“What? Why?”
“There’s a rumor that he can just come and go whenever or wherever he wants, so what’s stopping him from showing up in the White House and killing the president?”
“Holy shit.”
“I know! It’s crazy.”
“But why would I… uh, he do that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. People are all over his Twitter feed and all that, Facebook, but there’s no report of him being like that, so I don’t know.”
“Do people think he’s dangerous?”
“No. I don’t think so. But I don’t know. I guess they’ll catch him at some point, I mean if they can. How do you catch a guy who can disappear when he wants to?”
Holy fucking shit, Matt thought, mind racing. He couldn’t go home. Not like this, pulling up in an Uber to be arrested? And of course people thought he had vanished on purpose. That was great. Nothing like a misunderstanding to make this even worse. He couldn’t go back, or at least not pull up in a car.
“Hey, there’s a Denny’s on the way. Can you drop me there instead? Kinda hungry.”
“Yeah, sure thing.”
“Great. Thanks.”
Within minutes he had gotten out and left a tip for the guy via his phone app. He went inside and straight to the bathroom, trying to get a minute to himself. Then he studied his phone, wondering if it was being tracked even now. He furiously looked up how to turn off any tracking features. Not for the first time, he wondered what happened to anything he was holding or wearing when summoned. Did it go into some sort of suspended animation between worlds until he returned? Maybe he’d ask Jack what he saw in a tracking app when they went away. For now, he didn’t feel comfortable bringing it but needed it, so he turned it completely off and left the nearly empty restaurant, trying not to look suspicious as he glanced repeatedly over his shoulder. He was a mile from home and ducked into a neighborhood to get out of sight.
Hugging tree lines and bushes while trying to act like he wasn’t, Matt approached his parent’s two-story, single-family house from the next street over, cutting through a back yard to reach it. In the deeper shadows of a maple tree he stopped, carefully eyeballing every hiding place he’d ever used as a boy, not for himself to go into now so much as to see if anyone was in one. While Anna had moved out to her own apartment, Matt had not, and her parents still lived next to his. They had been friends most of their lives, she being among those who had played those games with him. Who knew those childhood adventures would turn all too real?
He saw nothing suspicious and entered the property, mindful of the motion-detecting light he knew was above the backdoor. He had a plan for that and was staying clear for now, but first he wanted to check the front yard and cautiously reached the corner behind a tall evergreen shrub. He scooted into the opening between it and the house and looked out.
The first thing he noticed was his own car in the driveway, so at least it wasn’t impounded or something. His mother’s was beside it, which meant his father’s was somewhere else. His parents were pack rats, the two-car garage full of boxes and other crap. Across the street were townhomes, which prevented on-the-street parking and resulted in two sets of parking spaces, on one either side of the town row, and his father’s Prius sat in one of them, sandwiched between two SUVs.
No one seemed to be out there, and his eyes went to each car in a driveway or in the parking spots. All were familiar, but one that sat in the set of spaces that did not include his father’s car. It immediately drew his attention because he saw the orange glow of a cigarette inside as someone took a drag from it. The dark silhouette of two heads were visible. The house was being watched. His Mazda 3 was out of the question. So was the front door. Thank God for that Uber driver or he’d be face down in handcuffs right now.
He leaned against the house for a minute. Did people really think he was a danger to national security? He was suddenly glad that he had never gotten involved in my political commentary online. What would he say if apprehended? If he told the truth, they’d put him in a psych ward somewhere, and lying would not work. Even Eric, who was pretty good at that sort of thing, probably wouldn’t acquit himself well. He realized he needed an attorney—like he could afford that. Life as a software developer could be lucrative, but he was at the start of his career, not yet raking in six figures. He sighed. One problem at a time.
He went to the back corner of the building and looked around, then scooted toward the rear door with his back against the house. Stopping at the first window, he tried to peer inside, wondering if his parents knew the place was being watched. Would they cooperate with the FBI or whoever was out there? Would they let someone stay inside to grab him? Would they let him be arrested? He wasn’t a criminal, had done nothing wrong. His mom and dad would be worried about him, just like when the Stonehenge disappearance happened, but he doubted they would help someone other than him.
Suddenly he realized that his credit card, which was associated with his phone and Uber account, and which he had just used to pay for the ride, had likely triggered an alert that was probably set up.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “No time for this.”
He moved past the window quickly without worrying about it, making it to the door just under the security light. He had argued with his parents about its positioning when his dad set it up,
