Cole Perriman's Terminal Games (26 page)

Who did this to us?

For an instant, Marianne again visualized the large woman in the silver dress. This time she imagined that the woman turned toward her, bright red lips parted, about to speak …

… and then the image was gone.

Marianne groaned bitterly. She couldn’t hold onto it. The woman was only intermittently, sporadically vivid in her mind. But she didn’t have that problem with Auggie. Marianne could see his stark, white-and-red, mocking face at any moment she chose.

I can see it as clearly as that bloodstain on the wall.

This made Marianne strangely certain of one thing. Even if Renee’s murderer was a woman,
Auggie
was the true key to the mystery—the murderous clown in the computer, not some real life man or woman. Somehow, that crazy, painted electronic fiction had robbed Renee of her life and Marianne of her friend. Marianne didn’t quite understand how this could be, but she knew it was true.

But the police did not grasp this.

They could never grasp it.

They were looking for the killer in the world of flesh and blood, while Auggie’s was a world of image and illusion.

And at rock bottom, that rendered them helpless.

They can’t catch him. He doesn’t live in our world, but I’ve just taken a step into his. I’m the only one who can trap Auggie.

She took a long, weary breath.

I’ve got to find him. I’ve got to make him talk to me.

10010
TURING TEST

On Friday afternoon, Marianne called the design firm to let them know that she was back on the job. She told Dwayne Morris, one of the two architects who owned the company, that she had spent some time at the Blue Whale and had firmed up her ideas for the Abernathy project.

“I’ll put in two good days on it this weekend,” she promised.

“That’s great, kid,” Dwayne said. His breathing sounded heavy, as it always did on the phone. It was an illusion, of course. Dwayne was on the beefy side, and the telephone tended to exaggerate his breathiness. It made him sound like an obscene phone caller when he was, in fact, a very proper and upright family man.

Odd, how media can reshape us.

“The preliminaries you sent in look good,” Dwayne said. “But you know how these clients are—I don’t want the final presentation to trigger any indecisiveness.”

“I know. I don’t want them to start hemming and hawing around, either. But they’ve liked my ideas so far.”

“We really need to get it finalized next week,” Dwayne said. “We want to get all the smaller jobs out of the way as soon as possible. Because there’s great news. We’ve been invited to bid on another office project. A big one. Lotsa money involved.”

This is his idea of “great news”?

“That’s wonderful,” she said weakly.

“C’mon, you can do better than that.”

“I’m sorry. Things have kind of worn me down lately.”

His huffy voice became more compassionate. “I know, Marianne, and I really am sorry. How are you getting along?”

“I’m all right, Dwayne. I’m just having a little trouble getting my energy level back up.”

“You’ll enjoy the new thing—it’s gonna be a lot of fun. Big postmodern building, bright and snappy interior. We’ve scheduled a staff meeting on it next week. Wednesday. We’ll need you here, in person. Got to get everybody’s input, work up a hot proposal.”

Marianne agreed to be at the meeting and said goodbye. She brought up the Abernathy project on her computer, but she felt terribly restless. Wasn’t it more important to track Auggie through the infoworld—find him, talk to him, learn his secrets—than to design a kitchen for some rich couple? What
were
her real responsibilities at a time like now?

Marianne looked at her watch.

It was four-fifteen.

She sighed.

Well, there’s no way to track him right now, anyway.

She opened the file for the Abernathy kitchen. It was time to put all the appliances in place and show how the formal paneling extended in from the dining room. She knew Reba Abernathy would like that touch.

Through the rest of the day, Marianne alternately worked at the computer and paced around her house, turning design details over in her mind. She was still at it long after dark. Occasionally, on her way to or from the computer, she grabbed something to eat or drink. Whenever her telephone rang, she let the answering machine pick up the call. But even tuned out as she was, she snapped to full attention when she heard Nolan’s excited voice over the machine. She picked the telephone up quickly.

“Nolan! How are you?”

“Auggie’s back!” Nolan almost shouted.

“You mean he’s online?” she asked.

“Right.”

“My God, I didn’t even know it was that late,” Marianne said. She looked at her watch and saw that it was eight-thirty. She’d she really
had
been totally tuned out for the last few hours. She laughed with exhilaration.

“Pritchard and Maisie just called and told me,” Nolan explained. “They set up some software to spot him as soon as he logged on. And get this. They’ve already got a number for him.”

“How did they get it so fast?”

“They used caller ID.”

“So where is he?”
“
Atlanta?
But the killings happened
here.”

Nolan took a deep breath. “Maybe not
all
the killings,” he said. “It’s possible—just possible—that a rich guy in Chicago might have been another victim. I didn’t believe it before, but I’m starting to think so now.”

Marianne’s mouth dropped open with surprise.

“So Auggie
commutes?”
she said.

