Player vs Player

by Amelia C. Gormley

  Those guys would have no idea who Angie was, right? They didn’t know the cops were coming. They didn’t know there was a security guard in the lobby now, did they?

  Rosie opened her mouth as though she was going to ask a question, but then she caught on to Niles’s laden stare. Her dark complexion paled a little, and she nodded.

  “Just let me grab something out of my office first,” she said, and Niles grabbed the cups of spiked coffee off the mail cart and followed her out of the cubicles, waiting in the door and trying to appear normal and unalarmed in case the guys were still skulking around. “Here, I got us coffee. No sense in it going to waste.”

  Whatever Rosie was about to say in response was forestalled as the tension and concern on her face transformed to full-on alarm. Something sizzled across his collar where his neck and shoulder met, followed by a throbbing burn along the path the initial sharp pain had taken.

  As he yelled, Rosie dropped to the floor as if she’d been shot, though there was no sound. The coffee flew from both mugs in an almost graceful, slo-mo arc as he whirled to face whatever had struck him from behind. Which was when another shriek followed Niles’s own.

  “Fuck! Fuck! My eyes!” Patrick’s stepbrother toppled over, clutching his coffee-scalded face. A forgotten knife fell from his hands, but before Niles could reach for it, he saw the cousin standing on a desk within one of the cubicles, holding . . .

  Was that a crossbow?

  The anti-cybertech terrorists who attacked Grace and Chino had used bows and knives, his brain supplied uselessly.

  “Shut the fuck up, Charlie. It’s just coffee. It’ll cool down,” Mike snarled, sneering at his cousin. He kept the bow trained on Niles. “You. Don’t fucking move, queer.”

  Niles felt the back of his shirt growing cool and wet, and reached for where the junction of his shoulder and neck burned. His hand came away drenched in blood, and looking down, he could see crimson streaks rapidly soaking through the front of his shirt. Fuck, had a crossbow bolt skimmed his shoulder? Was that what hit Rosie?

  No. The knife at his feet was bloody. Charlie had cut him. But why had Rosie fallen?

  Or had she dived?

  “Get up where I can see you, you spic bitch!” Mike called. “Or I’ll slit this fag’s throat.”

  Pressing his hand against his wound, Niles watched Rosie rise from behind her desk, her hands in the air. “I’m here. There’s no reason to hurt him.”

  Mike sneered. “Fucking cunt. Diving for cover, hiding under the desk. You talk like you think you can fight, but when you have to stand up to a real man, you hide like the pussy you are.”

  Rosie blinked slowly. “Spic. Bitch. Cunt. Pussy. Do you have a single original insult in your vocabulary?” She brought her hands down, lifting her chin as she faced him.

  Fuck. Niles could feel the blood slick between his fingers, growing tacky where it had been sitting for a while. How bad had they cut him?

  He clenched his jaw and waited for the crossbow bolt to find him.

  “There was something in that shit, man! It wasn’t just coffee!” Charlie was moaning, huddled on the floor and rubbing his eyes frantically. “Fuck, it burns!”

  “I said shut up, you fucktard!” Mike hefted the crossbow up, narrowing his eyes to take aim at Niles.

  Rosie scoffed. “These are the guys who have killed four people, maybe five? Seriously? This is what you’re bringing? You’re a pair of fucking cliché buffoons.”

  “Fuck you, bitch. I gave you a chance to show me some respect. Now I’m gonna make you fuckin’ respect me.”

  “Oh God. Are you honestly going to monologue at me? Just fucking shoot me already.” Niles tried to shut her up with the power of his mind, but it wasn’t working. Just like the warrior tank she played, she would taunt them and try to draw their fire away from him.

  But he wasn’t an acolyte with healing spells to close her wounds when she began to bleed. All he could do was slump here uselessly against the wall while he bled out. And he was. He could feel the numbness, the tingling, the darkening of his vision that said he was losing too much blood.

  “Get your hands where I can fucking see them!” Mike snapped, and Niles realized he’d actually lost a moment of awareness.

