Which was great. Except he couldn’t remember what the date had been. Funny. Can’t even blame this one on the amnesia. You just can’t recall.
Yeah. Funny. Sometimes irony was so funny you wanted to shoot yourself in the head.
It took Daniel ten minutes to make it to the block that backed up to theirs. The house he picked looked unassuming from the street, the security fence almost festive with the Christmas lights strung on it. No way to tell if someone was looking out a window, but at least the street was quiet.
He took a deep breath, shook out his arm, and launched into a run. He put on as much speed as he could, leaping at the last second to plant a foot against the wall. His momentum carried him far enough that he could grab the top and pull his legs up and over before dropping to the grass beyond.
Goddamn, but that felt good.
The yard was broad and brightly lit, floodlights spilling up the undersides of trees. He stayed low and moved to the perimeter. One nice thing about conspicuous wealth, it made for enough space to be inconspicuous. No one with a house in Malibu wanted to acknowledge that anyone else lived there, and there was a thick tree line between this house and its nearest neighbor. Daniel kept to it. A dog barked from inside the house and his heart jumped, but he kept moving until he reached another fence, this one oriented more to privacy than to security.
Ten seconds later, he was in his backyard.
A gust of wind tugged at the avocado tree, the leaves whispering against one another. Broken branches were scattered on the grass where he’d tried his hand at flying. He smiled ruefully, then went to the back door. The third key on his ring unlocked it.
He started to fumble for the light switch, caught himself. Idiot. He took a moment to catch his breath and let his eyes adjust. Then he crept through the kitchen into the living room.
In the dark, the house was at once familiar and strange, a longlost friend whose face had been weathered and changed by time. He moved slowly, the faint light through the windows silvering everything. The frames on the mantel were black shapes, but he was pretty sure which one he wanted. He picked it up, walked to the front window, tilted it to catch the light.
There they were, frolicking in the surf, again, forever. The date was written in the bottom corner. May 23, 2003. Right. Good thing to remember.
Brilliant white light spilled in the window.
Daniel collapsed like he’d been shot.
That wasn’t the offhand bounce of headlights. It was a spotlight. Like the kind police had mounted on their cars.
No, no, no! Not now. Run, you have to run, if you hurry you can—
He took a deep breath. Exhaled slow. He had to think, not panic. On elbows and knees he army-crawled back from the window. The light wobbled and moved, sweeping like an accusing finger, white and sharp and unforgiving. It vanished from the window, spilled in the glass on either side of the front door. Paused, and then panned back to the window.
It’s a patrol car. Waters probably has them swinging by the house just in case. That’s all it is. If they were really coming for you, it wouldn’t be like this. It would be men with flashlights and guns coming in the front and the back.
It was one thing to think. Another to act on that. But he made himself hold steady, just lie on the ground, the wedding photo in his hand.
Ten heartbeats later, the light shut off. He heard the sound of a car engine revving.
Daniel let himself breathe.
5
Back on the streets, the hard part was walking slow. Running would attract attention, but running was what he desperately wanted to do. Partly for fear the police might return, but the greater portion by far was the certainty of answers.
It took a long, long time to make it back to the car.
The moment he was safe inside, he pulled the laptop from his bag. Waited, fingers tapping, while the thing loaded. When the welcome screen came up, he typed “052303.”
Incorrect Password.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
He stared. Thought. Then he typed “05232003” and pressed enter. The loading screen vanished. There was a rising sound and a string of piano notes from the computer speakers, and the desktop appeared. The wallpaper was a picture of a nun giving him the finger. There were program icons on the left side: Word, Final Draft, Outlook, iTunes, Firefox, Quicken, Steam, Mine Sweeper. The right side had folders: My Documents, Scripts, Photos, My Music, Video.
Daniel stared. Ran his finger along the touchpad like it was a holy artifact. When the mouse responded, he double-clicked Outlook. There was a pause, and then the e-mail program popped open, displaying dozens of folders in one pane, and his inbox—1128 items— in the other. Subject headers ranging from “Notes on Episode 97” to “All Natural Penis Enlargement!!” Names, names, names.
Including Laney’s. He opened one of her messages at random.
From: Laney Thayer (malibubarbie27@gmail.com) To: Daniel Hayes (DHayes@comcast.net) Sent: 10/29/08, 11:18 AM
Subject: Urgent News
Psst—they’re bringing in cupcakes for Kelly’s birthday! The good kind, with the sour cream frosting. Here’s the plan.
You get two, tell them one is for me. Then I’ll get two and say one is for you.
Meet you behind my trailer. I’ll be wearing a gray trench coat. The password is “yum.”
This message will self-destruct in 5, 4, 3 . . .
Daniel read the message again. Then he shut the laptop and threw the car into gear.
5
The girl at the counter took in her port wine stain, popped her gum, and assigned Belinda Nichols a computer.
For days Belinda had been looking for Daniel Hayes, tracking him through the bars he frequented, following friends and acquaintances. So far, nothing. It was time to try a different approach. She walked through the too-bright Internet café, found her system, logged on. Daniel had spent most of his life in front of a computer screen; maybe he still did. She started with Facebook, searched for his name, found his fan page—2,314 fans. The wall had posts from many of them:
Florian Maas Daniel, I know you didn’t do it! 3 hours ago
Brandee Crisp Where are you, Daniel? You can come hide at my house if you want. I’ll help you forget Laney. 8 hours ago
Kelly Hager I’m so, so sorry for your loss. This too shall pass.
Sunday November 8th at 9:08pm
The “In a relationship with” link read Laney Thayer. For kicks, Belinda clicked on the name— 153,289 fans. Funny world. Laney’s wall had posts too:
Keith Henneman Only the good die young. R.I.P., Laney about 2 minutes ago
Steve Medallin U were a ray of light 2 so many people. RIP, baby. Sorry to your husband. about 5 minutes ago
Sara Varys i think it sucks that so many of you joined only cause she died. i’ve been a fan since 6,000. Laney we miss U!