by JD Nixon
I had no choice but to wait for the answers, because there was no movement from Clarrie’s room. When they finally came out for breakfast, I waited until Kitty had left before I asked Clarrie about it. He immediately went pale and had to sit down. I was afraid he would faint he was so colourless.
“You know who it is, don’t you?” I accused mercilessly.
“N-no, no,” he stuttered. “Well, maybe.”
“Clarrie?” I demanded.
“I should have told you from the beginning. I’ve been receiving threatening letters and phone calls for a while. All from this M person. From this city. But I don’t know who it is. They keep threatening me with death!”
I rubbed my face with my hands. “And you didn’t think this was important enough to share with Heller?”
“Sorry, Tilly.”
Shit! “Have you had any other contact with ‘M’ since we’ve been here?”
“No.”
“And you think these threats originate from this city?”
“I’m pretty sure. The letters are post-stamped from here and the phone calls are international ones.”
“Is there anything else you’re not telling me, Clarrie? Because if there is, now would be a very good time to tell me.”
“No, honestly, there isn’t!”
I didn’t know whether to believe him or not. He had already lied to me about the threats he’d been receiving.
“You have to tell me anything that happens from now on. All right? I’m taking this seriously and I want you to as well.”
“Okay, Tilly, I promise.”
At least now I understood why he had wanted some security with him. I’d wondered why he had thought it necessary, given the fact he hadn’t even left the hotel room once the whole time he’d been here.
He spent the day quietly on his laptop. I busied myself doing my normal activities. Niq, Daniel and I were counting down the days until my return. I had reminded them via email that I was expecting the best feast ever concocted in the Heller’s household. They had promised me nothing less. I deleted Heller’s emails after committing them to memory, still refusing to reply. To be honest, I was missing him a lot, but was far too stubborn to admit that perhaps this job hadn’t turned out to be as bad as I’d dreaded. I really couldn’t wait to go home. It was less than a week left with Clarrie, and I thought I could probably get through the days without going completely crazy, especially now that he was so preoccupied with Kitty.
She arrived as usual in the early evening, and I rang room service again for dinner. Kitty and Clarrie ordered extravagantly – oysters, caviar, asparagus, strawberries, every aphrodisiac food known to humankind. But I found myself ordering more and more frugally as time went by. I was sick of the limited room service menu, even though the food came from the hotel’s award-winning restaurant. I wanted fresh vegetables, fruit and meat cooked simply. I wanted to spend a pleasant half-hour browsing in Heller’s pantry, planning a meal, before cooking it for myself. God, I was so ready to go home!
The lovebirds disappeared into Clarrie’s bedroom, and I turned in for the evening, grabbing my phone and ringing Will. He entertained me detailing precisely what he was going to do to me the next time we met, but perversely, I had a very erotic dream about Heller that night, not him.
I woke up early again and was heading down to the swimming pool for a change of exercise routine, when I noticed another envelope sitting in the entry. I opened it cautiously.
CLARRIE COCKBRAIN!
TELL THE TRUTH
OR I WILL KILL YOU!
LOVE M.
The truth about what? I wondered. I think Clarrie had some further explaining to do. I waited until Kitty had left before thrusting the new note under his nose.
“What do you need to tell the truth about, Clarrie?” I demanded.
“I don’t know! Really, Tilly! This madman keeps saying and writing that and I don’t know what it means.”
I stared him straight in the eyes for a while, very unsure as to whether he was lying or not. My instincts were telling me he was being evasive and knew more than he was letting on, but his wide blue eyes stared back at me innocently. I let it go for the moment. I couldn’t make him tell me, unless I tortured him. Hmm, torturing Clarrie? I spent a pleasant few minutes contemplating that possibility, before I reluctantly pushed it from my mind. He was the client, after all.
Chapter 10
Following breakfast, Clarrie dressed in his usual jeans and sneakers, choosing an A-Team t-shirt this time. I didn’t know from where he sourced them. They could have been original 1970s tees from a second hand shop or designer retro t-shirts costing hundreds of dollars each. He sat at the desk and logged into Synonymy.
I’d requested that a paper be delivered each day, and spent the next hour sipping coffee and slowly reading through every single word it contained. It helped to pass the time and I became well versed in international and current affairs, the latest local political intrigues, and the most recent sporting scandals. And I could also tell you quite a lot about what people wanted to buy and sell in this city, if you were at all curious. God only knows I wasn’t normally, but these were extraordinary times.
I could hear Clarrie muttering to himself as he worked. More out of boredom than any real interest, I inclined my head and eavesdropped.
“Oh, you like that, don’t you, baby! Here it is again. And again. Yeah, that’s it! That’s how you do it. You know he loves it. Give it to Clarrie, sugar,” he mumbled, feverishly typing and clicking on his mouse.
Yuck! It sounded as if he was getting his rocks off in his dirty little porn world. I wanted to see what he was up to, so quietly stood up and choosing a very indirect route out of the line of his eyesight, crept up behind him. He was so engrossed in what he was doing, he didn’t even notice. I peered inquisitively over his shoulder at the screen. My mouth dropped open in horror at what I saw.
