The God Game

by Danny Tobey

  But she couldn’t stop it.

  She could only cradle him when it was over.

  Weakness.

  Goodness but weakness.

  Pointless.

  Useless.

  Over.

  Done.

  Bam.

  Lights were flicking on in the neighborhood now. Dogs were barking. Alex became aware of his surroundings, as if he’d woken up in a different place from where he’d started. He was dripping with sweat. His palms were aching.

  He heard sirens in the distance.

  For him?

  He ran to his bike, on its side in the bushes.

  He looked back at the car. It was smashed beyond belief. The windows were gone. The headlights and taillights were pulverized, white and red shards in blood-spray patterns. The body was pocked and cratered.

  The bat!

  Alex realized he had dropped the bat.

  He wasn’t worried. Every kid on every block had a bat like that.

  But he felt a bizarre, sentimental pang.

  Could he really just leave the bat? His dad had bought it for him. A long time ago. Yes, so much pain was between then and now. So much anger. Even coming from that bat itself (You will stay out here until you can a hit a ball like every other kid on this block).

  But his dad bought it for him.

  A long time ago.

  Leaving it felt like snipping a last, thin cord between them.

  Alex dashed back, grabbed the bat, and bolted back toward his bike, tripping along the way. He scrambled up, swung a leg over the frame, and sped off, bat tucked under his arm, pedaling as fast as he could into the safety of the shadows.

  * * *

  Charlie drove through the woods to the Grove, the bracelet in his pocket. After the attack at the mall, he was keeping it close, checking for it every couple minutes. He could feel it, hard and reassuring in the little pouch.

  Social control—you’ve earned it.

  He’d looked at the chessboard in the Game. He still couldn’t move the pieces, but they’d advanced nonetheless. Black and white were intermingling now, fighting with one another. Kurt Ellers had a chip in his tooth now, and a comical black eye. That’s right, Charlie thought, we knocked him down a peg. Mary and Charlie were facing each other, just a square between them. Tim watched, a square away.

  Charlie pulled into the darkness of the Grove and killed his engine. He walked along the shrouded path, feeling his way toward the edge of the lake where Mary had asked him to come. When he came into the small clearing and spotted her, she was so beautiful in the moonlight, her skin glowing faintly, that it almost felt like a dream.

  She was too good for him. He wasn’t a frog, one kiss away from prince. He was a flea. What could he give her? A stolen bracelet? It was all he had.

  If he was her savior, why would she want to be saved?

  But he couldn’t help moving toward her, her skin glowing in the blue haze.

  They came together so quickly, so hungrily, that all doubt washed away.

  It started as a kiss but it progressed quickly, her hand sliding under his shirt, her nails on his chest, spread-palmed as she moved over his abdomen and around his back.

  There were tears down both sides of her face.

  She reached for his belt, then stopped, pushing back from him. “Not like this.”

  She put her hand on his face, but Tim’s bracelet was there and he pulled her hand off gently. Why would she wear it? Why wouldn’t she just take it off, just for their rendezvous in the woods?

  “I have something for you.”

  “I don’t want a present.”

  “Please. Take it.”

  She looked at the bracelet he pressed into her hand, identical to the one she wore.

  She looked up, perplexed. “Why would you do this?”

  “It’s for us.”

  She shook her head. “What do you think I am?”

  “I know who you are. When I told you my mom was sick, do you remember that? I came back a little later, and you were crying. That was right before your brother died.”

  “You saw me?”

  “I did.”

  “Why didn’t you do something, then?” she snapped. “Don’t you see, I would have … right then, I could have…”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “And this.” She gestured angrily at the bracelet. “What is this supposed to mean? That you can buy me? You can be my next Tim?”

  “No … that’s not it.”

  She started to leave.

  Charlie tried to hold her back. “No, listen. It’s so we can … I know you can’t leave him, yet. But this way you can know, it’s from me, not him, and he’ll never know. And then when you’re ready…”

  She stared at him, flabbergasted. “You think that’s what I want? To live a lie?”

