Phantasos

by Robert Barnard

  Nine

  DANNY WALKED TO THE FRONT OF the arcade and hollered back to Todd, “I’m about to open us up for the day.”

  “Go ahead, do it,” Todd shouted from the office.

  It was early afternoon, and a small group of kids had clumped together in front of the arcade’s entrance, anxiously waiting to get out of the heat and into the cool air conditioning of the building.

  Danny unlocked the door, stepped outside to hold the door open for his customers, and found a small, camel colored envelope taped to the glass of the door.

  “Hey, Danny, about time,” one kid said. “I’m sweatin’ my nads off out here.”

  “Hi, Craig,” Danny said, recognizing the customer.

  “Yo, Danny,” a chubby high school freshman said.

  “Hey, Shane,” Danny said. He waved the envelope in his hand at Craig, Shane, and the rest of the crowd pouring into his establishment. “Hey, did any of you guys tape this to the door?”

  “No.”

  “Not me.”

  “Nadda.”

  “Un-uh.”

  Danny raised his eyebrows and examined the envelope. Too small and dainty to be from a bill collector chasing Todd. “Did any of you happen to see who left it?”

  The crowd shook their heads and murmured a variety of different “no’s” before filing into the arcade.

  Danny walked to the back office. He was practically shaking at the thought of turning the mysterious note over to Todd. The envelope gave him a bad feeling; he knew, deep down, without having to open it, that it might illicit a reaction in Todd similar to the prank phone call from the night before.

  Danny rapped on the half-open office door of the arcade with his knuckles. “What’s up?” Todd asked from inside.

  “We’re open. Got some customers.”

  “That’s great news,” Todd said, not looking up from the work on his desk.

  “Uh, this was taped to our door when I unlocked us for the afternoon.”

  Todd looked up slowly from his paperwork until his eyes rested on the light brown envelope in Danny’s outstretched hand.

  “Well? What is it?”

  “I haven’t opened it,” Danny said. “Prank phone calls are one thing, but prank letters are a whole other level. Who knows what grossness could be tucked in here. Figured I’d leave it for the boss man.”

  Danny set the envelope on Todd’s desk and headed back out towards the floor of the arcade.

  “Hey,” Shane said, waddling towards Danny. “Final Fight ate my quarter. What you gonna do about it?”

  Danny thought for a second. Final Fight was one of the newer machines. The arcade had it for a year or so, and it never gave him any problems. Strange that it would start acting up now.

  “Follow me to the register,” Danny said. “I’ll get you a quarter.”

  “Make it two,” a voice said. Craig. “Streets of Rage at my quarter, too.”

  Another new machine. Danny was there the day it was delivered, just six months prior.

  “What are you guys trying to pull?” Danny said. “Amateurs. If you want to try tricking me into free quarters, you could at least complain about older machines.”

  “You calling me a liar?” Shane said, his voice much too thick and raspy for a kid his age. “Come over to the machine, I’ll prove it to you.”

  “Same here,” Craig butted in. “You’ve seen me in your arcade for years, Danny. You think I’m gonna try ripping you off for a quarter now?”

  There was a cloud of aggravation hanging in the arcade. Everywhere Danny turned, customers were having problems with the machines.

  Danny shook his head. It was going to be a long day on little sleep.

  In the back office, Todd was oblivious to the commotion on the floor. He looked at the envelope at length, thought about whether or not he should try to dig out a pair of latex gloves from the broom closet before he opened it. What if someone is messing with me? Todd thought. What if, as a joke, they filled the envelope with some novelty sneezing powder or…ugh, gross, what if they taped pubes inside or something awful? Todd audibly retched. Some of the individuals that hung around his joint were known to have a sick sense of humor—such a prank wouldn’t necessarily surprise him, but it would still disgust him.

  Todd opened the envelope slowly. On the inside of the top flap, in a light shade of red, was a limp imprint. As if whoever left the letter, before sealing it, glossed on a thick layer of lipstick then kissed the inside fold.

