Taking a deep breath, I walk over to my bedroom door. I reach for the doorknob. The handle is cool to the touch. I'm not sure what I was expecting. The feel is normal, I think. Probably. I open the door, letting it swing in slowly. Nothing jumps out at me. I let out my breath and enter.
My room is just as I left it. My clothes from yesterday are still in a pile on the floor and my bed still unmade from Saturday morning. The fans in my computer still whir though the monitor is on standby. Everything in here feels like it should, yet I'm still hesitant. I glance at the mirror. I see me glancing back and no extra pairs of eyes.
Maybe it's just me being silly, but I don't want to stay in my room much longer than I have to right now. I grab everything I need – a change of clothes, my laptop, and my backpack – and return to the living room. Trish still isn't awake, yet, so I can take my time in the shower this morning.
When I'm done, I can hear Trish's alarm blaring. I toss my night clothes into my room and shut the door when I'm done. The alarm ends, and Trish's cursing can be heard through the thin walls. I smile. At least some things never change. Trish has never been a morning person. She caught detention many times for missing half of her first class that she almost didn't graduate high school. Me, I don't mind mornings, especially if I've had an early night the day before.
I get the coffee perculating while Trish begins her morning ritual of cursing her alarm, knocking down whatever's on her nightstand, and falling out of bed. She shambles out of her room, her blouse crooked. "Morning," I say. "Coffee will be ready soon."
She forces a smile. "Are you okay?"
"Yep. Oh, I'll be a bit late this afternoon."
Trish tries to stare at me but can't focus her eyes. "Oh. Okay." She walks towards the kitchen. "Does this mean I can borrow the car today? I'm working after class."
"The key's on the, no, wait." I pat my pocket and feel my keyring. "I got them." I dig out the key for the Honda and set it on an end table. "Found it. How late are you going to be?"
I hear coffee mugs clacking against each other in the kitchen. "Nine-ish, unless someone browses forever again."
I start gathering my gear. "I'm heading off. Call me when you're ready for lunch. I should be in the computer lab." After I hear a grunt from Trish, I leave the apartment.
The morning is still cold, especially compared to the past week. Yesterday's snow still lies on the small front yards of the neighbours, though none remain on the sidewalk. I shiver a little in the cold air as I walk down the steps to the street level. The bus better be running on time today. I really don't want to wait long, and the real cold of winter hasn't even hit town yet. Of course, if the weather keeps changing like it has, I'll be wearing my bathing suit and sunning myself in the back in the middle of February.
The bus does arrive on time. It takes me well into Carleton University's campus, letting me off near the Herzberg Building, home to the Physics and Computer Science departments. The wind coming from the Rideau River cuts through my jacket. I shove my hands deeper into my pockets and break into a jog to try to get out of the cold as soon as I can.
The heater is working hard, blowing warm air into the entry as I step in and pull the door shut behind me. I keep going in before stopping to warm myself up. There are a few other people in the hallway and on the stairs, most with a Tim Hortons coffee in hand. I consider getting one, but the Unicentre is probably packed right now with us students with early morning classes.
I climb the steep stairs to the third floor and continue to the my class. Inside the classroom, I find a seat near the middle of the third row and get out my laptop. My classmates slowly file in and take seats.
The prof drones his lecture, showing code fragments on screen through the overhead projector. I type notes into a file on my laptop, keeping another screen open for instant messaging. The distraction helps me both stay awake and stay on top of the lesson. One of my other co-workers from my summer job – not Mr. Engagement, but one who took me for a drink after work the day I heard about the wedding – keeps me updated on how the project I was on there is going. He hopes that I'll return during my next co-op work term. So far, it looks like I will.
