What She Doesn't Know

by Tina Wainscott

  “It’s Brian,” Rita said. “Or at least it’s supposed to look like him.”

  Christopher clicked on the gold X just below Brian’s image. It came to life, opening its arms to them. His mouth moved along with his words:

  Welcome to Xanadu. I am King Alta, creator of this amazing and diverse place. If you are a current participant, pull on your cloak and enter by clicking the golden X again. If you are new, you have been invited by a participant and must read the following to acquaint yourself with our world.

  I wished to create a special place where prejudice, hatred, crime, and disease did not exist. Where emotions are celebrated. Where the meek can inherit the earth. Every player sheds a flaw or weakness when they join. Each player is sworn to secrecy, must abide by the code of Xanadu, and must stay in their persona at all times. Anyone who breaks the rules, introduces an outsider without permission, or acts out of character will be banished from Xanadu forever.

  Of course, Xanadu has its hazards as well. It wouldn’t be exciting otherwise. You may choose from many places in which to travel, all filled with fascinating creatures and people, beauty, and danger. You will be challenged, tempted, and given many choices, all depending on how the other players act.

  As a new player, you will first meet the Tailor, who will help design your persona. You have many choices from which to choose, many creatures or types and races of people. These are only outlines. From there, use your imagination to make your persona whatever you want to be. Read the backstory and get acquainted with the residents of Xanadu. I encourage you to click on the link to “Kubla Khan,” Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s poem that inspired my vision of Xanadu. Then your sponsor will introduce you into the current story, to which you will contribute.

  “Wow.” She sat back and absorbed the implications.

  “Like the stories Brian wrote for those magazines. Since he couldn’t be the king of the Krewe of Xanadu, he created his own version.” Fatigue washed through him, and he slumped back in the chair. “He was king, all right. The king of nothing.”

  Sadder yet, he wondered if he weren’t much different. Brian had been living in his role of the good prince, just like when they were kids. And Christopher still lived in his role of the bad prince. Both he and Brian ruled worlds they thought were real: Xanadu and that lonely place where Christopher lived with virtual iron gates to keep out anyone who cared to come close enough. Not many did. He rubbed his hands down his face, then sat up and poised his hand over the mouse.

  A detailed map filled the screen. Xanadu was the civilized part of a land called HeavenX, all overseen by Alta. A few small communities dotted a vast landscape of wilderness that included the Plains of Evil, Mountains of Change, and Lake Illusion. The city of Xanadu had a tight, neat layout.

  “It looks like the warehouse,” Rita said.

  “You’re right. There’s the king’s castle, the dining room, the gathering room. Way in the back is Sira’s house.”

  “He asked me if I liked video games.”

  “Maybe he wanted to test the waters, see if you’d be interested in playing.” He looked at her. “Would you have?”

  She considered it. “Some of it would have appealed to me, like shedding your identity and hang-ups and becoming someone else. I feel more comfortable doing that by reading a book, though.”

  They found a chart of the current citizens. When they clicked on Citar, his animated character, draped in blue robes, introduced himself as the prince of thieves and shared what weakness he had shed. Appropriately enough, it was being too honest. A troll named Cragmar had shed his vanity. Sira’s flaw had been her complicity where others were concerned. She did not want to fit others’ parameters. Brian’s flaw had been his need for approval.

  “That poetic way he speaks,” Rita said, a trace of wistfulness in her voice. “That’s the Brian I became infatuated with. Which means I was actually infatuated with Alta. I still can’t believe he’s gone. I keep thinking he’s at the hospital and I’ll get to see him soon.”

  He didn’t want to think about it, so he continued and found the area that Alta participated in the most. They could scroll through the story over the last several months, watching the action or reading the text messages between the players.

  “Sira and Alta were on here the most, though he seems to have tapered off about a month before his fall,” Rita said.

  “When did you and he start your thing?”

  “It wasn’t a thing. We started e-mailing…well, about that same time.”