  “Flattering,” Todd said to himself.

  Tucked inside of the envelope was a piece of paper no larger than an index card. Carefully, Todd slid the paper out. Blank. He flipped it over, and dropped the note on the desk before him.

  “Miss You,” the card read.

  Miss You. Miss You, Miss You, Miss You. Exactly the same way she would write it, Todd thought. Capital M, capital Y. Miss You.

  In an instant, Todd left his body, travelled to another time and place the way one does when an old memory triggers their thoughts so vividly.

  He remembered New York with Shelly. He remembered their tiny, cramped apartment in the lower east side. He closed his eyes and he could smell the way the home would smell when she cooked—oh, it was amazing, just amazing how she could cook. Rosemary, garlic, onion…the apartment was so damn small, you couldn’t help but catch a whiff of whatever was simmering or sautéing no matter what room you were in. He was glad that she was such an excellent little chef. Whenever he cooked, the food burned and charred and made the curtains stink of grease and fire.

  He thought about his laundry list of odd jobs: painting, electrical work, bussing tables. Whatever he could get his hands on. Towards the end of his stay in New York, before he moved all the way out to Grand Ridge, Oregon, he got a decent paying job working in an arcade, servicing the machines.

  And Shelly, with her equally long list of varied occupations: barista, waitress, usher. Chef, when there were openings—she was good at it, but she had no formal training, so it was always at divey little places who would take her in when they needed the extra help, and let her go when business slowed back down. Cash under the table.

  But it didn’t matter what Shelly did, because she was beautiful. Gorgeous. Todd often wondered how a schlep like him ended up with a girl like her. But love is love, and they were in love, madly in love. And somehow the two overcame the odds and made it work.

  Shelly’s true love was performing, and she was auditioning for any gig she could find: stage work, theatre, soda commercials. She even tried out as a movie extra a couple of times when something exciting was being filmed in town. She landed a small part here and there. Never anything big.

  Which Todd could never understand because she was so downright stunning. And it wasn’t just her looks—though that was always the first thing people seemed to comment on—she had genuine charm and a knack for delivering lines. She was so damn likable. A breakout role, or being discovered by an agent…it seemed like an inevitability.

  Any day now.

  And, with their frantic schedules, personal time between the two rarely overlapped. When it did, they savored every moment of it together. When it didn’t, they always phoned one another to check in on how the other was doing.

  And Shelly, she’d do this cute thing—she’d hide notes all over the apartment for Todd to find while she was away at work or auditions. Sometimes they’d be taped to a box of cereal, other times they’d be hidden underneath the cat’s dish. Wherever they were, they always said the same thing:

  “Miss You.”

  Ten

  A BIRTHDAY CAKE ON THE EMERSON’S kitchen table read: Happy Birthday, Alec! There was a crudely drawn outline of a DeLorean surrounding the letters—Alley was obsessed with the Back to the Future films—and his mom had cleverly placed candles where the rear thrusters of the vehicle would be. It looked pretty good, actually. A time machine, made out of frosting, ready to roar to life atop the cake.

  Today wasn’t Alley�
��s birthday, no; his actual birthday was the following Saturday. Unfortunately, his doctor had ordered a battery of tests for that Saturday. And, though the good doc expressed limitless sympathy at the unfortunate timing of the exams, he insisted that there was no rescheduling them. Alley needed special care from special people, people whose services weren’t available on a whim.

  So Alley insisted his birthday party take place on the first day of summer—what better day than that? And the Emerson family obliged.

  Alley knelt on a kitchen chair over the cake, the candles illuminating his face as his friends and family finished singing happy birthday. His smile was ear to ear for many reasons: the good company, the good cheer, the stack of neatly wrapped presents across the room from him.

  Mrs. Emerson said, “Go ahead, Alley. Blow out the candles. Make a wish.”

  Alley looked to his left, where Lauren sat, then to his right, where Benji was. They each smiled and nodded to Alley.

