In Beta

by Prescott Harvey

  Elmer shrugged. “Teenagers.”

  “She won’t even look at me.”

  “They say it gets better.” Sheriff Jenkins nodded sympathetically. He waddled over to Jay, scarfing down the last of the sandwich.

  “You want to give a statement?” he muttered through a mouthful.

  “Not really,” said Jay, in disgust. He was about to speak again when he felt something tug at the edge of his consciousness. A kind of darkness suddenly engulfed him, and the sunlight and sky and sound of Sheriff Jenkins’s voice diminished, as if receding down a tunnel. It was as if his mind were remembering something beyond his control.

  He was standing in a small living room. His feet were bare on bristled Persian carpet. His back was to the room, but he knew that if he turned around he’d see a Panasonic television on a small black shelf, next to a Super Nintendo and a Genesis. A stereo was playing one of his favorite songs, “Scarlet” by Lush. His tragic victory song.

  He was looking out a window at the street below. It was night, a half-twilight he’d never seen in Bickleton. Streetlamps pumped a purple-orange glow onto the sidewalk. The curbs were full of cars, and they were small. By the look of it, he must be about three stories up. On the street below, red and blue lights flashed on the windows of the convenience store across the street. An Asian man stood in the window, watching. Jay heard the clank of metal as the gate to the apartment complex slammed shut. Two police officers escorted a dark figure out of the gate, into the back of the car. Jay felt his body exhale, and felt a tremendous wave of relief, though he couldn’t remember why.

  It was over in a flash, and he was standing back outside Liz’s house. He blinked, trying to reorient himself. What was that? It felt like a flashback to a memory he didn’t recognize. Sheriff Jenkins stared at him, pen and notebook frozen and awaiting a statement.

  “You okay?”

  Jay shook his head. “I, uh, need to get home and lie down.”

  Sheriff Jenkins put his notebook away. “Okay. No more fighting though. Got it?”

  Jay rolled his eyes and glanced back at the house for a sign of Liz. But the curtains were drawn.

  Backplotting

  A few blocks from Liz’s house, Jeremy raged.

  The Johns were standing next to their trucks, rubbing bruised limbs. John K and John H, who’d received the fewest injuries, were running up and down the sidewalk, trying to catch a chicken that had escaped a neighboring yard. It was an uncommonly ugly bird, with a turkey-like goiter covering the base of its beak, and a wing that wouldn’t fully close. It darted through the Johns’ legs as they kicked at it in frustration, repeating its low cry of buck-buck-bu-KAW.

  Kris Kross blared from an open truck door as John H carefully steadied himself behind the chicken, lunged at the ground, and wrapped the bird in his arms. Its wings flared as it squawked and kicked. John K chuckled in elation.

  “Put that thing down,” Jeremy’s voice came, low and furious.

  John H did as he was told. The bird fell and fluttered away, landing a few feet from the boys and eyeing them curiously.

  Jeremy had a red rash around his throat where Jay had grabbed him. One of his eyes was starting to puff into a bruise. Anger blotched his face into a standing crimson. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw visions of Jay laughing at him, followed by visions of Jay screaming in pain. He spun around and punched the door of John H’s truck. The Johns watched silently, knowing better than to interrupt one of Jeremy’s rages.

  Finally, John C spoke up.

  “How’d he do it?”

  “We’re gonna find out.” Jeremy spun around. “John H and John K.”

  The two stood at attention.

  “Follow Jay. Figure out what he’s been up to. Until we figure out what he’s playing, give him a wide berth.”

  “We still gonna do prom?”

  Jeremy touched his swollen eye and winced. “Yes. Prom goes as planned.”

  The Johns turned to their trucks as one. Jeremy climbed into John W’s pickup, and they pulled out into the street. The chicken ran back and forth, once again free. John W saw and accelerated. There was a bump, and feathers flew up out of the wheel well. John W looked over at Jeremy, snickering. But Jeremy was staring out the window. Fear welled in his stomach. That same, familiar terror. He saw a vision of himself, emaciated and small. He had chains around his wrists, and he was naked against the vending machine in A-Court. Students passed by—the Johns, Amber, and Gretchen—and they laughed at him. And then there was Jay, standing over him, large as God, pointing at his face. Fear and hatred expanded in Jeremy like a hot balloon. He fought his own brain to convince himself, again, that it was a dream and not a premonition.

