Phantasos

by Robert Barnard

  “He didn’t…” Mr. Bauer took a long, deep breath. Shook his head. “He didn’t murder anyone, Benji. I know it’s hard to understand. He killed someone, but he didn’t murder them. That’s how the law is seeing it. That’s how the police are seeing it.”

  “What’s the difference between killing someone and murdering them?”

  “Rodney didn’t wake up and leave home wanting to kill Alley. It was an accident. That’s what his lawyer’s have convinced the prosecutor’s office, at least.” Mr. Bauer slapped his knee. “I’m not happy about this, Benji. No one is. Rodney deserves to be punished for what happened. The most we can hope for now is for that punishment to come from a…higher power. Or karma, or something. I don’t know.”

  Benji bit his lip, felt his eyes begin to burn with tears. He squeezed at a blanket on his bed, then screamed—a painful howl—picked up the closest object to him, a pillow, and hurled it at the wall.

  Mr. Bauer grabbed his son, wrapped his arms tightly around him, and held him. Benji gripped back, and cried, and cried, and cried….

  Sleep didn’t come easy that night. Not that it was easy any night, not since Alley passed. But that night, with the visit from his father, the news that Rodney wouldn’t be held accountable, and the uncontrollable grief that washed over him—that night, for the first time, it all felt so real. Benji was suddenly snapped back to cold, stark reality. And it was awful.

  He lay in bed for hours before he shut his eyes. Was it eleven? Midnight? Two? He didn’t know, he didn’t care, and it didn’t matter.

  And in the final moments of consciousness, before he drifted off to sleep, eyelids closed, dark pools of black floating before him, it was then that he had the revelation.

  In the darkness of his room, rain pattering against his window, Benji suddenly recalled one of the last conversations he had with Alley. All of Alley’s problems, all of his delusions, all of his hallucinations—they all began the day he played Phantasos. Alley was convinced that something in that arcade machine got into him. There was the bizarre death of the arcade owner, Todd Prower, at the railroad crossing in North Grand Ridge. Maybe he had played Phantasos, too. Of course he would have, he was the arcade owner.

  It all made so much sense. And what a relief it was, for Benji, that Alley’s death wasn’t his fault after all. The puzzle pieces couldn’t have snapped together at a more perfect time.

  It was Phantasos. And if Phantasos had killed twice, it could kill again.

  Benji smiled where he lay as a sinister plan formulated, worming its way through his mind. A magnificent plan, elegant in its simplicity.

  Alley would get the justice he deserved, and it would only cost a dollar.

  Benji rolled onto his side and, with the images of his grand scheme dancing in his thoughts, fell into a warm, deep sleep.

  Thirty-One

  DANNY UNLOCKED THE FRONT DOOR OF his apartment and Aaron and him shuffled in, Aaron carrying a pizza box. Aaron had concocted a terrifying plan, one that would erase Danny’s worries of the arcade, and of Phantasos.

  They were going to burn down Planet X.

  Aaron had come up with the idea during Vidtronix’s impromptu visit and thinly veiled intimidation tactic, the day that Alley Emerson was hit by a car. Aaron pitched the plan to Danny and said that if they were to follow through on it, they should wait a week or so—the reasons for that being twofold.

  First, a fire happening so close to Mr. Varghese and Mr. Bloom’s visit would surely be suspicious. Second, they should throw some kind of fundraiser or event for Alley (because it was the right thing to do for a kid who dropped so many quarters in their arcade, and because it would make them look like upstanding citizens incapable of a crime as heinous as arson).

  Now, with nearly a week having passed, Danny was waiting to hear the specifics. He wasn’t entirely sold on the idea of burning the arcade down until Alley’s death, at which point he was willing to toss the gasoline and light the match himself. Of course it would be more complicated than that, and Danny was anxious to hear a convincing plan from Aaron…the man who once showed up to their Computer Engineering class so stoned his clothes were on inside out.

  Danny sighed. It would be a tremendous leap of faith, but other viable options for the arcade’s future or the disposal of Phantasos weren’t exactly presenting themselves.

