by Nicki Elson
Ah, but there’s always YouTube. He went to the site and typed Leilani, the name of one of his favorite girls. He could always count on fellow gamers to upload video of the most provocative in-game sex scenes. Virtual porn. There she was—in a handful of “best of” videos. He clicked on the third one down. It started out innocently enough, with a conversation between Leilani and a character that looked similar to his own. Cliff’s mind inhabited the virtual body, imagining it was he who followed her into the bedchamber, his mouth suckling at her breasts, and his thrusts making her moan.
By the time the nine-minute video ended, Cliff had made good use of the opening at the front of his boxers. With his free hand, he clicked on another video. In this one, Leilani was kissing another girl, who beckoned Cliff to join them. His real-life breathing grew erratic and heavy. He groaned when the second video ended. This time, he checked the length of the related videos in the sidebar and clicked on the longest one. It was a full thirty minutes. He didn’t even know if Leilani was in it, but by this point he didn’t care.
His own fantasies mingled with the animated sexual menagerie. His fist pumped a steady rhythm, faster and faster until his body jerked, leaving a fine mess for housekeeping to clean the next day. After that, he slept the comatose sleep of the dead in the other bed.
Chapter 5
CLIFF DEPARTED SAINT LUCIA late enough the next day that he was able to sleep off the worst effects of his hangover—but early enough to avoid socializing. After grabbing a glass of juice at the brunch buffet, he said his goodbyes and was gone. He was grateful the drunk-fairies had guided JoAnne to the waiter before he himself had gotten to her, otherwise the morning would’ve been a whole lot more awkward.
The city felt different when he returned. His situation with Trish was the same as before he’d left—the same as it had always been—yet something had changed. He couldn’t quite identify what. He just knew he didn’t feel the customary pull to wander down Michigan Avenue to see her after a long day of work.
Two weeks after the trip, Karen Keefer called him into her office. He settled into a chair across a small conference table from his mentor. Her office was much larger than his with bigger windows. If he stood, he’d see the gardens of Grant Park and the wide expanse of the lake, but from his seated position, he mostly saw the gray autumn sky.
“Next time you see my girl Trish, tell her it’s been too long since she’s let me take her to lunch,” Karen said. The two women had always had a good rapport when Trish had been receptionist at the firm.
“The new job and the fabulous international boyfriend keep her pretty busy, but you’re free to call her yourself, y’know.” Cliff was glad he’d never given Karen a hint of his tortured feelings for Trish.
“Yeah, yeah, I will, I will.” She swished her hand in the air before cutting to the chase. “So, Walsh, how’d you like some pro bono work?”
“Sure.” Cliff bobbed his head. He’d worked with non-paying clients before. Serving the community was an important part of his law firm’s philosophy.
Karen leaned back and her lips spread into a sly smile. “This time as the lead.”
Cliff sat straighter and grinned. At a firm the size of River South Partners, he hadn’t expected to get this kind of opportunity for a while.
“Don’t get too excited,” Karen said. “If you do your job well, it’ll be a brief project. But you’ll get a chance to work directly with the client and broaden your experience. Not to mention the warm ’n’ fuzzy bonus.”
She slid a folder across the table. Rock This Town was written across the front with a picture of kids banging on instruments made from coffee cans, cereal boxes, and other repurposed items.
“Rock This Town is a not-for-profit that provides low-cost and free after-school and weekend workshops for kids. It keeps them off the streets, teaches skills, and builds confidence. The goal is to show at-risk kids how to channel their energies toward productive endeavors.”
Cliff flipped open the folder and found a list of activities in the left pocket. “Sounds great. What kind of legal help do they need?”
“The organization’s entirely unaffiliated with the Chicago Park District or the Chicago Public School System, and they want it to stay that way. They’re already getting pressure to join forces with the powers that be, so they want guidance in setting up their bylaws to ensure independence into perpetuity.”