The class finally ends an hour and a half later. I sign off with my former co-worker, then send the laptop into hibernation. I join my classmates filing out of the room. The hall is crowded with students leaving class, both mine and others on the floor. We make our way, flowing more or less as one mass towards the stairs. I break away from the pack to look outside. Grey clouds have gathered since I went inside, turning the campus bleak. I try to merge back in with the crowd. As I'm turning away from the window, I see the eyes again, the same eyes I saw in my mirror.
My heart races as I try to push through the crowd. I crash into the women's washroom and lock myself in a stall. My breathing is loud in the confined space. I try to calm myself, to shake off the feeling of being stalked. I have to be seeing things. Eyes can't just appear in a mirror or a window like that. Maybe I'm coming down with something. Or maybe I've been working too hard and need a break. Or maybe I'm going crazy.
I take a deep breath to try to steady myself. My next class isn't until after lunch. I could go to Health Services and see if a doctor or counsellor or someone is available to see me. At least I should get someone telling me that I'm seeing things. A professional opinion that I'm losing my mind is better than running from eyes only I can see. First, though, I need to leave the washroom.
I reach out to unlock the latch. A look at the mirror shows nothing out of the ordinary there. I rush over to the sink so I can wash my face in cold water. The sharp frigidness helps shock me to reality again. I take another deep breath as I dry my face. I'm just seeing things, that's all.
I'm not good at convincing myself. I don't want to leave the washroom. I don't want to see those eyes again, and I don't want them to see me. Part of me is berating me for being foolish. Another part wants me to go back into the stall and curl up. I can also hear Trish laughing at me. That's enough to push away from the sink and stride out back into the hallway.
I manage to get down to the tunnel level without looking any windows. Once in the tunnel proper, I lean against the cool cement wall. From here, I can get to almost every building on campus. That assumes that my legs will ever stop trembling. They're almost too weak to hold me up. I lay my palms flat against the wall to give me extra support. Carefully, I lean back so my head touches the wall. A maintenance cart screams by.
Okay, time to get over myself. I'm panicking over nothing. Worse, I'm panicking over reflections, optical illusions, half-seen images. Last night, I was drunk. This morning, the grey skies and everyone being in the halls and stairs could have caused that reflection. And it's been some time since I've had an eye exam. I'm obviously overdue for one.
My breathing and my heart rate are closer to normal. I push away from the wall and start down the tunnel towards the Unicentre. A coffee right now sounds good. I can sit down and sip it before my next class. After that, I can go to the Health Centre and make some sort of appointment.
The line for the coffee moves along well. Despite being a dozen people from the beginning of the queue, it's only ten minutes of waiting before I place my order. I sit down and pull out my laptop. The university's wireless is availble here in the Unicentre, so I check out the news while I drink my coffee. The CBC's website, the online arm for the government run news agency, has stories about the weather leading their page for Ottawa. Outside city limits and in Gatineau on the other side of the Ottawa River, the weather is as normal as it gets. Once inside the city, things get strange. The temperature fluctuates to the point where a forecast beyond a day is impossible. The video file linked to the story shows what's happening at the edge of Ottawa. There's a line where the snow ends and the grass is bare.
I shut down the browser. I don't need more weirdness today, thank you very much. An invisible stalker is more than enough for me. My spine shudders, more in memory of the feeling than anything else. I look around anyway. There's a sea of students wearing their Carleton jackets, but nothing unusual catches my eye. Probably for the best; I don't want another reason to freak out.
My second class of the day is in the Tory Building. Normally, it's used for biology and some chemisty classes; but, probably for space, my database class is there as well this semester. The class goes well. I keep up with the notes, this time without resorting to instant messaging. The details are coming too fast to risk missing anything, especially the code expected to be used in the next assignment. Speaking of which, the prof assigns that to be done in two weeks.
Again, my classmates and I file out at the end of the lecture. I feel my cell phone vibrating in my backpack. I retrieve it. The call display shows Trish's cell number. I answer the call. "Hi, Trish."
"Jackie, hi, ready for lunch?"
