“Maybe,” Mrs. Emerson said. “But you’ll forgive your father for wanting to come home and rest after work. What would have happened if the police were called out? A nightmare that would have been. And your sister—he especially didn’t want Lauren involved.”
Alley shrugged. “I wish I could have seen that fat bastard get his face socked in.”
“Hey—language! I mean it. Maybe you and Benji should spend some time apart. There’s too many teenage boy hormones building up between the two of you, lately.”
“Yeah mom, keep Benji away from the house. Great idea. So I can have no friends to hang out with this summer.”
Mrs. Emerson watched the road, didn’t reply. She couldn’t argue that. The traffic light turned green, and the van slowly started to proceed.
“How much farther are we from Dr. Yates office?”
“Ten minutes or so, Alley Cat. Why?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Alley lied. He looked out his window at the woman who’d been standing on the corner of Shady Reach and Inglewood the whole while the van was stopped. She was dressed plainly, yet had no facial features to speak of and stood with a funny gait. Though she had no eyes, Alley felt her staring at him from the moment they approached the light.
He tilted around in his seat to watch her as the van bounced along Shady Reach. She cocked her head and continued to stare, and just before the van turned westbound on Parker, she raised one arm crookedly above her head. And waved.
“Your mother tells me you’ve been having very vivid hallucinations lately,” Dr. Yates said, shining a flashlight in one of Alley’s eyes and then the other.
“That would be an understatement,” Alley said. Mrs. Emerson sat in the corner of the doctor’s office, legs pinned together at the knee, arms crossed.
Dr. Yates said, “Hm. Tell me about them, Al.”
“It’s weird. Last night I thought I saw my mom, a few hours before she was actually home. It’s mostly…people. Like, I see people but they’re not people. And my dreams…don’t get me started on the dreams I’ve been having.”
“You know, Alec,” Dr. Yates said, patronizingly. “You’re on a very serious rotation of medications right now. They can take quite a toll on the mind. They can make you feel drowsy, awake, happy, sad. And it’s unfortunate, but it’s necessary.”
“I’m glad you mentioned that,” Alley said. “Because I’ve been doing some research, and I’ve read that other people who simultaneously take Tuinal and Darvocet—like I am—have had similar experiences.”
Dr. Yates clicked his tongue, turned to Mrs. Emerson, then back to Alley. “Your mother was right, Al. You’re very smart for a kid your age. Most of my patients recite the facts off of Garbage Pail Kids cards to me, not prescription drug trivia.”
“Well?”
“Well,” Dr. Yates said. “If you’re asking if I’m going to alter your doses, or remove one of those medications, for now the answer is no. But we will reevaluate you and see you again next week, yes?”
Alley nodded, defeated.
After the doctor’s evaluation, Alley ran ahead to sit in the waiting room while Dr. Yates and Mrs. Emerson could discuss some “private matters.”
“What’s going on with my kid, doctor?” Mrs. Emerson begged. “He’s been jittery and unlike himself since his fainting spell yesterday.”
Dr. Yates nodded. “I don’t think it’s a photosensitivity, so, I’ll let you deliver the news that the video game ban has been lifted. To be safe, keep an eye on him, make sure he plays them in moderation.”
Mrs. Emerson was blank. “Great. I’ll let him know right away he can play Space Invaders again. What about these hallucinations, doc?”
Dr. Yates paused. “Has Al been having problems lately? At home?”
“Don’t even dare imply what I think—”
“No,” Dr. Yates said, “No, no. I’ve seldom met as caring parents as your husband and yourself. Not that at all. But over the course of my examination, he mentioned that you came home late last night…there was a fight on the front lawn…”
“What are you getting at?”
“He has a stressful enough life as it is. He craves stability. If you’re working late hours, or his friend goes a few rounds with the neighborhood bully, it’ll upset him. He has a lot of grief and anger, and that could be manifesting itself in these...these visions that he’s having.”
“Bullshit,” Mrs. Emerson said, then she blushed. “Excuse my language, sir, but he has been a trooper with the hand that life has dealt him. It doesn’t make any sense for these problems to start now. What do you think about what he said? About the medications?”