“Why not work with the park district and schools?” Cliff asked. “It makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“You’re precious, Walsh. Once the big boys get so much as a pinky in this pie, they’ll take over. RTT doesn’t want politics mucking up the works. They want complete control over who they hire, fire, and they don’t want interference in the types of programs they offer. If you’re interested, you’ll meet with the client tomorrow.”
“Sign me up.”
They talked in further detail about some of the challenges Rock This Town had already faced in dealing with the city. When Cliff got up to leave, Karen added, “Don’t screw it up, Walsh. You’ll only hurt the children.” He turned to see her wink.
Loinerd stood at the edge of a pine forest, staring at a formidable palace atop a high hill. Cliff’s workload had just started to lighten up, but the new pro bono project would soon fill his hours again, so he was determined to get to the next level in Castleabra before he’d be forced to abandon the game again.
Soon after he’d logged in, a message had popped onto the corner of his screen.
PlanetClaire: Long time no see Torpedo Pants. Want to run a two-man quest?
Loinerd: Sure.
He hadn’t had a specific itinerary for his play, so he’d figured, Why not? She’d told him to buy an energy blade and meet her at the foot of the castle.
A village crammed with shops and vendors stood between him and the palace. Dozens of other players as well as non-player characters milled the narrow streets that wove between small, stone buildings. As he searched for the blacksmith’s shop to buy the blade, a buxom wench with a dangerously low-cut bodice pressed into him, running her fingertips along his jawline.
“I can restore your Stamina. Three shindlings is all it’ll cost you,” she coaxed.
His choice of responses appeared on the screen:
I’ll give you 2.
How about you give me 4 shindlings, and I’ll teach you to never question my Stamina again.
Where’s the blacksmith?
“Where’s the blacksmith?” he asked. He didn’t have time to get frisky with the medieval prostitute. The girl pouted and, without answering, zipped away to mold her bosoms against another player.
After a few minutes of searching the village, he found the blacksmith and purchased the weapon. He then wound his way through the maze of bricked streets until the buildings thinned. At the opposite edge of town from the forest, he entered a dense field with grasses that came to his waist. Prickly brambles were scattered throughout. He had to cross the field to get to the base of the hill that held the castle.
Only sparse moonlight lit his way. He was alone in the sea of grass, keeping his eyes on the glowing windows beneath the palace’s spires to be sure he was going in the right direction. As he moved farther from the town, his view was suddenly blocked. Before him rose a thick wall of twisted vines and thorns. He ran alongside it, searching for an opening, but none appeared.
He attempted to climb the wall, but as soon as his foot caught purchase, the vines twisted. His boot slipped inward, and thin vines coiled around his ankles. He yanked his boot free, snapping the wicked vegetation. Moving back several feet from the wall, he took a running start and leaped higher. Loinerd scrambled to move faster than the vines could grab hold of him—with no success. The wall held fast to his wrists and ankles. After considerable maneuvering, he shoved back and fell to the ground, landing flat on his back.
“Climbing won’t work. I’ve tried it a million times.” PlanetClaire entered the screen. She looked different in this game but
still gorgeous and still with red hair, though it was longer and braided. Like him, she was dressed all in black. Lizard-scaled boots came up to her thighs, and a form-fitting unitard climbed up her hips and all the way down her long, lean arms. A tight armored vest covered her abdomen. The only gap in her covering was a narrow V stretching from her throat to nearly her naval. “Lucky for you, I’m here to save your ass again, Loincloth.”
An invitation to join Claire’s party for a quest blinked onto the screen. “You mean resuscitate me after I save your ass?” He clicked to accept the invite.
“I’m not a healer in this game, so you’ll have to be less suicidal.”
“How do we get through this?” He was back to examining the wall, which seemed to have become darker, almost black, since they’d been talking.
“It’ll have to be a team effort, which is why I was happy to see you online. Do you have the energy blade?”
“Yep.”
