don’t know? Maybe her name will help you remember. Emily Grant.”

Aaron froze. He did remember. All at once he remembered. The occasion that he had worked so hard to bury away, that he’d been able to move on from. Until now. The owner of the voice seemed to notice the revelation.

“You do remember, don’t you? How could you forget the girl whose life you destroyed? How could you forget the suicide that you caused?”

“I didn’t mean for that to happen…it was just…we were just—”

“Just what? Just having fun? You were just having fun when you recorded her without her knowing it? You were just having fun when you streamed a private encounter for the world to witness?”

Aaron didn’t answer. He dropped his head as the weight of this moment pressed down on him.

“You filmed a woman in her most vulnerable state. A woman who trusted you. You filmed her and streamed her for everyone to gawk at. You couldn’t have cared less about the consequences that would be waiting for her, you just wanted to feel like the man.”

“I didn’t know how it would turn out. We were in college…we were drunk. I just thought it was fun!”

“You thought it was fun. You didn’t care if it was fun for her or not, if you had you would have asked her permission before you did it. Instead, you just set up a camera in the corner of the room and let her believe it was a private moment.”

“I apologized for this after it blew up! I told her how sorry I was!”

“You apologized? Even now, you choose to lie. You choose to lie in front of…974 people and counting. Why don’t you try telling the truth, Aaron? What really happened after she realized what you had done?”

“I went to talk to her, I told her how sorry I was!”

“Liar!”

The voice came out so loudly that Aaron jumped, causing him to flop back onto his side.

“I’m not lying!” he shouted.

“You never apologized. You made excuse, after excuse, after excuse - just like you are now. ‘It was stupid.’ ‘I was drunk.’ ‘I didn’t think anyone would actually watch.’ ‘I thought it would get taken down before anything showed.’ On and on and on, but never once did you apologize for what you did.”

Again, Aaron fell silent. The voice was right. He’d been arrogant in his college years. He was able to admit, now, that he’d been selfish. He remembered that night vividly, which he found odd as he had worked so hard to put it out of his mind after how it ended. Most of the girls who hung around the frat parties were sorority girls. Emily Grant was not. She was there that night almost accidentally. Her friends had convinced her to go out, even after she’d resisted. Their group had just happened to be walking by, and he’d spotted her.

He remembered strutting over to them and inviting them to drop in for a drink or a game of flip cup. She’d spoken up first and politely declined. She wasn’t the sort of girl who just walked into frat parties to be surrounded by people she didn’t know. It also meant, to Aaron, that she was a challenge. He’d been able to sweet talk her friends enough to where they agreed. Emily had initially hesitated to follow, but he’d used his softer side.

He’d been charming, likeable, agreeable. He’d gone out of his way to make her laugh and make her comfortable. Eventually, he’d been able to convince her to have a drink. And then two. And then five. Aaron had drunk as well, following the unspoken rule of the frat house. There’s nothing wrong with banging a drunk chick as long as you’ve been drinking too. As his back began to absorb the cool texture of the concrete, he remembered how warm she’d been. Skin to skin. He recalled the first kiss and all the ones after.

She’d broken off several times to tell him how unlike her it was, hooking up with someone she’d just met. How she felt a spark between them. Aaron had giggled at that one, but had made some quick comment to cover. The fact was, there were no fireworks. Nothing between them except one drunken night, or at least that had been his intention.

Then she’d run to the bathroom, afraid she was going to puke. He’d taken advantage of the opportunity and set up his phone in the corner of the room after hitting record. Once she was able to confirm that the nausea was a false alarm, they’d torn into each other. Little did she know, hundreds of students and countless strangers were watching the entire thing. It wasn’t until the next morning that she realized what had happened. The voice interrupted his stroll down memory lane.

“You do remember, don’t you? You remember everything. You probably remember what she was wearing that night.”

“Pink halter top and jeans…her hair was in a ponytail,” Aaron said, almost as a whisper.

“I think you’ve kept your thoughts to yourself long enough. Why don’t you tell our…1425 viewers what happened the week after the incident?”

“Who are you?”

“…someone who cared about her. Now, tell them.”

He sighed.

“She became a target.”

“Elaborate,” the voice demanded.

“She was slut shamed, okay? People would catcall her or shout ‘whore’ at her.”

“What else?”

“Guys would…guys would harass her. They thought she was an easy score.”

“Tell the world what happened to Emily Grant exactly one week after the party.”

Aaron began to cry, shaking his head as he rolled onto his side.