“I think he’s a child: not a physician, not a pharmacist. I think to alter his doses now would be disastrous. Clinically, Al is as healthy as we could hope for, all things considered. These hallucinations and nightmares, well—to me, they sound like psychosis.”
Mrs. Emerson let out a long, deep sigh.
“You mentioned that he’s stopped going to hospice counseling?”
“He couldn’t stand it. Hell, neither could I.”
“Well, he may need some type of professional outlet still. That’s fine if hospice is no longer the right option for you, but I strongly believe Al’s current problems are of the mind, not the body. I have both a psychologist and psychiatrist I’d like to refer you to.”
“No. No more doctors. It’s summer vacation. He has enough appointments lined up this summer. Christ, the kid needs a week without an appointment. Just one week.”
“Take the advice or don’t,” Dr. Yates said, and he shrugged. “But if you want him to start feeling better, that’s where I’d begin.”
The car ride home was long, and still, and silent, punctuated only by the easy listening station on the van’s radio. 97.9 FM—smooth hits for those long car trips. Mrs. Emerson was just about to break the silence when an REO Speedwagon song crackled from the car speakers and Alley said, “Can we stop at Burger King?”
Mrs. Emerson obliged and pulled into the nearest restaurant. She ordered a Yumbo and a Dr. Pepper for herself, and a plain cheeseburger and a chocolate shake for Alley. Before they pulled away, the employee at the drive-through window handed Mrs. Emerson some napkins, and in a tone as rich and cheerful as a morning rainbow said, “I’ll get your fucking son, you understand me?”
Alley bolted up in the backseat of the van as the young cashier leaned her head out of the drive-through window to smile and wave at Alley.
“What the hell did she just say?” Alley blurted.
“What?” Mrs. Emerson said, startled. “What did who say?”
The cashier, confused, went back inside to take the next car’s order as the Emerson’s van pulled away.
“The girl at the drive-through just now—what did she say?” Alley begged.
“She said: ‘enjoy your food, come again.’” Mrs. Emerson handed a brown paper bag and a chocolate shake behind her to Alley.
Alley’s chest heaved up and down as Mrs. Emerson started to piece together what had happened.
“Why, Alley? What did you hear her say?”
“It’s nothing, mom. It’s nothing. It’s nothing.”
Mrs. Emerson pulled out onto Shady Reach and said, “Well, next time we’ll get McDonald’s.”
Twenty-Three
AARON WAS PROVING TO BE EVERY bit as useful at the arcade as Danny hoped he’d be. The night was, for the most part, going well. Danny had to chase away TV reporters a couple of times, but in a sick twist of fate, Todd’s death had drawn more than just media attention—the arcade was having one of its busiest nights in recent memory. Danny was recognizing faces that he hadn’t seen in ages, and quarter trays were busting at the seems all over the arcade. Business was booming.
Aaron and Danny stood behind the prize counter, Aaron helping himself to a pink spool of cotton candy and Danny sipping on a Diet Coke. Across from them, they stared at
Phantasos. The marquee at the top of the machine, once a glowing white orb, was dark. It didn’t just look like it was unplugged, Danny thought. It looked lifeless.
“It’s funny,” Danny said, pointing at Phantasos. “Yesterday, we were having so many problems with the cabinets around that machine. I had to issue refunds on Streets of Rage and Final Fight. Galaga and Ms. Pac-Man started to malfunction, too. All of the machines that surrounded Phantasos were failing.”
Aaron raised his hands, mocking a wizard looking into a crystal ball. “Ooooh,” he said dramatically. “It’s like Phantasos wanted the other machines to break down, so everyone would be forced into playing it instead.”
“Shut up,” Danny said.
Aaron nodded. “Seriously, Dan. You had Phantasos, Streets of Rage, Final Fight, Galaga, and Ms. Pac-Man all on the same power supply. Look at em all—Phantasos is nearly twice as tall as the others. It’s a power hog. No wonder the other machines were failing; they couldn’t compete. Little baby piglets all trying to get a suckle, and Phantasos was the big boy at the front of the line.”
