Tracy Maxwell made his nervous way down the elevator into the company parking structure, conscious of a dozen security cameras on him every moment. It didn’t matter that he belonged here, a part of him still didn’t believe any of this was real.
Big companies like Apex Technology didn’t often hire self-taught engineers like himself. It was all about that degree, about how prestigious the school and perfect his grades. He touched the lanyard around his neck one last time for reassurance, tracing the edges of the comfortable plastic. His keys to the kingdom, not yet turned to dust.
Or at least the keys to his internship. With hiring as a full-time employee contingent on job performance.
It wasn’t much, but he didn’t mind the bright green stripe on his badge for three more months. Soon enough it would be the real thing, and he’d never be counting the days to a paycheck ever again.
Tracy had a good long while to walk, all the way to the bottom floor of the parking structure, where no other vehicles were left, and the lights flickered overhead. So far that had been enough to stop any of his coworkers from noticing the boxes and piles of his possessions in his backseat, all the way up to the windows.
He glanced around once to be sure, then slid quickly inside. He had to shove a pile of clothes and toiletries back over to the passenger side, until he was reasonably certain nothing was going to fall onto the pedals.
His old Civic whined and protested as he shifted into second gear around the corners, but didn’t seize up this time. You won’t have to carry this much weight for much longer, old girl. Don’t give out on me yet.
As he finally rounded the exit on the ground floor, his phone started to ring. He pressed the little button beside his ear, and soon a hissing voice came in over the other end. “Is this Mr. Maxwell?”
He winced, not taking his hands from the wheel as he passed through the security gate. “Sure is.” He already knew the voice—she’d left two separate messages on his workstation phone already.
“This is Karen from HR,” she said, in that same utterly emotionless tone. “You were supposed to visit at the end of the day, with your proof of address form. Are you still in the office?”
“Sorry, already on the interstate,” he lied. “I’ll… have to bring that by first thing tomorrow.”
He could hear her disapproval clearly, even over the phone. “You better, Mr. Maxwell. Here at Apex Technology we’re federally required to offer a number of internship positions to local talent only. Your application was under that auspice—if you don’t have proof of address on file by the end of the week, I’ll have to escalate your case towards termination. This isn’t just a formality, Mr. Maxwell. You must complete it if you wish to continue to work with us.”
“I’ll get there early tomorrow,” he blurted. “I’ll be at your office first thing.”
There was a brief silence. He could practically hear her disbelief in the steady clacking sound of a keyboard. “I’ve made a note of that, Mr. Maxwell. Don’t be late.” The line went dead.
Tracy pulled into the Arby’s just a little distance from the massive corporate compound, his heart still racing. It felt a little like he’d narrowly dodged a bullet. But his survival was narrow indeed, and he’d really only bought a few more hours. If he didn’t have a signed lease when he came back into work… that would be it. Uprooting his life would’ve been for nothing. He didn’t even have enough left in his account for the gas to drive home.
Not that there’s anything waiting there for me either.
Tracy flipped through his phone to the list of potential apartments and housing he’d made, almost all highlighted in red. Once he was working full time as an engineer, paying these rents would be no problem. Surviving the three months until then on the measly stipend of an intern, though…
There was only a single item left on his list, a craigslist URL so far at the bottom he hadn’t even noticed it. But just because he’d rejected any of the options he thought might actually be good didn’t mean he had to give up on this one. At this point, he might be forced to take it despite whatever flaws it had.
He opened up the listing, and was blown away by just how much was being offered. Private bedroom, utilities included, no insurance requirements or credit check. There was only street parking, but that was pretty much a given with the sort of cheap places he could afford. Best of all, he’d only have to share the place with a single roommate. True, there were a few pages of boring contract attached, but a quick skim showed nothing he hadn’t seen a dozen times before.
Better than the plan of pretending a hostel is a house and hoping nobody steals my laptop for three months.
Of course, he’d been searching for somewhere to live for the last two weeks now, and there was a good chance it wouldn’t even be available anymore. Tracy ignored the stares, and tapped the number in the listing. To his relief, it only rang after a single time.
“Lancer Realty!” said a cheerful male voice. “Proudly serving the greater Silicon Valley area since—” Then he stopped. “I assume you’re calling about a property?”
“Yeah.” Tracy touched the speaker phone icon, then tabbed over to the listing again. “Just this, uh… duplex down on 27th and Main. I was just wondering if it was still available.”
There was barely a second’s pause on the other end, as though the speaker had been expecting that exact reply. “There are several interested parties, given the area and the price we’re offering. But I’m willing to offer the property to whoever signs first.”
“Today—” he blurted. “I can, uh…” He sat up a little straighter, wiping the sweat from his brow. Not having working AC didn’t matter much underground, but parked in the sun and he was already starting to feel the heat. “I can sign today.”