  “If it’s not, what are we doing in the woods?”

  Mary’s eyes welled up. “You don’t know anything.”

  “Is he hurting you?”

  “I will handle this.”

  “I’m not going to stand by and watch you get hurt.”

  “It’s not your job to save me, Charlie.”

  He wanted to punch a tree. He felt angry, baffled, whipsawed. He ached and his heart was twisting.

  “I will get out in my own way in my own time.”

  “Okay.”

  “And this?” She looked at the bracelet in her hand. “This isn’t you.” She handed it back to him. “I don’t want it. And I don’t want this.” She took off Tim’s bracelet, and in a panicked, impulsive move, she threw it into the lake. “Oh, shit,” she said suddenly. “Oh, no.” She looked at him, eyes wide. But the moment passed and she became calm, strong. “Good, Good.”

  Charlie started to push the new bracelet at her. “You can have…”

  “No.”

  “Just to cover up…”

  “No.” But her tone was softer now. “No. It’s okay. Take this back, Charlie. I don’t know where you got the money, and I don’t want to know. Please take it back.”

  She hugged him quickly and said she had to leave.

  “I’m trying,” Charlie told her.

  “I know you are. I am, too.”

  * * *

  Vanhi stood outside the house, holding the box.

  It felt remarkably light in her hands.

  Nothing truly bad could be this light, she thought again.

  She’d waited till dark, then gone to the assigned location.

  The house looked peaceful. Unassuming. A soft glow came from inside, but the outer rooms were dark.

  She had passed her mom on the way out. She lied and said she was going to work on a project at Charlie’s house. “You seem nervous,” her mom said not unkindly. A thought occurred to her, and she smiled broadly. “You’ve done everything possible. You know I know that, right? If Harvard doesn’t want you, they’re crazy. I am so proud of you.”

  Vanhi wanted to cry.

  She left, moving quickly, her car whipping through town, windows open so the cold air could sting her and distract her from thinking.

  She reached the house and knew she couldn’t hesitate now. She’d done everything possible to prove the box was benign. She’d all but risked blowing herself up, kicking it, shaking it, poking it, smelling it.

  I am so proud of you.

  I know your secret.

  That’s what she wanted to tell Charlie—not enough love wasn’t the only thing that could kill you. Too much love. That could crush you, too.

  Vanhi did as she was told.

  She went to the back of the stranger’s house, and the window was unlocked, just as the Game said it would be.

  She climbed gracefully into the dark bedroom—Vanhi was lithe and fast—and placed the box gently on someone’s bed.

  She slipped back out, closing the window behind her and wiping off the edges where her fingers had been.

  When she got home, a box was waiting on her bed.

  It s
eemed impossible.

  Another brown cardboard box, indistinguishable from the one she’d just delivered.

  Was it the same box? Could someone have beaten her back, gone in through her window—while her parents were in the other room—and put the box back on her bed? She felt violated suddenly. Same box or not, had someone been in her room while her family watched TV down the hall?

  She checked her window. It was locked from the inside.

  She went to the living room.

  “Ma, was someone here?”

  “Back so soon?” Her mom looked surprised. “The project’s done?”

  “We’ll finish later. Did someone come by?”

  “Someone left a package for you. On the doorstep.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. They rang the bell and left it.”

  She wanted to scream, And you put it on my bed?

  But why wouldn’t her mom? Hadn’t Vanhi just told her a similar box was school supplies?

  “It’s for your project, no?”

  Vanhi mumbled yes and went back to her room. She had to get it out of the house. She opened her window and took it down to the creek behind their lot. She shone the flashlight on her phone on it. It could be the same box, she wasn’t sure. She went through the same rigmarole—poking it, testing it. Then she said fuck it. People in glass houses. If she could give it to a stranger to open, why wouldn’t she?

