Her lips parted and she spoke, very softly:
“Arcadia awaits.”
Lewis bolted upright. He took several deep gulps of air as he looked around the room. It was Jenna’s place, just as it always looked. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand beside him: 4:46AM. He flopped back onto the sheets, feeling calmer.
Jenna turned over and placed a hand on his chest. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yes,” he breathed, though he scarcely believed it himself.
“Don’t worry,” she said, nuzzling closer. “It was just a dream.”
He put his arms around her and felt her lips brush against his cheek.
04
Lewis got up at 7:30, even though he felt like shit. Morning sunlight glinted through the blinds, and he could hear the sounds of traffic outside on the street below. Jenna was still asleep. Quietly, he got dressed and made his way to the kitchen to make himself a quick breakfast.
Then, with his satchel in hand, he was out the door, locking it behind him, and making his way to the elevator. A few minutes later, he pulled out of the parking garage in his blue Ford Fusion sedan out onto 4th Street. It took him nearly 45 minutes to get to Marina Del Rey thanks to traffic on the 10, but the 405 had been mercifully less congested.
When most people thought of tech in California, Silicon Valley immediately came to mind. But over the past two decades, a large number of computer and software companies had set up in the Los Angeles area, particularly along the coast from LAX to Santa Monica. Now, as the 2010s drew to a close, the area known as “Silicon Beach” was widely considered to be one of the largest tech hubs in the world.
And it was here that the offices of the Technologist were located on the 10th floor of 400 Admiralty Way, which gave a stunning westward overlook of Marina Del Rey’s harbor, a sea of sails fluttering in the wind beneath a cloudless blue sky.
Lewis didn’t stop to take in the sights out the window as he exited the elevator and briskly made his way through rows of cubicles toward his own. While he walked, an overweight Korean man came up beside him.
Lewis glanced at him but didn’t stop moving. “Hey, Donnie. Have a good weekend?”
“Richter’s called an emergency meeting for 9,” he said. “Apparently something bad’s happened.”
“Well, that is what an emergency usually implies.” They were almost to his desk now.
“Word’s already going around the office.”
“What are they saying?”
They’d arrived. He slung his satchel over the chair and took a seat, making sure the multicolored, meticulously-laid out post-it notes plastering his desk were still in order. He began taking out his laptop. He hated running late.
“Des.”
“Yeah, sorry it’s been a hectic morning,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow.
The look on Donnie’s face was serious, stone-cold.
“It’s about Jake. They’re saying he’s dead.”
A surreal, icy sensation overcame him. Lewis blinked. “What?”
Donnie nodded. “Apparently it was some kind of accident. But the police got involved and…” He put up his hands. “I’m just waiting for Richter to give us the full details.”
Lewis put his hand to his head. The phone call last night. He could have answered, but he didn’t. Now he’d never get another chance to speak to his friend again.
“When’s that meeting?” he asked.
Donnie glanced at his watch. “In about three minutes.”
Lewis nodded slowly. Every other concern he’d had about getting work done today had vanished in the blink of an eye.
Somehow, they crammed all 30-plus staffers into the conference room. The beautiful day outside failed to reflect the glum mood on this side of the glass. Valerie Richter, a tall woman in her late 40s, stood at the head of the long table.
The Editor-in-Chief’s ordinarily stern expression was replaced today by a softer one as she adjusted her rectangular-rimmed glasses and looked up at them to speak. “I’m sure by now most of you have heard what’s happened. Last night, just after 8 o’clock, Jake Miller was involved in a single-vehicle accident on US-93 in Nevada. He swerved off the road, the car tumbled, and although he managed to pull himself out of the wreck, he died from injuries sustained in the crash.”
She took a moment to look around at each of their faces. Lewis stood at the back of the room next to Donnie, his arms folded across his chest as he intently listened to every detail.
“I know it’s hard to stamp out rumors, so I’ll just tell you what I know regarding the police investigation. About five minutes before the crash, Jake pulled a gun on a gas station clerk” – a round of whispers began circling the room – “who then called the police,” Richter continued, speaking louder now. “According to him, Jake didn’t try to rob the store or anything. He appeared as if he had gone crazy or was on drugs, and he immediately fled in his car. The clerk called the police, but by the time they found him he was already dead.
“Now, we all saw Jake around the office and can agree he was a good writer, but we don’t know much about his private life. And that’s because it’s none of our business and it’s going to stay that way.
“His girlfriend said he went to Vegas for the weekend to take some time off. They’re not sure if he tried some drug and had a bad reaction – they haven’t got the toxicology reports back yet – but regardless, I don’t want any of you spreading seditious gossip around the office or to anyone else. This is a tragedy. Jake was a good man, and if any of you shuffled off this mortal coil, heaven knows what skeletons we’d find in your closet. So show some damn respect for the dead.”
The room was silent.
Afterward, Lewis stumbled into the bathroom and splashed some water on his face. Everything felt strange and he was terrified of what he was about to do next.
He pulled out his phone, dialed voicemail, and went through the prompts to get to New Messages. Then he took a deep breath and brought the device to his ear.
A synthetic voice announced, “You have. One. New message. First message.”
Lewis had no idea what he expected to hear. He now knew the call had come just minutes before his friend’s death, if not closer. He feared the recording may have captured the accident itself, the sound of tearing metal and broken glass followed by Miller screaming in his death throes.
But he knew he had to listen to it, even just once.
Miller’s voice filtered into his ear. “Alright Lewis, I want you to listen to me very carefully. I’ve stumbled onto something, and it’s big. I don’t know if I have much time before they find me, but if anything happens to me I want you, no matter what you do, to stay away from–”
There was a squeal of tires, then sound abruptly cut off. Lewis pressed the phone closer, but the next noise that greeted him was: “End of new messages. To replay your messages, press…”
He tapped the number before it finished. This time, he paid attention to each syllable, hearing Miller string together the words but being unable to accept their meaning.
I’ve stumbled onto something, and it’s big.
I don’t know if I have much time before they find me.
If anything happens to me, I want you, no matter what you do, to stay away from–