Even as he said it, he knew he could be making a mistake. The photos online made the place seem downright charming, if plain on the outside. Maybe those were ancient photos, taken before a more recent tenant had destroyed it.
But do I even care? So long as I can prove I have a lease, it doesn’t matter if it’s only a room to dump my stuff. It’s enough to stay working.
“Well, you sound eager. Tell you what—can you meet at the property in… an hour? If we can make a deal today, you can have it.”
“Done,” he said, without hesitating this time. “I’ll see you in an hour.”
Tracy spent the next little while getting a nervous supper just inside, and not at all freaking out about the stakes. Deep breaths, Tracy. Obviously the real estate people need this deal as much as you do, or they wouldn’t be offering something so good. You’re bound to get it signed. And if it sucks, you can rent something else in three more months and leave the place empty. Money won’t even matter once you’re hired full-time.
Tracy drowned his woes in whatever was actually in the Arby’s roast beef. Probably meat, though he was never exactly sure.
For anything else, he’d drive over eventually and not care much if he was a little late. Being on time was always a matter of perspective anyway. But he couldn’t do that now, not when he needed the contract so badly. He parked in front of the place a good ten minutes before the hour was up, then got up and started brushing off a little of the dust with his hoodie.
The old girl looked like she badly needed a wash, and nothing he could do in a few minutes was going to make much difference. But once I’ve got someplace to live, I should be able to find the time for a wash. It won’t be a big deal for much longer.
With a few moments more, Tracy took his time to look over the front of the property, checking for anything that might suggest he was being scammed somehow. But no, it looked exactly like it did in the pictures. An inoffensive duplex, with a lawn mostly dead except for a few patches of weeds and wildflowers. But that was fine—most of the neighbors just had gravel anyway. If they didn’t care, that was much less work for him.
There wasn’t a driveway, or any other cars parked out front. Probably my roommate works as much as I do. He’ll be out until late. Just like I would be if I wasn’t on the run from HR.
The front door windows were fairly sizable, wrapping around the door itself—but they were stained for privacy, not affording much of a view inside. There was a second story window, but the blinds were shut. I wonder if that’s my bedroom. Probably don’t have to worry about thieves as much if I’m on the second story.
He didn’t have much longer to wait—another car pulled in behind his, and he turned to stare.
A few years ago, he might’ve been instantly horrified by its appearance, and gotten into his car to drive away without even looking back.
It looked like it had once been a limousine, or maybe a hearse. But it had suffered an accident or twenty, and been gradually replaced an odd interval. The passenger side-door was a shiny black, while the hood was rusty orange with a few openings to the engine inside.
Then the driver stepped out. He was an exact match to his vehicle, a willowy figure with several different colors of patchwork suit all sewn together. Like a… caricature of a used car salesman. He even had half a mustache on one side of his face, while the other side had a goatee.
You are fucking kidding me. Tracy stared openly at him as he approached, forgetting to even pretend he was being respectful. No wonder you can’t fill this place. You look like you’re trying to sell me something out of Alice in Wonderland.
“You’re Tracy?” he asked, the same voice he’d heard over the line. He stuck out a hand. “I’m Lancer Realty, at least for right now.” He glanced back at his car, eyes narrowing a little. “You look like a man who knows what that’s like. You probably wear a fair few hats yourself.”
He took the offered hand, surprised at the strength of the man’s grip. Maybe it was just age that made him seem so thin, and not weakness. “Enough. I guess if you’re here, I found the right place.”
“Can’t miss it.” He whipped out a folder from somewhere, holding it out. “Here’s the lease. Boilerplate stuff, really. No house parties, no early termination. $500 on the third of every month, no smoking… a copy of this was online, so I’m sure you read it.”
He took the folder. “Yeah, uh… of course I did. Read the whole thing already.” He opened the folder, and found lots of familiar headings inside, with impossible-to-read legalese packed in dense enough to make his eyes glaze over. “Just remind me—all the utilities are included, it’s $500 flat. No… hidden charges tucked away anywhere?”
The realtor smiled at him, teeth seeming strangely… sharp? No, that was probably just the sun getting to him. “There’s no increase to your rent in the lease, no. Just the late fee and agreement to compensate for damage. It’s almost dreadfully dull, in fact. And the deposit is non-monetary, so you don’t need to worry about making anything until next week.” He spun his delicate fingers around, offering a glittering gold pen.
Tracy took it without thinking, then froze. He didn’t even ask for my ID. No background check, no credit card… “Shouldn’t I take a tour or something first?” he asked. “We’re here anyway.”
“I mean… you probably should.” The man didn’t move, however. “But you must need this place pretty badly if we’re still having this conversation.” He reached out, tapping the trunk with two fingers. The lock gave, vomiting out his bed linens onto the asphalt. “Why not sign now, and I can help you get moved in? You look like you’ll need it.”
Of course, he was right. If this contract walked away from him, then he’d almost certainly lose the internship, and with it any chance of long-term employment. He didn’t even know this realtor’s name; how could he know so much?