We arrange to meet in the parking garage to retrieve the Honda. Trish wants to try out a new Vietnamese place on Bank Street. I try not to act nervous in the car or the restaurant. No need to worry Trish. After lunch, she drives me back to Carleton before she heads home to get ready for work.
I go to my last class of the day. It's the slowest of the three classes today. Several others in the class have brought coffee or Coke to help them make it through. I surf the net instead. This time, though I try a Google search on seeing faceless eyes in reflections. To my surprise, there are hits. Most of them are fiction or art. It's only on the third page of results where I find something different. I click on the link and I'm taken to a site claiming to be about magick. The extra 'k' at the end doesn't thrill me but I keep reading.
According to the site, the eyes are a sign of a spell that watches its target. Oh, that's reassuring. I'm being stalked by a wizard. My first thoughts were right; this site is useless. There is no way I'm being stalked by magic. It doesn't exist. I shut the window with an angry click.
The end of the day finally arrives. I let my classmates leave before me, taking my time in packing up. I still have to go downtown, but I have plenty of time. It's only twenty minutes to get to the Bridgehead on Bank. After making sure I have everything, I leave as well. I head over to the O-Train stop. It's been awhile since I've taken light rail from campus.
The O-Train arrives, brakes squealing it to a stop. Doors open to let people get off or on, depending if they're coming or going. As I'm getting settled in my seat, the southbound O-Train arrives. Carleton is the only point along the rail line where the northbound and the southbound meet, so whichever one arrives first has to wait for the other. Mine leaves first. The car sways gently as we take the first corner.
Ten minutes later, I'm at the Transitway, the buses only roadway crossing the city. I walk up to the Bayview Station stop and wait. The transfer never takes long here; there's always a bus going by within five minutes of the O-Train's arrival. From here, I'm whisked downtown and arrive within walking distance of the coffee shop. After a walk in the crisp cold, I step in and enjoy the smell of the different blends available. I order a green tea and get the wireless code for the shop then sit down.
I pass the time by working on the database assignment, working out the different elements and writing down pseudocode as a base to work from when I'm ready to start the real programming. The tea does wonders to settle me down, as does keeping my mind too busy to think of anything else.
The time flies as I work on my homework and check my favourite sites. It's coming up to four o'clock when my code expires and I get up for another tea. The afterwork crowd starts building up as the public servants from the surrounding buildings start heading home. I keep an eye out for Lance, then I realize that I have no idea what he looks like. That lovely thought in my head, I sit back down with my laptop. The new code lets me back online. My attention divides, part of it on my coding, part of it looking for someone looking for me.
Ten minutes later, a dark haired man in his mid-twenties enters, a box the size of a lunch cooler in one arm. He scans the small crowd in the coffee shop. I try catching his eye, resorting to a small wave to make sure he sees me. He threads through people to get to my table. "Jacinda?" he asks.
"Hi. Lance?"
The dark haired man nods. I motion for him to sit down. "Sorry I'm late," he says as he takes a seat across from me. "I got stuck waiting for an elevator."
I shut my laptop closed. "No problem," I say. "I got here early."
Lance slips out of his jacket. His body is lean in his light blue golf. "It's nice to finally meet you in person." He has a warm smile.
I return his smile. "Nice to see you, too. I forgot that I'd never told you what I look like."
"Never occurred to me, either." He pushes the box across the table. "Here."
I pick up the container. It's lighter than my laptop and something slides when I tilt it. "What is it?"
"Open it."
Ignoring his cat eating the canary expression, I turn the box over to find the lid. It's sealed with tape that I cut through without effort with my fingernail. Inside are what look like a pair of gloves. I pull them out. "Electronic gloves?" I put one on, sliding my fingers through openings that are little more than contacts and wires.
"They're a prototype," Lance explains. "It's an extra for the game. Not something everyone will need, but you'll find them useful."
I twist my hand and curl my fingers, testing the the degree of movement the glove allows me. "It's like the Wii controller, isn't it?"
