Sara's Game

by Ernie Lindsey

  He backed out, almost clipped Sara’s knees.

  “Wait!” she said, but stopped short of screaming for help. That might break the rules of the game, whatever they were.

  The messenger drove away, slipped off the ski mask. Sara tried to get a better look, but had little luck. The only thing she saw was the side of his face. A normal ear. A normal head. The strands of hair were short and dark.

  It could’ve been anyone, and it definitely wasn’t someone she recognized, as if that were possible from such a quick glimpse.

  Sara looked down at the folded slip of paper in her hand. Before she opened it, revealing whatever instructions awaited, she tried to examine it for any hints. The hand it had come from had been gloved, so fingerprints were out of the question. Folded, it was about three inches wide and three inches long. Standard white, no lines, taken from a printer. A crisp crease along the edge. Nothing extra, nothing like an identifying watermark.

  It was just a stupid piece of paper.

  A link between her and the game. A link between her and rescuing her children.

  It felt dense, like holding a brick.

  Inside the single piece of paper were an infinite number of possibilities, an infinite number of outcomes. The thought reminded Sara of the instruction manual that came with the open-world, open-adventure setting of Juggernaut 2, in which players were presented with thousands of options as they grew their characters from basement-dwelling couch potatoes into heavily armed, alien-slaying behemoths.

  Hundreds of different quests were offered as ways to increase their strength and agility, to gather up bigger and stronger weapons, to live out fantasies of turning themselves into something they could never become in real life.

  It didn’t matter where they went or what route they took to get there, as long as the main quest was completed: save Earth.

  But Sara’s game had a different objective, one that couldn’t be outlined with fancy fonts and clear directions.

  She opened the folded paper and read:

  FIND SHAKESPEARE

  Find Shakespeare? Really? That’s it? What does that even mean, find Shakespeare?

  She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, and she knew it wouldn’t be easy, but this? These two words of confusing...nothingness?

  Where in the hell were the real guidelines? It wasn’t like the games she was familiar with. The games she had tested for LightPulse for months and years at a time. The games that had a distinct mission with accomplishable goals that you could mark off of a checklist. A save point where you were allowed unlimited do-overs, and could attack the game again with new knowledge about the possible outcomes.

  LightPulse worked hard at creating an acceptable level of artificial intelligence for the enemy combatants, but technology only allowed so much. And in the end, the objectives were the same. Go here, do this, pull that lever, jump over the gap, kill that two-headed, slimy, spider-like alien with saliva-coated fangs and dual laser pistols. Destroy the mothership.

  Real world, Sara. Real world, different game. No easy rules. If you screw up, you can’t go back to the save point and start over.

  Find Shakespeare.

  Two words that held no meaning to her. Did it mean that she should find a collection of his plays? Would she have to walk back to the library? She tried to remember if there were any productions going on somewhere in town, or an exhibit at a museum.

  Precious seconds faded away and nothing came to mind.

  They sent me here for a reason. Shakespeare. Shakespeare. Find Shakespeare. A rose by any other name... Romeo and Juliet? Is that right? Shakespeare...roses...roses... Isn’t there...

  A faint memory skittered across her mind. She spun around, searching, searching, and then ran into the garden entrance, down the pathway, and then stopped in front of the park map. An arrow pointed the way to the Shakespeare Garden.

  From where she stood, her destination was in the back right corner of the park.

  She moved. Not quite walking, not quite running. If it mattered, if it was a condition of the game, she didn’t want to draw too much attention to herself. Would any of these people remember a harried woman in a rush? Doubtful. They were too wrapped up in ogling the flowers and taking pictures to see that she was one heartbeat away from frantic.

  Stay calm. How does that saying about the duck go? Calm on the surface, paddling like hell underneath? If there’s an endgame, you can beat it.

  But why a game? That has to mean something. Okay, it has to be someone that knows you work at LightPulse. This whole game thing isn’t a coincidence.

  She passed the spot where Brian had first leaned in, where she had first closed her eyes. Under different circumstances, she would’ve stopped and taken a minute to say a little prayer for his return. But living in the past and tossing a coin into the wishing well of the future wouldn’t get her any closer to recovering what she had left of him.

  And that was Lacey, Callie, and Jacob.

  They were all that mattered.

  She approached the Shakespeare Garden and slowed to a walk. The nervousness of stepping into a place that was too quiet was second nature to her after spending thousands of hours testing games. Step into a quiet, unsuspecting room looking for a reward, and enemies would inevitably attack.

  But no such ambush awaited her. She stood near the entrance, and saw that the foot traffic within the Shakespeare Garden was light, and none of the flower-gazers appeared interested in her or her arrival.

  Now what? Do I just wait? Should I squawk like a chicken and flap my arms, you shitheads?

  Rather than making a fool of herself, she announced, “I’m here,” into the open space.

  A middle-aged couple nearby gave her a curious look, then an older gentleman responded with an energetic, “Congratulations!”

  Smartass.