  The room went quiet while Alley thought for a second, then he closed his eyes and blew, and every candle on his cake went out at once.

  The pile of presents had been mostly torn through, the kitchen floor beneath the family dining table littered with shredded wrapper. Alley had been spoiled with a barrage of gifts: a transforming robot, a slot-car set, a model airplane. Then there were the more dull gifts that always seem to worm their way into children’s birthday parties: a package of plain, white t-shirts; a bundle of socks. A pencil set from a distant Aunt, which Alley graciously said thank you for anyways, despite the fact that it was a pencil set and today was the first day of summer vacation.

  “Here, Al,” Mrs. Emerson said. She handed Alley a small, wrapped box. It was very heavy. “It’s from your Uncle Martin.” Uncle Martin smiled from the corner of the kitchen, held up a hand with a beverage in it as a salute to Alley.

  Alley set the box down on the table and it rattled with a clunk. He unwrapped it, and inside was an ornate wooden box. But the box felt so heavy, so Alley flipped it open. It was filled to the brim with quarters. His eyes lit up.

  “Thank you, Uncle Marty, thank you, thank you, thank you.” Alley dug his hand through the quarters. “There must be—”

  “Twenty-dollars,” Uncle Martin said. “All in quarters. I didn’t know which game to get you for that contraption in the living room (he was referring to Alley’s Nintendo) so I figured this would be the next best thing. Of course, you don’t have to spend it all at the arcade. You can roll them up, buy yourself a game. Or, deposit it into a college savings account. Or buy a war bond. Hell if I know.”

  Alley laughed. Uncle Martin was his funniest relative after a drink or two.

  “I think I’ll just stick to spending them at the arcade.” He turned to Benji, then to Lauren. “I’m sorry, we would have never spent the day quarter fishing if I had known I would be getting this!”

  “It’s okay,” Lauren said. “We had fun.”

  “That’s right we did,” Benji added.

  Alley sat for a moment. There were two gifts left on the table. He didn’t want to seem ungrateful—he was truly happy for every present he had received—but the one gift on the left, from Lauren, was clearly in the shape of a VHS box. So he knew it was a movie of some sort. The present on the right, from Benji, was impossibly big—Alley hadn’t figured out what it was quite yet.

  Neither of the remaining gifts were in the shape of a box that Nintendo cartridges came in. And Alley didn’t want to sound like a brat, but all he had asked for his birthday was a copy of Super Mario Three. The first time he had seen it, it was featured in a movie he saw with Lauren and Benji the summer before: The Wizard. The game was only shown for a few minutes on screen, but Alley lusted over it ever since. Some video game magazines he subscribed to teased it with previews and images of the game. Alley had to have it. He had all the Mario games, and Super Mario Three was being touted as the best one yet.

  The twenty dollars from his uncle would get him close to the forty-five he’d need to buy a copy himself. There were also some birthday cards strewn about with loose one and five dollar bills tucked inside. Alley did the math in his head—even if he pooled all his money together, he’d still be short.

  He shrugged, a quick shrug that no one in the room seemed to notice, and Lauren picked up her gift and handed it to her brother.

  “Here,” she said.

  “Gee, I wonder what this could be,” Benji said.

  “Don’t be a brat about it,” Lauren said.

  Alley shook the VHS shaped box. “A baseball? A new pair of shoes?”

  “Hey, I said don’t be a brat about it! I know that you know it’s a movie.”

  Alley tore the wrapping paper back, and quickly saw Jack Nicholson looking back at him. Beside Jack Nicholson was a man in a black mask—

  “Oh my God!” Alley shouted. “Oh my God, oh my God!” He leapt from his seat and wrapped his arms tightly around his sister. “You got me Batman!”

  “I can’t breathe.”

  Alley plopped back into his chair and read the front and back of the box over and over. Benji and him had seen the film twice while it was at theatres, and Alley had wanted to own the movie ever since.

  “You’re the best sister ever,” Alley said.

  Lauren said, “I know.”

  Benji cleared his throat. “You know, Al. You still have one left.”

