My official title is “Ethics Manager,” yet lately all I do is piss people off. Yet again, I have to break another promise to Nico. I had to pull an all-nighter on my last case, causing me to miss her seventeenth birthday last month. This time, I was missing her act as Abigail in The Crucible—a role she’s talked about nonstop for the last few weeks. Instead, I’m sitting in a Vancouver cafe, preparing for my latest mark to come in. I try to write notes on my phone, but Nico’s stinging words from our conversation earlier distract me.
“It’s fine,” she snapped. “I get it. That place is more important to you than me.”
With the receiver waiting at my chin, I opened my mouth, longing to explain it all to her. But all that escaped was empty air.
“Yeah. Nothing. As usual,” she said, right before she hung up on me.
“That place” is my employer, Lonely Hearts, an app that solves the problem of loneliness by renting people to users with a void to fill. I’m an integral part of the company’s success by making sure our rentals never get too attached. And when they do, my job is to extract them from the situation.
Usually I work from home. It’s easy to make a call to let a client know their rental boyfriend is actually married, or to let a school know that, no, so-and-so is not actually little Jimmy's father and should be removed from the boy's emergency contact list. My latest case, however, is going to take more than a phone call to solve. It’s so big my boss requested I go into the field and deal with it in person.
A client is missing.
One of our rentals, Eric Newman, had a session with a client named Elisha Green. She’s a teenager and rented him for a “Big Brother” experience. In her note with the order, she said she simply “needed advice.”
Since we don’t know Eric has Elisha, my boss directed me to go about this in a discreet way so nothing leaks to the press. I open the Lonely Heart app and pull up his profile. My finger circles his picture. Something about the way his hair grazes across his forehead makes him look younger than he is. But the intensity in his blue eyes makes me think twice about how friendly he is. It’s a good look to have for this job.
Like Nico, I'm getting ready for a performance. Eric is due to meet me here in thirty minutes. Last night, I put out a request for “The Boyfriend” on the app and he accepted. Since I’ve been working from home, I find I need extra time to prepare for face to face interactions. I anticipate what he might say and jot down possible responses in my notes.
The smell of fresh coffee and toasted bread tortures me as I watch drinks and bagels being brought out to the counter. I’m dying for an oat-milk latte but wait. I wouldn’t want to order before Eric gets here.
Surveying the room, I challenge myself to see if I can figure out who’s a rental without looking at the app, where it shows me all the available rentals in my vicinity. When I joined Lonely Hearts, rental training was part of the onboarding process and I want to test my rental detector. We learned from psychologists how to observe human behavior.
I take the phone and turn it face down as I discreetly scan the room. Watching romantic couples is trickier—of course, it's harder to tell the difference between a rental and an awkward date. What makes it even harder is that in a rental situation, there's no longer the “getting to know you” phase. The rental performs the experience based on the interests and preferences the user has set in their profile.
A teenage boy across the room catches my eye. He crosses his arms and looks sour, while an older woman talks to him like a baby, really sugary.
No.
At least I hope not. The woman is not responding to the boy’s obvious signals he doesn’t like being treated like a child. At the next table, there’s an elderly man with a younger woman. Based on the way her mouth tenses when he strokes her hair, I’m guessing she isn't related to him.
Shit. Maybe.
My heart always goes out to rentals in jobs like these.
The couple three seats down from me are maybe in their thirties. Something about the glint in her eye makes me look twice at her, as if she’s amused by her partner. It could be that he said something funny, but they also look like an odd match. So that’s clue one. She wears her blond hair tied up in a bun, sports a Patagonia jacket and wears furry boots. His dark hair is edgy with the sides shaved, and he wears thick rimmed glasses. Unlike her, he looks totally unprepared for this weather in a light camel peacoat and sleek scarf. Clue two: he’s quoting Oscar Wilde and going deep into Victorian poetry. Deep diving into a subject could mean he prepared for a role, where a client has requested certain qualities in someone. Maybe this woman wants to “try on” a different type of guy than she usually dates. I check my app and smile.
Yup.
I’m so distracted by them, I don’t see Eric walk into the cafe. His profile photo made him look icy, but in person, he seems energetic and light. I had requested a boyfriend who was “down to earth and a good listener.” I went vague on purpose. If I was too specific with my requests, his act would cover his real personality, as I had just seen with the faux intellectual a few tables over.
