Loch: I’ve missed you. A lot. Text me back.
Then he waited.
Nothing.
After an impatient half hour, he put the phone aside. Either she wasn’t near her phone or deliberately not answering him. Maybe he could find her online, then. He pulled his computer onto his lap and logged into Excelsior. His character appeared in Cityport, in front of a building. He didn’t see Taylor’s character around but, then again, he wasn’t entirely sure how it worked. Last time he’d played he’d just typed and sent her a message, right?
So he tried that. Taylor are you on? Can we talk?
Someone ran past him and paused.
SoySawse: LOL NOOB.
Loch frowned at his screen. He typed again.
Brunhilde: Taylor is that you?
SoySawse: Dood u realize ur just talking in the main town?
Brunhilde: No, what do I do? I am trying to find a friend.
SoySawse: LOL ur so noob.
Prick. But at least he knew what he was talking about, which was more than he could say for himself.
Brunhilde: Can you help me?
SoySawse: Sure. Type in /duel Soysawse & that will take us 2 a chat & I cn help u.
Now they were getting somewhere. Loch typed in the command, though it seemed an odd one. Maybe duel was shorthand for a two-person chat?
The moment he hit Enter, a red flag showed up on the screen. BRUNHILDE HAS CHALLENGED SOYSAWSE TO A DUEL.
What? That wasn’t what he wanted to do—
The other character pulled out a gigantic sword, struck him, and Loch’s toon died instantly. His ghost appeared.
BRUNHILDE HAS LOST A DUEL TO SOYSAWSE!
WAITING 30 SECONDS FOR BRUNHILDE TO RESPAWN.
The character ran a circle around him, then squatted over the corpse of Loch’s character’s head and began to move up and down.
SoySawse: LOL. Man u really are new. Have some teabags, noob.
Brunhilde: You’re a fucking prick.
SoySawse: LOL YUP
Damn this game. He glared at his screen, watching as SoySawse “teabagged” his corpse over and over again. When the countdown timer finished, he reappeared over his body, naked. He clicked on his body and recollected his armor. Damn it. All he wanted to do was talk to Taylor, not get in a pissing war with some idiot named after an incorrectly spelled condiment.
A moment after he finished putting on his armor again, a message popped up.
Madrigal: Hello again, friend! Welcome back to the game.
Oh. It was the guy he’d met at the convention. The nice one. He tried typing in a response. Hi Madrigal. The words went into the main screen again. Damn it. How did he get them in the chat window?
SoySawse was still nearby and hooted with laughter.
SoySawse: U still haven’t figured out messages? It’s /msg dumbass!
Loch scowled at the screen, wondering if it was another trap. But /msg seemed . . . well, likely. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t already died. He tried it.
Brunhilde: Hi, this is Loch.
Success!
Brunhilde: It is nice to see you again, Madrigal. How are you, mate?
Madrigal: Doing great! Thought I’d see if you needed any help. :)
Brunhilde: I’m looking for Taylor. Is she on?
There was a long pause.
Madrigal: Oh gosh, buddy, I don’t know how to tell you this but she quit the game about a month ago.
Madrigal: Sorry. :(
Brunhilde: No worries. Thanks.
Loch logged out of Excelsior, frowning to himself. She’d quit the game? But she loved the game. She played daily, even when she barely had any time. Not only did she have intense devotion to her guild, but there was Sigmund, who she had some sort of strange, tethered relationship to. Had something happened there?
If she wasn’t on the game and not answering her phone, how the hell was he supposed to find her?
Gretchen.
Of course. He immediately phoned Gretchen. She couldn’t ignore him since he was in her wedding, right?
But his call immediately went to voice mail.
Loch gritted his teeth. Damn it. Now this was just getting ridiculous.
***
Loch tried all day to get ahold of Gretchen. She never answered any of his voice mails, and so he emailed her as well. He considered emailing his assistant and asking him to find Taylor’s street address for him, but he was trying to be independent, and crawling to someone else for help on the very first day seemed like defeat.
So he Googled.
Not that it did any good. Taylor was the expert with computers, not him, and he suspected if she didn’t want her personal information to show up online, she knew how to scrub it. He couldn’t find any information on a Taylor Westfield who lived in New York City, other than a Facebook profile . . . which meant he also had to make a Facebook profile. Damn it. He spent a few minutes setting one up, and then tried to friend her.
Waiting for approval.
Ah, fuck. She was never going to approve him. Stupid computer was thwarting him at every turn.
***
The next morning, Loch went out for an extra-long run to get some of his frustrations out. Everything in Central Park was the same, right down to the gentleman that he’d bought water from in the past. This time, he gave him correct change instead of foisting a twenty at the man, who looked disappointed at the turn of events.
On his walk home, he saw a familiar dirty lump resting at the mouth of an alley. Yet another thing that hadn’t changed. He veered toward it, a smile lighting his face. “Hello, Rex. Nice to see you again.”
The bearded man looked up, squinting. “Hey, it’s the Loch Ness Monster. How are ya, man?”
I’m lost and miserable and I fucked up the best thing in my life. “Managing. Want to grab lunch?” Loch could use the company.
“The regular spot? Don’t mind if I do.” He got to his feet and dusted off his layers of clothing. “Lead the way, my friend.”
The diner was fairly empty and as they went to the counter, Loch saw a woman giving them a revolted look as Rex set his plastic bag of belongings down on the stool next to him. He felt a surge of protectiveness for his odd friend. Rex deserved to have lunch just like everyone else. Loch clapped him on the back and gave him a half-armed hug, trying to show his approval to the world—or at the very least, the rest of the diners. “I’m glad to see you again.”
Rex grunted. “You, too. Been a few weeks. Business trip?”
Loch sat down and pulled out the menu, studying it for something less noxious than the hamburger he normally ordered. A grilled cheese looked promising. Surely they couldn’t mess up a grilled cheese, could they? “Actually, I went home.”