  Small Miracles

  Colin turned The Build disk over in his hands, eyes closed, tracing the plastic lines with his fingers. He and Jay kneeled between the bleak pews of New Bethlehem Church. The stuffing had bled out of the kneelerrs over the years, and their legs ached on the hard pine. It was uncomfortable, just how church was supposed to be. The room was bathed in the red light that filtered through the stained glass windows.

  Jay felt a little melodramatic for bringing Colin to a church to tell him everything. But the dry air of the church felt right. He could think there. He looked up at the stained glass, where Jesus extended a hand toward them, beckoning. Jay glanced at his friend. As he’d talked, telling Colin everything that had happened, Colin had shut his eyes and lowered his jaw, so that his shaggy hair fell over his face. Jay searched anxiously for any sign that Colin had heard him, and whether or not he believed him.

  Finally, Colin opened his eyes and stared down at the game box.

  “So you’re saying we’re living inside a game?”

  A grin spread over Jay’s face. He clasped his hands together before the stained glass Jesus.

  “Yes! Oh, this is a big step in the right direction.”

  Colin shook his head. “It’s insane. You realize you’re insane, right?”

  “Denial is the first step toward acceptance.”

  Pastor Roberts leaned into the pew, startling them both. He was the way-too-cheerful cheerleader of the parish, and practically lived at the church. On his way home from school, Jay often saw him bustling about in the yard, whacking at the blackberry vines and stinging nettle that always seemed on the verge of engulfing his church. Now, he beamed over the pew through thick freckles and red hair, a boyish grin glowing between his wrinkled face.

  “Hey, sorry! Didn’t mean to startle you. But you guys gotta check this out.”

  His head swiveled back and forth, as if to make sure no one was listening, then whispered:

  “Come on. Outside.”

  Jay hesitated. He didn’t want to lose his momentum with Colin, but Pastor was waving them out of the pew. Jay sighed and let the enthusiasm of the little man carry him out the church door. The front steps were cut into a small cement balcony that was surrounded by a thin rusted railing. Pastor Rob Roberts leaned over the railing, beckoning them.

  Jay saw nothing. Rob Roberts pointed down. Jay followed his finger into the patch of stinging nettle at their feet. Steam wafted up between the plant stems, and a small brown body lay nestled between the leaves. A fawn. White spots curled around its flank in a vortex. He heard Colin exhale.

  Rob Roberts looked beyond pleased.

  “I’ve heard they do this sometimes. Give birth and leave their young. You’re not supposed to touch them.”

  “Is it alive?”

  Jay strained his eyes, looking for any irregularities in its perfect fur. No pixels, no loose textures. How was it possible for a computer to re-create something so perfectly?

  “Oh yes. It’s been squeakin’ all morning. Calling for its mom, probably. This is the kind of miracle they tell you to look out for. The small, everyday sort.” He chuckled. “But then when they happen . . .”
>
  Jay glanced up at Pastor Roberts. An oversize grin wrapped his face, staring down at the deer with hungry intensity. Jay had never noticed it before, but there was a cruelty locked within his stare. Jay had a sudden flash of revelation. The world of Bickleton was full of such underlying cruelty. A reflection of its master and creator.

  Pastor Roberts straightened, oblivious to Jay’s stares. “Yeah, sure is something. You boys want oyster crackers?”

  Colin straightened, hopeful. Jay shook his head.

  “No, thank you. Colin and I are having an earnest conversation.”

  Pastor Roberts’s eyebrows lifted.

  “Ohhh. Say no more. Sorry for interrupting. I understand. Boys your age? Sure, sure. I didn’t realize y’all were here on official business.”

  He winked and strode off. Jay led Colin back to the pew, taking a last look back at the deer. He saw steam waft up beyond the church door. Colin placed The Build on the wooden seat behind him and took a deep breath.

