Page 96 of Nefarious
Dane is fine. He just needs some time to focus on himself.
Thank you for your concern,
Rosamund
Rosamund,
That’s exactly why I want to talk to him. My last email to him bounced. Could you let me know how I might reach him?
Noelle
Rosamund,
Did you get my last email?
Noelle
Rosamund?
Dane reached around the pile of game theory books, searching for his phone, although he knew the chime would be nothing but spam.
I ought to permanently set it to Do Not Disturb.
He’d only created the Gmail account to register for various gaming communities. Over the past few weeks, he’d installedMinecraft,Roblox, andUndertaleand bought every console on the market, along with the most popular titles. It had started out as simple research, and for a few days, he was able to convince himself that spending twenty hours a day in a video game could be construed as productive. But now, with his hair out of control and nothing in his cabinets but pretzels and beer, he’d finally begun to admit he might be self-medicating with virtual reality.
He’d honestly intended to face real reality and do some soul searching. And hehad. Some. He’d met a man of the cloth and a woman wearing crystals, but exploring every aspect of Hyrule was a lot less painful. And more fun. Not to mention, his island inAnimal Crossingwouldn’t maintain itself.
He unlocked the phone to discover an email from the guy at the surf shop in town.
Hey Dan!
Got something here for you. I can swing it over sometime this week. If you want it today, you’ll need to stop in!
Bruce
In town, he was known as Dan Ruse. It wasn’t much of a disguise but easier than going into the witness protection agency. Only his legal documents were in his real name. Not that he expected anyone to recognize him outside the financial community. But he didn’t want theFinancial Timesto trace him and hound him either. He wanted quiet. He wanted restoration. He wanted absolution, but he didn’t expect that. He’d settle for peace.
He scrounged up his sunglasses and put on a proper shirt and sandals before heading out his front door. His house was a modest two-bedroom on Admirals Lane he’d picked up for a mere two million. It had a private backyard, a small pool, and a yard crowded with palm trees. A short jog would bring him to a walkway overlooking the Gulf of Mexico. He loved the wraparound porch and the quaint picket fence that gave the place curb appeal. He scanned the paint for signs of wear, ready to play the role of handyman at the first chip. He’d never owned a house before, and he’d fallen in love with his peaceful yellow bungalow.
He’d materialized the dream he’d cultivated for so long. If only it hadn’t cost him everything but money.
The Florida heat surprised him every time he stepped outside. He’d known it would be sweltering, but he hadn’t been prepared for the reality of living inches from the sun. He wouldn’t trade it for northern winters or the frigidity of a life he’d assumed was his own. How had he fed a soul-sucking vampire for all those years? Half his life in service to what? What had he ever done that was useful or good?
Had he always been a shallow wreck of a human?
Thoughts like these had kept him mired in video games for the past several weeks. He needed to face them, maybe find a therapist. He had a lot to decouple from years living alongside Val. Val, who was in jail awaiting arraignment. Did he deserve a different fate? Had he been any better than her? Was he a free man only by virtue of being a man? Or had he been lucky enough to tiptoe to the line of criminality without going over?
With a stream of sweat already working its way down his neck, Dane headed down Admirals Lane to Front Street and turned right. To the west, down the side lanes, he’d soon be able to make out the cruise ships docked near Mallory Square. To the east, inland, up Eaton Street, sat the church he’d wandered into when he’d first arrived, searching for penance and finding none. How could a man’s soul be saved when he no longer had one?
Like some kind of cliched new-age spiritual, he found what he was looking for to the south in a yoga studio run by an older woman who didn’t tell him what he wanted to hear but tolerated his harmless flirting and accepted him into her fold. It wasn’t the yoga that had brought him closer to what he was seeking, though the stillness of the focused exercises purged the noise of the games and forced him to pick apart every bad decision he’d ever made, every wrong he’d ever committed. What he found there were regulars who welcomed him into their community. They didn’t know they harbored a fugitive, but he came to realize he wasn’t the only one there running from demons. There was a certain relief that came from communing with the damned. Recovering alcoholics, sex addicts, gamblers, and cheaters. He could see it in their eyes. They could probably see it in his as well. But he hadn’t come here to hide from who he was. Just to find a way to pay for it.
At last, Mallory Square came into view. This was a major tourist destination, but that was what he loved about it. Every time he walked over here, it reminded him he was on vacation from his life. He might one day have to face a real punishment—prison or hell—but this was his purgatory. A chance to turn it around and be a better man.
He waved to Pete, the guy who’d taken him out on a snorkeling expedition the first week he’d arrived in town. A few shops down, he ran into LaToya, a local artist who had a side hustle pushing henna tattoos on the tourists. He stopped for a minute to ask, “Have you considered my idea?”
LaToya gave him a slow side-eye. “I didn’t think you were serious.”
“Why not?”
