by Auryn Hadley
Ducking around the woman, Dez tried to make for the stairs, but the bitch grabbed her. Fleshy fingers dug into the lean muscle of her arm, trapping her, pinning her, choking the breath from her lungs. The panic took hold and Dez jerked away, gasping through her clenched jaw, doing her best not to scream.
"John! The freak's high again!"
A metal door on the far side of the room opened, and the store manager stuck his head out. "Dez. In here. Now."
She groaned but obeyed. John stood in the opening, nearly blocking her access. She convinced herself to slide past him, leaning away so they didn't touch, then took the chair before the desk. He said nothing until he was on the other side.
"Look at me."
She did, knowing her eyes were probably glazed and her pupils completely dilated. "It's called a panic attack, John. I explained when you hired me that I don't do touching."
He steepled his fingers, his elbows propped on the desk, and nodded slowly. "Right. This is the fifth complaint I've had from your co-workers. They say you appear to be stoned more often than not. Are you willing to take a drug test, Dez?"
"Yeah. You know I'm on a prescription, right?"
He folded his arms and leaned closer. "You have proof of that?"
No, but she could make it pretty damned easy. "Yeah. I also told you about that when I was hired. Vicodin for anxiety and pain."
"Mhm. And can you tell me what caused this reoccurring problem?"
Dez leaned back in her chair. She knew where this was going. "No. I'm not required by law to do that, sir."
"And yet it seems to be hindering your performance. You're not rated as disabled – either mentally or physically – so why should I make all these special arrangements for you?"
"Cuz you're cool?" She shrugged, hoping he'd prove her right.
John just shook his head. "You're giving out contractor referrals for people who have not met the company standards. You're high more often than not. You can't get along with any of your co-workers, and you've only been working here two months. Why should I keep paying you?"
"Because I know twice as much as anyone else you have."
"You're so full of shit." He yanked open the top drawer of his desk, rifling through papers. When he looked at her again, she could see it in his eyes. He grabbed a packet and dropped it before him, reaching for a pen.
Dez sighed. "Yeah, just tell me where to sign and you can fill it out later. I get it. You're fired, thank you for your service, and such."
He flipped to the last page and made an X, then slid the whole thing toward her. "You're not nearly as hot shit as you think, Destiny."
"It's Dez!"
She scrawled her name and pushed it back, then stormed out of the office. She hadn't liked the place anyway. That's what she told herself as she jogged down the stairs, pretending that everything was normal. She certainly didn't want anyone to offer her sympathy.
She couldn't take sympathy. Their big eyes and sad stares were always hollow. They wanted to make themselves feel better, not her. People were only happy when they were judging others. The only way they could feel good was to convince themselves that everyone else was an even bigger piece of shit.
She shoved through the sliding glass doors and turned right. She'd made rent, at least. She also had enough to buy more Vicodin. Maybe she'd even splurge and get a bottle of whiskey. Hit that hard enough, and she might pass out and never wake up. Now that would be the perfect ending to the day. She'd probably have to take the whole bottle – of both – but damn. That sounded like a plan.
Her feet carried her down the side of California Drive, skirting the precarious edge between traffic and the parking lots. When she passed the mechanic shop – which only barely qualified on this side of town, being closer to a chop shop – the guys whistled and called obscenities to her in either Spanish or Italian. Dez rolled her eyes and raised her middle finger but kept going.
She needed a damned job. The problem was that in order to get one, she needed to get clean, and if she was sober, she couldn't function at all. It was a catch twenty-two. For a moment, she wondered where that phrase came from, then turned her mind back to the whiskey. A big handful of pills and a bottle should do it. She could find a nice field somewhere, lie out in the middle, and watch the birds. By the time she started puking, there'd be no one around to make sure she didn't choke. Not the prettiest, but it would do.
She was so engrossed in her fantasy that she didn't immediately notice the dark SUV pull into the drive before her and stop. When she got closer, it still didn't move. Whoever was behind the wheel was looking right at her, almost like he was waiting for her. Dez paused, checking behind her. When she looked back, the window slowly rolled down.
"Need a ride?" It was the redheaded guy from earlier. Was he following her? What would he want with her?
She pointed to a neighborhood just behind the business district. "Nope, almost home."
He leaned across the passenger seat. "Are you high?"
"As a fucking kite," she agreed, "and still not dumb enough to climb into your truck. Go fuck yourself or something."
He was supposed to flip her off and leave, but this guy was not playing by the rules. He put the truck in park and climbed out, moving around it to lean against the passenger side, crossing his arms and legs. The way he looked at her was like he knew her. There was no fucking way. First off, he wouldn't remember someone like her, and secondly, her own mother didn't recognize her. So what the fuck did he want?
"I called your guy."
"Yeah? Ian's the best." Dez leaned against the chain link security fence beside her, shoving her short hair out of her face. She couldn't do a stand-off. She was too fucking high. "He'll make sure you can get a network that will get Silk off the ground."
"He said to hire you."