“Looks like it. Quite a surprise, huh?”

“But how?”

“It’ll be a while before we get the whole picture.”

“Is he still online?”

“Well, he was five minutes ago.”

“I’ve got to get in there,” Marianne said, clutching the phone in one hand and shutting down her design program with the other.

“Get in
where?”
Nolan asked.

“Insomnimania. Elfie’s got to talk to Auggie.’

“Leave it alone, Marianne,” Nolan said impatiently. “It’s a cop thing.”

Marianne was startled into a momentary silence. She had been so close to Nolan during the last couple of days, so deeply in touch with him. It really hadn’t occurred to her that they could differ about anything so important.

“Nolan, somebody’s got to talk to him.”

“Somebody will, soon as we find out exactly who he—or
she
—is.”

“No, I mean
Auggie
. In the
network.”

“Marianne, he’s just a
cartoon.”

Marianne groaned. There was no use trying to explain her feeling that Auggie, whether a cartoon or not, was the key to this whole thing. Nolan simply wouldn’t understand. She barely understood it herself.

“Nolan, I don’t have time to argue,” Marianne said. “If he’s just a cartoon, he’s not going to hurt me, is he?”

“Well … just be sure you don’t do anything that will tell him your identity. We’ll be able to find out who the number belongs to, but we don’t have a hold on him yet.”

“Don’t worry about that. On the network it’s just Elfie.”

Marianne told Nolan goodbye, then logged onto Insomnimania. She took Elfie straight to Ernie’s Bar. Then she hesitated in confusion. The clown was not there. She hadn’t thought to ask Nolan
where
in the network Auggie was.

Some intrepid sleuth you are.
She felt thoroughly stupid.

The conversation in Ernie’s flew by in a bewildering flurry, the typed lines, as usual, interspersed with verbal comments—greetings, drink orders, and the odd obscenity now and then. A chair was vacant at a tiny table, so Marianne typed the commands for her cartoon alter to take it.

Well, at least it’s better than standing around in the middle of the room.
Marianne was slightly surprised at her capacity to empathize with her alter’s awkwardness.

The last time, when Marianne and Nolan had built the elf body and sent her into Insomnimania, there had been little for Elfie to say. It was a poker game, after all, and the only conversation occurred when a new game was called. Tonight, Marianne wanted Elfie to find Auggie, to strike up a conversation, to get his responses to some questions. Even though Nolan had almost identified the operator of the clown, Marianne still had the feeling that there was something important to he learned from the cartoon character himself.

First, you’ll have to practice talking with whoever’s around.
She scanned the name tags that preceded the flying lines of conversation. Timidly, she typed a greeting.

l-fy>Hi, jz.

But Jazz was already embroiled in a discussion with some other character and probably did not see Elfie’s greeting at all. Marianne was concentrating so hard on trying to follow the running conversation that she jumped when her computer spoke aloud.

“What can I get for you, Elfie?” the computer asked. Ernie was standing by Elfie’s table. Marianne hesitated, then remembered that having a drink was part of the protocol if you wanted to hang around the bar.

l-fy>White wine, please.

“Coming right up,” the computer said. Without leaving the table, Ernie whipped out a wineglass and placed it before Elfie. Then he disappeared. Marianne flipped through her instruction manual to find the commands for Elfie to drink. Finally, she typed the right combination, and Elfie lifted the glass to her lips. When she set it down again, the glass was noticeably emptier.

Guess I’d better take it slow on that.

“How’re you doin’, doll?” another voice inquired.

Marianne laughed when her computer spoke the familiar line aloud. On the screen was the same dressed-up ape that Renee had met last night. The poor gorilla could not have realized that this electronic elf was run by the same operator as the character who had given him a four-letter brush-off the night before. But Elfie was happier to have someone to talk to.

l-fy>I’m just fine.

gar>gargantua de sommerville-jones at your service, ma’am. ok f i sit dn?

Talk like an Insomnimaniac. Abbreviations. Eccentric spelling

l-fy>mak yurself comftabl, gar.

The ape took the chair on the other side of the table.

gar>ur nu hr ain’tcha?

l-fy>i’ve been a spectator. this is the 1st time i’ve been to the bar in person.

gar>jst pres cntrl-1 on your keyboard, huny.

When Marianne did that, her view of Elfie and Gargantua at their table enlarged to dominate the screen. Background action was no longer in view, although the entire running barroom dialogue was still displayed over their heads, and verbal comments from anywhere in the bar were still audible.

gar>ther, isn’t that btr?

Now the dialogue typed by the two characters in the close-up appeared in bold type, making it easier for her to follow their own separate conversation.

l-fy>thanks. i guess you mst come here a lot.

gar>o i’m n ol reglar. its a gd plas to relx.

l-fy>then maybe u no auggie. he’s the clown who does the snuffs.

gar>of cors. i’ve known that old clown 4 mene yrs.

