by Taylor Kole
Home, after a brief communication with Florence, he changed into sleep attire and waited. Kendra had been monitoring all methods of communication from the Padeskys and called seconds after the clock struck the witching hour. Disappointed by their ignorance, he gave the okay as cool as he could. “Proceed.”
TWENTY-THREE
“Wake up.” Marci said as she jerked on Corey’s ankle. “Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.”
Once his eyes adjusted, he found Marci at the foot of their bed.
“The site is down,” she said.
Janey stood in the doorway, sipping her cocoa. “Morning daddy.”
Smokey sat on his haunches beside her.
“The sites, Corey, all of them. They’re offline.”
“Dreamriders?”
“Dreamriders, Oneironmancy, The Dreampuzzler, our Facebook pages, Twitter feeds, everything.”
Corey found his hair tie on the bed post and secured his ponytail as he moved to a sitting position. He couldn’t understand how all of them could be down at the same time. The websites had been created months apart and were independent from one another. The only thing that linked them was a secondary email service which they used as a primary. That shouldn’t provide an avenue for sabotage.
“It’s that son-of-a-jerk, Zimbardo,” Marci said.
Assuming she had been dealing with the situation before rushing in to wake him, he said, “Tell me everything.”
Janey rested her cocoa on the nightstand, climbed onto the bed next to her father, and watched her mother.
“I spent about twenty minutes clicking between each of the sites before I called our hosting service. Ten minutes later some underling said we were victims of a hack and put me through to their head of cyber security. After twenty minutes of near silence as she looked everything over, she said we were attacked with the most sophisticated software she’s seen in her eight years on the job.”
“So how long until everything is back online?”
“Never. All of our content and comments and ratings have been permanently erased.”
“Never?”
“Never. It’s all gone and scrubbed.”
They could never replace all of those positive comments. Positive comments, especially from the first few people who came in with no concept of the process, comfort potential new clients. This was irreversible damage.
“What about our bank?”
“It’s okay, but I will keep checking.”
“What’s our next step?”
“I called the police.”
“The police? Is it illegal to crash a website?”
“It doesn’t matter. We’re starting a paper trail. If Walt keeps this up, we’ll earn our millions in a civil suit.”
Janey swiveled her attention from her mother to her father.
Litigation seemed an ugly route to him. He and Marci believed people expected too much fairness out of life, too much compensation after they had made poor choices, or someone else had erred. Humans were flawed, and limited in intellect. In extreme cases, when someone else’s neglect or poor choice left a person unable to earn a living or crippled, they were entitled to compensation, but the Padeskys understood a truth many Americans wanted to avoid: life wasn’t fair. Everyone experienced wrongful actions, everyone made mistakes that affected others negatively, things were not equal and fair all the time, but overall, life tended to smooth things out.
Needing to pee, he excused himself. They reconvened in the living room. She showed him the error message. It was the same on each of their sites, www.whatever is temporarily offline. Please try back later.
The absence of colorful designs stole his breath. Everything they worked on—gone.
Ten minutes later, a pair of police officers—a Native American woman and a Latino man—stepped into the living room and scanned the scene.
The shorter, female officer spoke first. “So, there’s been some type of attack?”
“On the computer,” Marci said.
“Someone smashed your computer?” The man said.
“No, they attacked our websites,” Marci replied.
The male officer sighed and thumbed toward their cruiser. “Dispatch said there was an attack, a burglary, and items were missing.”
“There was an attack and everything is missing from the internet,” Marci said.
The female officer moved her hands to her sides. “And you think that’s an appropriate use of 9-1-1, emergency hotline?”
“I needed you here to show you the damage.”
“So there has been a physical attack, at this location?” The male officer said.
“Look, I just want to file a police report. Ten minutes of your time will help forward the punishment of a criminal.”
The male officer produced a small notepad from his back pocket and clicked a pen. “Fire away.”
Marci launched into the details of starting their company. How they met Walt, his promises, threats, the deadlines, and this morning’s attack.
As she told her story, Corey saw—through the officer’s body language—them losing interest, almost wincing when she said, “son of a millionaire,” “henchmen,” “conspiracy to steal their world changing business.”
“So basically,” the female officer said, “The son of a billionaire wants your secrets and he messed with your internet connection to piss you off?”
“He’s committing crimes,” Marci said.
Returning the notepad to his back pocket, the male officer said, “We’re not lawyers, but if there is a crime here—which I’m not convinced of—we need evidence to pass along to our tech department.”
“Until then,” the woman said, “we will file this report for you.”
“I have evidence.” Marci moved to the dining room and returned with the packet from Kendra. She passed it to the male officer.
After a little perusing, he said, “What am I’m looking at?”
“How about this,” Marci pointed to the heading, “Venture Together. That’s one of Walt’s companies.” She flipped a few more pages, “He included his private cell-phone number for us to call him anytime. I’ll call him on speaker, with you two as witnesses. We can gather some evidence right now.”
“Assuming the person you call is Walt Zimbardo,” the female officer said.
