Mark scanned the walls of the modest house. No woman's touch anywhere, just dust and bachelor neglect. Photographs showed Detective Lidorf with a woman who had Mark's eyes and smile. A large portrait of her dominated the living room, positioned like a shrine.
Detective Lidorf returned with a plate of something that might generously be called food. Rice, again, by the look of it. Mark could see the man was trying his best to fill a role he'd never wanted to play alone.
"Rice again," Mark observed.
"You know I'm hopeless in the kitchen." Detective Lidorf's voice carried years of apologetic dinners. The weight of a thousand meals he'd probably ruined trying to be both parents at once.
"Thank you, sir."
His father froze mid-step, plate hovering in the air. Apparently gratitude wasn't standard operating procedure in the Lidorf household.
"Everything okay, Mark?" Detective Lidorf sat down beside him, studying his face with the practiced eye of someone who'd learned to read silence.
Mark adjusted his borrowed glasses and played his best card. "Yeah, I just miss Mom."
The change in his father's expression was immediate. Understanding, pain, something that might have been relief that his son was finally talking about it.
"I know, son. I miss her every day too."
The words hung between them, heavy with everything neither of them knew how to say.
"Okay, sir," Mark managed.
Detective Lidorf stood, checking his watch. "I've got the evening shift. Henry said he'd stop by soon." He grabbed his keys and headed for the door, pausing at the threshold. "We'll talk more tomorrow."
After his father's car pulled away, Mark sat in the silence trying to piece together this kid's life. Raised by a single dad who worked nights and couldn't cook. A dead mother who'd left a hole neither of them knew how to fill.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Henry, presumably.
The kid who walked in was thin, dark-skinned, wearing thick glasses that magnified his eyes to comical proportions. Great. Mark only hangs out with fellow nerds.
"What's up, bro! Came as soon as your pops said he found you."
Found? What had happened to Mark? How had he ended up at Hugo's estate in the first place?
"You scared the hell out of me with that text," Henry continued, dropping onto the couch. "Thought you were actually going to..."
"Going to what?"
"Say goodbye for real this time." Henry's voice dropped to something quieter, more careful. "I mean, first you refused to go back to Conbert, then that message..."
Suicide. The pieces clicked into place with uncomfortable clarity. Maybe this kid had been planning to end it. Had the game somehow chosen him because he was already dying? Or had it simply seen an opportunity?
"Bro, do you even know who I am?" Henry asked, leaning forward to study Mark's face.
Mark forced a smile. "Get out of here."
"No, seriously." Henry pulled out his phone, showing a wallpaper photo of a pretty girl with dark curls and a bright smile. "Who's this?"
Mark stared at the screen blankly. Time to play the amnesia card.
"Something's wrong, Henry. I don't remember anything."
"Dude, come on."
"Not even where my room is." Mark let genuine confusion creep into his voice. It wasn't hard. Everything about this life was foreign territory.
Henry didn't look surprised. Instead, something like resignation crossed his face. "Don't worry, bro. This isn't the first time you've blocked stuff out. I'll help you through it again." He pointed down the hallway. "Your room's that way."
Not the first time. So Mark Lidorf had a history of trauma-induced amnesia. Convenient. And deeply sad.
"If you'll excuse me, I need to change."
Henry nodded and settled in front of the TV while Mark headed to the bedroom.
The room was immaculate. Obsessively organized. Books arranged by height, desk cleared of everything except a single pencil, bed made with military precision. Strange for a depressed teenager. Or maybe not. Maybe this was how Mark had tried to keep control when everything else was falling apart.
He stripped out of the oversized designer suit and pulled on Mark Lidorf's actual clothes. A faded gray t-shirt that had been washed so many times the logo was barely visible. Worn jeans with a patch on one knee. The smell hit him immediately. Cheap fabric, discount detergent, the scent of a life lived paycheck to paycheck.
How long had it been since Hugo had worn anything that hadn't cost more than most people's monthly rent? Years. Decades, maybe.
He adjusted his glasses and checked the game device. Still the same message: [STEP ONE: Enroll at Conbert High School]
When he emerged from the bedroom, Henry was still planted in front of the TV, channel surfing through late-night garbage.
"Yeah, that's my boy," Henry said, eyeing Mark's clothes with approval. "Didn't want to say anything about that crazy suit earlier."
If only you knew it cost more than your dad's car, little nerd.
"Tell me about Conbert," Mark said, settling onto the couch.
"Come on, dude." Henry's eyebrows shot up. "Of all the things to remember, why the place that's made your life hell?"
"Maybe it's destiny."
"Destiny? Mark, you literally decided three days ago that you'd rather drop out than go back. We spent hours trying to talk you out of it. Your dad nearly lost his mind."
So Detective Lidorf had been fighting to keep his son in school while Mark had been ready to give up entirely. Another layer of tragedy in this borrowed life.
"Well, I'm going back tomorrow."
"No way. You're kidding." Henry studied his friend's face, then saw something there that made him curse under his breath. "Shit. You're serious."
"Dead serious. But I need your help. Tell me everything I need to know about myself and that school."
Henry leaned back, clearly trying to figure out how to be honest without being brutal. The internal debate played across his face for a solid ten seconds.
"Okay, look. You've got exactly two friends at Conbert: me and yourself. And you are..." He paused, searching for diplomatic words.
"The nerd?" Mark helped him out.
"More like the king of nerds. The final boss of nerddom. The guy other nerds look at and think, 'At least I'm not that bad.'"
"And what does that make you?"
"A friend of the king nerd is definitely still a nerd." Henry grinned, and Mark found himself actually laughing. It felt strange. Hugo Pabebuncano hadn't laughed like this in years. Real laughter, not the calculated chuckle he'd used in boardrooms.
"There's also this girl, Sherry Braithwaite." Henry pulled out his phone again, showing the wallpaper. "You've been crushing on her since freshman year. Like, pathetically. Everyone knows. Including her."
"Got it. What about activities? Clubs? Sports?"
Henry gave him a look that said everything about Mark Lidorf's extracurricular life.
"Right. Stupid question." Mark nodded. "Last thing: am I at least book smart?"
"Nerds are supposed to be book smart, yeah. Should have bailed you out of social hell." Henry shrugged. "But honestly? You're one of the dumbest smart kids I know. All that studying, still barely passing most classes. It's like your brain just doesn't work the way school wants it to."
Perfect. He was inheriting a body that was practically a blank slate. No reputation to maintain, no expectations to meet. Just a lonely kid everyone had written off as hopeless.
Hugo had built an empire from nothing once. He could do it again. Even starting from the absolute bottom of the social food chain.
"What's that in your pocket?" Henry asked, pointing at the game device.
"New game I picked up."
Henry didn't even blink. Apparently gaming was totally on-brand for Mark Lidorf. "Cool. What's it called?"
"You wouldn't know it."
"Anyway, I should head out. See you at school tomorrow." Henry stood, then hesitated at the door. "You sure about this, man? Like, really sure? Because if you need more time..."
"All good, Henry."
"Okay. But if it gets bad again, you call me. Day or night. Promise?"
"Promise."
After Henry left, Mark found himself alone with the house's ghosts. He stared up at the portrait of Mark's mother, studying her kind face. She looked young in the painting, maybe twenty-two. Too young to be dead.
Below the portrait, someone had written in careful, childish script: I miss you, Mommy. My life is not the same without you.
Her death was a mystery. His too. If he wanted answers about his, he'd have to play the game like never before.
Ben Sentara's face flickered through his mind again.
Tomorrow, he'd go back to Conbert High School and start building the resources he'd need for a starters.