On the day debugging was finished on Counterpart High: Senior Year,
Simon announced to Sam, “The occasion demands a party, Mazer.” Sam admitted that it had not even occurred to him to have a party.
“You’re kidding, right? God, I miss Marx. Hmm, why throw a party? I don’t know, we finished the game. We survived the last year. They tried to kill us, they nearly broke us, but we’re still bloody here! Why does anyone ever throw a party?”
Parties, like many other things, had fallen largely under Marx’s purview, and Sam had never thrown one before. Marx’s advice was to hire a party planner: For God’s sake, Sam, you don’t have to do everything yourself.
Since Counterpart High ended in a graduation ceremony, the party planner’s idea was Grad Night. Guests could wear caps and gowns, or clothes from when they went to high school. A secret room for alcohol and spiked punch. A photo booth. A yearbook signing table. Sam thought it sounded jejune. “People love being jejune,” the party planner assured him.
Sam had invited Sadie, though he knew she would not come. She was, according to Alice, overwhelmed. “She has a pretty good case of postpartum depression going, I’d say. And that’s on top of the depression she already had,” Alice said. He still had the impulse to go to her house every day, like he had done when they’d been in college. But Sadie was an adult, with a child. And Sam was an adult, with a business to run, mostly by himself.
—
Four hundred thirteen days after Marx had died, Unfair Games threw a party to celebrate the launch of Counterpart High: Senior Year.
Simon, dressed in royal blue cap and gown, got a bit inebriated, and then, as often follows, a bit maudlin, and then he did a celebratory line of coke to wake himself up. He turned to reminiscing about what it had been like when Marx had discovered them. “We didn’t have that much. We were still in college. The shittiest demo. A two-hundred-page, deeply clunky treatment, and a couple of pages of concept art.”
“And the title,” Ant added. He was wearing a baby blue tuxedo and a sash that said PROM KING.
“Yeah, which Sam immediately threw out,” Simon said.
“Not immediately.” Sam was also dressed in cap and gown, though his was crimson and gold. The party planner had racks of them at the door for anyone who hadn’t come in costume. “So, why do you think Marx decided to make the game formerly known as Love Doppelgängers?”
“No idea,” Simon said. “I wouldn’t have given us money to make a game, that’s for sure.”
“But he was right to, wasn’t he? If you look at how things turned out. It’s our most successful series by a mile,” Sam said. “What did he say to you? What did he see? I’d love to know.”
Simon thought about the question. “He said he’d read through our materials, and he was intrigued. And then he said, I remember this clearly. He said, ‘So tell me how you see it.’ ”
For the next several hours, Sam socialized with the people who had come to the party like it was his job, which, in point of fact, it was. Around midnight, he was exhausted from socializing, and he found himself looking for a place to recharge. To return to his or Marx’s office would have required walking through the party again—past the gauntlet of journalists, gamers, employees, and well-wishers from other game companies—and so he went into Sadie’s office, which was the farthest away from everything. Her office wasn’t empty: Ant was sitting at her desk.
“What’s the prom king doing in here?” Sam demanded.
“The king is tired,” Ant said. “Also, I detest Simon when he’s using coke.” He explained sheepishly that he had often used Sadie’s office when he needed a break from Simon, with whom he shared a large office on the second floor. For his part, Sam had not been in Sadie’s office since before the shooting.
Ant was flipping through a portfolio of artwork that was sitting on Sadie’s desk. “Something you two were working on?” he asked.
“No,” Sam said, “I’ve never seen this work before.” “Well, it’s not half-bad,” Ant said.
Sam pulled up a chair next to Ant, and the two of them went through the pages. It was a series of drawings and storyboards of a postapocalyptic land somewhere in the American Southwest. The drawings were done in pencil and watercolor.
On the first page, a title: Our Infinite Days. Wildflowers grew over the crumbling stone letters.
The title was familiar to Sam, but he could not yet say why.
