LifeGames Corporatoin

by Michael Smorenburg

  “Both,” Ken’s answer was no surprise to Leon.

  “As your doctor, I know what you have always thought of these things. I’m talking here about you being an agnostic… maybe atheist. Am I right? It seems something in this has changed you?”

  Ken began to answer Leon by filling him in on the content of Craig’s recorded message, he had brought the recording with him to let Leon assess it for himself and together they ran through it with Leon listening intently.

  Something in the strange cacophony captivated Leon yet he couldn’t place what it was.

  Ken attempted to put his own impressions into words, “…It had a very strange… an unfamiliar emotional effect on me, Leon. I’ve never experienced anything like this before.”

  It seemed as if Ken was telling a lie when he said before, but Leon wasn’t sure. He considered what significance there could be if Ken had told a lie, without perhaps realizing it himself. What if he really had previously had an experience like this;

  “Would the answer to that question be the solution to an even larger puzzle?” Leon wondered.

  By suggesting a white lie of his own to Ken, and thereby tricking his subconscious mind into revealing some of its secrets, Leon thought that he might achieve clarity;

  “Sorry to interrupt Ken, but are you sure that this was the first time that something like this has ever happened to you? I hate to have to bring it up, but it may be important… when you were hypnotized at the hospital, you started to tell me about other experiences that you’d had. Can you remember ever having had other supernatural experiences before this?”

  Leon was watching Ken’s body language, watching for that scratch of the lower lid, seeking to reveal answers to his suspicions. What he did see was Ken’s genuine attempt to ferret out the elusive threads;

  “I think,” Ken spoke as he sifted his mind, “don’t hold me to this, Leon… but I think that it may even go back to around the time that I started LifeGames. It seems strange, now that you mention it, I do recall having had an experience like this before. It’s weird!”

  He shuddered—Leon saw it and decided to drive Ken laterally in the hope that, by not asking direct questions, but rather asking associated ones, he’d be able to build up a profile of Ken’s experiences;

  “Did the stress of LifeGames bring you a different perspective on the meaning of life?”

  Ken thought about Leon’s question; it made little sense, after all, he’d faced enormous stresses prior to launching LifeGames, “Sorry Leon, I’m not sure what you mean?”

  “All right Ken, that was a little vague,” Leon carefully rephrased his question, “…Sometimes, during periods of great stress, the conscious mind becomes exhausted. Meanwhile, with all of the excitement and adrenaline present, the subconscious becomes overactive during sleep. Have you ever found that when times become stressed you start to dream a lot more than usual?”

  Ken began to nod and the nod gained momentum as he polled his own mind, becoming vigorous; much more vigorous than Leon would have thought appropriate to the question.

  It was a good sign. Ken was uncovering something about himself, so Leon pressed the point further;

  “Dreaming can be a symptom. By simultaneously contemplating the…”

  But Ken had ceased to listen, his eyes glazed with introspection and he continued to nod as memories ran through his mind, “Dreams…” he murmured.

  “Dreams?” Leon repeated, dropping his own line in favor of spurring Ken to dredge deeper.

  “No… no, not dreams… they were nightmares!” Ken reconsidered his initial definition.

  Leon could sense a breakthrough about to occur, “What kind of nightmares?”

  “I… I don’t know. Honestly. Th… they…” Ken sighed, unable to focus on the elusive recollection, “Damn it, I can’t remember,” he growled. “It’s right there, but I can’t get hold of it.”

  “It’s ok Ken, we’ll get there,” Leon reassured, well aware of the role that positive affirmation could play in assisting a patient.

  Hypnosis would be the ideal method to circumvent this impasse, but for Leon it remained a frustration to have the tool so readily available yet be banned from suggesting its use.

  “What is the first word that comes to your mind when you think of the nightmare?” Leon posed.

  “Terror…” Ken did not hesitate in his answer, then he added, “…I know, that must be kinda obvious.”

  “No, no!” Leon cautioned, “Don’t spoil the thought with a negative. I want you to clear your mind. Here, catch…” he threw Ken a priceless crystal ornament that had been lying on the desk then, as Ken scrambled to save it from breaking, Leon fired a question, “…when last did you play ball?”