God, how many pills had she taken? Two before work. Two when she got in. Two more on her break, then another pair when this asshole tried to touch her. Fuck, no wonder she couldn't think straight. This was making no sense. Ian told him to hire her for a network? Ian knew she didn't do networks anymore. She didn't do games. She was done.
"Yeah, you don't want to hire me." She laughed and slid down the fence until she was sitting. "Now get your fancy ass back in your truck and go back to work. You've got six months to get that shit on the shelves. Your market demands it."
"Get in the fucking truck or I'm going to come over there and grab you."
Dez just raised her middle finger.
Chance took a deep breath and moved toward her. She braced for his touch, but once again he shocked her. He dropped to the ground beside her and leaned back against the fence, his hands clasped before him. Down the inside of his right arm was a long scar. Even in her hazed state she could see it clearly.
"Ian said he can get the supplies in my price range, but he's booked. He also mentioned that the best person for the job was working at Home Depot. I'd know her by the tattoo that said, ‘Byte Me.’ If I could read it, you might even take the job."
"Binary, baby."
He chuckled, but it sounded worried. "I just bought this fucked up building. It's half warehouse, half hotel. I'll give you a place to sleep and money for food. You get the damned network running and set the place up for the developers to come work. We can't keep doing this over the cloud."
She smiled and leaned back, closing her eyes. "I'm fucking high. You know that, right?"
"Kinda hard to miss, kid. I won't touch you, I won't set hours. I'll give you two weeks to wire it, and two weeks to get the system up and running. If you can do that, I'll give you a ten thousand dollar bonus."
She shook her head. "Don't want the money." She took a breath, feeling the weight of her problems pressing against her tear ducts. "I just want a job where I don't have to touch anyone."
"Why?" His voice was kind.
She smiled. "Tried it, don't really like it that much."
"Good enough for me. One favor, though?"
"What?"
"Get in the fucking truck before some gang banger comes by and shoots us? Come see the site, let me know what you think."
Dez drug her hands down her face then looked over at him. Chance looked back, waiting for her answer. "I'm fucking high and a basket case, and you still want me to put your network together?"
"Ian gave me your name. I know how to Google. The only thing I want to know is why you fell off the radar?"
She pushed herself to her feet then dusted off her ass. "I got high." Without looking back, she headed for the passenger side of the truck.
Behind her, Chance chuckled. "Bullshit."
Dez buckled herself in and grabbed his phone from the cup holder between them, not even bothering to ask. Chance just looked at her and put the truck in gear, making a lap through the parking lot before pulling out. Neither one spoke.
He'd said he Googled her. Well, the problem of being broke was that she didn't really have a lot of access to the internet anymore. That and her laptop was almost three years old. It was good enough, but just for older generation games. That was about it. What she wanted to know was what information her name still had on the world wide web.
Thankfully, not much. She was still listed as the brains behind the innovative network and community manager for FoxFlight, and she had a minor credit in two other games, but thankfully neither listed why. Unless Chance called the developers, he'd never find out, and by now the team had probably all been reassigned. She smiled and flipped to the next page. Her old blog was still up, even though the last entry wasn't made by her.
Unfortunately, that link also appeared to have been read. She flicked her eyes at the driver then tapped on it. She'd never seen what her mother had written. It took a moment to load, then the screen was filled with a wall of text. No images, no formatting. It was obvious that this post had been made by a novice.
Thank you to all of Destiny's fans for their support of her enthusiasm for video games. We're sorry to announce that the blog will no longer be updated. After multiple harassing and threatening messages, for her safety and welfare, she will no longer be in the public eye.
This has been a hard decision for Destiny, but we all feel it is for the best. She is a brilliant young lady with many opportunities ahead of her. When she first sat down in front of a computer at the age of eight, we never knew that she had found her first love. She learned to type, program, and manage her own hardware before she could drive a car. Before she even graduated high school, Destiny was making a name for herself with her critiques of games and her natural command of the systems required to make them better.
But all good things must end. Some might say it's Destiny.
"Damn," she mumbled. "That's a shitty entry."
Chance nodded slowly. "So you didn't write it, huh?"
"Nah. That was Mom, back when she still talked to me. Guess she never got over it."
He looked over quickly before turning back to the road. They were at the edge of town, heading into the country. "You getting out of the scene?"
"No." She closed the browser and returned his phone to the cup holder. "That not all demons are made of pixels."
"Gonna tell me what happened?"
She shifted in the chair so she could face him. "Gonna buy me a bottle of whiskey?"
"What are you on?"
"Vicodin."
He nodded slowly. "Keep your secrets."
Chapter 2
Ten miles outside the city limits, the town faded away and pastures took the place of buildings. He loved it here. The rush of the modern world faded into the endless horizon. Chance slowed the truck and turned into a gravel lot, driving to the side of a massive brick building. He parked next to a small, green metal door and turned the truck off.
"Welcome to Deviant Games' future headquarters."
Dez slipped out of the truck, her eyes taking everything in even through the haze that clouded them. He knew she was high. He knew she was a complete mess. The problem was that he also knew what she'd done in the past. When he'd started the idea for Silk, he'd been an avid reader of her blog, among others. He'd kept up on her advances in development tools and loved her posts about the challenges of inspiring competent developers in a corporate setting. He had no idea she was so young, though.
