by Kirk Dougal
“Yeah, but hold on. It’s Big C’s right hand man, Jimmy Color.”
I heard Dutch let out a long breath. “That’s shooting some high pillow. Just Color?”
“He’ll have a couple of hatchet men with him. Take plenty of men you can trust.”
“You meeting me there, RJ?”
“I can’t. I’ve got another call to make tonight. You be careful on this one. Dutch.” I hung up.
I took my time finishing the Lucky and gave one last glance at the motionless avatar. Young man, longish dark brown hair, slight build—if someone had never seen Voice, Roberts’ avatar came close enough to confuse them. At least, that was my hope to get Big C off the kid’s back. I made sure the bag with the bindles of dope and the money could be seen in the closet doorway before I leaned back on the bed.
One way or another, my time inside The City was drawing to a close. I drew the experience out, coaxing a little more enjoyment before the sensation snuffed out like the butt I pushed into the ashtray. I glanced up and the clock showed me it was time to move.
Chapter 41
I moved around the edge of the tapestry and peered into the darkness of Rose’s office. My eyes adjusted to the dark until I picked out the shape of the conference table and a few chairs in the shafts of street light entering around the shades. Blood rushed through my ears, racing with the pounding of my heart, making it harder to hear anyone else in the room. A rustle of clothing to my left, near the gun rack, caught my attention and I moved right, trying to catch a glimpse of the movement I heard.
I crept almost halfway across the room before I picked out a black shape, darker than the area around it. I raised the .45 in my right hand.
Pain shot through my back and drove the air from my lungs. Gasping, I started to turn but another blow landed, this one across my arm, sending the gun clattering across the floor. I backed away, but caught my foot on a chair and I sprawled onto my side.
The lights flickered on. The man in the black suit stood beside the switch. “You don’t give up, RJ.” He reached up and pushed the fedora back on his head. “All you had to do was stay where I could keep track of you but you wouldn’t play the game the way you were supposed to. But then, you never did, you bastard.”
Black hair framed his thin face, flowing from under his hat. But I noticed immediately what had disturbed Rose so much. The space between Raven’s dark eyes widened and narrowed if I glanced away. His nose flattened and then rose, his lips thickening. Every time I stared at a part of his face, another portion changed, melting and reforming, but always slightly different than before. The avatar appeared in flux, somehow caught between two characters.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see this day, Raven.” I started to stand but he raised the club in his right hand and I stopped. In his left hand nestled a revolver.
“I’d given up on this happening a long time ago, too,” he said. “I thought you’d died, wasted away while you were inside the damn games, ruining people’s lives.”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Raven. I didn’t understand. I know now I made The Kindred all about me and that wasn’t right. But I never killed anybody, not in real life.”
Raven’s lips pulled back and his eyes closed to slits. On an animal I would have called the face a snarl, but on a person the glare was the last warning of a blood-crazed killer. “Never killed anybody? What about all those people who crawled into your goddamn game and never came out? Lives wasted, families destroyed. A thousand people? Ten thousand? There’s blood all over every case of DIOD and you poured it there.” He pointed the club at my head. “You don’t even know who you’ve killed.”
“We didn’t know, Raven. If I’d known The Kindred would cause DIOD…hell, if I’d known it about any game, I’d have walked away and gotten fat writing cruft for one of the computer companies.”
Raven smiled. “You say that now, now that you’ve had a taste of what you caused in other people. I thought justice had finally been served when I heard you had DIOD, too. I assumed you’d waste away like…like the others.” His grin faded. “But you didn’t do what you were supposed to. You turned up after you got yourself clear of the game. You made a life for yourself as a cop. You’d done what your victims couldn’t do—stop playing the games.” He stepped forward and swung at my legs. I scooted back in time to only feel the air in the club’s passing.
“Is that what this is all about?” I said. “You’re killing people, my friends, because you’ve got DIOD?” I hoped he would make a mistake and move close enough for me to knock him off his feet.