  She stood in place, waiting. Waiting. Waiting long enough to think that she could’ve been wrong, and this wasn’t the Shakespeare she was supposed to find. The muffled sound of a ringing phone came from somewhere behind her. She expected one of the men or women nearby to answer, but it kept beckoning.

  Is that for me?

  The sound was close. She pivoted around to look for it, saw the Shakespeare plaque on the brick wall. A bust of the great bard and a quote that read, Of all flowers, methinks a rose is best.

  Below it sat an inconspicuous collection of twigs, leaves, and small rocks. She knelt down, rummaged through the pile and uncovered a silver, older model flip-phone.

  She flipped it open, answering with a subdued, “I’m—I’m here.”

  “Welcome to the first level, Sara. I like to call it...Humiliation.”

  Chapter 6

  Sara

  “There will be three levels. One for each child. Complete all three successfully and you may win.”

  “I may win?”

  “That depends on whether or not your prince and princesses are in another castle.” The voice giggled, and digitized, it sounded even more sinister.

  Sara caught the Super Mario reference. It had been one of her favorite games as a child. The long hours she spent mastering it, collecting coins and squashing mushrooms, were some of the happiest memories from her youth, but also some of the most maddening. Screams of frustration, followed by flying Nintendo controllers and a broken television screen had resulted in more than one grounding and innumerable parental sanctions against playing it, but they never lasted long, because her parents couldn’t resist the squeals of delight when she was winning.

  She surveyed the area around her. No one was paying attention. She said, “Listen, I don’t know who you are—”

  “No, Sara, you listen.”

  A short silence, followed by an “Owww!”

  Her son this time.

  It made her feel dizzy.

  The voice said, “Did you hear that?”

  Sara ground her teeth. “Yes.”

  “Try to defy me again. I dare you.”

  “I won’t.
I—I promise. Just don’t hurt him again. Please?”

  “That depends on how you play the game, Sara. There are rules, and in this case, they’re not meant to be broken. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, but what—can I ask what they are?”

  “You’ll figure them out as you play. Be aware, mistakes are costly, and there are no breakaways in this game.”

  Breakaways. What did that mean? Breakaways? That’s a Juggernaut term.

  Sara’s mind raced. This twisted chick on the other end of the line, whoever she was, was familiar enough with their flagship game to know that a ‘breakaway’ was a power-up bonus that allowed a player to set off a mini-bomb and obliterate everything within a city block, thus evading capture or death from an advancing army of alien spider beasts.

  If it’s a she.

  But was the mention of it a slip-up? Or was it intentional? Was it enough to be a clue?

  LightPulse prided itself on their strong female following. Just because one of them was acquainted enough with the product to use a recognizable term didn’t mean a damn thing. That narrowed the possibilities down to thousands and thousands of women all across the world. Especially in Japan. The current trend in the Japanese sub-culture of gamer girls was to get tattoos of their avatars on their lower backs, and to call them insane fans was an understatement.

  But it was nothing concrete. The net was too wide.

  Then, a revelation opened up in her mind like a house window during a hurricane.

  The breakaway feature wasn’t being introduced until the third installment of Juggernaut was released. Which was still in development. Which was still under lock and key. Which was still protected by non-disclosure agreements throughout the whole company.

  It’s somebody from LightPulse. Holy shit, that mini-bomb idea was Teddy’s!

  As the blast of information shook her like she’d been hit by a mini-bomb herself, the voice interrupted her thoughts. “Now, are you ready to begin the first level?”

  What Sara wanted to say was, ‘Is that you, Teddy?’ but rather than revealing what she suspected, she replied, “I obviously don’t have a choice.”

  “You’re right, you don’t. Now listen closely, because the instructions for each level will only be given once. Your phone is being monitored. Do not try to make any calls. Keep it with you at all times and answer it as soon as it rings.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “You are being watched. You are being followed. Don’t try to figure out who it is, because that would be a waste of time. It could be the old man holding his wife’s hand about twenty feet to your left.”

  Sara looked around. It was the same smartass who had said, ‘Congratulations!’ and she seethed at him, however unlikely it was that he was involved. Her tormentor was trying to make a point. There were unseen eyes focusing on her right now from somewhere in the vicinity. The hair on her arms stood up.

  “Trust me, Sara, any attempts to deviate from the game’s objectives will result in consequences that these little angels will not enjoy. I can assure you.”

  Sara wished there was a bench nearby. She needed to sit down. She said, “Whatever you say, I’ll do it.”

  The voice chuckled. “If your children’s lives weren’t at stake, I’m sure you’d regret those words in a few minutes.”

  “Whatever it takes.”

  Whatever it takes, Teddy, you little shit. I should’ve beaten you over the head this morning when I had the chance.

  “I like your spirit. It could save three lives today. Before I give you the instructions for this level, I will offer this: you will be given the chance to ask one question for each round. Call it a bonus round. You may ask at the beginning of the level or at the end. What is your decision?”

  Sara hesitated, but the immediate question on her mind meant more now than it would later, once she was in too deep. She would have to trust that she could beat or solve whatever puzzle was presented to her without any help. “I’ll ask now,” she said.