“Clarence Cockburn! You creepy little pervert!” I screeched in his ear, scaring the crap out of him. He desperately tried to cover up the screen with his arms, but I pushed him off his chair onto the floor and sat in front of the screen myself. I could not believe my eyes. On the screen a miniature Clarrie was enthusiastically shagging a tiny little Tilly on the grass, his eyes shut in blissful ecstasy, his teeny arse pumping up and down.
“Make them stop now!” I insisted. “That’s disgusting! Get him off her!”
Clarrie stood up, brushing himself off. “It’ll be over in a sec,” he said with a vindictive smile. “He’s really going for it, isn’t he? She looks like she’s enjoying it too.”
“You won’t enjoy living without a knob, which is what is going to happen if you don’t make them stop right now!” I shouted at him. But as he’d said, it was soon over, the little characters standing and putting on their clothes.
I examined the Little Tilly character. It was unmistakably me – same wavy dark brown hair and large, light brown eyes, same shaped face, nose and mouth, my pale skin. She was quite slutty, with very heavy eye and lip makeup, her hair done up in a loose chignon, tendrils escaping around her face. She teetered around on high red stilettos, wearing a button-up red business shirt that didn’t have many buttons done up, her enormous boobs bulging out the top, and a tight, black skirt suit, so short that it barely covered her butt. I hovered the mouse over her and the name Tilly popped up.
I gaped at him. “You even called her Tilly? I should sue the arse off you! You are breaching my privacy!”
“Can’t,” he said smugly. “Doesn’t matter how much it looks like you or even has the same name, it’s just an avatar. It’s not real. That’s advice straight from my crack team of lawyers. I’ll give it to you in writing if you like.”
“You’ve made me look like a cheap hooker! Give me control of her. I don’t want you doing anything else with her.”
He shot me a spiteful glance. “No can do. She’s an NPC.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“NPC �
�� a non-playable character. No one can play her. She’s like an autobot. She’s programmed to automatically respond to any approaches from other characters. I have a few NPCs scattered around. They’re for characters that can’t hook up with other characters, but still want to experience the adult services.”
“Little Tilly has to make out with losers who can’t even get laid in the virtual world? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Yes.”
“Well, fuck me!”
“I just did,” he gloated. “In fact, we’ve been doing it like bunnies every day. You’re not trying to break my dick in this world. You love to suck it instead.”
“You’re revolting,” I said contemptuously.
“Little Tilly is a very popular NPC. It’s that businesswoman look. Guys love it. She’s had over four hundred clients today alone,” he sneered.
“You are not getting away with this,” I promised and stalked off to my bedroom, grabbing my phone. I angrily punched in Heller’s number. He answered immediately.
“Matilda, you finally rang me.” He sounded pleased to hear from me. “Is everything okay?”
“No, everything is not okay! I want you to teach that little prick of a client some manners.”
“Calm down, my sweet. What’s the matter?”
I explained it all to him and could have sworn that I heard some muffled laughter from his end of the line.
“Are you laughing at me, Heller?” I asked, not in the mood to be taken lightly.
“Of course not. This is a very serious situation, I can tell. What do you want me to do? Do you want me to come over and talk to him?” And by ‘talk’ I hoped he meant cause Clarrie a lot of physical pain.
“No. I want you to go and beat the virtual crap out of him.”
“Anything for you, my sweet, but this is a little strange. I just want you to know that.”
I told him exactly what I wanted him to do. He baulked at first, complaining it was beneath him and that he didn’t wish to upset an important client. But I insisted and made him promise to ring me when he finished. I went back out to Clarrie and stood behind him watching furiously as his character did some very sordid things with Little Tilly, right out in the open for everybody to see. He giggled to himself as he frantically clicked on the mouse.
“I hate you, you little shit,” I stated coldly, my arms crossed, face twisted with rage.
“Good, because I hate you too, you bitch,” he spat back, his face contorted with enmity.
“You’re nothing but an over-compensating, tiny-dicked troll. And I know because I’ve seen your tiny dick!”
“Well, you’re a ball-breaking, sour-faced, ugly dyke.”
“Just because I don’t want to screw you doesn’t make me a lesbian. In fact, it makes me the most sensible person in this room.”
The tiny animated characters finished their depravity, and Little Tilly gave a creepy Stepford-wife smile and asked, Is there anything else I can do for you?
“Hmm, let me just have a little think about that, Little Tilly. What haven’t I done with you yet?” taunted Clarrie, his head on his chin, pretending to be thoughtful. My hands clenched into fists, ready to pop him one, when my phone beeped with a text message. It was from Heller.
Watch, was all it said.
At that moment, both Clarrie and I noticed the arrival of a new character in Synful Synonymy – a tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed, muscled character wearing a black top, black pants and black boots.
Clarrie turned to me in disbelief. “You didn’t?”
“I did.”
“What’s he going to do?”
“Kill you, I hope.”
“But I love my Clarrie character. It took ages to perfect.”
“Well, you should have thought about that before you messed around with me, princess.”
The Heller character went up to the Clarrie character. I peered over Clarrie’s shoulder reading their conversation on the bottom of the screen.