Lance nods. "Similar, yes, but more specialized for Valor Quest. If it works, the developers will make design other games to use it."
I look Lance directly in his soft brown eyes. "You work for the developers, right?"
"Guilty as charged." He holds his hands up in mock surrender.
"Why didn't you just tell me?" I take off the glove.
"Other game companies hate it when we poach their best players." He sits back. "As do some of the players."
I set the glove back in the box. "Some of the players don't like being lied to, either."
"I know, and I am really sorry for not being up front. I don't like the method, either."
"Then why don't you say something? Tell them that they have to find new ways of finding playtesters."
Lance sighs. "I'm the low man on the totem pole there. The only reason why they let me invite people in is because I'm good at most of the games out there and can recognize potential playtesters better than the rest of the team. Besides, aren't you having fun with Valor Quest?"
"Yes, but I don't like being lied to."
"I'll tell them. Promise." He gives me a half-smile as he changes the subject, "How's the coffee here?"
I shrug. "I only had the tea."
"Need a refill?"
I take a look at my cup. It's still half-full. "I'm good, thanks."
Lance gets up. I watch him walk by in his tight jeans. He's not quite my type, but he does have some nice assets. He joins the line, turns to me, then waves. Caught, I try not to blush as I wave back, then focus myself on my laptop. I shut it down and slip both it and the controller gloves into my backpack before Lance returns. "So . . .."
"So . . .." he repeats, mimicking my tone.
I try to suppress my giggles at his earnest expression. "How did you get hired to lie to potential playtesters?"
Lance shrugs. "Right place at the right time, mainly. I was in between jobs and applied to the right person. Are you thinking of sending a job application?"
"No." I laugh. "Not yet, at least. I want to graduate first. Maybe I should give you my resume anyway. Are they looking for more coders?"
"I'll ask." He takes a long drink of his coffee. "How much longer before you graduate?"
"Three semesters, plus time in the co-op program. Call it two years or so."
"Best of luck."
"Thanks." I take a quick glance at his left hand. No ring and no mark from a ring. "So, you've seen those odd menus in Valor Quest?"
Lance nods. "They're there for a reason. They're being treated as Easter eggs for now, but should be part of the final release. Anyone who reports them, though, get to test the gloves." He leans in. "Don't tell any of the other players," he says in a mock whisper. "It's a test of sorts."
"Mum's the word." As Lance sits up again, I continue, "It's an interesting idea, but what's the purpose?"
"Ah, that's the genius part. The playtesters who don't discover the extra menus still can help test minor things, like how the monsters work. The people who do can move on to a new server that should be set up in a month or two for more advanced code testing. Laurel, the head of the project, loved the idea."
I think over the idea. Seems reasonable to me, though I've never considered levels of playtesting before. "If it works, go for it."
"That's the motto of the project team." Lance sits straighter with pride. "And it's fun. I get paid to play games. Who can top that?"
"Games aren't everything, though."
"True, but would you turn down an opportunity like this?"
Lance has a point. Even if the job doesn't last long, it'd be a chance for me to do something I like and can look forward to getting out of bed for. "I wouldn't. I don't think I would want to stay in it long, though. I prefer having work and fun separate and I might get tired of playing the games if I had to do it everyday."
"You could be right," Lance agrees. "I haven't decided if this is what I want to do for the rest of my life. For now, though, I like it and it likes me."
I finish my tea. "If you're happy."
"I am. Though it doesn't give me much time to get out. Laurel works us hard."
"Then you must not eat decent meals."
Lance arches an eyebrow. "Are you inviting me to dinner?"
I grin. "Are you accepting?"
"You're on. Any place you have in mind?"
I think about what's around. Zak's was good except for me being ill later on Saturday. The Honest Lawyer ought to be open still; some public servants stay downtown for a bit to unwind instead of fleeing to the suburbs right away. I suggest it to Lance. "It's in the Market."