  “That may not be your best decision so early on in the game, but...proceed.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  The sustained silence from the voice allowed the other sounds around her to creep in. Birds chirped. Bees buzzed around the roses. Wind rustled the leaves above her. High heels clicked on the walkway. Somewhere behind her, a carefree tourist laughed.

  “I suppose I could say, ‘Because I can,’ but what fun would that be? Here is my answer, Sara: you don’t know what it is yet, but you’ve taken something from me, something very important, and this is only the beginning of my retribution.”

  What did I take from Teddy?

  She’d talked down to him far too often, but it had never been malicious. Just enough to get her point across that she wasn’t interested in him, or that she wasn’t going to lie down and be a doormat just because he was the owner’s son. Had she called him Little One too many times? Taken his manhood? Would that be enough of a motivator for him to kidnap her children and threaten their lives?

  No. It couldn’t be. Could it?

  All the other seniors call him that, too. If that were the reason, he’d be targeting them, too.

  Before she could stop herself, an instinctive response shot out. “What was it?”

  A pause, and then another yelp of pain. This time from Callie. Sara covered her mouth to keep from screaming.

  “You broke a rule, Sara. Only one question per round.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. Just, please, don’t do that again.”

  “This has gone on too long. I’m getting bored,” the voice said, then followed it with a drawn out sigh. “So bored, Sara. I want to play now.”

  It was almost childish. Whiny. Infantile. Just like Teddy. Sara said, “Tell me what to do.”

  “Oh, goodie. This will be fun. Here is your objective for the first level, Humiliation. I’ll admit that it’s the easiest, but aren’t all first levels? I don’t want to break you before you get started. Now, you must strip where you stand. Remove every last bit of clothing. Walk to the center of the Shakespeare Garden and stand perfectly still for five minutes. No matter who approaches, you must not speak to them. In that time, you must solve this riddle, which will lead you to your next destination. The riddle is this: The scarlet trusses contain the key where East meets West. Take the phone with you. I’ll call when your five minutes are up.”

  The call disconnected, and the voice was gone. Sara had never felt such rage against another human being. She felt like screaming at the sky and smashing the phone under her heel. She felt like tearing down the brick wall with her bare hands. She felt like ripping the head off each rose one by one, crushing their beauty within her fists.

  She was under surveillance, however, and destroying the world around her wasn’t an option.

  Humiliation. Okay. Okay, I can do this. For the kids.

  She recited the riddle slowly. “The scarlet trusses contain the key where East meets West.”

  Okay, figure it out later. They’re watching. Five minutes. What’s the worst that could happen? I get taken down by park security? Do they have security here? They could call the cops on me. Then what? Stop analyzing! You don’t have time for this!

  Sara took a look around her. Some of the browsers had moved on. Some were gawking at the flowers. Others had been replaced with a new gaggle of tourists.

  Do it. You don’t have a choice.

  She reached up and unbuttoned her blouse. Her fingers that were once quick and nimble from a decade of clicking away on a game controller were now fumbling and clumsy. The buttons resisted escaping their slots and she grew so impatient that she ripped her shirt open and sent the last two flying into the grass. She slipped off her flats, and then took another look. No one was watching, but they would be soon enough. She took off her pants, then her bra and panties.

  The warmth of the sun did nothing to save her from full-body gooseflesh as a cool breeze rushed past. She tried to cover herself, but it was ab
out as effective as using a necktie for a blanket. One arm crossed her breasts, the other went down to the spot between her thighs.

  She wasn’t sure how much time had passed since the call had ended, but she was certain that it hadn’t counted toward her five minutes.

  Move, Sara. Go. Go now. Do it!

  She stepped out onto the walkway, naked, and in no way free.

  Sara tiptoed over to the center of the Shakespeare Garden and stopped in the middle of the path. The men close by began to sense that something was amiss, heads swiveling in her direction. Furtive glances crawled over her skin, violating and scrutinizing her body, getting a good look at the birthmark on her left thigh, the dimple on her right butt cheek, the ever so slight pudginess of her middle that would never go away, no matter how much she ran. She felt like she was being judged. Critiqued over every tiny flaw like livestock at an auction.

  At least until their wives or girlfriends noticed her, too, and began urging them to look away or move on. One man tripped and fell over his dog. A woman scolded her from a distance, yelling at her to put some clothes on.

  If you only knew, lady.

  The only eyes that had seen her naked body in the past two years had been her own. And before that, before the twins came along, she and Brian had taken one adventurous trip down to the Cougar Reservoir where they had skinny-dipped in the hot springs that were buried amongst the waterfalls and evergreens. That was different. That was intentional. And it didn’t matter so much, because everyone else lounged around naked, too, burning incense and warming themselves in the man-made pools.

  But this—this was pure, unadulterated humiliation.

  They must think I escaped from an asylum. What did I ever do to you, Teddy, to deserve this?

  Sara felt the hot bricks burning the soles of her feet and shifted to remove a piece of gravel digging into her skin. How much time had passed? How much longer did she have to wait? Thirty seconds? A minute? She wondered how long it would take someone to locate an employee and tell him about the nude crackhead over by Shakespeare.