  Vanhi tore at the box.

  Inside, it was stuffed with crumpled paper. She threw it aside and dug deeper until her fingers closed around something hard and square. She took it out.

  The small metal box had knobs and a display screen for red LED numbers. It was painted with an image of space, stars, and the horizon of a planet.

  She knew exactly what it was, instantly.

  Panda Audio’s Future Impact I, the sound-effects pedal real bass players used in mega-stadiums. Chris Wolstenholme of Muse had one, for Christ’s sake. It cost over $500. She could never afford one. If her parents thought a nice Hindu girl playing bass was crazy, this was downright psychotic.

  On any other occasion—birthday, graduation, anything—she would have been thrilled beyond belief. But now she just stared.

  30   KEY

  “We dodged a bullet,” Kenny told the Vindicators, as they reunited in the Tech Lab that night. “Candace wanted to publish right away. Tweet out the pictures.”

  “You stopped her?” Peter asked.

  “I did.” Kenny was beaming. “I told them, that’s crazy. As soon as it’s out, we lose control. The police come in. Real newspapers, TV. All we’d get is a lousy photo credit. I said, let’s crack this wide-open—investigate on the down-low, write the story, then launch. And we get all the credit. I knew Eddie couldn’t resist that!”

  “So you bought us a day?” Vanhi asked, skeptical.

  “I bought us more than that. We can go in there now, wash away the evidence, then there’s nothing left. Just a picture. Nothing linking us to the crime.”

  “So let’s go,” Charlie said. He was feeling guilty from the ATM, the broken wrist. Still smarting from Mary’s rejection of the bracelet. The Game had led him wrong. He just wanted to erase the bloody pentagram—erase everything.

  “Well, that’s a problem,” Peter said.

  Everyone turned to him.

  “While you guys were twiddling around in the Game, I went back to the boiler room. It’s locked now. No more magic keypad.”

  “You couldn’t hack your way in?” Vanhi said almost tauntingly.

  “Apparently it was not God’s will.” Peter shrugged.

  “Couldn’t we just pay off Walker like Eddie did?”

  “Then they’d know it was us.”

  “So we’re screwed.”

  “No, that’s where I come in.” Kenny looked proud again. Deep down, he loved the way the Game seemed to be escalating him from sidekick to hero. “After Eddie and Candace left, I was freaking out. But then I realized, I had some Goldz saved up. I asked for help and got us a new mission. Something called the Hydra.”

  Kenny showed them his phone.

  A new text from the Game promised:

  I will wash away all your sins.

  31   EPHEMERA

  Alex stopped them. “Before we go…” It was the first time he’d spoken all night. He looked like shit—his eyes were tired and his hair was mussed more than usual—but he seemed excited. Proud, even. “I have something for us.”

  He picked up the box that had been waiting for him on his bed, as promised, when he came back from smashing the car.

  They would love him now. He did this.

  Fifty thousand Goldz well spent.

  Vanhi shuddered when she saw the box. It was strikingly similar to the one she’d delivered to some random house, just longer and flatter. How many people were out there playing this Game, delivering parcels? Were they all good things? Her bass pedal was, and Alex certainly seemed happy about his package, too. But that didn’t mean they were all prizes. Could there be bad packages as well? Hate mail, so to speak? Vanhi wondered again, What did I deliver tonight, and to whom? She felt like an ant in an ecosystem she couldn’t see.

  “What’s the matter?” Charlie asked, noticing her reaction.

  “Nothing.” She smiled weakly. “Shiver.”

  Alex spoke so quietly the group had to lean in. “What’s the one thing that would make this game better?”

  “Sleep,” Kenny said. They all looked a little worse for wear after being up for most of the last two days.

  “I have something for that,” Peter said.

  “No,” Charlie jumped in.

  “What, I was talking about Red Bull.…”

  “Pay attention,” Alex blurted out, too loud. He hated the way Charlie and Peter could command the room instantly. He was the one talking.

