Chapter 2: Grief and Sorrow

It was after 5 pm when they crawled out of her bed and got dressed. Kathy finished the last dozen games while Peter updated their books on his computer and logged into his portfolio. As he suspected, the sharp drop in Hewlett Packard caused his $40 Calls to hit his Stop and close. He lost $3,500 on the trade, but his $35 Puts jumped from .15 to 1.78, giving him a $14,000 gain after the correction. The 50 JUN 40 Calls he held for Costco rose from 5.25 to 8.30, earning him nearly $40,000. He adjusted his Stop Losses again and closed the computer. Taking a cheaper Toshiba home would allow him to close his options positions on Thursday evening before expiration.

They stopped at the Post Office to ship the flat of mailers they had filled during the day. Even after their unanimous distribution last month, PAK Gaming had $73,000 capital minus negligible Convention, business cards, and ongoing consumables expenses. Since Kathy planned to return home that evening instead of staying the night, they stopped at Safeway for groceries and essentials like coffee, cream, and sugar. When they got to his house, his dad’s truck was gone.

Peter sighed with relief as they brought everything inside. The half case of beer was shoved into the fridge, so he rearranged things to fit the groceries. She stayed long enough to help set up the simple white PC on his desk, cuddle briefly, and then left. He sat at his desk and worked on code for their new game—a dungeon crawler copied from a programmer who pissed them off with endless criticism of their games. ‘GamerGod313,’ as he called himself (AKA Arty Fez), was a brilliant programmer but lacked social skills. In a moment of weakness (while gazing up Kathy’s skirt), he muttered his root key codes, allowing Peter and Alan to scan through the hidden workings of his game.

That evening, they downloaded the beta version of his game and unlocked it to begin rebuilding it. They added a multi-player interface with non-player characters that would interact with the ‘party’ as they battled for treasure and fame. Kathy scrapped the lame 16-bit soundtrack and was working on a better feature that offered unique monster sounds and musical scores for various scenarios, from combat melee to celebratory victories. Dungeon Lords was going to be their most epic gaming endeavor yet, and they were having a blast building it.

He was startled by the doorbell and realized it was probably Alan. It was almost 8 pm, and he hadn’t seen or heard from his dad. He was beginning to think the new arrangement wouldn’t be so bad after all.

He found his friend waiting nervously by the door. His dad was pulling away in their Volvo sedan.

“C’mon in,” Peter said calmly, holding the door. “He ain’t home.”

“Oh, cool,” his friend sighed in relief. “I don’t think your dad likes me very much.”

“It’s not you, buddy,” Peter said, clapping him on the back as he grabbed two Dr. Peppers before returning to his room. “He just doesn’t like gooks.”

Alan snorted his pop out his nose as he laughed back, “You asshole! That shit burns!”

Peter chuckled at his desk. “How long can you stay?” He gave Alan the good seat to load up the CD-ROMs he had brought.

The Asian boy paused when he recognized the code sequence on the monitor. “Oh, dude, this is cool!” Then he shook his head and closed the code generator. “Not long,” he added, inserting the first CD-ROM into the drive. He typed faster than Peter but frequently looked at the keyboard. “My dad had to run to Fred Meyer for some stuff, and then he’s coming back. Are you getting any drive time in?”

“Some,” Peter admitted. He was careful to only drive with a legal adult after the ‘gravel pit’ incident.

“Okay, here we go,” Alan said, pointing at the monitor. “Ignore the grey-scale stuff. That’s for the inventory scanner upload interface. I’m trying to smooth out the rest. I’m working on reducing the input data to this new code they are calling SKUs. It’s a number sequence instead of a number-letter sequence, enabling nightly inventory to cruise at warp speed. To do that, I need to change this entire database, and it’s a big bastard!”

He spent several minutes explaining how the current program ran (and didn’t) and how he wanted to change it. Peter watched from beside him, taking notes as he learned the system. They were interrupted by the rumbling sound of Roger’s old truck pulling into the driveway.

“Great!” Peter muttered as they heard the man open the front door and bellow his name.

“Pete!” they heard through the bedroom door. “Where the hell have you...” His door flew open, and they looked up. The older man blinked back at them.

“I told you I’m not deaf,” Peter grumbled.

“What the hell’s all this?” The drunk man asked as he stepped into the room and towered over them. “When did you get a damn computer?”

“What? This thing?” Alan scoffed as he exited Peter’s seat after closing the program. “This is the best Green River can offer its COMSCI students. Wait till you see the machine Berkley is gonna give me!” He jabbed his thumb into his chest while winking at his friend.

“What the hell is Commy sigh?” Roger slurred. He reeked of tobacco and booze.

“I told you yesterday, Dad. I’m enrolled at Green River College this Summer to complete my High School graduation requirements. This will give me my associate’s degree in computer science and my diploma.”

“Hunh,” the man grunted as he turned his drunken gaze toward the Korean boy, “What’re you doing here?”

Just then, there was a short bleat of a car horn outside the house.

“I was just leaving,” Alan replied smoothly, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “C’ya Sonny.” He dashed past the man and slipped out of Peter’s room. A minute later, he heard the Volvo drive away.