“Just give me two minutes, he’ll admit to that.” Marci placed the smart-phone on speaker, and dialed so they could see and record the phone number.
The officers shared a look before a voice broke the silence.
“Kendra Houghton,” With the time difference, it was mid-morning in Chicago. The woman sounded not only wide awake, but eager to chat.
“Hi, this is Marci Padesky.”
“Marci…” Kendra hummed for a beat, “Oh, the performer from Las Vegas, right? How are you?”
Marci bit her tongue and said, “That’s right, Kendra. I’m calling to speak to Walt.”
“Mr. Zimbardo?” Kendra’s voice adopted a confusion, which dried Corey’s throat. Marci might have just walked into a trap. “I have no idea where the owner of the company is. I’ll be glad to take a message.”
“This is Walt’s private line,” Marci snapped. “I know he’s standing beside you, I only want you to tell him we will accept his deal.”
“Accept… his…deal…” Kendra said as if writing it down. “I can definitely pass the message along.”
“I don’t know why you’re playing games,” Marci said. “But we will sign his contract, right now, if you can promise me that our websites will be repaired and left alone.”
Silence issued from the cell-phone. With each passing millisecond, Corey grew hopeful Kendra would quit her charade.
Kendra replied in a soft tone. “I’m sorry, ma’am…websites?”
“Okay,” Marci barked, but then bit her bottom lip as she found Janey watching her. “I see how you’re playing this. You tell Walt we won’t be intimidated. If he ever hopes to work with us, he better change his behavior.�
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Corey pictured Kendra with her fist against her mouth, holding back laughter. Finally, she said, “I’ll do my best to convey your message, but I can’t promise it will reach him.”
“Whatever,” Marci disconnected the phone and moved to the kitchen.
Corey followed the officers to their cruiser. They promised to file the report, so… mission accomplished, he guessed.
“That—” Marci looked to Janey and changed her tone, “S.O.B. He’s trying to destroy us.” Plopping on the couch, she retrieved her notepad, “But he’s too late. We have enough customers in here. I’ll call clients and line up appointments. We’ll go underground, spread through word-of-mouth, use the phone book for Pete’s sake.” She rifled through a page. “The first thing I’ll do is call our scheduled appointments, starting with tomorrow’s, and confirm to them we’re still on.” She grabbed the cell-phone and Corey cut in.
“Do you mind using the house phone? I’m going to go out for a little while.”
Without a reply, Marci reached farther, selected the house phone, and dialed.
Placing the smart-phone in his pocket, Corey found the keys and stopped at the door where Janey waited expectantly. The courteous thing would be to take her along. She would be little trouble where he was going, and Marci could use the privacy. He understood that. But he wanted privacy, too. He knelt and said, “Daddy’s going to go out for a while, baby. I love you.” He took both of her hands and kissed them, which won him a smile, as it always did.
TWENTY-FOUR
Justin’s home was similar to Corey and Marci’s from the outside. It had a two-stall garage, bay window, and an awning over the door. Their lawn was a brighter green, which due to Nevada’s watering restrictions and unforgiving sun was an impressive accomplishment.
Seeing Justin’s truck meant he should be home. Corey exhaled a pent up tension he hadn’t realized he carried and continued on. It was important for him to talk to someone.
Justin answered the door with his customary smile. “Hey, Corey. Come on in.” The interior walls were painted blue. The carpet was a blond shag. The home had retro fixtures and appliances and smelled like they had grilled hamburgers an hour ago.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“Not at all, just a normal day at the Collin’s home, working together as a family.” Justin motioned toward his wife and son, who wore matching aprons and stood in an open kitchen with baking powder, whisks, and bowls.
“Hey, Corey,” Madelin said as she stirred contents in a metallic bowl. “I’m teaching Chevy how to make muffins.”
Chevy raced around the counter and searched behind Corey. “Is Janey with you?”
“No, bud. She’s helping her mom around the house, just like you.” Corey swallowed as the guilt settled. Janey was probably sitting at the end of their couch, petting Smokey, listening to her mother call clients. Bringing her along would have benefited everyone, at the low cost of a few additional words from him on the drive over.
“Can never have enough mother daughter time,” Madelin said, then to Chevy. “Grab the milk, hon.”
Selecting a dishtowel, Madelin waited for Chevy to pour a few gulps in a bowl, wiped his spill, and called to the men as she sealed the cap, “Hold on a second.”
“Not exactly following in his pa’s footsteps,” Justin whispered with a nod toward Chevy. The boy stirred the mixture with rapt attention. “He’s always preferred the kitchen and stove to a ladder and hammer.” He shrugged, “Whatever makes him happy. One thing is certain, if he wants to work in the food service industry, he’s in the best city in the world for it.”
“A chef can make serious money in Vegas,” Corey said.
“Ah,” Justin waved off the comment, “A person can get rich doing anything. Passion creates wealth, not choice of career.”
“Just whisk this until it’s all one color.” Madelin said to Chevy. “Go slow. Don’t spill. I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Did you warn him?” Madelin asked Justin as she approached, wiping her big hands on her apron.
Madelin was a heavyset woman with a feminine face and full-bodied brown hair.