  Ken was furious, “What kind of idiot thing was that to do?” he yelled, incensed by Leon’s recklessness.

  “Good,” Leon chirped happily, “your mind’s clear.”

  Ken looked at him in bewilderment, disbelieving his own ears at Leon’s strange methods for achieving result.

  Leon seized the moment to strike, peppering Ken with a barrage of briskly asked questions; “Your nightmare. Terror! What do you feel? What do you hear? What can you see? What?”

  “The sound,” Ken sprung in a single bound from fury to elation, “that’s it! It was the same sound as on the recording!”

  Leon tapped Ken’s mobile with the uncanny sound recording on it lying on the desk, “This sound?”

  “Yes, exactly the same sound. No wonder it gives me the creeps when I hear it,” Ken shuddered anew with the memory revealed.

  Leon wanted to recheck his own response to the sound, “Do you mind if we hear it again?”

  They ran the recording through several times and, although it was a creepy experience, it revealed nothing more.

  There were various people that Leon could think of who might be able to throw more light on the recording. The only way for him to investigate any further would be to have a copy but he judged that it was not the time to ask for one.

  Instead, he’d find a way to get his hands on it some other time.

  “Let’s recap,” Leon suggested, “You were a confirmed skeptic, but now I guess that you’d call yourself… open?”

  Ken agreed.

  “And the change is the result of nightmares?”

  Ken agreed again.

  “Anything more?”

  Ken shook his head.

  “I’m afraid that it doesn’t give us much to work with Ken, but its progress none the less. Its progress…” Leon maintained affirmation.

  “You’re finished playing doctor?” for the first time ever, Ken seemed anxious to hear a theory from the crazy-old-man in Leon’s personality.

  “Finished as finished can be.”

  “Coffee?” Ken felt a hankering to clear his mind.

  “Why not… why not indeed.”

  “Nance. Two coffees, please,” Ken spoke into the intercom and released

  “O…” Nancy’s reply was cut off mid-word.

  “Am I bursting for a leak,” Ken rose, he’d scratched his eye again, “…I’ll be a moment.”

  When Ken had left the room, Leon tapped the phone with his index finger, “What secrets do you contain?” he asked it.

  He wished he could risk taking a peek, but there was no way he could dare… besides, it was sure to have a password, and there just wasn’t time.

  The automated coffee was quick, and Nancy came into the office before Ken returned, hurriedly she whispered in an urgent tone, “What’s up?”

  “I’ll tell you later” Leon promised.

  “Did he overhear us?” she insisted; she’d been sitting on needles.

  “No…”

  Just as Leon started to answer, Ken entered the room forcing him to finish his sentence with a decoy;

  “…sugar for me, thanks Nance. I’m trying to cut down… cut, cut, cut…” Leon detested sugarless coffee but he needed to throw Ken off any hint they’d been discussing him.


  Instantly realizing what Leon was doing, Nancy provided him with an escape out of his stated commitment, “Are you sure?” she asked,

  “Actually… no, why suffer? Two as usual,” he took the gap, “I’ll start my diet tomorrow. Tomorrow’s a better day.”

  As she dealt the cups out, Nancy marveled at Leon’s ability to think quickly when he needed to. It was an ability that ran contrary to every other aspect of his personality.

  It was obvious to Leon that during his cloakroom visit, Ken had achieved a miraculous lift in his energy. It was also clear that he was anxious for Nancy to leave the office.

  The moment that she was gone he asked, “You still in crazy-old-man mode? Jekyll or Hyde?”

  “Absolutely unadulterated Jekly…” Leon said cheerfully, “…ab-so-lutely, Ken’o.”

  Leon proceeded to fill Ken in on what he’d gleaned from Bishop Fernando and, although the crazy old man mode was evident, Ken was glad that Leon hadn’t resumed the worst of his over-the-top style of eccentricity. It was a trait of Leon’s that generally irked Ken, since he couldn’t come to terms with what it was that made the trait ebb and flow.