  “Apparently he was infatuated with you, too.” He clicked on the next archive. “Alta and Sira seemed to be having some kind of power struggle. Here she wants to preside over the banishment ceremony.”

  They referred back to a page of codes, finding that the ceremony entailed a character be put into a cage until the hearing. King Alta had the final word on whether someone would be banished or merely warned. He had denied Sira’s request. Just like their father, loathe to part with any of his power.

  “There are parallels between this place and some krewes. You have to be invited in by another member, and the captain has the final say on who is let in and who isn’t.” He remembered how much Brian had looked forward to being invited into Xanadu after Mardi Gras that last year. “They don’t put people in cages, though. That would be illegal, not to mention creepy as hell. Krewes can banish members. They have codes and rituals, and they have gatherings, which are all linked to Mardi Gras.”

  She wrapped her fingers over the arm of his chair as she leaned forward. As they read on, they found that Sira and Alta had become lovers several months ago, going off into the private “rooms.”

  “Another thing some people do,” he explained as he used the Prince Caspian password to get into Alta’s private room, “is use the same password for everything. At least change one thing about it, just to keep a hacker off track.”

  “I’ll remember that.” She met his eyes for a moment and let him know in some unspoken language that she no longer considered him a hacker. But he was sure she considered him a bastard.

  The private rooms used text messaging rather than graphics. Three entries in, he looked over at her.

  She had a tint to her cheeks as she read. “He did have a thing with Sira. This is like phone sex, only written out. We shouldn’t read any more.”

  He couldn’t help smiling. “Don’t tell me it’s getting you hot.”

  “It isn’t!” The tint deepened to a becoming pink. “It’s just…private. Very private.” She leaned closer to the screen. “Oh, my. Is that physically possible?” She shook her head. “Don’t give me that snarky grin of yours,” she said. “Your face is flushed, too.”

  “Snarky?” He wasn’t commenting on the flush.

  “Yeah, like a shark’s smile, mixed with a smirk. That’s my definition, anyway.” She nodded toward the screen. “Can we leave this room now?”

  “All right, so it’s apparent that they were hot and heavy. No wonder he didn’t have a social life. He had more right here than he could handle. It tapers off around the time he met you. Here, he’s trying to let her down easy.”

  “I wonder if she knew he was going to make her queen. She sure hinted about it a lot. It seemed to matter as much as being king mattered to Brian.”

  “Obviously he changed his mind before he mentioned it to anyone.” He went back to the main story, and they continued reading. “Brian did intend to invite you in. You were being considered by the high council,” he said when they got to the end.

  “I can see why Sira wanted me dead, at least from her warped point of view. I was her competition. From what I can tell, she hates to be left out of anything. Or left behind. I’ll bet she’s been an outcast her whole life. Xanadu is probably the only place she ever fit in. To her, this isn’t an imaginary world; this is her world.”

  He kept clicking on the various links. “It looks like this gathering that everyone’s talking about is when they all come here, dress in their costume
s, and act out their particular fantasies. And interestingly enough, it’s held on Mardi Gras day.”

  “Interesting because of the krewe parallel?”

  “And because it’s the one day a lot of people dress up in costumes. Men dress like women, women dress like men, there are clowns, cowboys, nuns, you name it, it’s out there. Anyone going to the Gathering would fit right in. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if a lot of these people live in New Orleans…the city of masquerade.”

  “That’s why Brian couldn’t work on Mardi Gras night.” She touched his arm. “Look, Sira is already changing the codes. If someone doesn’t participate at least once a week, they’ll be banished.”

  “Find a notepad, and we’ll take notes on the key players, particularly those who were banished. Maybe someone who’s not involved anymore can shed some light on this.”

  When they were done, he wrote down the website information. “I’ll track the IP address and find out where this is being hosted. I can PING and get an IP address. Once the traceroute measures the hops, I can use geopositioning to find out the general vicinity of the server.”

  “You do realize I have no idea what you just said, other than you can find out where the thing is?”

  He shrugged. “That’s the important part.”