She couldn't be more than early twenties. He'd expected her to be in her thirties, but the network admin, Ian Black, had assured him it was the same person. He said something pretty traumatic had kicked her out of the technical world, but she was still the best he'd ever seen. Everything Ian knew, he'd learned from Dez, and he hadn't even scratched the surface of what lingered in her mind. He was also very clear about the fact that she was a complete and total mess.
"Don't touch her," the guy had said. "No matter what you do, don't fucking touch her. No skin to skin. She'll lose it."
Chance had asked, but Ian swore he didn't know. Something happened a few years back, and she wouldn't talk about it. That's when she started using, and that's when she left the scene. If Chance could work with that, he was sitting on a gold mine, and she'd work for a damned place to crash and enough money to support her habit. It didn't get better than that, and god knew, Chance wasn't exactly in a position to judge.
"What kinda connection do you get out here?" she asked, looking at the power lines strung above the building.
He pointed to a new rut in the gravel. "Dedicated line. We're wide open. Had them run it special for us."
Picking at her lower lip, she nodded, looking at the exterior of the building. He was almost worried she'd blow away. Not that it was overly windy, but she was just a slip of a thing. Her long-sleeve shirt hung on her frame, dark marks peeking out at every opening. Dangerously loose on her hips, not even the studded belt could keep her jeans from sliding precariously low.
She was a punk, just like so many geeks, covering up her lack of social skills with piercings, tattoos, and freakish hair. Although he wondered if the black hair was natural or if she dyed it like that. Not that it was any of his business, but he swore she used to have warm brown hair that matched her chocolate eyes. What shocked him the most was the lack of excessive make-up. Granted, she'd also just gotten off work at Home Depot. Who knew what she'd look like tomorrow.
He tried to remind himself that he didn't care, but he did. The girl was nothing but long legs and lean arms. Chance held his face stoic as he moved to unlock the door, but he noticed every line of her. It's what he did. He usually preferred girls with a bit of curve to them, but he wasn't picky. Not like he'd be getting lucky with someone that didn't touch people, but hey, he could look.
"The good stuff is inside," he said, walking into the building.
He knew she'd follow. She was interested in the job, so she'd want to see what she had to work with. He just hoped that she wouldn't turn around and run out screaming.
One by one, he turned on the lights, illuminating what would be the center of his game empire. He had no idea what the building had started life as, but after many iterations, it was perfect for his needs. The main room was wide open, with two stories of clearance over the work area. Windows surrounded three sides at the top, giving natural light. The fourth was his loft. Beneath that, the back part of the building held four apartments, although he used the term loosely. They were little more than hotel rooms with a kitchenette.
"What's the goal?" she asked.
Chance leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms. "I have seven programmers. I want to set this up for at least twice as many computers, hopefully more." He lifted his chin at the space before them. "Raised floor, basement access, and I'm willing to renovate for whatever we need."
"I'll need a key."
"Among other things." He motioned her to follow, taking her on the grand tour. "Up here is the reception area." He kept going. "This is the conference room, and I'd like this to be a demonstration area. Over here is an employee break area." Then he turned toward the back. "And those stairs go to the basement where we'll house
the servers. This one..."
He stepped into a long narrow hall. Behind him, Dez's feet paused, but he kept going, opening each door as he passed. He could hear her lagging well behind, but pretended like he didn't notice. What the hell had happened to this girl? She was ready to bolt and all they'd done was enter a hallway! He remembered her as sweet and charming.
"Apartments?" she asked.
He paused, then slowly turned, giving her time to prepare for it. "Yeah. I'm not sure what we're going to do with them, but you're welcome to one."
"What's upstairs?"
"My place. I kinda sold everything to make this happen, so I'm living at work."
She stared at him. He waited for an angry outburst about the impossibility of it all, but it never came. Instead, she stepped into the closest apartment. He followed behind her, making sure to step loud enough for the girl to hear him coming. The place was a mess. He hadn't cleaned out the rooms yet, mainly because he had no idea what to do with them, but Dez seemed pleased. She turned in a circle, her eyes on the dropped tile ceiling, then moved to the far door, finding a second exit that led outside.
"I'll need a modern laptop. Mine's out of date. You'll be responsible for all of my tools, and I want full access to the network. That means I'll be able to see your cloud and everything else."
"Kinda goes with the job," he agreed.
She nodded. "Clean sheets, too."
That, he hadn't expected. "You are not sleeping on that bed."
She blew that off. "Better than what I got now. You'll have to help me move – "
"No," Chance cut her off. "You're not sleeping on that. What kind of furniture do you have?"
Dez closed her eyes and leaned against an ancient dresser that lined the wall. "Why the fuck do you care?"
He matched her pose, just out of reach. "’The mind of a game developer does not work on a set schedule. When the idea hits, it hits hard. The smart boss would give his employees access to the system at all hours, but concerns about company secrets and unintended leaks make this a struggle. Working a traditional eight to five schedule often ends up detrimental as tired developers try to remember what slipped through their exhaustion and dreams.’"
