Also present were Jane’s kids, Chandler and Madison, now Adam’s formally adopted children. At 9 and 10 respectively, they were behaving very well tonight, at least in the sense of not posing a problem. Chandler was fixated on his Game Boy, and Madison remained glued to her laptop, catching up on her favorite Nickelodeon shows. Jane had given them permission to use electronics at Adam’s birthday dinner, Jane told him earlier, so they wouldn’t be bored by all the adult talk. Adam wished he could have brought his laptop too.
This year there was one unexpected addition to the party. Christian was a programmer who had worked for Pixilate in the early days, and he and Adam had bonded over their mutual interest in esoteric history, lost civilizations, and mysteries of the occult. After six months Christian left Pixilate to travel abroad, and since he had returned, Adam rarely saw him. But the two kept in touch through e-mail. That Christian happened to be in town during Adam’s birthday dinner this year was a lucky break and gave Adam hope that he would get to hear about Christian’s travels. Unfortunately that didn’t seem to be in the cards tonight.
When “Sheppard, party of ten” had arrived earlier that evening and was led to a large booth at the back of the restaurant, a little skirmish had taken place, the same one that had marked all of Adam’s birthday dinners at the Silver Oak Grill. “I just don’t see why we can’t sit somewhere nicer,” Cassandra had said to her daughter. “How about over there, in the center? It’s Adam’s birthday, for God’s sake.”
“If we were in the center, Mom, then we couldn’t enjoy the restaurant’s new centerpiece,” Jane had said. “Please don’t make a fuss. This way we’ll have a nice view of the entire restaurant. It’s fine, Mom.”
“It’s not fine. Come on Janie, we’re way out in the boondocks over here.”
Adam and the others had hesitated before sitting down at the table, waiting to see whether Jane or her mother would prevail.
“Mom,” Jane said through her clenched smile, “it’s Adam’s birthday. Not yours. You can’t always have things your way, okay?”
“Jeez-Louise, bite my head off, why don’t you!”
As nearby restaurant patrons had tuned in to watch the debate, the hostess calmly suggested a compromise. Halfway between the back booths and the restaurant’s centerpiece, two tables were pushed together to accommodate the Sheppard party. All were satisfied. That is, except Adam, who ended up being seated as far away from Christian as possible.
After Adam opened his gifts—something Jane felt should happen between ordering and the food arriving, to fill the time—Christian called down the length of the table.
“So, you been good, man?”
“Yeah, same old, same old.”
“For some reason I always thought your birthday was the tenth?” Christian said.
“That’s right; it is the tenth.”
Christian looked confused. “But that’s Saturday.”
Before Adam could respond, Jane jumped in. “We decided to do the dinner tonight since there were so many conflicts this weekend. Mom and Howie are heading up to Napa, the kids have their things going on, and Stefan and Annie, you guys are heading somewhere, right?”
“Florida, actually, it’s—”
“Disney World.” Annie smiled at her husband, patting his hand.
“And I’ve got a big yoga conference,” Jane added.
As the conversation shifted to yoga, the food arrived. Adam looked wearily down at his safely overcooked chicken breast and sautéed vegetable chunks. Glancing around to see what everyone else had ordered, he happened to notice his father-in-law was staring at him. Uncomfortable, Adam tried a smile, but Howard wasn’t buying it.
“Why is Jack on the cruise? Who invited him?” Howard’s voice was loud and aggressive, his glare firmly fixed on Adam.
Cassandra rolled her eyes. “That’s not Jack, honey, that’s Adam.”
Even before Howard’s memory had started to go, he had confused Adam for Jane’s previous boyfriend Jack, Chandler and Madison’s biological father.
“Why is that freeloading jackass here? I want an answer.”
“Honey, Jane is married to Adam now. You know Adam. He’s very kind and very successful, and today’s his birthday. Now let Malee help you with your dinner.” Malee tried maneuvering a piece of broccoli into Howard’s mouth, which caused him to lose interest in Adam.