Lance smiles. "Sounds good to me."
We put our jackets on and leave. A brisk wind hits us in our face, blowing the cold in off the river. Head down, I lead Lance to the Transitway stop where we can catch a bus instead of walking in the wind. We don't say much, probably through awkwardness. I know it is just that on my part, but there silence is interrupted by the arrival of the bus. It's a short ride to the Rideau Centre and a quick walk through the mall to get to the other side. Minutes later, we arrive at the Honest Lawyer.
The hostess seats us at a booth as soon as we enter. We take off our coats. I brush against his arm. His lean body hides an amazing strength. He waits until I'm comfortable before he sits down himself. I look around the restaurant, looking at the décor and trying not to stare at him.
The waitress arrives and takes our drink orders. Lance orders a Guiness draught and I go for a Canadian. I'm not driving and I'm not planning on having more than the one. We look through the menus, still not saying anything, letting the restaurant's piped music and low din fill in the silence.
I look up, having decided on a salad for supper. Lance is still reading over the menu. "Hard to choose, eh?" I ask.
"I'm not sure what I'm in the mood for. You?"
"I'm having a salad. Don't feel that you have to have one, too, for my sake, though."
Lance nods and returns to the menu. The waitress returns with our drinks and asks if we're ready to order. I ask for my grilled chicken salad with ranch dressing on the side. Lance sets aside his menu and orders a steak sandwich. Our server takes the menus and leaves.
"Interesting choice," I say. "Not what I was expecting."
"It's been a while since I've had steak," Lance explains. "My cooking is closer to heating up a microwave dinner after getting home after ten o'clock."
"Do you work late often?"
Lance smiles. "Nah. Just every other day." He takes a drink of his dark beer.
I return his smile. "So it's like school, except with a paycheque and benefits."
"And fewer long lectures where you think you could be elsewhere doing something useful."
"Where did you go to university?"
"Lakehead. You've heard of it?"
I nod. Lakehead is in Thunder Bay, way on the other side of the province. He's a long way from home. "Why did you move here?"
"There was a job that looked good but it didn't pan out." He looks down at the table for a moment. "But, that lead to Valor Quest and to meeting you. It wasn't all bad."
I take a drink of my beer to help keep my expression neutral. I'm not sure how to take his comment. It didn't sound like he was hitting on me. "Thanks again for the gloves."
"It's better than giving your address to a stranger. I don't think taking the stranger to dinner is much better."
"I can handle myself." It's true. I took martial arts lessons, mainly akido and karate for self-defense and staying fit.
Lance looks me over. "I think you can, too."
The waitress arrives with our meals. Once again, a silence descends on us. I'm not complaining too much. It's nice to have company on a night Trish won't be home for dinner. I probably would have ordered out of pizza. Lance isn't too bad to talk with, though I'd be more comfortable chatting with him online. Go figure.
We finish out dinner and make light talk while drinking our beers. Lance isn't like Steve. He's not as smooth, not as comfortable with himself or with talking to me. No problem, really. Lance isn't trying to hit on me or chat me up. We talk about his work, my classes, the strange weather around, Valor Quest and its quirks. We probably could have kept going if his cell phone hadn't trilled.
"Sorry, work phone. I have to take it." He picks up after the second ring. "Hello, Lance here." I can hear the voice at the other end but can't make out any words. "Now? Okay, I'll be there in ten minutes. I'm just in the Market." More tinny voice. "No, I am not doing that. See you soon." He hangs up.
"Work?" I ask.
"Yes. Sorry, but I have to go in. Are you okay getting home by yourself? Need a cab?"
"I'm good. My bus is on Rideau Street."
Lance leaves several twenties on the table. "It's nice meeting you. Have fun with the game."
"Nice meeting you, too, and I'll get the next dinner."
Lance leaves. The waitress arrives with the bill. I give her the money Lance left, then leave.
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