“Thanks for the visual imagery,” Danny said, then he looked distraught, as if he’d suddenly remembered leaving the oven on before coming to work.
“What’s wrong?” Aaron said.
“With all that’s happened, I nearly forgot. There was a kid in here yesterday, one of my regulars. He played that wretched machine and got really, really sick.”
Aaron stopped smiling and asked, “Has anyone else played it?”
“I don’t think so,” Danny said. “God, I just want it out of here.”
As if he heard Danny say the words, a man in a three-piece suit appeared in the throngs of teenagers and children huddled around arcade cabinets. Danny caught eyes with him through the crowd; the man smiled, nodded, and approached the prize counter.
“Mr. Feist,” the man said, extending a gloved hand.
“Mr. Varghese,” Danny said, returning the gesture.
The two shook hands.
“Mr. Feist, the reasons for my visit tonight are twofold. First, on behalf of myself and all of us at the Vidtronix Games Corporation, I want to offer my deepest and most sincere condolences for Mr. Prower’s accident yesterday.”
Danny nodded. “Thanks.”
“Secondly,” Mr. Varghese said, “my visit today concerns the Phantasos machine itself. Has it had any malfunctions? Has it been giving you any problems?”
Danny shrugged. “No.”
“Unusual,” Mr. Varghese said. “Very unusual.” He turned around and looked at Phantasos, then gasped and pointed at the marquee. “Ah, yes. It is not powered on! We received the alert earlier this afternoon. You see, there’s a tiny sensor in the cabinet that relays back to our head office, and it tells us whether or not the machine is turned on. The alert came in that your Phantasos was, indeed, turned off.”
Mr. Varghese ran a gloved hand across the glass top of the prize counter, examined the dirty smudge it left on his index finger, and winced. “It’s important that we monitor our cabinets, to make sure they are powered on during business hours. We had an arcade proprietor, like yourself, in Northern California, who graciously hosted one of our Phantasos cabinets…just to leave it in a broom closet while he collected our monthly payments to him. Can you imagine? The nerve of some people! The audacity. Not that I’m accusing you of such an act, Mr. Feist. No, no, no. I am positive this is all a simple misunderstanding.”
Danny took a deep breath. He couldn’t help but feel a bit intimidated by the magnitude of it all. “There’s no misunderstanding, Mr. Varghese. I unplugged the cabinet earlier this afternoon.”
Mr. Varghese gasped again, but this time it felt feigned. “Why ever would you do such a thing?” he asked.
Danny said, “We had a kid in here yesterday play it, and he became very ill. Also, we have a theory that it was drawing too much power, causing other machines in the arcade to malfunction.
Mr. Varghese laughed. “Kids become sick when playing with amusements, Mr. Feist! A child tosses his cookies on a roller coaster, you don’t close down Disneyland, do you? Or—suppose one becomes ill while watching a film. Surely, the entire theatre would not close for business afterwards.”
Danny sighed. “It’s more than all that,” Danny said. “It’s bad luck. I’m sorry, it really has no place here at Planet X.”
“What are you saying?” Mr. Varghese said.
Aaron took a step away from the two, stuffing a wad of cotton candy into his mouth as he shrunk away.
Danny said, “I’m saying that I’m sorry, but as long as you’re here, I need you to remove Phantasos.”
“That’s impossible,” Mr. Varghese said. “Even if I wanted to, I don’t have the necessary men or vehicles to remove it.”
“Then come back tomorrow.”
Mr. Varghese smiled. “Danny, Phantasos isn’t going anywhere.”
“The hell it isn’t. I want it gone.”
“If you want, I can show you the contract your business partner agreed to.”
“My business partner is dead.”
“It’s no matter,” Mr. Varghese said. “The agreement is between Vidtronix and Planet X, and it was acted upon in good faith. Phantasos will remain in this arcade until the end of next month, at which point the contract will automatically renew for another month, if not acted upon. Of course, Vidtronix—or you—can choose to cancel at the end of the month. But for the meantime?” Mr. Varghese raised his hands with a shrug.