“Where have you been all day?” Roger demanded, turning back to his son, who had switched seats to sit in front of the cheap computer. “And where’s your sister?”

“Ronnie went to Cannon Beach with friends for a couple of days,” he replied calmly. “I ran errands all day. Kathy drove me around and had to take care of stuff for her dad, too. I got home at 5:30.”

“You need to tell me where you’re going when you leave, understand, boy?” Peter could smell the sour beer and cigarettes on his breath from halfway across the room.

“We tried to call through your door this morning, but you were passed out and wouldn’t wake up.” Peter retorted, not bothering to veil the disgust in his voice. “How am I supposed to tell you where I am if you’re at work or asleep?”

“Goddamn it, Pete! I don’t wanna fuckin argue with you right now!” Roger bellowed angrily. “I’m here now, and you’re gonna follow my rules! Got it?”

“Yup, got it,” Peter replied neutrally as he powered off the PC. “You gonna be able to help me get around?” he asked, looking up at the inebriated man. “Someone needs to take me to the hospital to see Mom. I can take the bus to GRC and back, but I won’t know when until classes start. I go to physical therapy every Tuesday and Thursday. And then there’s—”

“Alright! I get it! You have shit to do. So, do I. I gotta work, too, dammit. Only now they got me over at the Maple Valley plant, and I have to make daily runs to North Bend.” He quickly lost interest in debating with his son and turned to leave.

“So, how can I keep you updated on my whereabouts?” Peter asked, following him to his doorway. “Maybe you can buy me a cell phone—”

“Hunh,” the man grunted humorlessly. “Sure. When monkeys fly out of my ass.”

Peter watched him grab several beers from the fridge before collapsing on the couch. He switched on the TV and ignored his son’s contemplative expression. Peter closed his bedroom door and returned to his desk. He removed his portable CD player from his drawer and put on headphones to block the noise. Five minutes later, he was absorbed in mapping out the new ICP program.

Early the next morning, Peter rose and followed his routine of coffee, shower, coffee, papers, Stock Exchange, and more coffee. By 7 am, he had a feel for the market’s direction. Costco had risen by over 30 cents with no response to his call position, so he closed it for a $33,000 profit. HP continued its dreadful flat spin, opening at $32.50—a 25% decline from a month prior. His 35 Puts, purchased for 0.15 ($15 per contract), opened with an Ask of 2.5 ($250), so he closed them too. He shut down the PC, feeling pleased about increasing his available cash from $178,000 to $238,000.

The house phone rang, and he answered it with his cordless receiver.

“Hello.”

“Hey baby,” Kathy replied softly in his ear. “How are you?”

“Good. He got home around 9:30 last night, drunk again. We had a little talk, but it didn’t amount to much. How are you?”

“Bored, lonely ... missing you,” she replied wistfully. “What’s the plan today?”

Her soft voice gave him goosebumps and filled him with longing. “Um ... yeah. Right now, I’m reading the papers and checking out the portfolio. After that, I was hoping to visit Mom. I can take the bus, though, if you’re busy—”

“Can I meet you at the hospital?” she asked. “I don’t want to run into your dad yet.”

“I get that,” he replied. “I was thinking about last night.”

“Oh?” she purred. “What part?”

“Well ... besides ‘that,’” he grinned. “If you parked your car further down the block, he wouldn’t even know you’re here.”

“But what about when we’re rutting like wildebeests?”

He burst out laughing, “Oh God, you kill me!” he chuckled. “I doubt an atom bomb would wake him after he’s been drinking.”

“Doesn’t he have a job?” she complained. “He still has to work, right?”

Peter snorted, “I think he was hoping for a big windfall so that he wouldn’t have to,” he replied. “He goes back to work on Monday.”

“Sweet!” she replied. “I gotta go. I love you, and I’ll meet you at the hospital around 10:00.”

“Perfect! Love you too.” He waited for her to disconnect and listened for any clue of eavesdropping before hanging up. He could still hear loud snores from above as he returned to the paper and his coffee.

An hour later, he put his feet on and dressed in comfortable slacks and a light T-shirt. He climbed the stairs, rolling his eyes at the snores from the master bedroom door. He banged on it loudly.

“Hey! Dad!” he yelled before banging again.

The snoring stopped, and he heard a sleepy grumble.

“Dad!” he yelled again.

“What?” his father yelled back.

“I’m going to see mom. Wanna give me a ride, or should I take the bus?”

“Take the damn bus!”

“Just wanted to let you know where I’ll be. Kat’s picking me up, and we—”

“FINE!” Roger yelled back, cutting him off. “Whatever!”

“Okay then. Bye,” he grinned, turning away.

Forty minutes later, he was dressed in a plastic gown, gloves, and a tight mask, sitting beside his mother’s bed and holding her hand. She looked worse each visit, and it was hard to keep his tears at bay as he peered at her wasted body. Her face had become so drawn as to appear skeletal beneath the skin. Her eyes had sunk back into their sockets, making it hard to tell if they were open or closed. Her thin lips appeared dry and cracked as they stretched to cover her receding gums. The hand he held seemed bony and frail in. He spoke to her about little things he thought she might like to know, but he wasn’t sure if she was aware of his presence.