  Leon noticed something as he related Roger’s hypnosis session to Ken. He stopped mid-sentence and asked Ken to have Nancy bring in the recording and the transcript she’d worked on.

  When she entered, Nancy looked startled. Not understanding all that the two men had discussed, she assumed that trouble was brewing over Leon’s unsanctioned visit to the hospital and her unauthorized participation in it. She left, still knotted with trepidation.

  After she’d gone, the pair listened to the Bishop’s ranting, then Leon put his hypothesis to the test with Ken;

  “If we take his words literally, then my ‘Master’ must be you. Correct?”

  “Correct,” Ken replied.

  “And the Beast is presumably… worst case… Satan?”

  “Presumably,” Ken answered hesitantly, unconvinced.

  “In league with… in the Bishop’s parley, that would approximately mean working with or for, I presume?”

  “I guess so,” Ken frowned, trying to understand what exactly Leon was driving at.

  “So he thinks that you are working with… or maybe for Satan?”

  “He may, but it wouldn’t be much of a theory, Leon. I reject all that tripe… we’re just ordinary flesh and blood doing its thing… no magic. I’d hardly be much of a candidate for this Satan guy to impress.”

  “Actually, the Bible-bashers would say that you’re his best candidate,” Leon corrected him, “…and you may indeed be the best candidate, but that’s another story.”

  “That bunch of nuts…” Ken scoffed.

  “There may be something to it, Ken. They say the Devil does his most successful work with those who believe he doesn’t exist.”

  “Very convenient,” Ken shrugged scornfully.

  “What on earth was my point,” Leon sighed, “Ah, yes. Fernando says that you’re using foul balms,” Leon watched for Ken’s scratch, and it was vigorous, “and sweet words to recruit soldiers. Any idea what he’s on about? Foul balms?” Leon said it again; the trigger word that had set Ken off a second earlier.

  “It sounds like ordinary ranting…”

  Ken’s newfound openness was suddenly closing fast. Leon could see him fighting to keep his voice steady and strong, to keep his hands from fidgeting, but his forehead was prickling with sweat, with stress;

  “…do you really think this guy is genuine, Leon? It sounds like bullshit.”

  Ken’s sudden veering told Leon that there was something going on even more, but he thought it wise to let it pass and file it for another day;

  “These religious loons do tend to go on, don’t they Ken’o… they sure do go on.”

  Leon realized that he was quickly painting himself into a corner; Ken was smart and would realize he was onto something—his only refuge would be to exaggerate senility and act the buffoon.

  Just then, fate came to his aid in the form of the intercom beeping. Ken held his hand up for silence;

  “Yes, Nance?”

  “Ken, is Leon still with you?”

  “Yep,” Ken snapped.

  “They need him in operations, could he please urgently get hold of Henry?”

  “Will do, thanks Nance,” Ken turned the intercom off, “Thanks for your time, Leon.”

  “Only a pleasure Ken’o. Only a pleasure old chap, I’m sorry we couldn’t get to the bottom of it…”

  As Leon was leaving the office, Ken called after him, “Where’d you learn to distract someone by tossing priceless crystal around, just to uncover what’s on their mind?”

  “I didn’t, Ken’o… just thought it up,” Leon replied nonchalantly.

  Then, as he reached the door, he turned back to Ken, absently repeating to himself loud enough to be overheard; “foul balms and sweet words.”

  Ken scratched.

  Chapter 14

  It was nine fifteen in the morning when the phone rang, “Cath Kaplan,” her signature answer rose lyrically.

  For the next four consecutive days, butterflies flitted through Catherine’s stomach and she barely slept those nights.

  Every time she thought of it, her breath constricted in her throat and the palpitations in her breast came in tantalizing waves. Agony and ecstasy intertwined, forming a knot below her belly button.

  The source of this great heady rush were just two words; “It’s ready…”

  Those had been the only words Ken had spoken when she’d answered; he’d said it and hung up.

  Determined to outlast his patience Catherine had refused to react to his mind game by calling him back. Hour after gut-twisting hour had ticked by in a procession of glacial procrastination.