While the rest of the table was busy eating, Christian made a second attempt at conversing with Adam. “Hey, did you ever get that article I sent you about the Sphinx?”
Adam came to life. “I don’t think so. Did you e-mail it?”
“Snail mail. I clipped it from an airplane magazine.”
Adam searched his memory. “Huh. I’m not sure I ever got it.”
“Yes, you did, honey,” Jane broke in. “I filed it for you under ancient history. Adam has so many interests; I try to help him keep it all organized.”
Adam looked back at Christian. “So what was it about?”
“A new way of dating the Sphinx. Cool stuff. I thought you might enjoy it. You know, I’m always game if you ever want to take a trip together. Go see the Luxor temple, the Temple of Man. Just say the word, and I’ll book the flights.”
While working together Christian and Adam had become obsessed with alternative theories about Egyptian history. “I still have that file on my laptop with all our research,” Adam said excitedly. “All the sites where—”
Jane broke in again. “But Egypt’s not safe anymore, is it? For traveling?” Then she gave Adam a warm smile. “Besides, we all love Hawaii so much, and it’s hard enough dragging you away from work for the family vacation.”
Adam liked Hawaii about as much as he liked the Silver Oak Grill. But just as Christian was about to say something else, Cassandra, already on her third glass of Chardonnay, yelled over to Jane, “Where’s Blake? Is he bringing that Russian bimbo again?”
“He flaked.” Jane rolled her eyes. “Typical. Flakey Blakey.”
“Now this Blake . . . ?” Stefan began.
“He’s the guy who introduced the two of you, right?” Annie finished.
“Adam’s partner over at Pixilate—or Virtual Skies, or whatever you’re calling it now.” Jane gave Adam’s leg a playful rub as she looked over at him. Adam understood that this was her way of trying to gauge his emotional state; was he okay or was he going to get moody and disappear into himself?
“Yep, we’re part of Virtual Skies now.” Adam smiled, doing his best to reassure Jane that he was fine.
“And where do you know Blake from?” Annie asked Jane.
“We’re just old friends.”
There was a slight awkward silence before Annie turned to Adam and said, “Well, making video games, that’s just—”
“The coolest job ever!” Stefan looked from Chandler to Madison. “You two must think your dad’s a total rock star, huh?”
The kids didn’t look up from their devices.
“They totally love it,” Jane asserted. “They brag to all their friends, and . . .” As Jane launched into a monologue about how lucky her kids were, Adam started to feel the world slowly slipping into that dull fuzziness he’d been experiencing more and more lately. Like a fog creeping in, putting an additional buffer between him and this life he was supposed to be engaging in. Everyone at the table, even Christian, was now immersed in the thick haze.
Adam knew this was likely to be the last time he would ever see his old friend, which was probably for the best. Having Christian here just made Adam feel worse about his own life. Jane and her family were not the problem; deep down, Adam knew this. He was the problem, the source of the haze that separated him from the reality everyone else seemed to be enjoying. Adam would just have to do his best to suppress his anxiety and make it through the rest of the evening. Even if this did feel like a bad dream, it would eventually end. It’s not like you’re stuck here forever, Adam assured himself.
As if in response to his thought, Adam felt someth
ing pull his attention toward the center of the restaurant, to the giant, new centerpiece. Less than a year ago, large art installations had been set up in all the Silver Oak locations as part of a new branding effort. Dramatically lit atop a faux Grecian pedestal sat a giant glass vase filled with thousands of black-and-white marbles. Emerging from the vase’s mouth was a bundled mass of 15-foot-high branches, once living, now dead and painted white. From the branches hung feathery, silver tinsel meant to look like moss.
As he stared at the monstrous centerpiece, Adam felt its massive weight pushing down on him, crushing him with its sheer meaninglessness. The taste of dread rose like bile from his gut as a klaxon of panic sounded in his ear. Everything around him—like that awful, awful fake tree—was all so terribly wrong.