Raven shook his head and his eyes changed again. “We both know you don’t have any friends. I thought my chance for revenge against you was long gone, buried wherever they dumped your bones. But then suddenly you were still alive and I saw my chance to make it right. I just needed to get you back in the games again, get you hooked all over, and let DIOD do to you what you deserve.
“But you wouldn't do what you were supposed to do. You wouldn't stay where I could keep track of you in the games. You ignored my constructs and started following around the first pair of tits that caught your eye.”
I heard a noise behind me and glanced back, at the same time trying to keep one eye watching for another attack from Raven. That thought flew from my mind.
Evelyn sat in a chair near the gun rack, hands tied and a gag shoved in her mouth. She whimpered again and tears rolled down her cheeks.
“She’s got nothing to do with this,” I said as I turned back to Raven. “This is about me.”
Raven laughed. “No, you don’t understand, this is exactly about her and everyone like her. That’s the games’ dirty little secret—they need the sleepers to make the play more interesting. They need the people who are willing to bury themselves inside, become the characters that make Beta Prime, Quest Call, and The City feel more alive. They need people like you and her to throw away their lives in the real world and suffocate on DIOD. Pre-programmed NPCs can’t do that. That’s why the programmers don’t really police the time limits and hold players accountable. They allow people to waste away…” Raven stopped for a moment and swallowed. “The game companies let people die because it’s better for the games. Makes them more money. That’s why she needs to die. Because if she’s dead, and all the people like her are dead, then the games will fail and good kids will still have a chance for lives. So I put the sleepers out of their misery and put their money to good use. Something you wouldn’t understand.” Raven switched the club to his other hand and raised the gun in his right. “Time for her to die.”
I scrambled to my feet, launching myself at his body. The gun blasted in my ear as I drove my shoulder into his ribs. We tumbled into the wall and he beat the end of the club into my back. I ignored the pain and clutched Raven’s wrist, pushing the gun away from my face. Another bolt of pain hit, this one to my ribs, as he used the weight of the club to add power to his punch.
But those wide swings left his middle open. I sunk my right fist into his stomach and took a half-step back to uppercut for his chin. Blind with fury—partly over his attempt on Evelyn and partly because I had been so wrong during the entire investigation—I put every ounce of my strength behind the punch. But even as my fist flew upwards, pain exploded on the side of my head where the club landed on my ear. My strength melted. Black circled the edges of my sight and I crumpled to my knees, sliding down Raven’s body. My hands stopped my fall, using the floor beside my legs for support.
“It’s over for you, RJ,” Raven said between gasps for air. “It’s been over for you since the day I discovered you were a cop.”
“Plant that lead, Raven,” I gasped. “You’ll kill me here but I’ll reset and hunt you down in whatever game you slink into.”
“No, Rick. This isn’t some fairy tale island honeymoon and I’m not wearing a red bikini for a photo you keep like a trophy in a closet. I’m going to kill you here and when you wake up in that nursing home, the first thing you see will be my face as I kill
you there. Just like I promised you. You’ve lost.”
A dog barked, echoing off the walls, and gunfire answered. I grabbed the hunting knife and ripped the blade from under my pants leg, driving the point into Raven’s gut. He screamed and I met the noise with a roar, rising to my feet as I pushed his body up the wall. Blood ran over my hand but I gripped the knife tighter, my chest reverberating in the shout. Raven’s fists beat at my shoulders, softer and softer, until his lifeless body slumped over my shoulder and I let him fall to the floor. My knees wobbled and I shook my head to stay awake. An arm appeared around my chest, keeping me on my feet.
“Rick! Rick!” Voice yelled. “Are you shot?”
I shook my head again and this time, when I opened my eyes, the light of the room beat back the black. “No, I’m okay.” I turned and saw blood on Voice’s shirt. “But you’re hit.”
He smiled but the grin quickly turned into a grimace. He turned his head to the side and glanced down. “He got a piece of my shoulder before you stuck him. Damn, nobody tells you how much getting shot hurts. It feels like it’s on fire.”