I feel a rush of intimacy as he stretches out his arms, going in for…a hug? A kiss? I stand and play the part, letting him pull me in, but settle on an air-kiss on the side of his cheek. His skin smells freshly shaven. I chuckle, thinking that if anyone else were playing the same game I was earlier, they’d catch me because I look awkward. He stays standing and points to the chalkboard menu.
“Oat-milk latte?”
“Yeah…actually.”
He smiles victoriously and joins the line.
I feel unsettled. How did he know what drink I’d like? Maybe it was a good guess—it’s a popular order.
Minutes later, Eric comes back and takes a seat across from me. He got an oat-milk latte as well. So maybe he just offered what he was already ordering.
“So, where are we headed today?” he asks.
I want to suss out his personality, so I get him to take the lead. “You know this place better than I do. Why don’t you be my guide?”
“Well, the obvious choice is the Capilano Suspension Bridge, since we’re already near there. How do you feel about heights?”
My face must give away my apprehension because he laughs and says, “Or we could stick to the much more ground-level river. But the suspension bridge is famous. If you can handle it, I recommend it. The view is amazing.”
Although Lonely Hearts had trained us for all sorts of situations, including combat, childishly, I’m still afraid of heights.
So, I can’t believe it when I say, “Yeah, sure.”
As Eric and I climb up the wooden walkway to get to the bridge, my breathing gets heavier with the elevation change. I feel minuscule under the fir trees towering over us. I breathe in the crisp piney air as I watch Eric walk slightly ahead of me. Still in his rental routine, his steps seem effortless, as if he’s an animal in its natural habitat. He doesn’t seem weighed down by anything—which of course he isn't. His life is all about dipping from one to another.
As if he could sense me sizing him up, he turns around. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m okay,” I say, my voice a little too high.
He stops so I can catch up with him in a few steps. “I noticed you booked last minute.”
He was breaking the rules by asking me about the setup, ruining the illusion. “Yeah, well, my boyfriend—ex-boyfriend now—ditched me.”
He raises a brow, still watching his steps. “Sorry to hear that. Well, as your boyfriend for the next two days, I can deck him if he shows up.”
I cling to this mention of aggression, seeing if I can test his temperament. I widen my eyes with interest. “You would actually do that?”
He cocks his head back and rumples his face. “Well, no. It was kind of a joke.” After a beat, he chuckles and asks, “Wait, do you really want me to?”
I smile innocently and shrug my shoulders. “I mean, if you feel so inclined . . .”
Eric laughs, though it sounds forced.
I decide to test him even more. “Does Lonely Hearts even have a way to track if someone breaks the rules?”
Eric smiles but the edges of his mouth are a bit tight, uncomfortable. “They do but luckily I’ve never had to inquire about it. But committing assault is definitely not part of the job.”
We exchange a heavy glance. He looks up to the mountains, his blue eyes pale in the sun, and points above me. “Look, you can see the bridge.”
My throat tightens at the sight of the narrow bridge, nothing at the sides but simple wire fencing. I watch someone nervously grip the sides as they walk across. Even looking at it makes me lightheaded.
Eric smiles. “Are you still okay? We don’t have to go.”
“I’m okay,” I say. “Definitely.”
But nausea washes over me when we finally reach the entrance of the bridge. It taunts me, hovering naked in the middle of the air. Like walking a tightrope above the forest. And he wasn’t kidding about the view. The fir trees surrounding us are truly breathtaking. Eric offers to hold my hand and lead me across the bridge, but I decline, not wanting him to see me so vulnerable yet.
He smiles slyly. “See you on the other side, then.”
I follow him as he moves slowly along the bridge, stopping occasionally to take in the view. The gusty wind is deafening. I focus on Eric, who has stopped to take a photo.
You’re fine. Just don’t look down and you’re fine.
I walk a few more feet, gaining more confidence. But when I get to the center of the bridge, a hard sway pushes me to the left.
The center of the bridge wobbles, throwing me off balance. I can’t help but look down. My stomach lurches into my throat as the distance below beckons me. I take a deep breath and regain my footing. Eric stands just a few feet away, taking pictures.
Come on, I tell myself, let’s move.
I stomp forward, focusing ahead.
One foot in front of the other.
My body lurches forward suddenly. I scream as I trip and fall. There’s a panic as I don’t know how far I will travel down. My face hits the bridge. My body pulses hotly with energy, my defenses on high alert.
Eric speed-walks back toward me. He kneels besides me and I flinch as he extends his arm. But his hand ultimately lands on my back. “Oh my god. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“What happened?”
“I think I tripped over something.”
He lifts his body up to look over me. “Damn, looks like it was a small branch.”