“I’ll take it out myself,” Danny said. “I’ll leave it in the alley out back until you pick it up next month, I don’t care.”
“You should care, Mr. Feist,” Mr. Varghese said. “I really wish you’d examine the agreement Mr. Prower entered into. If any damage comes to Phantasos—outside of normal wear-and-tear—Planet X will be charged the full retail cost of a Phantasos machine.”
“Which is?”
“I don’t have the exact number, but approximately $9,149.”
Danny crossed his arms.
“I do not wish for our encounter to be combative, Mr. Feist. I assure you, I am not your adversary! But if you’d like to inspect our agreement, I’d be more than happy to furnish you with a copy. I’m assuming yours is misplaced, or else everything I’ve said tonight wouldn’t be so shocking to you. And though I encourage you to inspect the contract thoroughly, I will say this—Vidtronix has employed a litigator from Bloom & Bloom LLP for all of our contractual needs. Surely you’ve heard of the Bloom firm. Our attorney guarantees that each of our contracts are airtight, as they say. Who is your attorney, Mr. Feist? I’m sure I can put them in touch with ours, maybe to better resolve this matter.”
Danny grimaced. Of course he didn’t have an attorney. Planet X could barely afford the electric bill each month. And he was certain that Mr. Varghese knew that, too. He was being taunted, so rather than engage, he said, “I don’t think that will be necessary.”
“Excellent, gentlemen,” Mr. Varghese said, and he nodded to Danny and Aaron. Then, he pivoted on one foot, pointed himself towards Phantasos, and crouched down to plug the machine back in.
When he was finished he dusted off his suit, politely nodded again to Danny and Aaron, wished them a good evening, then exited the arcade.
After a short silence between the two, Aaron said to Danny: “Wow. What a dick.”
Danny agreed, then asked Aaron to watch the prize cabinet for a moment while he went to the back office. Aaron said, “Sure, of course,” then Danny disappeared around the corner.
Only a moment or two later, Danny reappeared with a roll of tape in one hand and a paper with some scribbles on it in the other.
Danny stood before Phantasos, pulled off a piece of tape, and slapped it over the quarter slot of the machine. Then, he took another piece of tape, fastened it to the piece of paper, and affixed the paper to the front of the machine.
Danny stood back and read his work to make sure it was bold, easy to read, and written correctly
: Out of Order.
Aaron laughed and slapped Danny on the shoulder.
Danny said, “There we go. Let’s see if him and his lawyers have a sensor for that.”
Twenty-Four
BENJI STRETCHED OUT ON HIS BED, where he’d been all day. Grounded. Until that day, Benji assumed he was too old for such punishments. But, Mr. and Mrs. Bauer disagreed. Mr. Emerson had visited early in the morning to tell Benji’s parents about the altercation the night before—of which, they had no idea. After Mr. Emerson left, Benji’s dad thanked his son for the embarrassment and ordered him to spend the day upstairs in his room.
Despite being banned from video games, Benji had spent most of the afternoon fiddling with his Gameboy. He played Tetris until the batteries in the handheld died; when they did, he desperately searched his room for four AA’s. He found one in an old stereo remote, and two more in a broken portable radio. Despite tearing his room apart, he could not find a necessary fourth battery for the life of him.
So, as the sun set outside, Benji stared at the blank screen of the Gameboy in defeat, imagining where little pixelated falling bricks would be.
When it seemed that he would finally fall asleep from boredom, his father hollered up the stairwell: “Benji, you got a call.”
Benji hopped off his bed, swung his bedroom door open, and scurried down the stairs. When he reached the landing he found his father, stern faced, holding the phone with his hand cupped over the mouthpiece.
“I’m only letting you take it because it’s Alley. Make it quick.”
Benji nodded, then took the phone from his father.
“Hey,” Benji said.
“Yo,” Alley said. “Why’d you hang up?”
“What are you talking about?”
“A second ago. Why did you hang up on me?”
“Alley,” Benji said. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t tease me, Ben. I’ve had a long day.”
“Alley, I have no idea what’s going on.”
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