I pulled back his collar and saw a one-inch crease where his neck met his shoulder. Blood poured from the wound but the bullet had missed everything vital. “Two inches to the left and I would have been saved by a dead man. You gave him too much to shoot at after you barked, kid. You better learn that lesson if you’re going to be a shamus in this town.”
“I had to do something,” Voice said. “I came out the door as he fired the first shot and then you were too close for me to take a chance…”
“The first shot!” I interrupted. “Evelyn!”
I ran to where she sat tied to the chair and knelt down to look her in the face. No recognition shined from her unblinking eyes.
“Is she dead?” Voice asked. “I wouldn’t have been here if she hadn’t told me how to follow you before she left the apartment.”
“No,” I said, caressing her cheek with my thumb. Her skin felt like a mannequin’s plaster. “She jumped out of the game. Smart woman. Even if Raven had shot her, this is just an empty avatar.” Panic shot through my stomach, everything Raven had said running through my mind again. “Out of the game…” I stood and ran to the killer, yanking the knife out of his stomach and then flipping his body over, afraid of what I was going to find. The blade made quick work of the suit and in a few seconds I stared down at a tattoo.
“What are those?” Voice asked from over my shoulder. “Some kind of wings?”
“Raven wings,” I said as I stood. “But the first time I saw them I thought they belonged to an angel. I’ve got to go before Raven kills me outside the game.”
OUTSIDE
Chapter 42
Rick’s eyes fluttered open and he wondered for a few seconds if he was still asleep in the game. Pale light crept in around the edges of his sight and he noticed a sliver of moon outside his window, shining over a snow-covered lawn. His first thought on time questioned how long he had lived inside Beta Prime and The City. Colored leaves dotted trees in early fall when he volunteered for the assignment but the weather told him months had passed. That did not bode well for what he had to do next.
His hands shook as he pulled off the sensor gloves and then reached for the skull cap. The Becky dropped to one side and dangled beside his bed, the wires catching on the rail. Rick watched the cap swing back and forth, his thoughts muddled, captured by the rhythm and sounds of rubbing against the loose sheet.
Rick realized the scraping was loud. Too loud.
He heard no other noise, either in his room or outside in the hallway. Even in the middle of the night, the nursing home should have produced some sounds—bracetech beeping, nurses talking at their station, or even the squeak of shoes on the linoleum floor. But the building was silent.
Rick pulled back the sheet and kicked off his game booties. After a few seconds he was free and used the hand control to raise himself. Black spots danced in his vision and his ears rang. He sat there for a moment, gripping tight to consciousness and waiting for his body to adjust, to come back to life, while his mind screamed the killer was on their way.
The investigation and his life had come down to a race: Would he make it to the telephone on the table across the room first or would the killer appear in time to carry out their threat?
Rick swung his legs over the side of the bed and he glanced away, not wanting to see the shriveled muscles and loose skin. He grasped the down railing with both hands and lowered his body over the edge, feet leading the way, preparing himself for the effort.
He grunted as he collapsed on the floor.
Sweat dotted his lip as he fought to get his legs under himself again, this time pulling with his arms on the bed. Inch by inch, he fought his way to his feet. His breath rasped in gulps, heart pounding a wild beat, but his body worked on, spurred by the fear of dying. With a final shove, he wobbled the rest of the way up, knees shaking and body swaying, but on his feet.
Rick stared at the telephone, sliding one leg forward in a wobbly step. Two more and his hand left the bed, the comfort of its support gone. Each step forward became a little easier, his body remembering movements, muscles quivering but firing again.
He collapsed over the edge of the couch, his face buried in fake leather stinking of antiseptic. Rick did not attempt to sit up, instead, rolling over only enough to free an arm and reach for the telephone. He pulled the receiver to his ear.
The line was dead.
Rick lie on the couch, his chest heaving from the effort of crossing the room. While his body was still, his mind raced, searching for an answer to find help. If only he had more time.