“They should really make sure nothing is in the path,” I snap.
“Here.” He holds out his hand so he can lift me up, his other hand still holding his phone. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re not hurt?” he asks, sincere.
I shift my shoulders, checking for any soreness. “I’m okay, thanks. The only thing hurt is my ego.”
He extends his hand again. His eyes are determined, as if telling me, This time, you’re holding my hand. I take it as we walk the rest of the way without incident.
As I hold his hand, occasionally he gives it a squeeze, as if to reassure me.
I had told Eric I was going back to my hotel to catch up on work for a bit, but really I’m in my rental car outside his home. We are due to meet for dinner in an hour. Earlier, he texted me to suggest a restaurant. But I have to get into his house to see if he has Elisha so I told him I prefer home-cooked meals. After a short pause, he responded:
“Sure, luckily for you I happen to be an excellent cook. FYI if you are coming to a private residence, you’ll need to sign the attached terms and conditions. Sorry for the legalese but it’s the rule. I’ll see you at 6:30.”
Lonely Hearts tries as much as possible to keep meetings in a public place. But sometimes, the illusion needs a home, especially anything involving kids or elderly clients. These kinds of rentals are most popular during the holidays, of course. The agreement tells both parties not to come to a residence without permission, and they are subject to a fine if they break the rules. To further ensure safety, there’s an emergency button on the app that either party can push that sends location information to the police.
His house is nicer than I expected. He’s a newbie rental and I know they don’t get paid well, but he has his own small craftsman house, which in Vancouver must cost a mint. It has masculine dark blue paneling with a homey white trim. Stairs lead up to a small porch, welcoming someone to knock. I look at his driveway.
Empty.
While I wait for any sign of activity, I check my phone—nothing from Nico. She must be nervous, getting ready for her play. Guilt pulls at the back of my mind at not being there for her. I try my luck calling and wait as the phone rings. No answer. I text her:
“Good luck tonight. Again, so sorry I’m not there. But I’ll be rooting for you from here. No doubt in my mind...you’ll be brilliant.”
My skin warms as a heaviness fills the car. I lower my phone. Just when I thought Nico and I were having a breakthrough and getting closer, I felt further away than ever. Maybe it was for the best. She would be eighteen soon and move out, no doubt going far away.
My eyes drift back to Eric’s house. It’s better to be busy. If Lonely Hearts has taught me anything, it’s that nothing is permanent and it’s better to rip the Band-Aid straight off.
But a minute later, I check my phone to see if Nico has even bothered to look at my message.
She hasn’t.
I walk up the steps to Eric’s porch. As I knock on the door, I hear the faint sound of jazz music coming from inside. I knock again and the music stops, replaced by the sound of approaching footsteps. A second later, the door opens, the smell of garlic and spices wafting out. Eric smiles and extends his arm, inviting me in.
“Welcome to my abode,” he says as he walks back toward the kitchen.
Immediately I notice how spacious his house is. I soon realize it’s because it’s so sparse. There’s a leather couch, a TV and bookcase but not much else. I follow him to the kitchen, which is in the same room as the living area.
“Sorry, I just have to check on this sauce.” He turns around and points to a barstool. “Have a seat.” As he stirs a red sauce, he says, “Your profile says you’re a fan of Italian food. I hope you like vodka penne?”
“Yes, love it.”
He smiles. “Good, because it’s kind of my specialty. I have a trick.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
“If you put the sauce in the oven, it brings out the flavors even more.” He takes the pot and delicately places it in the oven. He turns and picks up two wine bottles. “Some wine? Red or white?”
“Red, please.”
While he’s distracted with my drink, I survey his place. It’s clean. Too clean. I realize it looks so tidy because there’s hardly any personal effects. No pictures, knickknacks, or anything. It almost looks like a model home.
“So how long have you lived here?” I ask.
“Uh, not long, maybe about a year,” he says as he brings me the wine. He holds his glass up and I follow suit. “To the Italians,” he says as we clink glasses.
“So, you live by yourself?”
There’s a slight pause before he says, “Yup, all by my lonesome.” But there’s something in his eyes that say no. Either way, he's playing a part, so yes, he would say he lives alone.
Eric catches me checking out his house. I can almost see the wheels turning behind his searing blue eyes. “Everything okay?” he asks.
“Yes, sorry. I’m really into real estate. I’m looking for a place now, in fact.”
He in turn looks around, admiring his own space. “It’s a nice little house, yes.”
There’s another small pause before I decide to take a gamble. “How about a tour?”