  Aaron opened the pizza box, threw a slice on his plate, and sat down at the kitchen table.

  “You look like you’re having doubts.”

  “I’d be lying if I said I’m not. I haven’t so much as stolen a pack of bubble gum in my life. First-degree arsonist is a bit of a leap, yeah?”

  Aaron took a bite of pizza, sauce splattering his chin. Still chewing he said, “We’re doing the right thing.”

  “It doesn’t feel like it.”

  “What are your worries?”

  Danny thought. There were hundreds. Where to start? The first that came to mind: the insurance. “How tight is the fire rider?”

  “Airtight. I’ve been poring over it for days.”

  “That’s what I thought, too. I was wondering if maybe you saw something I missed...”

  “Nothing, no red flags,” Aaron said. “You’re covered, and they’ll pay.”

  “Two hundred and fifty grand,” Danny said, picking at a piece of pizza.

  “How deep under are you?”

  “Just north of forty.”

  “Great. After the insurance pays out, I’ll take one hundred. You keep the other one hundred and fifty, pay off your debtors, and keep whatever’s left. That’s fair, right?”

  “I mean, it’s my arcade.”

  “But it’s my plan.” Aaron shrugged. “And, I’ll be just as far up shit creek as you if it goes sour.”

  “That’s true.”

  “As to how we’ll actually start it…”

  “A can of gasoline and a lighter. I want to bathe Phantasos in it myself, and be the one who ignites the son of a bitch.”

  Aaron laughed. “Cute, but wrong. Not only will that not work, but it will be the quickest route between setting the arcade on fire and being cellmates with an angry man named Bubba.”

  “Why?”

  “We can’t use any accelerants. That’s the first thing they’ll find when they investigate the fire. No gas, no wood, no paper. Got it?”

  “Sure.”

  “Even if we used accelerants, they wouldn’t produce enough heat. We’re not trying to injure Planet X, or maim it—we’re trying to send it straight to hell. No recovery. No rebuilding. Total loss.”

  “So what do we do then?”

  “It will be purely an electrical fire. We know that Phantasos is a power hog, and that other units have spontaneously caught fire at other arcades. It’s a solid story. I’m afraid to tinker with the wiring inside of it too much—for crying out loud, they had a sensor that alerted when the bastard was unplugged. I’d hate to see what happens if I open the wrong door or nick the wrong wire—will acid spit into my face? Who knows if they’ve booby trapped it.”

  “Booby trapped it?”

  “I’m being serious. They were paranoid enough to install power sensors, would you put it past them?”

  Danny shook his head. He wouldn’t put something like that past them.

  “So I have some schemes cooked up on how I can make it overheat, but that isn’t the only problem.”

  “What else is there?”

  “Phantasos overheating isn’t enough. Even if a successful fire starts, the smoke detectors will go off. Fire crews will be at the arcade long before any damage is done.”

  “Well? Then…we’re boned.”

  “Not exactly. I have a few tricks up my sleeve, Dan. I can put some kind of fault into the fire detectors. I can’t pull the fuse, because if there’s enough evidence left behind, someone will see that the fuse was pulled. It could get us in trouble. It would definitely keep us from collecting any money. I’m still playing around with which idea will work best, but I’ll
come up with something.

  “So the fire starts—we get the hell out of Dodge—and it burns without the fire department being alerted. By the time someone on the street notices, it will be too late. The place will be an inferno.”

  “Are you sure about this? Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  “You forget that, seven years ago, I was specializing in electronics that overheat. I know all about this crap, Danny.”

  Danny stared at the slice of pizza on his plate, then leaned back in his chair at the table.

  Aaron said, “Talk to me.”

  “This is all…so crazy. It’s just so damn crazy. Two weeks ago I was having the time of my life, running an arcade with my best friend. Today he’s dead, and I’m conspiring to burn that same arcade down. I never asked for this. I never asked for Phantasos. It’s all so…bizarre.”