  “What? You think I have a Taser stashed in my handbag under my desk?” God. No one did derision like Rosie when she was pissed off. But her eyes cut to Niles quickly, and then back to Mike. “I remember you now. You were in the autograph line at the convention. You tried to make me look at your artwork while you pitched me a game idea. I knew I recognized the style of those drawings.”

  Jesus, fuck, Rosie, shut up! Niles let himself slip down the wall a little further, moaning.

  He should have been frightened. Niles knew he should have been frightened, facing what would no doubt be his final seconds. But instead, he was just fucking pissed off. For the first time in his life, he wanted to commit violence, wanted to smash these fucking losers’ heads in for all the ridiculous waste of lives, for the grieving families, for the pain and fear those young women must have felt before they died. For Rosie, facing off against them so bravely like she did every day of her life, and for Jordie who would lose the other half of himself, and for Tim who would never know Niles was already well on his way to falling in love with him again. And for what? It made no fucking sense, and he just wanted to scream his rage and bludgeon these two punks to death.

  “You should have paid attention when you had the chance, bitch,” Mike snarled, and Rosie rolled her eyes.

  “There was nothing to pay attention to. Your art was okay, but your game idea was some of the most unimaginative, uninspired shit I’ve ever seen.” She huffed a humorless laugh. “Is that really what this is all about? I hurt your poor widdle feelings so you had a fit of nerd rage? Wow. You must have been eating your guts out, knowing Patrick was working for me and you never would.”

  Niles could feel the blood dripping from the wound on his shoulder. It was bad, but stopping the bleeding was the least of his worries. It didn’t matter if the gesture was futile or not; there was no fucking way he was going to die cowering before some sexist, homophobic bully.

  He met Rosie’s eyes, then flopped over, grunting as he hit the floor. A surge of blood rushed from his wound and down his chest as he crumpled, half on his stomach, half on his side, along the floor between Rosie’s door and her desk.

  “Oh fuck, Niles? Niles?”

  Rosie scurried around the desk and dropped to her knees beside him, effectively shielding his upper body from their view as she bent over him. Her hands fluttered around his back and torso as if she didn’t know what to do for him. “Jesus, I think he’s bleeding to death. I need to call the ambulance. Please.”

  “Yeah, that’s it. Not so badass now. Beg like the fucking bitch you are. He’s gonna bleed to death, all right. You both are.”

  Niles reached under her desk and just barely snagged the strap of her handbag. Half the contents were already spilled across the floor. Clearly she’d been digging through it when Mike had ordered her to get up.

  He fumbled blindly, trying to move only his fingers, not to give any hint that he wasn’t unconscious on the floor, until he felt something hard and boxy. He pulled it out and shoved it toward Rosie’s knee where it would still be hidden by her body as she hovered over him.

  “Please—” Her voice cracked dramatically. “Look, I’ll do anything. Just let me call for help.”

  Her fingers shook as they brushed his, and then she was in motion, swinging around before Niles had a chance to do anything else. He heard a startled cry and a crackle of electricity, and by the time he managed to grab the small cylinder rolling on the floor beside the handbag and then sat up, Fedora Mike was convulsing on the floor with two wires sticking out of him.

  “Mike!” Charlie yelled, and somewhere in the process, he’d managed to pick up the knife again. He came charging through the door at Rosie. “Leave him alone!”

  Niles rolled t
o his feet, putting himself between Rosie and Charlie, and he sent a mist of pepper spray into Charlie’s already-scalded face. Charlie dropped to the floor, shrieking.

  Details were starting to come back with the clarity of the adrenaline-induced fight-or-flight response. Underneath the cacophony, he could hear Rosie’s cell phone on the floor where she’d dropped it behind the desk. An emergency operator’s tinny voice was calling out. Rosie stooped and brought it to her ear. “I’m here. My coworker is bleeding badly. I need to put the phone down to try to stop the blood, but I’m here.”

  Niles felt his extremities begin to tingle again and sank back to the floor before he could pass out and fall over.