He raises a brow and smiles politely. “Sure, why not.”
I follow him as he shows me around the one-story house. He takes me down a dark hallway, where everything follows the trend of the rest of the home; tidy and minimal. He has a study but no papers littered about. A bedroom with no clothes or shoes in sight. After we pass another room, he flicks his hand away from a closed door. “That’s another spare room, but it’s a mess right now.”
As we walk back to the kitchen, my mind buzzes, wondering what’s in that room. Or who. This place is ridiculously tidy—but one room is so messy that he can’t show me? Yeah, right.
The timer buzzes as I sit back down on the barstool. As he takes the sauce out of the oven, Eric asks, “You get your real estate fix?”
I chuckle. “Yes, thanks. I love the light fixtures.” Eric nods as he begins to get the dishes out. I should use all the time I have to explore. I touch my face, self-conscious. “I’m just going to freshen up before we sit.” Eric glances toward me and points to where the restroom is.
“That’s okay, I remember where it is.”
I slip off the barstool and walk down the hall. When I’m out of sight, I pick up my steps. I head to the room Eric claims is too messy to show me. I place a hand on the doorknob and turn it. The door opens; unlocked. The lights are off but there's enough illumination coming from a computer screen to show me the room isn't messy at all. Okay, so he lied. But there’s also no sign of anyone in here.
I take my phone and turn on the flashlight. The room is mostly empty, aside from several boxes and a desk with the computer. The computer looks unlocked, so I quickly go to see if I can find anything. On one browser tab, his email is already open. This is almost too easy. My breath quickens when I spot Elisha’s name near the top. I open the email and start to read. It’s Eric responding to a message.
“I can meet you tomorrow. Let’s meet at Waterfront Station. I’ll try to help.”
My finger is shaky as I quickly scroll down to see the message he was responding to.
But I think I hear movement so I quickly run out of the room and into the bathroom next door.
As if on autopilot, I look everywhere, opening every cabinet and drawer, even though it's nonsensical. All I find is a single hair brush and toothpaste. Again, hardly any personal effects.
I jump at a knock on the door.
“Sorry, but…are you okay?” Eric asks, a bit sheepishly.
I look in the mirror and steady my expression. I take a few deep breaths. “Yeah…just one minute.”
“Sorry…okay…yeah, meet me in the dining room.”
I wait until I can’t hear his footsteps anymore. I shake out my hands before I open the door and quickly head to the dining room.
As I sit down, my mind multitasks between pretending to enjoy this dinner and plotting my next move. I look down at the pasta. “This looks so good.”
Eric smiles as he looks down and sticks a fork into some penne. Without looking up, he says, “So you left the door to the other room open.”
My face quickly warms. “Sorry, what?”
“The door to the spare room. You left it open. What were you looking for?” He takes a bite of pasta and eats very casually.
“I’m sorry, you must be mistaken. I didn’t—”
He puts his fork down and leans back. He tilts his head and smirks. “I don’t think so. You’ve been angling to see my house since you got here. So…what are you looking for?”
There's no point in trying to play games anymore. “I’m looking for Elisha,” I say firmly. “Your last rental. The one who you’ve been corresponding with via email, which you know a rental shouldn’t do.”
“But who are you with? Lonely Hearts?”
“It doesn't matter. Explain why you’ve been communicating with a rental long past your session.”
Eric sighs and leans back. “Look, it’s not like that. Her parents…she wanted to get away from them. She had a fight with them that day, you know. That’s why she hired me. She needed someone to talk to.” Eric shrugs.
“What were they fighting about?”
He pauses. His eyes veer away, hesitant. “They were going to send her to boarding school. She got a part-time job and made a lot of money but they wanted her to focus on school. They suspected the job she got wasn’t exactly legit if you know what I mean.” His eyes widen as he gets more animated. “Don’t you think it’s suspicious she disappears when they’re thinking of sending her away? Maybe you should talk to them.” He lowers his eyes. “Look, I think I may still have their address from when I picked her up.”
I know he's trying to deflect attention from himself but it’s worth checking. She isn't in this house. And the fact that he said he wanted to help in his email may mean he’s telling the truth.
“Fine, but I’d suggest you come with me if you want to keep your job.”
As we head across town, the rain pounds outside, as if trying to break through my windshield. My phone lets me know I’ve arrived at my destination as I pull onto a well-manicured street. Each home has a black gate in front, as if telling everyone to keep out.
