The Search

David came home at 5 AM three months ago and told me he loved me.

I was half asleep. He smelled like concrete and cold air. He kissed my forehead and got into bed and was asleep in seconds.

I asked him the next morning where he'd been.

"Work thing," he said. "Don't worry about it."

But he'd been doing that more and more. Disappearing at night. Coming home at dawn. Money appearing in our account that he wouldn't explain.

I thought it was an affair.

Turns out I was wrong.

It was worse.

He did five more of those overnight disappearances. Always came back quiet. Distant. Like he was trying to remember who I was.

Then he didn't come back.

That was three months ago.

I woke up and he was gone. His car was in the driveway. His phone was on the nightstand. His wallet was in his jacket.

Just David was missing.

I called the police. Filed a missing persons report.

They took my information. Asked if we'd had a fight. Asked if he had a history of mental illness. Asked if he'd ever disappeared before.

Then they checked something on their computer.

Their expressions changed.

"Ma'am, your husband's Contributor Score went to zero last night."

"What? Why?"

"Account status shows Inactive. That usually means the person has opted out of the system."

"David wouldn't opt out. He was obsessed with his score. What does Inactive mean?"

The officer looked uncomfortable. "It means he's no longer participating in the gig economy or any scored services. People do it sometimes. Go off grid."

"His car is here. His phone is here. He didn't pack anything."

"Maybe he wanted a fresh start."

They closed the case three days later. No foul play suspected. Adult chose to leave.

I knew that was bullshit.

I started looking on my own.

I went through his phone. His computer. His files.

Found a folder on his laptop labeled "Work Stuff." Inside was a spreadsheet.

Rows and rows of names. Dates. Numbers. The word "Inactive" next to most of them.

At the bottom: "David Walsh - Task 5 complete - Task 6 pending."

Task 6 was scheduled for the night he disappeared.

I googled "task six Inactive." Got nothing useful. Just gig economy advice articles and productivity tips.

I searched his email. Found messages from something called Harmonic Solutions. Assignment confirmations. Payment receipts. NDAs.

The NDAs were dense legal language but the summary was clear: Do not discuss the tasks. Do not reveal details. Violation results in legal action and immediate score reduction.

No wonder he wouldn't tell me.

I called the number in the email signature. Got a voicemail. Left a message asking about David.

No one called back.

I drove to the address in the emails. 1847 Riverside Industrial Park.

Empty buildings. Locked doors. No signs. No people.

I walked around for an hour. Looked in windows. All the units were dark.

Then I saw someone.

David.

Standing in the parking lot of Unit 9C. Just standing there. Staring at the building.

I ran toward him.

"David! Oh my god, David!"

He turned around.

It wasn't him.

Same height. Same build. Same jacket he'd been wearing the night he disappeared.

But the face was wrong. Like someone wearing a David mask that didn't quite fit.

"Can I help you?" Not his voice. Close. But off.

"I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else."

I got back in my car shaking.

Sat there for ten minutes trying to process what I'd seen.

Then I drove home and started looking harder.

I made a list from his spreadsheet. Forty-seven names marked Inactive.

I started calling them. Looking them up on social media. Trying to find anyone who knew them.

Most phone numbers were disconnected.

Most social media accounts were either gone or weird. Still active. Still posting. But the posts felt wrong. Generic. Like someone was copying a personality without understanding it.

I found three families who would talk to me.

First family: "Our son moved to Seattle for a new job. He's doing great."

"Can I have his new number?"

"He's really busy. We barely hear from him."

"But you said he's doing great."

"He sends us messages. Updates. He's fine."

"Have you seen him? In person?"

Long pause. "Not since he moved."

"When was that?"

"Four months ago."

Same timeframe as David's first task.

Second family: "My sister went Inactive by choice. She wanted off the grid."

"But she's still posting on Instagram."

"Sometimes people keep their accounts active even when they're gone."

"These posts are from yesterday."

"Maybe she scheduled them."

"For three months straight? Every day?"

They stopped returning my calls.

Third family: A mother whose daughter went Inactive after task six.

She invited me over. Made tea. Showed me a room that hadn't been touched since her daughter left.

"The police say she opted out. But Monica loved her life. Loved her job. Had a boyfriend. Why would she leave?"

"Did she do gig work?"

"Everyone does gig work. But she'd started getting these special assignments. High pay. Wouldn't tell me what they were. Said she couldn't talk about it."

"How many did she do?"

The mother opened a drawer. Pulled out a bank statement.

Six deposits. $2,400. $2,800. $3,200. $3,600. $4,000. $4,400.

"After the sixth one, she was gone. No note. No goodbye. Just gone."

The mother looked at the photo on the mantle. "She was so smart. Went to grad school for psychology. Even published research once. I thought she'd moved past all that when she got the regular job. But then these tasks started..."

"Did you file a missing persons report?"

"They said she went Inactive. Chose to leave. Case closed."

Same thing they told me.

We sat there for a while. Two people who'd lost someone to whatever the hell this was.

"Have you seen her?" I asked. "Since she disappeared?"

