Page 1 of Private Exhibit
Chapter 1
DEVON CAMPBELL was dying.
Of course, he was always dying. His genetic condition absolutely guaranteed it. But in that particular moment, he was sure the end had finally arrived.
I'm not ready, he thought in a panic as his lungs refused to work.Oh gods. Not yet. Please! I'm not ready!
He looked down at himself, willing his diaphragm to move, willing oxygen into his body, but nothing happened. Somewhere in his damaged nervous system, a signal had stopped. He couldn't breathe.
This was it. The catastrophic attack that would end his life. Devon had always assumed his heart would simply stop beating one day, unable to send and receive the necessary signals to keep functioning. That was how it went for most people born with Ashworth-Grahams Disease.
But, no. His heart was still beating. He felt it racing, every thud seeming to reverberate in distress throughout his entire body while he slowly suffocated to death.
Devon opened his mouth to call for help, even knowing that help would be useless. There was nothing anybody could do.
It didn't matter, anyway. Without air, he couldn't speak.
Devon trembled as he leaned slightly to one side, trying to peek between the monitors that cluttered the dining table. For lack of other space in the tiny apartment, he and his roommate, Oliver, used the table as a shared desk, their computers lined upback-to-back along its length. Devon caught a glimpse of Oliver's face, twisted in concentration as the boy quickly scanned something on one of his screens.
In a fit of desperation, he slapped a hand down beside his keyboard.
Oliver gave a start and looked up, then gasped and shot out of his chair. “Dev?”
Devon's vision turned blotchy as Oliver ran around to his side of the table.
“Dev?” Oliver called again, the sound fading beneath the ringing in Devon's ears. “What's wrong?”
Devon weakly pointed at his chest, then tumbled right out of the chair and onto the floor.
“Dev!” Oliver shrieked. He grabbed Devon by the shoulders and shook him, asking, “What's wrong? Where is it?”
But Devon couldn't answer. He could barely even hear Oliver's voice anymore. And everything was turning dark and hazy, his vision tunneling down as the end barreled up on him.
Gods. Why now?He'd finally started to make some friends, something that had been nearly impossible for him all his life. Of course, Hayden and Levi might not actually want to be his friends—maybe they were just being polite—but at least it felt like it could go that way. And he'd finally gotten to meet the people who were supposed to have adopted him as a baby—who'd changed their minds when they found out about his disease—which meant he finally had a chance of closure for that abandonment.
But there were also so many things he'd never gotten to do.
Devon had never gotten to travel anywhere, always having to stay within a safe radius of a hospital. Not that he truly liked the idea of traveling and having to deal with planning, packing, and crowds, but there were lots of places he desperately wanted to see. Of course, he'd be able to see anything and everything oncehe was dead, his soul untethered from his body and free to go where he pleased, but it wouldn't be the same. The sights and sounds and smells wouldn't hold the same quality.
He'd never gotten to learn how to drive, both because he couldn't afford a car and because it was simply too dangerous. Even with an autopilot function, it was too risky to operate a car when his entire body could go numb at any time.
Nor had Devon ever gotten to find his true passion or purpose. Not really. The closest he came was working with the Gentleman Hackers Club. Though completely anonymous, it was the only resemblance to family he'd ever known. And he loved the work. The challenge. Hacking into places to test security so that it could be improved, making other people's lives and property safer. So many people had saved his life over the years, and this seemed the only way to pay it forward.
Speaking of those people, Devon had never gotten to thank half of them for what they'd done for him. Two people, in particular. One man had saved his life back when he was a kid, then simply vanished. Devon had never been able to track him down. The man was like a ghost. A complete mystery.
And then there was Oliver. Patient, loyal Oliver. Devon's only friend. They'd started out as a business arrangement—Devon providing room and board in exchange for Oliver taking care of him during his attacks—but over time, they'd become close. Almost family. Devon owed him so much. He'd been determined to live long enough to make sure Oliver was on stable ground and could survive on his own once Devon was gone, but now it might be too late. Too late for so many things.
Devon sucked in a gasping, ragged breath.
Just like that, it was over. By some miracle, the signals managed to get through, allowing his lungs to work again. Devon curled up on his side, coughing and choking as his vision started to return and sound rushed back in.
“Dev?” Oliver gasped, squeezing his hand.
“I'm alright,” Devon croaked, then coughed again. He sank into the floor, panting. His entire body trembled as oxygen slowly circulated back through his system.
Oliver dropped onto his backside and ran both hands through his unruly red hair. “Gods almighty,” he breathed. “You seriously scared the shit out of me.”
“Scared myself,” Devon admitted. He closed his eyes and concentrated on taking a slow, deep breath, feeling every bit of expansion in his lungs, straining them to the max before he let the breath back out.
