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“All right,” I said, sitting up in my chair and causing it to squeak loudly in the process. “Let me just buff Julius real quick annnd… okay! Let’s beat this mother—”
My computer crashed, the screen blinking black before shutting down.
“—fucker!”
I tapped on the keys and clicked the mouse furiously, hoping it would come back alive and I’d still be in the game, not dead but thriving, maybe with a hundred new viewers.
Yeah, that’s what I hoped for. What I got instead was another hard crash, the computer’s fan whirring loudly as it tried booting back up before sputtering out, the screen staying dark and my friends’ voices no longer in my ear.
“Damnit. Damnit, damnit, freaking dammit.”
My frustration bubbled up and manifested in me slapping my cheap wooden desk, the thin legs wobbling a bit underneath the pathetic blow. I grabbed both edges and steadied it. With both eyes closed, I filled my lungs with air and tried to remember this was all just the beginning. Someday soon, I wouldn’t be playing on a laptop that could barely handle Microsoft Word, much less War of Worlds. I’d be making enough off my streams that I could buy an entirely new setup and upgrade my whole situation. And then, once my production value went up, that would only draw in more and more viewers. I wasn’t exactly sure what day that would be, but it didn’t matter. I just knew it was coming. It helped put things back into perspective. I opened my eyes, for a brief second expecting to see the game back on my screen.
The laptop was as dead as a doorknob.
Why is that even a saying? Since when are doorknobs ever even alive?
I leaned back in the chair, almost causing it to tip over. I latched onto the scratchy wood table, miraculously avoiding a splinter.
A series of doorbell rings made me jump out of the chair. I almost tripped over a discarded pair of gym shorts, half falling on my bed, using the mattress to push me back up. I bounced on the wall and through the open door, like a little Ping-Pong ball. The rings filled the apartment. I walked past Jesse’s room, his door open. He was lying on his bed, flicking up and down on his iPad, completely unmoved by whoever was at the door.
I rolled my eyes, passing Hazel’s closed door, and entering the cramped, dim living room. We lived on the second floor and faced toward the center courtyard, meaning the other buildings in our apartment complex blotted out the sun pretty much throughout all hours of the day. There was one twenty-four-minute span in the afternoon where I’d get a dash of sunlight through my bedroom window, but that was it, and only on days when there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Which, in Miami, cloudless days were about as common as snow days.
I reached the door and looked through the peephole. There was a man standing there, his face distorted and extra round, his electrifying blue eyes magnified and made even more intense.
I was suddenly very confused. He certainly wasn’t the mail lady, nor was he the two angry trolls we were unlucky enough to call next-door neighbors, and those were about the only people I expected to be ringing on our door out of the blue.
Now he was knocking, his fist rapping hard against the door.
I opened and looked up into those lightning-blue eyes. Now that he wasn’t behind a dirty lens, I could see even more detail inside them. They were the color at the center of an impossibly hot flame. A blue that shifted and danced and swirled in whatever ways it wanted to, regardless of whether or not light was hitting his eyes.
They effectively rendered me speechless.
“Sorry for the intrusion, but does Hazel Rose live here?”
Holy shit, is Hazel dating this beautiful specimen of a man, and if so, why is she keeping him a secret from me?
“Yeah, but I don’t think she’s home…”
“I know she’s not. Hazel’s at work.”
Oh damn, okay, this guy even has her schedule memorized.
His tone was clipped, and his posture told me he wasn’t here to play around. His shoulders were stiff and his jaw jutted out, highlighting the sharp lines that drew a perfect square.
“Is there something I can help you with?” I asked. I wanted to simultaneously help this man with absolutely anything he needed but also tell him to come back when he didn’t look so pissed off.
“I was hoping you could answer a few questions. You’re her roommate, correct?”
My eyebrows drew together. “Correct… What is this about?”
“I’m Rocky Hudson, a private detective working for Stonewall Investigations. Hazel hired me to look into a problem she’s been having. I’m wondering if you might know about it.”
I positioned myself in the center of the doorway and crossed my arms. “Your tone seems pointed.” I cocked my head. “Are you thinking I did something?”