Years?
Marianne thought. She was talking to a cartoon on a network that had been in existence for six months. But she decided it might he impolite for Elfie to point out the discrepancy.

l-fy>i’ve watched a lot of the snuffs. i’d sure lik to meet auggie. a frend of mine thinks he’s a cop, or maybe a real killer. what do u think?

But Gargantua was silent for a moment.

A coy gorilla? Or did I broach a delicate subject?

Gargantua waved a furry arm and bellowed for a beer. Almost instantly, a cartoon hand placed a frost-encrusted mug on their table. Suddenly, Auggie’s name flashed at the top of the screen as a new entry to the room. Marianne quickly expanded her view to include the entire bar. The clown was standing in the doorway.

gar>theres the guy uve bn askn abt. wud u like to meet him now?

l-fy>i sure wud.

gar>jst wat a minit or 2 until the comoshun dies down.

It seemed like everyone in Ernie’s Bar was trying to talk to Auggie at once—eagerly asking where had he been, why hadn’t he been around all week, when was he going to do another snuff? But the clown ignored most of the typed questions and comments that flew by. Meanwhile, Elfie was just sitting at the table with Gar, motionless except for the occasional programmed blinking of her large green eyes.

What should she do? Should she approach Auggie directly?
Marianne didn’t want to miss this opportunity, but she hadn’t counted on Elfie having to fight her way through the clown’s groupies. Then she was startled to see that Auggie had come directly to the table where the gorilla and the elf were sitting. When Auggie sat down, Marianne hastily typed the command that would again limit her view to their table.

awgy>wel. mi frend gar. wut r u up 2 2nite?

gar>o i’ve jus ben hangin round her 4 a whil, toking to this charmin lady. auggie, alow me 2 ntrodus elfie.

Auggie’s programmed voice said aloud, “Deeelighted, my dear.” As Marianne fumbled at her keyboard to answer him, his typed comment appeared:

awgy>& hu r u? i don’t reeemember evrrr seing u b4.

l-fy>im jst a pixie who flits around looking 4 some1 intresting 2 talk 2.

awgy>u don t b leev that.

l-fy>what do you mean?

awgy>u don t b leev that u r a pixie named elfie. al of u her b leev that u’re reely sumbody els. im not anybody els, im august. i always hv bn.

l-fy>well. that’s like i’m elfie. that’s who i am.

awgy>no. u think u r jst preeetending. lik aaal the rest.

Marianne’s computer rang with Auggie’s raucous laughter. Even though she didn’t quite understand the joke, the sound made Marianne feel somehow more at ease. Elfie lifted the glass briefly to her lips. Marianne sensed that she was getting the hang of things. She thought of Baldwin Maisie and Ned Pritchard watching Auggie at this moment, probably recording everything he did. That meant they were watching Elfie, too. And at the division, there was probably at least one cop watching. So Elfie was performing for an audience. Was Nolan watching, too?

With an audience like that, she couldn’t fumble around like an amateur. Marianne decided that she’d better get this scene under control. Marianne hardly noticed when Gargantua got up and wandered away from the table, she was so intent on holding Auggie’s attention. She typed:

l-fy>awgy, iv ben wanting to ask u. i don’t understand how u can just start up a new room.

awgy>wut nu rum?

l-fy>the snuff room, of course.

awgy>don’t b reeedikulus. the snuff rum’s not nu. it’s alwas bn thr—thruowt al histry thr’s bn a snuff rum.

l-fy>oh. i thought mabe u wer the programmer who had given it 2 us. what do they call them, a hacker?

awgy>i no how 2 do meny things. why r u sch a curious litl elf?

Marianne could see that she was going to get nowhere with direct questions about his profession. She decided to try a more personal tactic.

l-fy>i’m interested in u auggie. i’m intrested in what u do. murder is such a significant act.

awgy>siiig-niff-i-caaant? r u saying murder is a gud thng?

Marianne began reading both Elfie’s and Auggie’s words aloud as they appeared on the screen. It didn’t make her feel like she was hearing their separate voices, but it did make it easier to follow the dialogue.

“A person’s whole life must turn on such an axis,” Elfie said. “What does it matter whether it was a good thing to do? What could change a life more drastically? What could reveal more about what you will accept from life, and what you will do when acceptance becomes intolerable?”

“I see what you mean,” Auggie replied. “Significant. It sounds as though you’ve given the idea some thought.”

“And the one murdered—well obviously, it’s the most important event in
that
person’s life, as well!”

The clown rocked back and forth in his chair. His painted grin widened, his mouth opened, and his raucous laughter rang out again. “I find it fascinating that you choose to put it that way.”

“Above all, your murders are imaginative,” Elfie said. “No one else is so original.”