“Good. I’ve had some luck with mine. I can burn a hole through with a fireball, but the vines start growing back immediately. I’ve been able to slow the growth with the blade, but I can’t keep the charge focused on the vines and dive through the hole at the same time.”
“Ah, so you want me to hold open the hole while you dive through.”
“Right-o. After I’m through, I’ll focus my blade on the vines and you can crawl through.”
The plan worked, though the vines made gradual headway against the energy blades, leaving Loinerd with barely enough of an opening to squeeze through. Claire switched off her weapon, and the vines sealed, leaving the two players on a narrow strip of rocky ground at the castle’s mountain base.
Their climb to the palace was slow because of loose boulders but uneventful. They arrived to find a deep moat filled with snapping, snarling creatures. Circling the water’s perimeter, they didn’t see a bridge. Nor did they spot a door into the castle, only solid stone all the way around.
“I guess we blast another hole,” Claire said.
While Cliff took stock of his weaponry to determine what would be capable of the job, a rattle sounded behind him. Both he and Claire drew blades and spun toward the noise, but all they saw were tall, dead trees jutting from the rock. Through the murky darkness emerged a serpent. By moonlight, its scales glimmered in dim jewel shades. Its smooth, reptilian head rose from the ground to examine their weapons through eyes that gleamed like black opals.
“You don’t want to hurt me.” The creature’s voice came out in a ghostly rasp that was at once both wispy and authoritative. “I’m the only one who can get you in.”
A choice of responses popped onto the screen.
At what price?
I don’t trust snakes.
Well, what are you waiting for? Let me in.
“The first one, right?” Cliff asked PlanetClaire.
“Yes. Do you want to ask or should I?”
“I’ll do it.” He selected option one, and Loinerd asked, “At what price?”
The serpent grinned and slithered forward, circling its length around the pair. Its bone white tail rattled and glowed. “All you have to do is correctly answer a riddle. For only the clever are allowed inssside.” The snake then recited the riddle in its hypnotic voice as the words scrolled onto the screen.
It’s what you want above all things.
Some fulfill it with vows and rings.
For some it’s not an easy fit.
Some are content to sleep with it.
Only three tries to get it right.
Get it wrong and you’ll get a fright.
Five long dashes appeared underneath the riddle, indicating the answer contained five letters. After a few moments of silent contemplation, PlanetClaire said, “Lover?”
“I was thinking along those lines, too.” Cliff read the riddle again. “Would you like to do the honors?”
Claire typed in the word. The moment the letter R blinked onto the last space, an explosive crack reached all the way into Cliff’s chest. A flash of sparks and smoke sizzled onto the screen, obliterating everything. The monitor went dark.
The serpent’s voice crooned, “Wrong. One guessss down. Two to go. Waste those and you’ll never get in.”
Visuals shimmered onto the screen, and Cliff saw that Loinerd and PlanetClaire were back in the village. A quick look at the sorry state of his stats indicated the serpent had killed them. They’d been sent to the nearest safe zone to revive.
“Gah!” Claire huffed.
Cliff scribbled the riddle onto the back of a nearby envelope. “We’ll be permanently locked out if we guess wrong two more times, so we better think carefully before our next try.”
“I have some mini-games at my place here in the village. We can play them to help our characters regenerate. Maybe that’ll stimulate our brains, too.” She ducked under a low archway into a narrow alley. A few yards down, she stopped at an ancient wooden door and produced a brass key. As she pushed the door open, she turned toward Loinerd and gestured for him to enter. A slice of moonlight kissed a long line down her braid and licked the curve of her lips.
Her mouth twitched, almost as if challenging him. Suddenly wary of his new friend, he peeked beyond the door without taking a step forward. The interior was pitch black. He saw nothing beyond a few inches of dirt floor.
“Fine, I’ll go first,” Claire said, stepping inside.