  “So, you are still alive?” Ken’s voice was sarcastic, but there was lust below the surface.

  “Apparently…” Catherine was haughty in response.

  “Oh… Come on Cath,” Ken’s resolve failed him, swamped by desire it crumbled away.

  In that instant he’d realized that a change in tactics by quitting the charade was his only chance to fulfill his desires;

  “…when are you coming out to play,” he whined like a child.

  Surprisingly out of character, Catherine thought.

  It was the moment of truth. It was weeks running into months since he’d challenged and she’d accepted… innuendo filled emails, conversations and private quips passing between the two in front of colleagues.

  And now the day had dawned.

  He’d invested hugely to get it ready; she had pondered long and hard about the ethics of it. She daren’t do it, but she couldn’t pull out either, it was too far gone.

  What to do? How to respond?

  She could hear him breathing on the other side of the phone—how long could she say nothing…?

  “…I’ve been expecting your call since Friday.”

  “Oh!” she exclaimed in a caustic tone, trying to hide the relief in her voice that the childish game could be over, “… was that you who called on Friday, and here I was thinking that it must have been a wrong number.”

  She took refuge in Ken withholding caller-ID from recipients.

  “I wanted to see if you would be free,” Ken began to reply feebly.

  “You wanted to see if I would be free?” Catherine mocked, controlling the conversation, still scrambling for the final decision that would need to be made any second; “Do you think I’m a fast food takeout…?” She said it playfully, carefully.

  “I won’t know that till I eat you,” Ken ventured awkwardly, the delicate negotiation stripped him of confidence.

  “Who says I’m edible?” she replied, but her loin had its own agenda, an image bursting in her mind and a rushing sensation deep in the cocoon of her pelvis seemed to suck with the insistence of a light vacuum making her breath quick and shallow.

  “We’ve got down-time tomorrow. Any chances?” Ken asked offhandedly, as if the reply
didn’t matter to him.

  “Well… let me see…” she leafed noisily through her notebook as if it was a day-planner, keeping the phone close to the pages so he’d hear them turning, “Gee… it looks so busy… I doubt it. Let’s see, how about Thursday the twelfth?”

  Catherine could easily make the arrangement for the following evening and in truth she had every intention of doing so, but now it was her turn to play a waiting game and make Ken suffer.

  Catherine could hear the pages of Ken’s day-planner being turned, seeking that date far into the future;

  “You’re joking!” he responded sounding peeved, “…that’s almost three weeks time!” There was shrill alarm in his voice, it was out of his control; “No Cath… Come-on! Christ-Jesus, you can’t do this.”

  “And why not?” She answered, maintaining the upper hand. “I’m also a professional.”

  Ken saw his plans floundering, tripping over ego and knew he must tone it down.

  “…how long has it taken to come up with the game? What are a few more days?” Her digs at Ken driven by fear and awkwardness.

  “I know… I know, it’s been almost three months. We had problems, but that’s exactly my point. Why must we wait another three weeks?”

  Animal desire had blinded Ken of any vestige of pride, lust making him drive an otherwise degrading bargain.

  He’d begun begging.

  Catherine wondered how long she could sustain his suffering before lust turned into aggression. “Not much,” she assured herself;

  “Ok… There’s a chance that I can cancel my date for tomorrow night but I can’t promise you anything. This is short notice, Ken?” She milked whatever she safely could from her advantage, “But if I can’t make it tomorrow, you’re the boss… I’m sure you can arrange another convenient time?”

  “I’m well aware that I’m the boss, Catherine,” Ken responded bitingly, “but I can’t simply put a booking into the roster because the computer will automatically assign a team.”

  By the sound of Ken’s voice, Catherine guessed that she had stretched his patience to its absolute limit.

  Ken continued bellyaching, “Unfortunately, it’s very difficult to find the gaps of down-time we need to set up our equipment. Short notice is the only way that we can arrange it, Cath… This is as awkward for me,” he tagged the apology onto the end, trying to get the friction out of their proposed engagement.