  He didn’t hear much after that with the sound of his own pulse roaring in his ears. He felt cold, shivering as Rosie grabbed a hoodie off the hook on her door to press against his shoulder. He vaguely heard Rosie talking to someone and realized the night guard had reached them, no doubt drawn by the screams. Had it really all happened so quickly that she hadn’t even had a chance to come running before it was over? Or had it not gotten loud enough for her to be aware there was a problem until the end? Niles thought the guard might have been restraining Fedora Mike, who was still dazed, and the screaming Charlie, but Niles’s vision was darkening around the edges again, so he closed his eyes and just focused on the ache where Rosie applied pressure to his wound.

  “Jesus, I think he was going for your carotid. Good thing you moved—either that, or he’s shit with a knife,” she muttered.

  He managed to blink his eyes open. “You’re okay?”

  “Me? I’m fine.”

  “When I saw you fall, I thought—”

  “I dove down behind my desk when I saw someone come up behind you with a knife. I didn’t think they saw me so I grabbed my phone and dialed 911. I was trying to get the Taser out of my bag, but I didn’t have time.”

  Niles found himself laughing weakly, even though it hurt. “You’re so badass.”

  “It’s why I’m the boss,” Rosie said warmly, and he felt her press a kiss to his forehead.

  He heard more voices then. Police, he thought, and soon after, Detective Payne joined them. But it was Jordan’s voice, sharp with panic and emotion, that he clung to. Jordie was here. He’d be all right. He wouldn’t leave Jordie, and Jordie wouldn’t leave him. He felt his brother clinging to his hand, refusing to let go even as the paramedics bandaged Niles up and loaded him onto a gurney. That grip allowed him to finally let go and let the shock take over, sending him into oblivion.

  Tim laced his fingers tightly with Niles’s where he sat on the edge of Tim’s bed. Niles’s left arm was in a sling, apparently to keep him from moving too much and pulling out the stitches at the base of his neck. Those bastards had gotten way too fucking close to killing him while Tim had lain here uselessly in the hospital.

  “I don’t see how they hoped to get away with it,” Rosie was saying from one of the chairs in his hospital room two days after the attack at Third Wave Studios. Jordan stood leaning against the wall near the door, while Payne sat in another chair. Jordan looked as grim and furious as Tim felt.

  Payne shrugged. “When he was blubbering and spilling his guts, Tweedle-Dum said they had this story all worked out about how Niles tried to molest them at the convention. He said a jury would be searching for a reason not to convict them for killing—and I quote—‘some pervert fag and a feminazi bitch.’ Sorry.” She cast an apologetic glance at them each in turn.

  Tim rubbed his aching head, then pulled his hand away when it encountered the bandage covering his meticulously reconstructed ear. “That doesn’t make a lot of sense. They came pretty damn close to pulling off the perfect crime with Charity Anspach and Lakshmi Agrawal. Did they just get cocky?”

  “I think they got addicted to the attention,” Jordan replied. “The praise they were getting on the forums for that fan art of the murders was pretty intense.”

  Payne nodded. “Tweedle-Dum seems to think they were heroes. Rebels with a cause or some shit.”

  “And what does Tweedle-Dee say?” Tim asked.

  “Tweedle-Dee was smart enough to keep his mouth shut and lawyer up. Not that it matters. Mike’s actually a pretty amazing hacker, apparently, but he didn’t wipe his computer before he went on his ‘mission’ to kill you. Bryan had a bitch of a time cracking into it, but it was all on there. His involvement on several men’s rights forums, his posts about the Third Wave agenda, and even videos of Charity and Lakshmi, which he sent in emails and texts to Keilana. Seeing her friends murdered seems to be what finally drove her to suicide after she withstood a year of relentless harassment.”

  “What about Daniel?” Niles’s voice was nearly inaudible, his head bowed. “What did they say about killing Daniel?”

  “That’s a little more complicated. There was nothing on Mike’s computer about that, and Charlie’s lawyer showed up before we could get anything out of him.” Payne sighed. “But the one thing we were able to get from Mike was that he claims it wasn’t them, but he knows who did it.”

  “Any idea who he’s gonna finger for that?” Tim demanded incredulously.

  “I’m not sure, but we’re looking into the alibis for the other guild members who were here for the convention. The ones who were actually there when Charity and Lakshmi were attacked are already in custody. We’re just waiting on extradition from their states of residence.” Her mouth twisted. “He thinks he can bargain for immunity on the other charges.”