  “So that deer? That’s part of this game?”

  “Everything. All of Bickleton.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “I’ve seen the end with my eyes. It’s a blank wall.”

  “And we’re NPCs?”

  “Simulated intelligences. Algorithms, computing out person-like intelligence.”

  Jay reached into his bag and pulled out a black disk. “Here. Take a copy. In case anything happens to me.” He pushed it into Colin’s chest. “But you can’t show anyone. Not your mom, not your sister.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. Because you’ve been playing too many video games. Whatever cracked Liz, you caught it.”

  Jay slid back into the hard pine pews and sighed. “I thought you might say that. You’re right to be skeptical.”

  He leapt up and shouted back toward the rectory: “Thanks, Pastor Roberts!”

  Colin looked up suspiciously at Jay. “Where are we going?”

  “To help you move past denial.”

  For the second time, they left church. Faint wisps of vapor drifted up from the nettle patch. Jay glanced down curiously for the fawn as he passed by. But the fawn was gone. A fog had rolled in, and everything was still. Even the distant rumble of logging trucks felt muted. Jay ushered Colin into his Miata, and neither of them saw the parked Chevy truck behind them, where John H and John K watched carefully out the windshield.

  The Build

  Jay shivered in front of the computer. It was evening now, and the fog was thick outside Tutorial. The only light filtered through the single window. Pine trees outside floated like ghostly shapes in the mist. It was weather usually associated with fall, and Colin, who always wore cargo shorts, shivered by the computer, glancing anxiously toward the door.

  Jay, leaning back in his chair, clicked through The Build. “You hungry?”

  He clicked on the food folder and moved a packet of Hi-C Ecto Coolers over to Colin’s pixelated desk. He followed this with two trays of personal pizzas, and clicked Enter. The food materialized on the desk in Tutorial. Colin fell over in his chair.

  He breathed quickly, sprawled out on the floor, stunned. “You–you—”

  “Made that out of thin air?”

  “But . . . how’d you get it here?” He stood up.

  “I told you. We’re in the game. We can do anything. See, there’s a castle in this folder. Should we make a castle? Up on the bluff? Or here, watch this.”

  He clicked into the animals folder. Outside the Tutorial window, there came a low moooo and a jingling bell. Colin approached the window. A black-and-white Holstein cow ambled through the pine trees and disappeared into the fog.

  “You made that cow?”

  Jay gestured to the computer. “Want to try?”

  Colin sat down at his desk and shook his head. He turned his attention to the pizza, but Jay could see he was thinking.

  “You believe me now? You could drive the actual Batmobile if you wanted to. It’s in a folder called licensed property.”

  Colin chewed his pizza, not looking at Jay.

  “What do you think? You want a mansion with the Batmobile, like Pablo Escobar? You want your own private viewing room to watch My Neighbor Totoro? Or do you want to wipe the map clean? Start fresh.”

  Colin looked up from his pizza to eye the computer skeptically. “What if we mess things up?”

  “What do you mean, mess things up? Look around this hellhole. How much more messed up could it get?”

  “Like a glitch.”

  “We could be bajillionaires. We could buy and sell the McKraken mill.”

  “What if we’re no good at running a town?”

  Jay sighed. “My record speaks for itself. I’ve never had an earthquake in SimCity, and we have a one-million-dollar budget surplus. No one is more qualified.”

  Colin still seemed hesitant, so Jay continued. “Want me to give you a makeover? Boost your stats?”

  “What if it messes me up?”

  Jay flexed a bicep. “Does this look messed up?”

  Colin took the last bite of his pizza. “You’re putting a lot of faith in Hal.”

  “But how good was that pizza?” Jay moused around the screen. “Huh.”

  The screen was centered on the C-Court parking lot. A circle of Dodge Rams sat parked.

  “Our friends are here.” The pixelated Johns were loitering in the parking lot. “They think they can play baseball in this fog?”

  He studied the screen. Within the circle of trucks stood a circle of Johns. Two of the Johns ran across the parking lot and joined the circle. Little speech bubbles popped up, with streams of periods to show they were talking, but Jay couldn’t see what they were saying. He moused over them until Jeremy’s name popped up.

