Excerpt: Skylights

God help me, I thought as the alarm bludgeoned me into consciousness. I was up earlier than usual-- I had an appointment for a phone interview with a guy on the East Coast and a noon deadline for the article the interview was being conducted for, so waking up at Dear Sweet God in the morning to call the guy was regrettably necessary.

I rolled out of bed, washed my face, and activated my phone. A text message started blinking in the corner of my field of vision. That was weird-- nobody I know is the type to send a message in the middle of the night. I stared at the icon for a second to bring it up. I didn't recognize the sender or the number. It looked international.

WANT TO GO ON AN ADVENTURE?

"It's too early in the morning for games," I said, staring at the REPLY icon while I spoke. The words scrolled across the inside of my phone lens, looking like ghostly, floating letters on top of my bedspread, and I blinked to send the message. Then I brushed my teeth and dug up my notes for the interview.

The response only took a few minutes. I HAVE A JOB FOR YOU, it said. PACK A BAG FOR A FEW DAYS. I'LL LET YOU KNOW WHEN THE PLANE LANDS.

This caught my attention. It had done so by being completely ridiculous, but it caught my attention.

"I've got some work to do right now," I replied. "Work for people who are already paying me, and whose names I know. If you can send text messages, you can give me a call in a couple of hours and we can talk about details."

This time it was only a few seconds until I got the response. THIS WAY IS SO MUCH MORE FUN, it said. BRING A BATHING SUIT. YOU KNOW YOU'RE CURIOUS.

"Seriously," I responded. "You can at least give me your name."

FINE, my mysterious conversation partner responded. YOU CAN CALL ME ZUB. I'LL BE IN TOUCH.

"Noon," I said, sent the reply, and turned off text messaging. I'd seen little kids carrying on phone and text conversations at the same time, but at 45 I didn't have the chops any longer. This was already far too much excitement for before noon anyway. I found my contact's number on a scrap of paper stuffed into one of my notebooks and dialed. A bored-sounding secretary on the other side of the country answered the phone.

"Dr. Gonzales, please," I said. "This is Gabriel Southern. He's expecting my call."