“Warn me?” Corey said as he accepted his hug, and then added, “No, he hasn’t told me anything.”
“I was planning on springing another surprise on you,” Justin said. “I want to do another dream ride.”
“Good thing you told me.” Corey said. “Our website is down.”
“Did you get a virus?” Madelin asked.
“We’re not sure.”
“Well, we want to schedule an appointment,” Justin said, “but for Madelin, not me.”
Madelin’s cheeks went red. “He came home in a daze.” She pinched Justin’s hairy cheek. “I was so worried about my big man. Then he took me by the hand, led me to the couch, and I couldn’t fish a word out of him for five minutes… but when he started talking…”
“That Dream Ride was the second happiest day of my life,” Justin announced.
“Second?” Madelin said playfully, “which one trailed in third, the day we met, our wedding, or the birth of our son?”
“No, you misunderstand,” Justin said. “Those are tied for first. The Ride was a super distant second.”
“Good save. Anyway, as soon as money permits.” Madelin locked eyes with her husband, “which we suspect will be three, maybe four weeks.” Justin nodded. “We’re going to get me a dose of what he had.”
Corey simply said, “I can’t wait.”
“Is this Dream Riding safe for children?” Madelin asked with a glance at Chevy.
Corey batted his eyes as a truth settled: he and Marci had abandoned giving little Janey’s Dream Rides. A mild surprise, since they all loved the happy aura and affectionate creatures that populated their daughter’s dreams. He exhaled through his nostrils. “Yeah. Kids may appreciate it the most.”
“Good,” Madelin said. “For a second there, I worried you were remembering some horror story.”
“No, I was just thinking about how we haven’t given Janey a special dream since we started this, and… it’s a blow to the good father image I try and convince myself of.”
“Ah, you’re a great dad.”
“MMoomm,” Chevy whined.
One glance showed the young man was wearing himself thin whisking. Batter was all over the counter.
“That’s plenty, hon, just set it down. I’m coming,” she clenched her teeth in mock embarrassment. “I better get back. Tell Marci I said hello.”
“Will do,” Corey said.
“Follow me,” Justin said and then led them into the attached garage.
The garage was more of a workshop. Tools, benches, sawhorses, scaffolding equipment, basically every field of general labor was represented here.
There was a refrigerator with a crucifix on its front and a dinged-up yet durable coffee table in the space between them.
Justin closed the door and the men settled on the grubby tan couch with rips on each cushion.
“I’m really glad you stopped by,” Justin said. He then scratched his head, “Normally, I’m at a job site by now, but I’m still thinking about what took place the other night. I was expecting something… different, but…” He shook his head. “I still don’t know what to say.”
Corey understood his friend wanted to discuss his dream, and he planned on getting there, but he had pressing topics on his mind. Before he could broach them, he needed to cover a bit of backstory. “Do you believe in fate?”
“I’m starting to have a more concrete belief.” Corey pressed his lips together a moment and breathed deeply. “I’d say God lays out paths for each of us and free will allows each person to stay on that path or not. He also grants us endless chances to get back on track if we veer off course. The course is our fate. Most philosophers entertain the idea of a grand creator, but they want the mystery to be poetic so they dance around His probability. Like, She shows Herself in every blade of grass. He must be found with me
ditation. Believing in a hundred maybes to avoid the inner voice.
“The Bible makes the path to Heaven pretty clear,” Justin said. “Jesus says, ‘I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.’”
Corey nodded noncommittally. He was too busy unraveling his immediate concerns to be sidetracked. “Leaving my profession put a lot of strain on us. Marci bore the brunt of it. On the one hand I wanted knowledge. It had been my life’s pursuit, but I learned that elevating myself above the masses creates a form of insanity.”
“I guess I can see that.”
“We stumbled onto Dream Riding by accident. I met you at this ideal time when I was receptive to spiritual understanding and many things are creating a belief in me that is so outrageous I fear I’m having that separation from a reality that I sought to avoid.”
Justin grinned as if about to placate him with a joke, but as if seeing Corey’s serious expression, he breathed deeply, and waited.
“I’d like to share a secret you might find difficult to believe, but I’ll only tell you under two conditions. One, it stays between us, and two is that you hear me out fully before forming an opinion.”
“Save the questions, honor your privacy. I agree.”
Corey spent the next twenty minutes filling him in on the real Dream Riding process. Making contact, the snow globe environment of the dream, how he and Marci interact. He told it all in great detail but left out any mention of how they earned their gift, and the Jinni.
During the minute of silence that followed, Justin shook his head more than once; and looked at Corey sideways many times.
“I know it’s hard to believe. Gather your thoughts before I prove all of this to you.” Justin waited, so Corey continued, “We occupy the dreams together, but we both feel their emotions and see their experiences—like we did yours.”
As understanding dawned in Justin’s eyes, Corey recounted the Las Vegas Boulevard dream to him.
A minute passed with no response from Justin. Corey excused himself. In the lavatory, he splashed cold water on his face, washed his hands, and wondered if he’d done the right thing.