Later that evening, Adam encountered a very different kind of tree. It appeared to him in a dream. An enormous oak with gray-green moss hanging from its branches like a tattered silk shawl. Adam was pretty certain that he’d met this particular tree before, that it was the same tree that had helped him out in the past. Like when he was struggling for a breakthrough with the Lucid Larry game, or the first Lust 4 Flesh engine, or even recently with the new Zombie project. The colossal tree with all the answers lived at the center of an overgrown garden filled with eccentric flowers, in a distant realm Adam could find only in his dreams, when he could remember the secret of flying.
Landing in the garden, Adam stood beneath the great oak and looked up into its branches, spreading out wide from its formidable trunk, twisting and tangling into the air. Noticing Adam, the tree explained to him that its job was to hold sky and earth together.
“That sounds difficult,” Adam said.
“It is,” wheezed the giant tree, straining with effort. “But someone’s got to do it.”
Adam felt bad and asked if he could help in some way, but the tree informed him that because Adam’s branches and roots were inverted, he could do nothing at present.
“It’s really too bad,” the tree wheezed again. “If you humans could only get yourselves turned right side up, you’d feel so much better. And you’d probably even be able to reach up higher than us trees.”
Adam wanted to ask where exactly a human being’s roots and branches were located, when, as if to answer his question, a doorframe appeared in the side of the oak’s trunk. Adam understood that if he ever wanted to untangle himself, he would first need to go through the doorway. Stepping through, he felt himself falling into darkness. Down, down, down he went with a roller-coaster rush, scary yet safe, down toward a flickering, yellow light.
When he landed, Adam saw concrete below his feet. Cracks in the concrete branched out in all directions from the base of a nearby tetherball pole. Beyond the cracks were lines, thick and yellow, followed by rubbery black mats beneath the rings and monkey bars. At the far end of the playground, around the corner of the school building, something was waiting for Adam; if he could just hold on to the dream long enough, this time he might finally see it. Cautiously moving through the yard, eyes downcast to the cement in front of him, Adam saw more lines, more cracks, then an orange peel came into view (Was this a new detail? Adam wondered), then the old water fountain, green mold clinging to its pipes below. He had reached the edge of the building; he was turning the corner—
Instantly everything was veiled in thick fog, and in that same instant, Adam could sense he was no longer at the edge of the schoolhouse; he was now inside of what he was trying to see. He was part of it. And he was moving. Round and round, as if the playground was spinning around him. He felt sunlight glaring off metal, flickering against the backs of his eyelids, making it even more impossible to see. Intuitively he knew that if he strained too hard to open his eyes in the dream, he would wake up.
What he needed to know was so close, yet impossible to look at directly. Then he felt it. He was not alone. He tried to turn, to see who it was without waking up. Through the fogginess and glare, he could just make out eyes staring at him. Bright green eyes. He heard a girl’s voice softly but urgently whisper a question.
“What lies beyond the stars, Adam?”
Adam wanted to respond, but he had no voice. He wanted to move, but his body refused to obey him. Most of all he wanted to open his eyes and see this forgotten place and not the ceiling of his bedroom in Blackhawk. There must be a secret to opening one’s eyes in a dream, Adam thought, in just the right way. Of choosing which reality you wake up in.
Adam heard a faint sound, like a deep metallic rumble—gruggrug-grug-grug-grug—rising in the distance. He felt the green eyes turn from him, toward that approaching noise. A few moments later, he realized that he was now alone and terribly vulnerable. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t escape, as the sound grew louder and louder. He needed to open his eyes before it reached him; he needed to wake up before it was too late. But the terrifying rumble was already there; he could feel it slipping over his body, enveloping him like a glove. Then, one after another, he felt the pricks—needles piercing his skin, burrowing down into him, infecting his body with some hungry parasite, swelling inside him, taking him over, the maddening pressure slowly building from within . . .
Jane opened an eye. The digital clock read 4:25. Rolling over, she saw the empty space next to her on the bed.