“Tell them!”

“She died!” he screamed, a puddle of tears forming under his right cheek.

“No! She didn’t just die! Tell them what happened! Tell them what you caused!”

“She…she killed herself,” he sobbed.

The voice didn’t answer right away. Instead, the only sound was that of his own weeping. He hadn’t thought about it in so long. He’d known it was his fault. Known he was to blame, but he had found a way to justify and excuse and downplay the reality of the situation. He’d walked away with a slap on the wrist, thanks to his father's donor status with the college. The people in charge had been able to lean on previous medical instability as reasoning for not launching an official investigation because she’d been on antidepressants.

“How did she kill herself?” the voice asked.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Answer me!”

“She went for a hike…park rangers found her stuff and a note at the top of a cliff.”

“Because of you, a sweet, innocent, beautiful woman took her own life by jumping off a cliff. Because of what you did. Because of your choices. Do you deny it?”

“I…I never meant for any of this to happen. I swear to god, I just…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The voice paused, and suddenly a device kicked on overhead, projecting the livestream on the far wall. Aaron could see himself on the screen, and off to the side, the live chat. The viewer count was up to 2039, and the debates had begun. Anonymous viewers arguing back and forth over what he had done and the outcome. The crowd seemed to be split, with half condemning him and half sympathizing with his justifications.

“I think you’ve waited long enough to find out why you’re here, Aaron,” the voice said. “You’re here to answer for your crimes. I believe you to be guilty, and I have a sentence in mind, but we are going to let the people decide. A group of people watched it happen that night, and another group is watching this unfolding. They hold the power. They will decide on your guilt or innocence.”

On the screen, a small poll box appeared in the chat allowing viewers to vote between two options, innocent or guilty. The debates heated up again, viewers arguing tooth and nail in an attempt to swing some to their point of view. Some were dead set on him being guilty with no room for adjustment. Others felt he had learned his lesson and that living with the result of his actions was punishment enough. A few even argued that enough time had gone by that it was like it hadn’t even happened.

[User887889]: This is super messed up. It’s not like he raped her, she was consenting. He was just a dumb college kid.

[SoccerMom57]: She was a kid too! She was consenting!?!? She never consented to being streamed on the internet asshole!!! #JusticeForEmily

[User477852]: If there was no investigation, maybe there is more to the story. Not to mention, five years…why all of a sudden?

[Bromode420]: Not guilty. College is wild, man. Not to mention she rolled up into a frat party…kinda goes with the territory.

[PrinceHarrySir]: College being “wild” does not make this okay!

As the conversations dwindled, the voting began.

He paid no attention to the guilty meter, only the one marked innocent. Seven percent, twelve, nineteen, twenty-four. Sweat had began to pour from his forehead trickling down his face as he watched these strangers decide his fate. Twenty-nine, thirty-five, forty-two. The dial continued to tick upward and as it did, he closed his eyes and began to pray. Pray for forgiveness. Pray to make it out of his alive. When he opened his eyes again, the votes had all been tallied. Sixty-four percent of the viewers had found him innocent. The chat went quiet, everyone in attendance waiting to see what the voice would say to the outcome.

“These people found you innocent Aaron.”

He could breathe again for the first time since opening his eyes. He was going to make it. He was going to survive this thanks to a bunch of strangers. Just as the thought occurred to him, the stream cut out, leaving viewers with a static message.

You don’t get to forgive him. You’re not the one he hurt.

All at once, his breath was stolen again. It set in slowly that his freedom was never on the table. The entire thing had been some sort of test. A test to see if the viewers would do the right thing…and they hadn’t. He jumped as a door at the far end of the warehouse opened.

He couldn’t make out much beyond the silhouette of a person slowly walking toward him. They stopped just shy of emerging from the shadow. The voice that met his ears next was one he knew. It was a voice that was committed to his memory. It was also a voice that didn’t exist anymore. The voice of Emily Grant.

“The world forgave you for what you did. They sided with you again, just like they did five years ago. You made a choice and I was punished for it. I gave them the chance to make their choice tonight. To make the right one, but they failed. They are just like you. I’m alone now just like I was then. Now I have to make the right decision for them.”

“Emily, wait.”

“Goodbye, Aaron.”

“No, no, please, wait, don’t—”

He hadn’t even seen the gun in her hand until after the bullet struck his chest. He looked down and watched the crimson waterfall emerging from the hole in his sternum. He looked back up to see something that he hadn’t seen since that night.

He saw Emily Grant…and she was smiling.