  Alley sat his new movie down for the first time since he opened it. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Don’t worry.”

  Benji picked up his gift and handed it to Alley. Alley tore through the wrapping paper and found a big, plain cardboard box underneath.

  “What’s this?” Alley said.

  Benji said, “Go on. Open it.”

  Alley opened the box, and inside were some packing peanuts. Alley dug through those until he found another, smaller, wrapped box.

  “Is this some kind of joke?” Alley said.

  The room had gone quiet. Uncle Martin had resumed duties as videographer, and continued to videotape Alley’s birthday party from the bulky camcorder on his shoulder, as he had been doing earlier in the night.

  Alley plucked out the smaller box, unwrapped it, and opened it. Inside was an even smaller box.

  “How long does this go on for, Ben?”

  “Not too much longer.”

  Alley tore through the wrapping paper on that box and right away saw a burst of bright yellow. He squealed. He tore a little further and saw a cartoony, mustachioed man in a red cap smiling back at him.

  “You didn’t,” Alley said.

  “I did,” Benji said.

  Alley tore a little further, and he couldn’t believe the words in front of him: Super Mario Three.

  The birthday party quieted down and one by one each family member left, until the kitchen was an empty wasteland full of tipped over paper cups, semi-deflated balloons, and stale, half-eaten slices of cake.

  Alley’s parents had gone to bed for the night and Alley, Lauren, and Benji were allowed to have the downstairs living room for as long as they wanted, so long as they weren’t too loud.

  Alley spent the night playing as player one (Mario) and Benji and Lauren took turns swapping as player two (Luigi), until Lauren called it quits and handed the controller over to Benji permanently.

  “I’m no good at it,” Lauren said.

  “That’s why you have to keep practicing,” Benji said.

  Alley said, “Yeah, please, don’t give up now.”

  “You two enjoy it,” she said, and she curled up on the couch with a magazine while Benji and Alley continued to play.

  “You are the best friend a guy can ask for,” Alley said, dodging an enemy on screen. “And I’m not just saying that because you got me this game.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Benji said.

  “I mean, how? How did you even—?”

  “Afford it?” Benji said.

  Alley said, “Well, I didn’t want to put it like that.”

  “I had some money sa
ved up. A little bit left over here and there from helping my dad out at the shop. I’ve been saving for a while.”

  “You didn’t have to,” Alley said.

  “Whatever. Like you said, I’m your best friend. I figured it was a good investment—I’d be over here playing it just as much as you are.”

  “Good point,” Alley said.

  And they laughed, and they played video games until deep into the night. Past the time when Lauren fell asleep on the couch, a magazine splayed across her chest, and past the time when the Tonight Show would come on. They played, and laughed, and played some more. They practically conquered the first half of the game in their first sitting with it.

  And Benji didn’t know it then, but he was glad for it, he was glad for every penny he scraped together to buy that game for his best friend, because it would be one of the happiest memories the two would ever have together.

  Eleven

  IT WAS NEARLY 11 PM; CLOSING time at Planet X. Danny hadn’t seen his boss all evening, not since he dropped off the mysterious envelope at his desk. Which was very aggravating, since the first night of summer break was always a busy night at the arcade. On top of having to empty quarter trays by himself, and man the prize cabinet by himself, and dispense snacks and beverages by himself, he had to deal with the unusual number of machines which were malfunctioning. He would have to unplug and reboot each machine as they failed and hope that they would restart without a problem. There were many refunds given, and Danny started to wonder if maybe there was a problem with the electrical wiring in the building. At the very least he’d have to call out some servicemen the next day; there were too many problems for Danny and Todd to fix on their own. Assuming Todd ever left his office.

  Danny locked up the arcade, then knocked on the door of the arcade’s office.

  “Come on in,” a voice wheezed from behind the door.

  Danny opened the door slowly; Todd didn’t sound at all like himself. When the door was opened fully, he found Todd reclined in his chair, shirt un-tucked, reading a Playboy.