The mother nodded. Started crying.

"Three times. In crowds. At the grocery store once. She walked right past me. I called her name. She didn't react. Just kept walking."

"Are you sure it was her?"

"I'm sure. But it wasn't her. Does that make sense?"

It did.

Because I'd seen David too. Twice more since that first time.

Once at a coffee shop near our house. Sitting alone. Drinking black coffee even though David always took cream.

Once in traffic. Two cars over. Staring straight ahead. I honked. Waved. Nothing.

Both times I tried to follow. Both times I lost them.

I started spending my days at Riverside Industrial Park. Sitting in my car. Watching.

People came and went. Always at 2:00 AM. Always led by someone in a gray suit.

I started recognizing faces.

Some I'd seen before. Different days. Same people. Going into different units.

Some looked familiar in a way I couldn't place. Like I knew them but didn't.

Then I realized.

They looked like people from David's spreadsheet.

People who were supposed to be Inactive.

I took photos. Compared them to social media profiles of the names on the list.

Seventy percent match.

People who'd gone Inactive were still showing up at these facilities. Doing more tasks. Going in. Coming out. Getting in their cars. Leaving.

But according to every system, they didn't exist anymore.

I tried to approach one of them. Woman in her thirties. Margaret Vickers from David's list. Inactive three months ago.

Waited for her to come out of Unit 7B.

"Excuse me, are you Margaret Vickers?"

She looked at me. Blank expression.

"No."

"You look exactly like her."

"People say that sometimes."

"What's your name?"

She got in her car without answering. Drove away.

I found her car later. Ran the plates.

Registered to Margaret Vickers. Current registration. Current insurance.

But Margaret Vickers was Inactive. Supposedly off-grid. Supposedly gone.

I went to the DMV. Asked about her.

"I'm sorry, that person is not in our system."

"But the car is registered to her."

"Let me check again." Long pause. "Ma'am, I don't show any vehicles registered to that name."

"I just ran the plates."

"I can't help you with information that doesn't exist in our database."

Dead end.

I tried going to David's work. Asked his supervisor if he'd heard from him.

"David quit three months ago. Just stopped showing up. We were disappointed. He was good at his job."

"Did he submit resignation paperwork?"

"He sent an email. Said he was pursuing other opportunities."

"Can I see it?"

"That's confidential employee information."

I checked David's email that night. No sent message to his work. No resignation email.

Someone else had sent it.

My Contributor Score started dropping.

I wasn't doing gigs anymore. Too busy searching. Too busy watching the industrial park. Too busy trying to find David.

Started at 723. Solid middle tier.

Dropped to 680. Then 645. Then 598.

My insurance company sent a notice. Rate adjustment.

My landlord sent an email. They wouldn't be renewing our lease. "Tenant reliability concerns."

I didn't care.

I kept searching.

I found a message board. Deep in some archived forum. People talking about Special Tasks.

Most threads were deleted. But I found pieces.

"Has anyone made it past task six?"

"My brother did seven. He's not the same."

"They're copying us. Every task makes another version."

"Check the industrial park at 3 AM. You'll see them cleaning up."

I went at 3 AM. Saw a custodian going unit to unit. Couldn't see their face.

But I knew. Somehow I knew.

I waited until he came out of Unit 9C.

"David?"

He stopped. Turned around.

It was him.

Actually him. Not the wrong version. Not the mask that didn't fit.

Him.

"Jess? What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you. You disappeared. Three months ago."

He looked confused. "I've been working. I work here now."

"Cleaning?"

"Yeah. Night shift. Every night."

"David, you didn't come home. I filed a missing persons report. Your score went to zero."

"What? No. I come home every night. You're home. We have dinner. We watch TV."

My stomach dropped.

"David, I live alone now. You haven't been home in three months."

"That doesn't make sense. I was home last night. We watched that documentary about penguins."

We did watch a documentary about penguins. Four months ago. Before he disappeared.

"What's the date, David?"

He checked his phone. Told me.

Wrong. Off by three months.

"David, it's November. You've been gone since August."

He stared at me. "That's not possible."

His phone buzzed. He looked at it. Expression changed.

"I have to go. I have to finish cleaning."

"Wait. David. Come home with me. Please."

"I'll see you at home. Like always."

He went back into the building.

I tried to follow. Door was locked. My key card from David's wallet didn't work.

I stood there until sunrise.

He never came out.

I went home. Waited. He didn't show up.

My score hit 423 yesterday.

I can't buy groceries anymore. Can't pay rent. Can't access most services.

I don't care.

I'm going back tonight. And tomorrow night. And every night until I find the real David.

Not the version that's living in our apartment with a different me.

Not the versions I see in coffee shops and traffic.

The real one.

The one who's lost somewhere in that building cleaning rooms and thinking he comes home every night to a wife who's still there.

I have to find him.

Even if I have to go Inactive myself.

Even if I disappear too.

Because at least then we'll be lost in the same place.

My score is 423.

Dropping every day.

Soon I'll be eligible for Special Tasks too.

Maybe that's the only way to find him.

Maybe I have to go inside.