I get out while Eric stays in the car. He looks up at me, his face half hidden in a shadow. “I’ll stay put, I promise.”
I close the door on him and start across the street. Rain pricks on my hair and skin as I cross my arms tightly. I knock on the door, almost aggressively, wanting to get this over with.
A man who looks maybe in his late forties answers. His skin looks gray from the weather and, probably, from missing his daughter.
“Hello?” he asks, weary.
I try to hook him in with the promise of information before he can wonder too much about who I am. “Hi, I’m sorry to bother you but I think I have information about your daughter.”
Even though he wasn’t smiling before, his face drops at the mention of her. There’s a beat of suspicion before he furrows a brow and asks, “Who are you?”
I frown and shift my stance, to give the impression I was ready to walk. “Do you want it or not?”
He gives a weak nod, then moves to let me in.
The living room is large but tasteful. A floor-to-ceiling bookcase filled with history books hints at a possible career in academia. He leads me to a leather chair as a woman approaches from the hallway. Unlike her husband, she seems raw and angry.
“Who is this?” she snaps at her husband.
“She says she has information about Nico.”
It takes me a second to register her name. And then I chuckle, my face twisting in confusion. “Wait, what?”
She joins him on the couch and snaps her head toward me. “Well, do you have an update? Do you know where Nico is?”
“S…sorry…Nico?” I stammer.
Her mom rolls her eyes. “Yes Nico. Is this some sort of joke? Because that would be really sick.”
“No…well…Elisha.”
The room grows hot as they look at me like I’m crazy. I take a deep breath and steady myself, as my brain struggles to make sense of what they are saying. Nico told me her parents were dead. Two months ago, I rented her as part of a Daughter Experience. Lonely Hearts encourages its employees to rent often so we can better understand the product. When the session was up, she admitted to me that since her parents died last year, she had been going from couch to couch. She asked to stay until she could find something else.
So I let her.
I place my hand on the armrest gently. “Sorry, let’s back up. I think there’s been some sort of miscommunication. Can you tell me exactly when Nico disappeared?”
Her father takes out his phone and holds it out to me. It’s a picture of Nico but she’s dressed differently. The Nico I know wears all black and combat boots. This one has on a preppy light blue sweatshirt.
“That’s her," he says. "She disappeared about two months ago.” My heart feels as if it drops to the floor. He and his wife share a look and nod. “We finally got access to her phone and gathered she worked for Lonely Hearts,” her mother said. ‘We knew she had some sort of job where she disappeared for a couple of days at a time. But when a month passed, we knew something was wrong.”
I feel my throat get tighter as I avoid their gaze. My throat swells so much I’m not even sure I would be able to speak. I hold out a finger and point to my phone, signaling I need to make a phone call.
And then I run out of the house.
My heels clack on the street pavement as I jog to my car. I hear the click of the doors unlocking and jump in the driver’s seat.
“What is this? What is it?” I yell at Eric as I brush my wet hair aside.
Eric keeps his eyes fixed on the street ahead. The friendly aura he possessed before had disappeared. It’s like a switch has flipped in him. A brand-new person was in this car. “It’s an extraction,” he says, calm. “Yours.”
I shake my head, still confused. “No, no. I’m the ethics manager. I’m the one who extracts people.”
He looks down. “Yet you don’t seem to know the rules.”
I huff. “No, this isn’t the same! It’s not my fault Nico lied.”
“Any ethics manager would have checked her background. You knew she was playing a part and that wasn’t really her. You just continued letting her play it.”
I try to fight off accepting I'm guilty but the truth sets in. It may have started off as research, but I did like having Nico around. It was nice to tell someone about my day. And to hear about hers. Her friends. Her school. Her play. It was all lies but somehow, it didn’t bother me.
Eric hands me a phone and I cautiously take it. “You need to let Nico know she should go into the car that’s waiting outside your house. A text message would be good. Less personal.”
I nod. “Okay.”
There’s a deafening quiet after I press send. I look at Eric. “So, who are you really?”
He raises his eyebrows. “At this company, we’re everyone and no one, aren’t we?” He points straight ahead to a black sedan parked a couple of blocks up. “There’s my ride.”
“You’re going home—”
“To my real one,” Eric says before he gets out. I watch as the sedan takes him away.
As I sit alone in my car, I can’t bring myself to move. I picture my home. Empty. Quiet. In a flash, the past couple of months have been erased.
I grab my phone and pull up Lonely Hearts. But seconds later, the background blurs out and a message pops up, blocking the content of the home page.
“You’ve been locked out of your account.”