Ant read the text aloud: “Days 1 through 109: A Dry Season. Rain has not fallen for over a year, lakes have dried up, the sea level is fallen, and access to fresh water is not guaranteed. A plague, brought on by drought conditions, has swept through the United States, killing four in five people and much of planet earth’s flora and fauna. Of those who survive, many are left as desert vampires—their brain chemistry altered by disease and dehydration. Some of the vampires are violent: the Parched. Some of the zombies are docile but lack memories: the Gentle. Without warning, the Gentle can turn into the Parched, and vice versa.”
Sam laughed. “Of course, they can.”
Ant turned the page to look at the next painting, which was a detailed watercolor of a female desert vampire in the process of feeding. The desert vampire is lunging at a man, and her tongue has morphed into a long proboscis, which she is plunging up the man’s nose. A caption read: Up to 60% of the human body is water. The heart and brain are 73%; the lungs, 83%; the skin, 74%; bone, 31%. It is not the human’s blood the desert vampire seeks, but her water.
“Conceptually, that’s somewhat interesting,” Ant said. He turned the page. A small girl and her mother walk across a surreally beautiful, Daliesque desert, their footprints leaving a trail in the caramel-colored sand. The mother has a gun; the daughter, a knife. The caption read: Though she doesn’t always have the words to express their situation, the six-year-old girl is the keeper of memories. That is why she is known as the Keeper. The player will toggle between playing Mama and the Keeper, but she will need to master both characters if she wants to get to the Coast, where the Keeper believes her brothers and father are waiting for her.
“The artist is a fine draftsman,” Sam said. “But these ideas are pretty clichéd.”
“Still, I think there’s something here,” Ant insisted. “These images make me feel…I don’t know the word. I guess they make me feel.”
Ant turned the page: The Keeper and Mama are fending off a vampire attack. The caption read: Day 289: The Burden of Memory. When we dream, we dream of the old world. Of rain, of bathtubs, of soap suds, of clean skin, of swimming pools, of running through sprinklers in the summer, of washing machines, of the distant sea which may just be a dream.
Another painting. The Keeper makes a line on her calf with a Sharpie. The line joins rows of other lines. If we did not mark the days, we would not know how much we had survived.
“Maybe there is something here,” Sam said. “I’m going to take it home with me.” He closed the portfolio and lifted it from the desk. A green Post- it detached from the folder and fluttered to the ground. Marx’s handwriting
—small, evenly spaced letters, all caps: S., TELL ME YOUR THOUGHTS. —M.
At once, Sam remembered the woman who had called him the day he’d come back to the office. “I think I know who this belongs to,” Sam said. “It’s a team. A woman and her husband.”
“If you end up meeting with them, let me know,” Ant said. “Maybe I’ll sit in. Reminds me of Ichigo in a weird way.”
Sam slipped the portfolio under his arm. “Do you talk much to Sadie?” Sam asked.
“Sometimes,” Ant said. “Not as much as I’d like. The baby’s super cute, full head of hair, looks like her and Marx.”
All babies are cute, Sam thought. “Do you think she’ll ever come back to work?”
“I have no idea,” Ant said.
“Someone who loved video games as much as Sadie can’t have nothing to do with them forever,” Sam said to himself as much as to Ant.
“I sometimes think about doing other things,” Ant said. “I like video games, but are they worth getting shot over?”
“But you came back to the office,” Sam said.
Ant shrugged. “What’s better than work?” He paused. “What’s worse than work?”
Sam nodded. He took a moment to look at Ant. In his mind, he always thought of Simon and Ant as kids, because they had been so young when Marx had taken on Love Doppelgängers. But Ant was no longer a kid, and his eyes reminded Sam of his own. They had the patina of a person who had felt pain and expected to feel it again. Sam put his hand on Ant’s arm, imitating a gesture he had seen Marx use. “If I haven’t said it before, I want you to know that I really appreciate you coming back here to finish the game. I know it must have been incredibly difficult.”
“Truthfully, Sam, I was grateful for Counterpart High. I was grateful to not have to be in this world.” Ant paused. “Sometimes, when I’m working on CPH, that world feels more real to me than, like, the world world, anyway. I love that world more, I think, because it is perfectible. Because I have perfected it. The actual world is the random garbage fire it always is. There’s not a goddamn thing I can do about the actual world’s code.” He laughed at himself, then looked at Sam. “How are you doing?”