  “I know. But at least you get to come out of it on top. You’re going to walk away from this, no problem. I promise.”

  Danny took a bite of pizza—he wasn’t so certain Aaron could deliver on that promise.

  Thirty-Two

  IT HAD BEEN THREE DAYS SINCE Alley’s funeral. Three days since Benji, formally dressed, standing underneath an umbrella in the beating summer rain, watched his best friend as he was lowered into the earth.

  The loss of Alley was terrible enough; but now, in the vacant, isolated days since his funeral, Benji felt as if he’d lost another friend. He couldn’t stand not seeing Lauren for another second.

  So on the third day Benji woke with a mission. He showered, changed into a clean outfit, and stepped outside.

  Lauren’s parents weren’t home, but her bike, chained to the side of the front porch, said that she was. Benji walked from his front door towards Shady Reach, got to the edge of the street, and stopped—

  He realized, then, that he hadn’t crossed the road since the accident. He stared at the cracked pavement and faded yellow lines where he last saw Alley alive. Crossing felt impossible. It felt wrong. Obviously, he knew he couldn’t live the rest of his life without ever crossing the street. Still, it was as if there was an invisible wall before him, blocking his way.

  The sun beat down on Benji’s face mercilessly. So many rainy days spent inside left him with a low tolerance for the sudden sunshine. He felt his face warm, the first indication that a sunburn was forming.

  He swatted at a fly buzzing by his face and thought, I can’t stand here all day, frying in the sun.

  Benji looked up the street, down it, then up it again. Not a car in sight. He felt like the coyote in the old Road Runner cartoons him and Alley used to watch. As if the second he stepped foot into the road, a car would magically appear and strike him.

  He swallowed, checked both ways one last time, held his breath, and crossed.

  That wasn’t so hard, was it?

  When he reached Lauren’s front door he knocked three times, softly.

  Behind the door he heard a television mute, and the approaching sound of light footsteps.

  Lauren opened the door, five feet of fluffy bathrobe and slippers, her hair tied up in a sloppy bun. Her face was white, drained. Emotionless. Somehow she looked three years older than the last time Benji saw her.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  She stood in the narrow nook between the edge of the door and the jamb, only a sliver of her visible.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.”

  The door squeaked open and Benji slipped inside. The house was cold, lifeless, and quiet. He glanced at the spot that Alley and him sat, video game controllers in hands, for so many afternoons past. He shivered, and for an instant he thought he might be sick. Wouldn’t that be a sight, he thought—Hey, Lauren, just wanted to see how you were doing before I vomit in your living room.

  Benji held back, stood in the living room with Lauren, both saying nothing and looking in other directions.

  Lauren croaked, “Ah…um—”

  And simultaneously Benji said, “I wanted…to…”

  And then the two went silent again, and Lauren began to sob and sob and sob. She flew her arms out ahead of her, squeezed Benji tight, and cried against his chest. For Benji, that was the raising of the floodgates—he hugged her back as the tides of sadness rolled up from his stomach, to his throat, and to his eyes, and he cried a painful, wounded cry. The two stood there in their messy, wet embrace before collapsing to the floor in grief. Minutes passed by. Maybe hours, maybe days, maybe eternity—their sorrow truly limitless.

  After however much time passed they sat together on the floor, legs crossed, seated opposite of one another. Lauren bit at her nails and Benji fidgeted.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t come over sooner. I thought you might need some time alone.”

  “That was probably the right call.”

  “I wanted to.”

  “I know.”

  “My world has been upside down.”

  “Mine, too. I keep expecting to see him around.”

  “Me too.”

  “I know…that…” Lauren choked back more sobs. “I know that he didn’t have long, and that him leaving would be inevitable. I came to accept that a long time ago. We all did. But, his last few days were so awful. He was so sick. And the hallucinations he was having…and then to be hurt, to be injured so violently on top of it. It’s too much to handle sometimes, you know? Too much to process.”

  “I know. When he got bad…with the…” Benji pointed at his head. “I felt so helpless. I just wanted to make it better, and there was nothing I could do. Not a thing. He was convinced that someone was following him.”