  “What?” Tim coughed when his voice approached a yelp, clearing his throat. “I mean, what? Tell me the DA laughed his way out of the precinct.”

  “Yeah, there’s no way he’s going for that. He’s pretty sure this is a ploy to try to dodge the one charge that would carry a hate crime penalty. But if Mike’s information is good, he might be able to weasel his way into a reduced sentence.”

  “I don’t like that,” Niles said grimly. “Bad enough they tried to kill us, but they murdered three people and bullied a fourth into suicide—a crime for which they probably won’t ever be charged even though they’re guilty as sin.”

  Tim, surprised by the hard, unforgiving edge in Niles’s voice, gave him a sharp look. Then he glanced over to see Jordan watching his brother with concern as well.

  “How’s Patrick doing?” Tim asked, and Niles flashed him a grateful look.

  Angie shrugged. “Still doesn’t want to see anyone or answer any questions. He’d been knocked around pretty badly, and he was dehydrated when they found him tied up in Mike’s apartment. We’re pretty sure they were planning to burn him alive, just like Marc in those drawings, but he’ll be okay.”

  “Why don’t we let these guys get some rest?” Jordan said, pushing himself away from the wall. “Niles, you need to get home. We can debrief on all this later, after everyone has healed up a bit.”

  “Sounds good,” Rosie agreed, rising and gathering her coat. “I’m going to go work at home, since my office is a goddamn crime scene. I have a meeting tomorrow with the EEU brass I have to prepare for. They’re all shitting themselves about the publicity this is generating, and we’ve got to convince them it’s a good thing somehow.” She didn’t look much happier than Niles.

  Payne followed suit. “I’ll go with you. I still need to finish the last act.” She narrowed her eyes at Tim when he snickered. “You got something you wanna say, Wyatt?”

  “Yeah,” Tim shot back with an amused challenge in his voice. “Admit it. You’re hooked.”

  Payne opened and closed her mouth a couple times, then strode for the door. “Shut up,” she threw over her shoulder, making them all laugh. Even Niles cracked a smile.

  “Niles, you want a ride home?” Jordan asked pointedly as he shrugged into his coat.

  Niles shook his head, and anger surged through Tim again as he saw the bandage sticking out from under the collar of the button-down Niles had changed into when they’d released him from the hospital that morning. “No, it’s just a f
ew blocks. I’ll walk. Clear my mind.”

  “Okay, bro. I’m going to head over to Rosie’s as well, then. We have some stuff to work on.” Jordan stepped up and gave Niles a careful hug, ducking to meet Niles’s lowered eyes, his expression tender and earnest. “Hey. Get some rest. We’re all okay now.”

  “I’ll try,” Niles whispered, leaning into his brother a moment before letting go.

  When the door closed behind Jordan, and he and Niles were alone, Tim lifted a hand, stroking down Niles’s back. “You in there, baby?”

  Niles took so long to respond, the answer might as well have been no. “I just— I can’t shake it.”

  “Can’t shake what?”

  “The anger. Until the other night, I never realized I could actually, truly hate someone, you know? I don’t want to hate anyone.” He folded his hands in his lap, speaking down to them rather than facing Tim.

  “What part are you angry about?”

  “All of it. Those dead young women, all the grief and fear Rosie has had to deal with from men like those guys, how they were going to take me away from you before we got a chance to really figure things out.” His voice grew tight, and he cleared his throat. “They were going to take me away from Jordie. I can’t— I can’t imagine trying to live without him, so how on earth was he going to live without me?”

  “I don’t know,” Tim murmured. He pulled on Niles’s arm until he finally turned. “C’mere.”

  Niles settled in carefully beside Tim. The shifting and shuffling hurt, but he refused to so much as grunt until Niles was tucked against his side.

  “I don’t have any answers, baby,” Tim breathed into his soft hair, stroking the side of his face. “I don’t know what makes people do things like that, except hate. But I know that no matter how much you hate them, no matter how angry you are, you could never be like them. So let yourself feel the anger for a little while if you need to. It doesn’t make you a terrible person. It just makes you human.” He kissed Niles’s temple. “I’m glad they didn’t take you from me.”