“That’s a hard sell,” he said, taking the pen and searching the contract for the lines. “This isn’t usually how these are done.”
The man only shrugged. “Hence the way I look, Tracy. You know they say the same thing about those… messages you all get, from the prince of Nigeria? They’re never that plausible, are they? Because the ones running them don’t want the sort of people who question something outrageous. They want the ones willing to take a daring chance on success.”
He leaned forward, resting a hand on Tracy’s shoulder and yanking him. “Take a chance on success, Mr. Maxwell. There’s nowhere quite like this in the city. Make your next year a year to remember.”
Why the hell is he just telling me? He just compared himself to a Nigerian email scammer. And yet, he hadn’t given back the contract. In some ways, it didn’t even matter if something was wrong with the property. So long as it was somewhere he could get his mail, and somewhere he could toss a mattress onto the floor, it was probably good enough.
Tracy initialed three times, then signed on the next page. The gold pen sure did write well, with a deep red ink that went slightly brownish before his eyes. “And that’s the difficult bit taken care of.”
The man tore off the back of the cheap carbon-paper, offering it to Tracy. “You’ll want this for your work, no doubt. The price you pay for success.” He snatched the folder free, closing it with a snap.
He spun around to reach for his strange car, and suddenly the folder was gone, replaced with a single key. A silly plastic horseshoe hung from the end, just big enough that it would annoy him in his pocket. “And here you are. Key works on both sides of the house, and on the mailbox. There’s a slot for rent inside, I’ll show you when we move in.”
It all sounded so suddenly… final. “Is any of this legal? I didn’t see any bank stuff, or tax forms, or…” He shrugged. He hadn’t actually rented anywhere before. Maybe everything that made this seem incredibly sketchy was just the reason such a good offer hadn’t been claimed yet.
“If you’re asking if you’re going to get in trouble for signing here—absolutely not. As torturous as it can be to drag oneself through a bureaucratic morass to license a property for tenants. Just keep to the lease, and everything’s fine.”
He made his way over to the back of Tracy’s car, knocking against the trunk again. It opened as before—something it had never done for anyone else. “I did mean it when I said I’d help you move in. Please, what can I carry? That ‘living in your car’ thing is depressing me just standing nearby.”
“Sure, uh…” He hesitated, then shrugged. It wasn’t as though he had to be too worried about this strange realtor running off with his possessions—with one exception, it wasn’t really worth much anyway. Even to a man who wore a dozen different suits sewn together, and who drove something put together in a junkyard. “Just grab whatever. I’ll…”
He reached into the driver’s seat, tossing the backpack onto his shoulders before grabbing as much of his clothes as he could carry in both arms without losing the key. It probably looked pretty pathetic, but… at this point, he’d already signed.
“Why bother working so hard to fill your vacancy?” he asked conversationally, as they made their way up the little trail between dead weeds and bushes. “My rent can’t make that much difference to a… large real estate firm.”
The other laughed amicably. He’d somehow managed to stack up every single thing in the truck, blankets and old suitcases and a few plastic crates of electronics all piled atop each other without slipping. It looked like he should collapse at any moment, yet he walked without dislodging it. Somehow.
“No reason of terrible consequence to you. Suffice it to say that it wasn’t advantageous to keep the property empty. A house without anyone to live inside it is like a flowerpot without a rose, or a body without a soul. And if nothing else, think of the opportunity. Somewhere for you to live, and a chance to meet those who might not otherwise enter your… circle of experience.”
More non-answers. He’s going to try and harvest my organs, isn’t he?
Tracy touched briefly against his pocket, and the reassuring lump of his phone tucked away inside. At least if something did go bad, he could always call the police.
His companion stopped beside the door, moving aside despite his heavy load without complaint. What probably would’ve taken Tracy half a dozen trips, this wiry old man had done in just one. “You’ve got the only key. It’s your new place, I’ll let you do the honors.”
And you’ll be behind me. Tracy braced his arms against the door, fishing blindly with one hand until he found the knob. Finally he located what he was looking for, and he settled the key firmly inside.
For a second, he imagined an almost electric pulse passing through the metal, up into his arm. It didn’t hurt, but it was also strong enough that he couldn’t ignore it. “Static.” He shook out his arm, then gripped the bundle again. He’d have to get it through to the empty bedroom.
“I still don’t know your name,” he said, bracing his knee on the handle. “I’d like to know who, uh… struck such a great deal with me.”
“Oh, right. How clumsy of me.” He reached sideways, and somehow Tracy felt a hand on the square of his back. How the hell could he do that without dropping all that gear?
At the same moment, the door swung open in front of him, leading to a strange, impossibly small space. Like staring into an optical illusion, or a movie set not built to accommodate close inspection. Except… no, that wasn’t quite it.
“You can call me Discord.” He shoved, sending Tracy stumbling through the door into forever.