  He did several things she didn’t understand, then sat back in his chair with a sigh. “It’s registered as a private domain.”

  “That sounds like we’re out of luck.”

  “Just for that avenue. We’ll have to play the game.”

  He clicked on the icon to submit a proclamation.

  Citizens of Xanadu:

  Alta, your king, is back. I thank Sira for keeping things on track, but I am now able to resume my duties as your leader. The Gathering will commence as planned, and I look forward to meeting with my faithful citizens.

  “You’re planning on going as Alta?” she asked as he clicked on Submit Entry.

  “Sure am.”

  “She’ll know it’s you.”

  “Exactly. It’ll rile her up. As much as I plain out hate this whole role playing thing, posing as Brian is the only way to flush her out.”

  “Then I’m going, too.”

  “Hell you are. You can go to the funeral, but you’re not going to the Gathering.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, ready for the fight. “I am part of this. You would have never even found out about this if it weren’t for me.”

  He rubbed his forehead. “Rita, I won’t let you put yourself in danger.”

  “Everyone makes his or her own choices in life. Brian chose to create this strange Internet world. Your girlfriend chose not to leave town, but to trust a man who had all the best intentions and not the right training. Your friend Billy chose to climb onto the roof with you. And I am choosing to stay here and take part in the Gathering. There is nothing you can do to stop me, so you see, you can claim no responsibility for me.”

  With that, she leaned forward and added a few more lines to his message.

  I would also like to introduce a new resident to Xanadu: Atir. The flaw she is discarding is that she will no longer care what people think of her. She will not have to maintain an image of the perfect, got-it-together person. I beg your forgiveness for using my authority to forgo the High Council’s decision, but timing is imperative. I am making Atir my queen and presenting her at the Gathering.

  “There. That ought to get her blood boiling.”

  “You’re not—sending that,” he added when she clicked on the Submit button.

  “See, you couldn’t do a thing about it. Besides, I’m a psychologist. I can read people. And I know what Sira looks like, so you need me. Two is better than one. You have no choice. ‘Nuff said?”

  “Rita…”

  “Don’t yell at your queen,” she said with a tilt of her head and gracious smile. “Oh, my, I’ll have to get a costume.”

  “That’s where you’re out of luck. You won’t find a costume anywhere this close to Mardi Gras. And you can’t show up at the Gathering wearing worldly clothing.”

  She had a gleam of determination in her blue eyes. “Then I’ll make one. I got an A in my high school sewing class. I’m sure I can find a fabric shop around here. When can we go?”

  He wanted to throw her over his knee and spank that…that snarky little grin off her face. “Rita, you’re a fool.”

  Her smile did fade at that. “I know. But there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  Oh, great, she’d shot an arrow right into his chest, and that sad quirk of her mouth twisted it. He exhaled. “We’ll go after I get back from some errands.”

  “Can’t I go with you?”

  “No. I’ll wait until Emmagee gets here so you’re not alone.”

  “Yes, my king.”

  He opened his mouth to say something but closed it again. His queen. Those words had a strange effect on his stomach, somehow getting mixed up with the pain in his chest. Before he realized what he was doing, he slid his finger beneath her chin.

  “You’re the queen of nothing.”

  “Nothing can be turned to something. With a little magic. Or hope.”

  He wanted to kiss her so damned bad it hurt. She knew it, too, when his gaze dropped to her mouth. She moistened her lips, never taking her eyes from his.

  His whole body was rigid with the fight, and finally his good sense won out. “Nothing is nothing. Don’t ever forget that.”

  Later in the day, Emmagee came by to do her twice-weekly cleaning. Christopher left Rita in her company while he went out and dealt with the hospital, attorney, and the funeral home. The smell of pine scent sent a rush of those Saturday cleaning memories again. The sound of Emmagee sloshing a sponge in the bucket brought a new memory: squeals of laughter, suds flying between mom and daughter, sliding over the tile floor, first Rita falling on her butt, then Angela.

