Alexander Plansky - Arcadia

He could hear another voice somewhere in the background and pressed his phone tighter against his ear. The woman on the phone took a while longer to respond. “I thought you said you were a journalist, not a spokesman for Ms. Bateman.”

This answer surprised him. Did people think Jenna had a spokesman?

“No, but I am her boyfriend. To be honest, I’m kind of writing the article as an excuse to get her into your place.” He was going on the fly now, saying whatever came to mind first. “She’d wanted to go but saw the tickets were all booked up on your website.” He laughed. “I promised her I’d do this as kind of a birthday gift for her, try to use my press badge to slip ahead of the line.”

There was no response.

“Look at it this way: You get a photo of Jenna Bateman playing your games on the front of your website, which, let’s face it, is a little sparse at the moment, Jenna gets to visit a VR theme park, and I get to write my damn article. Everybody wins.”

After a few moments, the voice said, “As it happens, I’ve been informed that Mr. Zhao is somewhat of a fan of Ms. Bateman’s. He’d like to meet her in person. How soon can you come?”

Lewis blinked. “Uh…” He glanced at his calendar. Why not make it a weekend trip to Vegas? “How does Friday sound?”

Another bit of muffled conversation. Then: “That works just fine. I’m putting you and Jenna Bateman down for a special tour at 9AM Friday. Mr. Zhao will greet you in the lobby. See you then.”

She hung up.

Lewis sat back in his chair, stunned. Until thirty seconds ago, Victor Zhao had been but a smug-faced photograph, the leader behind an enigma. Now he was going to personally give Lewis a tour of his secretive VR park. And he was a fan of his girlfriend.

Things were getting stranger by the minute.

“Just to be clear, it’s a what exactly?” Richter asked, sitting at her desk.

“A virtual reality amusement park. The equipment they have there allows for more advanced games and experiences than just a standard commercial headset.”

“I think I’ve heard of these before. And you think this is what Jake was looking into?”

Lewis nodded.

Richter sighed and leaned back in her seat. “Des, I know his death must be hard on you but–”

“I’m not investigating anything,” he said, putting up his hand. “Just… just… trying to finish what he started. Out of respect for him.”

Richter raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a wild goose chase to me.”

“Why would he have done drugs at a VR park? It’s clearly unrelated to what happened.”

“No, but it is in the same vicinity where he died.”

“You think there’s a connection?” Lewis said, suddenly excited.

“No,” she replied. “I think you think there’s a connection, and you’re using a business trip as an excuse to look into it further.”

He sighed and rubbed his temple.

She frowned. “Des, you’re one of the best writers we’ve got at this paper, and you’ve been here less than two years. I know you’ve got good instincts, but this just seems far-fetched.”

“There’s something very weird going on, Valerie,” he said. “It’s bigger than Jake, bigger than Arcadia. I’ve got a hunch – an unproven hunch – but I think it’s tied to something spreading across the country.”

His boss chuckled. “Now that’s a fucking hook!”

“If I’m right, you’ll have a huge story on your hands.”

She shook her head. “It’s not like in the movies, Des. The stereotypical editor, always sending their best writer off to get the scoop no matter what… We’re not yellow journalists, we’re tech reporters. I want Jake to rest in peace, and for us to heal and move on with our lives. I’m worried that this little investigation of yours is going to hinder that.”

“Just give me the weekend,” Lewis said. “I’ll know by then if I’m right or not.”

“And if not?”

“I’ll go back to my other article. Life will go on. And we’ll have closure knowing his death was really an accident.”

Richter considered it for a moment. “Fine,” she said, raising a finger. “But only for Jake.”

“Thank you.” He got up and left her office, closing the door gently behind him.

Now on his lunch break, Lewis stepped outside into the brisk January air of the parking lot and made his way toward his car. As he did so, he took out his phone and decided to call Charlie. Jenna had mentioned something last night about him having hallucinations and horrible dreams. If the past two nights were anything to go on, Lewis figured it might be beneficial talking to someone in the same boat.

It rang a few times, but Charlie picked up just as Lewis opened the car door. “Hello?” came the voice. It sounded tired, breathless.

Lewis gazed off at the fluttering sails of the marina. “Hey Charlie, how’s it going?”

“I can’t talk right now. They’re watching me.”

He paused for a second. “Excuse me?”

“They’re everywhere. They’re gonna get me.”

Lewis sat down in the driver’s seat and closed the door. “Charlie, hey, what’s going on?”

“Someone’s trying to get into my fucking house, man! They’re gonna get me!”

“Okay, okay, just stay calm.” He slid the key into the ignition and turned it to the side, the engine roaring to life. “Have you called the police?”

“They’re everywhere, man. They’ve got fucking eyes everywhere!”

“Who’s they?” Lewis said, throwing on his seatbelt.

“I’ll tell you everything, man. Just please, for the love of God, help me!”

“Okay, I need your address.”

“329 Cedarvale Lane, Pasadena.”

Shit . That was at least 40 minutes away. And that was if he somehow avoided L.A. traffic. “Charlie, I’m on my way, but it’s gonna take a while. You need to call somebody closer.”

“I can’t talk.” The phone went dead.

Lewis’s pulse was racing. He put the gear into drive and tore out of the parking lot.

His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as he cut off a Mercedes SUV doing 80 miles per hour, sliding into the new lane and applying more pressure to the accelerator. Google Maps said taking the 405 up to just north of the city and turning onto the Ventura Freeway east was the fastest way to get to Pasadena. There’d been traffic on the 405, but he’d driven along the shoulder lane to get past it.

Lewis glanced at his phone, sitting in the cup holder beside him. Current ETA was still twelve minutes. That wasn’t good enough.

Making sure there were no cops around, he sped up until he was going just shy of 85 miles per hour. Three minutes later he whipped down the off-ramp for Exit 25C, applying the brakes as his vehicle shot out into a road.

His phone rang just as he swerved onto Fair Oaks Avenue and raced south. He pressed a button on the steering wheel and the call went to the car’s Bluetooth speakers.

“Hello?” Heavy breathing on the other end. “Charlie?”

“Jesus Christ man, they’re here. They’re at my fucking doorstep,” he rasped. Distantly, Lewis could make out a knocking on a door. “What do I do?”

“Charlie, just stay put and hide. I’m almost there.”

“Shit, I gotta go.”

The call ended. The light ahead of Lewis turned from yellow to red.

He slammed on the brakes and abruptly came to a stop, earning a blaring honk from the car behind him. Lewis breathed in and out, gripping the steering wheel tightly with his left hand. He waited for the light to go green again, then slammed the gas and flew through the intersection.