“Tired,” Sam admitted. “All things considered, I’d say it’s only been the second, possibly, the third worst year of my life.”
“It’s definitely been the worst year of mine,” Ant said. “You must have had some outstandingly shitty years.”
“Outstandingly,” Sam agreed.
They were about to reabsorb themselves into the party when Ant added, “For what it’s worth, she mentioned that she plays games at night. Stuff on her PC, maybe? Or even something on her phone? There was mention of a game in a restaurant. Something set in the Old West. Nothing too complicated. She called them ‘dumb, garbage games,’ and she said it relieved her anxiety. This is to say, I don’t think she’s entirely done with games.”
Sam considered this information for a beat, and then he nodded. “Say, Ant, what do you think of the title Our Infinite Days?”
“It’s okay, but it’ll never sell in Montana,” Ant said.
The DJ called out, “EVERYONE UP TO THE ROOF!” Two Decembers ago, this same instruction had meant something very different, and Sam had debated with the party planner about the taste of sending the party up to the roof again. Ultimately, he decided that it was best to reclaim the space. The roof had always been one of the best parts of the building on Abbot Kinney. Marx had loved the roof.
“Shall we?” Sam said.
Ant grabbed Sam’s hand, and they let the momentum of the crowd push them up the stairs.
“IT’S TIME FOR THE CEREMONIAL CAP TOSS. ON THE COUNT OF THREE! 3…2…1…”
Sam tossed his cap, and Ant, his crown.
“CONGRATULATIONS TO COUNTERPART HIGH, CLASS OF 2007!”
“We made it,” Sam said. “We made it!” Ant screamed.
The DJ played “Everybody’s Free (to Wear Sunscreen),” that oddball 1999 Baz Luhrmann spoken-word novelty track of the ungiven Kurt Vonnegut commencement address that turned out to not be by Kurt Vonnegut, but by a Chicago Tribune columnist named Mary Schmich. Unaware of these authority issues, Sam and Ant enjoyed the song, as they leaned over the side of the building, craning their necks so they could see that sliver of ocean the view from Abbot Kinney afforded.
“You know something funny?” Ant said. “I literally missed my senior year to make Counterpart High.”
“Same with me,” Sam said. “Except with Ichigo.”
The party ended around 2:30 a.m., late for a party in L.A., the city that sleeps. Sam kicked out the stragglers and locked everything up, and then he got in his car to drive back home. He drove past Sadie’s house, as he did almost every day after work. It was only a touch out of the way. He could see a light on the second floor, the guest bedroom, which he imagined had become the baby’s room. He could imagine himself getting out of the car and going up to her door, but he never did. On this night, he decided to park outside her house and send her a text.
We missed you at the party. Can you imagine, me, Sam Masur the misanthrope, throwing a party? People seemed to enjoy themselves.
She did not reply. He sent another text.
Thinking about making a new game. Maybe something you’d be into? Kind of a cross between Ichigo and Dead Sea. May I drop the work off at your house? I think it’s something Marx may have wanted to make, too.
Sam, she replied, without pause. I can’t.
 |
On the day Sam met with the Worths, it rained.
Sam’s assistant let him know that the Worths were in the lobby. Sam said he would retrieve them himself.
“Thanks for coming back in,” Sam said. “Apologies that it’s taken us so long to get back to you. I think it’s been about a year and a half since you met with Marx?”
“It feels like longer,” Adam Worth said.
“And like no time at all,” Charlotte embroidered.
Sam noted the easy way they finished each other’s sentences, and he missed being part of a team.
Back in his office, he handed the portfolio back to Adam. “This belongs to you. Sorry we’ve had it so long. It’s good work. I’ve gone through it several times now, and—”
Charlotte interjected quickly, “We’ve got other ideas, if this one’s not for you.”
“No, I like this, but I don’t know if I understand it yet,” Sam said. “Why don’t you tell me how you see it?”