And then what time he had evaporated. A tray clattered across the floor in the hallway, bouncing and clacking until the plastic rattled to a stop.
Rick clawed at the cushions, pulling himself into motion. A knee banged into the coffee table as he swung out. He stifled a scream and kept moving, gaining a foot on the floor and then another, falling forward more than walking and reaching out for the wall as his feet struggled to keep pace with gravity, trying to stay upright. His shoulder thumped into the doorway and he saved himself a broken nose by twisting to the side, his head just missing the bathroom door frame. Squeezing his eyes shut, he reached around and turned on the light. Even through his lids the light blinded him and he recoiled back around the corner.
One gulp of air, then two, before he braved the painful light and reached back into the bathroom for the door, pulling it shut so only a white bar shone underneath. Rick shuffled two steps past the door and wedged himself into the closet on the other side, closing the door with a crack to peek through.
The latch slid back, metal against metal, and the door to the hallway slowly opened. A gun appeared, followed by an arm and then a dark body. Rick watched with one eye, the other shut tight as sweat poured down his face. The shadow moved to the bed and flipped on the table light.
Gwen gasped in shock and then glanced around the room, finally noticing the bathroom light underneath the closed door. “That’s not much of a hiding place, Ricky. But I’ll give you credit, I didn’t think you’d be able to crawl that far after almost six months on your back. Not that it’ll help you any.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a set of keys, dangling them from a finger while they rattled. “You can have your apartment keys back now. I learned so much about you in your closet. No husband of the year awards for you.”
Gwen walked toward the bathroom. Rick held his breath as she moved closer and then out of sight, passing beyond the crack in the closet doorway. The breath almost left him, however, when he heard her chamber a round in her Glock.
“It’s your time now, Ricky. But don’t worry, I’ll get to that little bitch you tried to save.” She flung open the bathroom door and light flooded into the room.
Rick crashed out of the closet with a yell, swinging the only weapon he had in the room. Jim’s baseball bat thumped across Gwen’s shoulders and she fell forward, t
he mirror above the sink shattering over her head. Eyes watering from the light and unable to lift the bat again, Rick let his full weight crash into her back, pinning her to the sink and driving her head into the medicine cabinet again.
Gwen screamed. The FBI agent shoved against the wall and the two of them tumbled back into the room, her landing on top. The bat lie between them so Rick wrapped his arms and legs around her and did the only thing he could do: hold on.
Gwen’s elbows dug into his ribs and twice when she snapped her head back she caught him in the face, the second time leaving blood flowing from what was likely a broken nose. She kicked with her feet, pushing the two of them across the floor like some malformed science experiment gone wrong. Her fingernails bit into his legs, clawing away chunks of skin.
Rick’s strength failed. Every twist from Gwen allowed her to move a little more. Every head butt became harder to shake off and every claw mark made his legs weaker. With one final thrust, she rolled free, howling in delight while he stayed on the floor, muscles quivering and lungs gulping for air.
Gwen picked up her gun and knelt over Rick. “You should have seen Brian when he was younger. All he ever wanted to be was you, the Beast, RJ Dowland. Just a little respect, some acknowledgment and he could have done anything. He even accepted that Poe bullshit and embraced being the Raven. He wore it like a badge of courage. And you did nothing but abuse him inside The Kindred until he spent every minute playing the game, desperately clutching for you to like him, respect him. Then it was too late. He couldn’t leave and the DIOD ate him alive. Whittled him down to a pile of bones and skin. There were no more resets left for him. You and your fucking game killed my brother and now it’s time I killed you.” She pointed the gun at his chest.
The hallway door slammed against the stops. Gwen glanced up as Jim and Gonzalez burst through the doorway. She raised her gun toward them.
Rick thrust the baseball bat from his chest with every muscle remaining in his arms. The end caught Gwen on the side of the head and the wood knocked with the sound of a fouled off pitch. Not a clean hit, but the contact was enough. Gwen toppled over, her gun falling out of bloody fingers.
