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The American Wikileaks Hackerhere are 530 Facebook profiles claiming to be Kiki Kannibal, including one with just over 20,000 fans, and none of them are hers.

Some are obvious fakes, like "Kiki Dorkface Kannibal," but others are hard to detect.

Despite that morning's shock, she had to run: She was late for the first of two appointments, which summed up her life.

The first was a modeling gig at a local hair salon, for which Kiki was dolled up in a pink tube top, skinny jeans and heels, her makeup now a tragic ruin.

"I had this idea of Florida as this paradise," says mom Cathy, a forthright Midwesterner.

Cathy was 18 when she met Scott; he was fronting a rock band with big dreams; she was putting herself through college, her sights set on law school.

Her family had transplanted from the Chicago suburb of Streamwood for dad Scott's computer-engineering job.

Then she got a My Space account, and everything changed.

Her parents' home was splattered with ketchup, chocolate syrup and eggs.

But this vandalism of her home was a different level of harassment.

She didn't know that her life was about to become an extreme parable about connection and celebrity in the digital age — that the next four years would be fraught with danger, threats to her family, and a violent death.

She had yet to understand what a lot of us don't comprehend: that our virtual lives can take on their own momentum, rippling outward with real-life consequences we can neither predict nor control.

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