  “By the way, Hal wants me to kill Jeremy.”

  Colin paused. “Oh?”

  Jay right-clicked Jeremy’s avatar. The word delete popped up in big black letters.

  “I could do it now.”

  “You think that’s what Hal did to Todd, then? Deleted him?”

  Jay’s finger hovered over the left mouse button. Colin’s question brought Todd back to the forefront. Hal had said he’d had to remove him. A stony guilt hardened in Jay’s stomach. What would happen if he deleted Jeremy? Could he bring him back? Would he be the same? Jay clicked away from Jeremy, and the menu disappeared.

  “Eh, they’re leaving.”

  Sure enough, onscreen trucks were driving off in their telltale line.

  “What’s this folder?” Colin was standing now, and pointed to a folder labeled games.

  Jay double-clicked. The screen filled with game box art. Super Nintendo games, Sega Genesis games, computer games. Jay’s and Colin’s mouths fell open. It seemed to be every single game that had ever existed.

  “Alien vs. Predator. Super Metroid. Barkley Shut Up and Jam! Toe Jam & Earl,” Jay read aloud, breathlessly. “Tetris 2!? I didn’t even know that was a thing.”

  “We can get those?”

  Jay clicked, rapid-fire. Cartridges popped into existence across Colin’s desk, clattering into his arms. Jay was already pushing his way past, clutching the goods as if they might disappear at any moment.

  “C’mon. Let’s get these in the car.”

  And then Jay was out the door. Colin waddled after his friend, struggling to keep the individual cartridges balanced. Except for the distant shouts from Jay and corresponding mumbles from Colin, the forest was quiet. Then the pine needles crackled, and two Johns stepped out of the trees. They checked to ensure nobody was looking, then disappeared into Tutorial.

  The Johns Strike Back

  Jeremy and the Johns hadn’t been at the school to play baseball. The line of trucks barreled through the fog, windshield wipers flying back and forth, leaving little rivulets across the glass. Weather like thi
s came on chilly days, when the air grew colder than the Skookullom River.

  The parade of trucks headed away from school, toward the main drag. To the citizens of Bickleton, nothing was more reassuring than that motorcade. It had existed in many forms over the decades. Different Johns, different drivers. Old-timers would stiffen at the sight of it, thinking back to their own high school years, some growing misty-eyed for the good old days.

  Jeremy was squeezed between two Johns in the cab of a truck, his legs wrapped around the gear shift. The intermittent whir of the windshield wipers played over “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” on the radio. The rage was back. It burned up Jeremy’s chest, as it always did when Jay was near. His hands clenched and his jaw locked. How he hated Jay. Visions of blood and torture danced before his eyes. He pictured Jay screaming for mercy. More importantly, he pictured himself free. The urge to hurt Jay was growing worse and worse.

  “You get it?”

  John B held up a small black disk. “We got it. We watched ’em through the window. This was what they were using.”

  Jeremy took the disk and spun it around in his hands. He’d never paid much attention to computers. He was surprised to see just how small a floppy disk was.

  “You sure?”

  “Let’s check it out.”

  “Right. Do either of you own a computer?”

  John C volunteered, “Yeah, my dad just got one. Called a, uh, a Gateway. Looks like a cow.”

  Jeremy nodded. “Go get it.”

  John C nodded and swerved. The caravan of vehicles followed his lead, heading off the main strip. Two withered men stepped out of the Eagles Lodge, fuzzy with drink, and stopped abruptly to watch the cavalcade roar by.

  “God bless those boys.” They nodded somberly.

  Three’s Company

  Jay was emptying his backpack on Colin’s basement floor for the fourth time, carefully sorting through the loose papers and game boxes that fell out.

  “Can we turn a light on?” he hissed.

  Colin stumbled to the wall and flicked a switch, bathing the room in ugly overhead lighting. He winced, glancing fearfully at the basement door, anticipating his mom storming into the room. But there was no sound. Colin shrugged, blowing on a Super Nintendo cartridge before inserting it back into the console.