  Her mom hugging her. “Aw, baby-girl, I know it’s work helping your mama out like this, but I enjoy our Saturdays together.”

  Why had she buried that memory? She felt something moving closer to her conscious. Another memory? Something else? But Emmagee interrupted her thoughts.

  “I cannot believe he’s gone. That good lookin’ guy locked away in a vault. It’s so sad, so sad.” She tossed her sponge in the bucket and shook her head, making her curls bob to and fro. She still wore the funky contacts. “So, I guess you and Chris are gonna be heading home, huh?”

  Eager to get rid of us? “We have things we need to take care of.” Best not to give too much information, just in case. She didn’t want to think Emmagee was Sira, but she couldn’t afford to be off-guard. “You said you didn’t know Brian well.”

  “Not really. I knew who he was, growing up. He wasn’t in my social group, know what I mean?”

  “Did you like him?”

  “Didn’t have to. I kep’ his place clean and cashed his checks.”

  She didn’t seem to harbor any ill will toward him. Or possessiveness.

  “What did you mean when you said Brian was locked in a vault?” Rita was sipping coffee and nibbling on a beignet. She leaned against the counter.

  “We don’t bury our dead in the ground like most places. Can’t. We’re so close to sea level that the bodies come floating right back to the surface.”

  Rita choked on powdered sugar. “Oh, yuck.”

  “I bet it was, walking to the cemetery to say hello to your loved one and having him laying there all rotted saying hello back. The fences are to keep the dead in, not the livin’ out.” She shivered dramatically. “If you know what I mean.” She wrung out her sponge. “Speaking of cemeteries, you gotta go to Marie Laveau’s tomb before you leave. She’s the famous Voodoo Queen. Her spirit’ll grant you a favor if you go to her tomb, turn around three times, knock three times on the slab, and mark a cross with a piece of brick.”

  Rita waited for Emmagee to laugh at her own joke, but she merely went to work on the front of the refrigerator. “You’re not ki
dding?”

  “No, ma’am. I asked for a favor, to never grow old.” She gestured down her body. “Ain’t seeing a dimple or wrinkle yet.”

  “And you’re what, twenty-five? It sounds silly.”

  “Nothing’s silly in New Orleans, baby. You should give it a try. Maybe you can combine it with that Carnival magic I told you about.”

  Rita shook her head. “That kind of thing goes against my beliefs. Besides, magic isn’t going to help Christopher. He doesn’t want to be helped.”

  Emmagee smacked her lips. “Well, honey, sleepin’ with him ain’t gonna help.”

  “I didn’t—” At Emmagee’s knowing nod, Rita amended. “How did you know?”

  “A woman’s got a glow about her when she’s been thoroughly loved. You certainly didn’t have that look last time I was here. You had that uptight it’s-been-a-while look.”

  No, she’d had the it’s-been-forever look. Rita sighed. “You’re right; it didn’t help.”

  “Don’t give up on him yet. Maybe his brother’s death will knock some sense into him. You know, the whole mortality thing.” She pulled out a long-handled squeegee from the utility room. “I hate doing windows, that’s f’sure. Be outside if you need me.”

  Rita picked another beignet off the tray and wandered out to the parlor. She searched through the family pictures again. As she stared at them, she shivered at the realization that she and Christopher had something in common: they’d grown up in a home that appeared normal and substantial on the surface, but belied a neglect deep within. She looked at the swords and felt a spike of sadness for two brothers who’d lost out on each other.

  The doorbell rang. She looked out one of the side panels first, finding Henri standing on the doorstep with a handful of dark roses. His longish, silver hair floated on the breeze beneath his cap.

  “Hi, Henri. Listen, I don’t know what kind of deal you had with Brian, but he, well, passed away. I’m sure Christopher will pay you whatever you’re owed. He may have you continue on, I don’t know.”

  Henri didn’t remove his dark sunglasses as he held out a gloved hand. “I heard he passed, and I wanted to offer my condolences. It’s a sad thing when one that young goes beyond. I brought these for you.”