Cliff heard snapping noises, and candles lit around her. He stepped to the threshold to see a small, circular room with stone walls. A chest made of rough-sawn wood was flanked by two stools at the center of the floor. The walls danced with a new wash of gold as Claire lit logs in a small fireplace.
“It’s not much,” she said, “but it’s served me well. Are you coming in or not?”
“Open your chest.”
“You’re not even going to buy me dinner first?”
Cliff’s eyes inadvertently dropped to the enticing outline of her perfect breasts as they strained against the fabric of her vest. No matter what kind of outfit a woman in the virtual world wore, the precise shape and size of her tits would be no mystery.
“Look, if you don’t trust me, that’s fine. I’m not sure I should trust you, either.” She stepped over to shut the door on him, but Loinerd moved just inside and held it open.
“Why won’t you show me what’s in the chest?”
“Because I don’t have to.”
He scanned the room, seeing no objects other than the chest, stools, and candlesticks. “Where are the games you mentioned?”
“In the chest.” She flipped open the lid of the large box and lifted out a checkerboard, propping her free hand on her lean hip. “There, now you know my deep, dark secret.”
Cliff smiled, feeling foolish. “I have time for one game, and then I really need to log off for the night.” He shut the door behind him, and PlanetClaire laid the board on the flat top of the closed chest.
They each took a stool, and as they moved their pieces across the board, trying to outwit each other, they brainstormed possible answers to the riddle. They didn’t get far by the time Cliff cleared all of Claire’s pieces off the board.
“When can you come back to try the riddle again?” she asked.
“Sunday’s the earliest. Does that work for you?”
“Afternoon. Say, three o’clock?”
“Eastern time?”
“Central.”
“All right. See you then.”
“Loinerd?”
“Yeah?”
“If we’re going to continue this relationship, you’re really going to have to explain that name.”
He let out a chuckle. “Okay. Next time. Good night, Claire.”
“G’night, Loincloth.”
Chapter 6
CLIFF PERCHED ON THE EDGE of a shabby settee in the upstairs room of a South Side coffee shop. Across from him sat two of Rock This Town’s professionals—the legal advisor and the financial officer. They’d filled Cliff in on the organization
’s background and structure and were now embarking on their current legal issues. The financial officer was a few years younger than Cliff’s twenty-eight years, and the attorney was significantly older. As Jackson, the attorney, had explained, he’d come out of retirement to help with the project and was unfamiliar with the current “tricks those political yahoos are trying to pull.”
Cliff primarily listened, nodded, and took notes. Every once in a while, he asked a question. Forty-five minutes into the meeting, Chelsea, the financial officer, paused at the sound of a symphony of creaks as someone rushed up the narrow staircase. A wild-haired, strawberry blonde poked her head into the room. By the hints of fine creases at the corners of her pale green eyes, Cliff guessed her to be in her mid-thirties.
“I thought that was the sound of your bustle, Patty,” Jackson said.
The woman thrust out her hand and walked directly to Cliff, who stood and met her firm grip. “Hi. I’m Patricia Lelen, the crazy woman who gave birth to this monster of a project. Thank you for helping out.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Cliff Walsh with River South Partners.”
She giggled and dropped her hand, tapping it against her thick, khaki-covered thigh. “I figured. Though I wasn’t expecting someone quite so…” She lowered her eyes. “So, um, distracting.” She shook her head and smiled, shifting her gaze to her colleagues. “Sorry to interrupt, Chels and Jack, but I’ve only got a few minutes and want to make sure he gets my spiel.”
She explained that she was inspired to start the organization after being a school teacher in an affluent neighborhood in the suburbs. She understood the importance of a supportive community in a child’s education and saw firsthand the benefits of enrichment programs. “In suburbia, the community’s all about the kids—sometimes even too much so—but here in the city, particularly in low-income neighborhoods, so many other factors fight for attention that kids are often an afterthought.”
Cliff smiled. “And you’re doing something about it.”