  He ripped open the box and folded the cardboard arms outward.

  They all leaned over to peer in.

  “They’re Aziteks,” he said.

  “No way,” Peter said. “How did you get these?”

  “They cost a fortune,” Charlie said. “They’re brand-new.”

  “How much did it cost?” Kenny asked.

  “Just some Goldz.”

  “What did you have to do?” Vanhi asked.

  “Just a little search and destroy! Don’t worry about it. Worry about this: never having to walk around like a moron staring through your phone to see the game. Think about the immersion we’ll get. And we can play all day now, easy!”

  Alex slipped a pair on. They looked like normal glasses, some more hipstery than others. His pair were like him. Thin, unobtrusive. The frames disappeared on his face.

  Peter picked a black, thicker rim, the kind only someone handsome could pull off and look better with glasses than without.

  Vanhi went for the artier tortoiseshell style.

  Kenny picked half-shell clear frames. Scholarly, yet edgier than anyone would have guessed for him.

  Charlie picked what was left: silver frames, modern and sleek.

  They all put them on.

  “You sync them like this.” Alex pressed a button on the stem.

  Charlie stared through his glasses. They felt impossibly light on his face, barely different from regular glasses. You could only see the AR on one side, meaning to everyone else in the room you just looked normal, walking around with innocuous glasses on.

  Then the world flashed as the glasses synced with Charlie’s phone, and the Game came alive in front of him. Wherever he looked, now he saw the God Game on top of realspace. The cracks in the walls. The flickering torches. The glowing signs and pulsing runes. It all felt real around him, moving with his head. Yet reality was there, too. He could see the obstacles and paths in realspace, through the augmented reality. It was fucking awesome.

  Peter reached toward the computer tables, where a virtual red-glazed vase was glimmering. He closed his hand around it and lifted it off the table. It moved perf
ectly in his hand.

  They all watched.

  “This is a game changer,” Peter said, smiling at Alex with admiration.

  Alex beamed.

  Peter tossed the digital vase to Charlie.

  Without thinking, Charlie caught it in the air. He tossed it to Kenny, who tossed it to Vanhi, who lobbed it to Alex. Alex grabbed for it but fumbled the catch. It hit the ground and shattered.

  Alex felt himself blush.

  “You have to admit,” Vanhi said to Charlie quietly, “this is pretty cool.”

  Suddenly there was a crash, as Peter picked up a troll-skinned lamp and hurled it across the room at Kenny’s head. It slammed against him, and Kenny heard a shockingly loud thud from the speakers playing straight into his ears.

  “Hey!” he shouted, a grin spreading over his face. “Watch it!”

  Words appeared in the air before Peter:

  Hitting a teammate! 5 Blaxx.

  Everybody laughed, but Charlie felt a slight chill. This was the first official report of Blaxx he’d seen. Five was a low number—their Goldz had gone up in the thousands already. But still, what did five Blaxx mean? What would five hundred mean?

  “Serves you right,” Kenny told Peter, laughing. No one else seemed worried about the consequences.

  “Let’s go!” Alex cried, beside himself with pride.

  They ran down the hall to the boiler room. Sure enough, all signs of the Breath of God were gone. The Hebrew was gone, and the keypad was blank, even through their snazzy new AR glasses. The walls around them were decayed in the gamespace, the door itself solid iron.

  “Access denied,” Peter said in an “I told you so” kind of way.

  Charlie went to his inventory to see what tools he could buy. He, too, had a lot of Goldz saved up from being a Good Boy, at least in the eyes of the Game. But he found no new skills to buy now. “So where’s our salvation?” he asked the group.

  They stared at each other blankly, no one having any great ideas.

  Then the Game asked a simple question, another set of words floating between them in the hallway:

  Do you hate Tim Fletcher? Y/N?

  32   REFLECTION