She sat up, and at first she didn’t see him there. He was so still that he might have been a shadow. He was standing by the window, looking out at the night sky.
“Adam? What are you doing?”
“The stars,” he muttered. “You can’t see any stars here.”
Jane let out a sigh. “Do we need to call Dr. M., sweetie?”
“No. I’m fine. Sorry to wake you.”
“Come to bed, honey. You need your sleep.”
Obediently Adam went back to bed. But he didn’t sleep. The terrifying rumbling from his dream was still reverberating inside; the sound of approaching disaster still echoing in his ears.
CHAPTER 7
THE MIDDLE OF THE EARTH
Anxious whining via the neighbor’s yard had accompanied Adam’s breakfast for the past two weeks. Four months earlier the family next door had bought a purebred Alaskan malamute puppy, which had quickly lost its appeal as it chewed its way through the family’s possessions, until it was banished to their backyard. After a brief period of hole digging, door scratching, and garden trampling, the dog was moved to a long, narrow, paved space between the side of the house and the chain-link fence that bordered the Sheppards’ property.
Adam drank his morning health shake and watched the young malamute through the window as it tirelessly ran back and forth. The whining and barking only intensified as the dog, its nose now pressed against the front gate, watched a man pass by with two big Labradors. Doggy torture in its purest form.
Jane, already on her cell, entered the kitchen. Like Adam, she had developed the habit of leaving her earbuds in whether using them or not. This morning she was in fact talking with her mother; Adam could tell even by the tone of her pauses. As Jane moved around the kitchen, Adam watched her carefully, waiting to see if there would be any repercussions for his middle of the night weirdness. Would she notice the cauldron of panic still boiling beneath the surface of his easy morning veneer? Jane poured a glass of filtered water, collected several tablets out of the color-coded pill container on the counter, and brought them over to the table where Adam sat. Then she left the room.
The first Friday of each month, Rene Adiklein invited heads of select companies from within Virtual Skies to the 78th floor of the Tower for a private gathering known as the “Cross-Pollination Brunch.” The idea had originated back when Adiklein was still an independent consultant. Originally these informal meetings took place at a private location in Marin County, and the coveted guest list included CEOs, venture capitalists, politicians, media moguls, and other powerful friends. Adiklein also invited a smattering of young entrepreneurs to present their ideas for discussion. According to a report by TechCrunch, over 30 perce
nt of the most successful start-ups between 2001 and 2004 could be traced back to one of Adiklein’s little gatherings.
Still moderated by Adiklein, the new get-togethers were held exclusively for those employed or soon to arrive in the Tower. Blake had first been invited to a Cross-Pollination Brunch while Adiklein was courting Pixilate, and on two occasions since then, he was asked to present (his first attempt was a minor hit, his second—an epic bomb). Today’s brunch started out with two bland presentations that Adiklein quickly ripped to shreds. Third up was a young Indian-American hacker whose file-sharing technology had recently been acquired by Virtual Skies. As he finished up his presentation, it was not immediately clear which way things were going to go.
“So it would essentially function as a web-based application,” the young programmer concluded. “We’d do a desktop version as well, but either way, the idea is to provide a client with quick and convenient transfers, as well as providing advanced analytics to our search engine.”
There was a short round of applause as Adiklein leaned forward in his chair and took a sip of water. Despite the bounteous platters of food provided by The Commissary, Adiklein never ate during these brunches. Blake also noticed that he rarely took a bite of food at the handful of business dinners they had attended together.
“Revenue?” Adiklein finally asked.
“Ad based,” the young programmer shot back.
Adiklein nodded, but still seemed less than thrilled. For a while he stroked the bridge of his aquiline nose while everyone waited in silence.
“What about mobile? Smartphone?”
“Mobile?” The young programmer was clearly thrown by the question. “Well, we didn’t think it was worth exploring that, at least not yet. Mobile is still such a limited platform. We were just thinking—”
Adiklein put up his hand, signaling the young programmer to shut up.
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