  Lauren sniffled. “I know. He wouldn’t open up to me the way he did to you, but I know. And I wonder, sometimes, if he saw someone in the road that day? And so he tried to help them? Because that’s so Alley, that’s what he’d do.” Lauren bit her lip, squinted, another rush of tears making their way to the surface. “When I held him he seemed surprised to see me, to see that I was okay. And in those last days he thought he was seeing mom when she wasn’t home, thought he was talking to you on the phone when there was no one on the other end of the line. So I wonder…was it me? Did he think he saw me in the road? Because I can’t handle that, Benji, I can’t. That thought destroys me.”

  “It’s not your fault. Even if he thought he saw you, it’s not your fault. If anything, all of this was my fault. I provoked Rodney and—”

  “It’s not your fault, Benji. God, is that why you haven’t been around?”

  “I thought you blamed me. I thought your parents blamed me.”

  “No, Benji. Not at all. No one blames you, especially me. I’m not even sure it was Rodney’s fault.”

  “How can you say such a thing? He had no business driving that car around town, acting the way he did.”

  “Alley didn’t have any business running out into the road.”

  “But if Rodney hadn’t been driving—”

  Lauren interrupted, “but if Alley hadn’t ran into the road.”

  “I can’t believe you’re saying this right now.” Benji felt his heartbeat speed up, the wild herd of emotions charging through his body change course from sadness to anger.

  “It’s hard enough for me to grapple with the thought of Alley running out the door because of a hallucination. But to harbor anger on top of that, too? I’d go insane. I’ve been going to a counselor almost every day since the accident. It’s helped me deal with the stress and the anger and the bitterness of it all. And I’ve learned, that, sometimes there isn’t anyone to blame. And that’s a hard pill to swallow…because as humans, we’re programmed to blame everything on someone. It’s a very hard reality to face, that sometimes the universe does shitty things to good people, for no apparent reason at all.”

  “You sound like a parrot right now, reciting things some bullshit therapist said to you.” Benji regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.

  “Don’t be an asshole, Ben,” Lauren said. “C
learly, you have problems processing anger, after your brawl with Rodney. I thought maybe you might benefit from a visit to that bullshit therapist.”

  “This is ridiculous. We had a fight. Rodney Frye is a bully and an idiot and we had a fight. Boys have fights! And everyday, by my parents, by you, by everyone—I’m treated like a Goddamn sociopath for standing up to the one moron who has ridiculed me—and you, and Alley—for all of junior high.”

  “We were upset with you, Benji, because you’re better than that. You’re better than that kind of behavior.”

  “Maybe I’m not.”

  “You are, and Alley would agree with me.”

  “Alley was tickled fucking pink that I beat up Rodney Frye.”

  “Deep down, he’d have agreed with me.”

  “Well we can’t ask him, thanks to Rodney. And I’m not as ready as other people to forgive him for that fact.”

  “I never said I forgave Rodney. But if I don’t look at this from all angles, I’ll go crazy!”

  Benji scoffed.

  “There’s that anger again.”

  “Yes,” Benji said. “Anger. Anger because Rodney got away with murder this week, and my best friend—and your brother—is gone because of it. And I’m going to do something about it.”

  “How, Ben? What is it that you think you’re going to do to him? Are you going to beat him up again?” Lauren raised her eyebrows.

  “Are you going to kill Rodney Frye?”

  Thirty-Three

  It was early afternoon and the arcade had only been open for thirty minutes or so when he came in. The room had gone silent, save for the beeps and blips of the arcade games, when Rodney strolled in. The laughter, talking, and commotion of Planet X simmered to a hushed whisper.

  Danny looked up from the soda cooler he was restocking to watch as he entered. Though Rodney was far from being a regular at the arcade, Danny recognized him right away. A person like Rodney was hard to forget. Impossibly wide, beefy, and stocky for a kid his age. The boy looked more professional linebacker than schoolyard adolescent.