Matilda is very upset with your behaviour
Clarrie typed furiously, matilda can go fuck herself
She thinks you need to learn some manners and now so do I
i think she needs to stop trying to break mens dicks
She wants you to delete Little Matilda now
no! little tillys my plaything. i created her. i own her. and i will have as much fun with her as i want!
Last warning
my last answer – NO!
Little Heller meant it about the last warning. He grabbed Little Clarrie by the scruff of his shirt and repeatedly punched him until he turned into a bloody pulpy mess and dropped to the ground, where Little Heller commenced kicking him. It was wonderfully horrible to witness and I grimaced and cheered in equal amounts. Clarrie looked on with sullen resentment as his character was slowly beaten to death. Little Clarrie eventually stopped moving, and a miniature soul departed his body and flew upwards, heaven-bound, the little body dissolving into a skeleton on the screen before finally disappearing.
The character clarrie_sexgod has died, the computer informed us solemnly.
“Clarrie_sexgod?” I rolled my eyes with scorn and made a wanking gesture with my hand.
“It’s just a name,” he said sulkily.
“Delete Little Tilly, or I’ll ask Heller to come here in person and give you the same treatment.”
“All right. I’ll do it now. You’re such a cow.” He turned back to the computer. “Hang on, he’s doing something with Little Tilly.” I peered over his shoulder again.
“What’s he doing? Is he chatting her up?” I pulled my phone out of my pocket and rang him. “Heller, what are you doing with Little Tilly?”
“She’s so cute, Matilda. She looks just like you. I want to fool around with her a bit before she’s deleted.”
“No!”
“But she wants to. She told me she did.”
“She’s programmed to want to fool around. She’s slutty. She’ll do it with anyone. It won’t be special. She’s already had over four hundred clients today.”
“I don’t mind. It’s fun to watch. I can see why people want to play this game.”
“Heller!”
“I think you should start wearing your shirt unbuttoned a bit more, like Little Matilda. It’s very attractive.”
“Heller!”
“I miss you, Matilda. Little Matilda is a nice little substitute.”
“No! I’m getting Clarrie to delete her now. Do you want me to get him to delete Little Heller too?”
He sighed complainingly. “No. I’m so bored here without you. I might play for a bit longer. I’ve just paid for a month’s subscription, so I might as well use it.”
I hung up and supervised closely as Clarrie deleted Little Tilly from his virtual world and we received that solemn message from the computer informing us of Little Tilly’s passing. I felt as though I should say a prayer or something.
I knew there was nothing stopping him from creating another Little Tilly, but I didn’t think he’d dare to until he’d left the country at least. Then I wouldn’t care, because I wouldn’t know. I had absolutely no intention of giving the little creep another cent to play his stupid game ever again.
I had been so preoccupied with Little Tilly that it wasn’t until much later I realised that I’d forgotten to tell Heller about the threatening letters.
I retired to my room earlier than normal that night. Clarrie was still bitter about the demise of clarrie_sexgod and kept making loud and pointed comments to Kitty about how sweet and submissive she was, and how appealing that was in a woman. I gave him the finger when Kitty went to the bathroom. He grabbed his crotch and thrust it lewdly in my direction. I put my fingers in my mouth and pretended to vomit. Kitty returned then and they started devouring each other’s tonsils on the sofa, Clarrie’s hand up her top. I fled to my bedroom, my stomach almost heaving in revulsion.
It was only two days until the award ceremony and I was counting down every minute. I
woke up early the next morning and headed out the gym. There was another letter in the entry.
CLARRIE COCKSUCKER!
THE TIME IS NYE!
TELL THE TRUTH AT THE CERMONY!
OR FACE THE CONSEKWENCES!
LOVE M.
You had to hand it to old M. He/she was certainly on track with their message, although their spelling still left something to be desired. I put the letter with the others, thinking that I’d better ring Heller later in the day to discuss them.
The gym was empty and I jogged on the treadmill for quite a while, tuning out the world, concentrating on my breathing and enjoying the exercise buzz. I did some weights as well, before heading back upstairs. I had showered, dressed, eaten my breakfast and was halfway through the paper when Clarrie and Kitty woke up. I ordered them some breakfast and returned my attention to the paper.
I showed Clarrie the latest letter once Kitty had been affectionately farewelled. Again, he professed complete ignorance about the truth that M wanted him to tell.
“By the way,” he said in an unfriendly voice, “speaking of the ceremony, I want to take Kitty, not you.”
“Tough titties, sunshine. This M person has now specifically mentioned the ceremony, so it’s going to be me hanging off your arm, not Kitty.”
“You have to look like you’re in love with me,” he demanded.
“Nobody’s got that much acting ability,” I sneered.
“I want everyone to see how successful I am, and that includes a beautiful woman on my arm in public. But you’ll have to do instead, I suppose.”
“Bite me! I don’t have a gown with me, so you’re going to buy me one today. And shoes and a handbag.”
“Piss off! I’m not spending a cent on you.”
“Fine! I’ll turn up on your arm wearing my Heller’s uniform. How does that sound?”
