Cole Perriman's Terminal Games (39 page)

11010
SIMULATION

The telephone rang before Nolan could pick it up. He felt a surge of excitement at the expectation that it would be Marianne calling. But instead, a man’s voice spoke.

“Grobowski?” the voice said.

“Yeah,” Nolan replied resignedly.

“This is Harvey Gusfield. I’ve been trying to reach you all evening. I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“No. Do you have some kind of break in the Stalnaker case?”

“Nothing so gratifying. I got taken
off
the case this afternoon.”

“Taken off?”

“Dumped,
okay?”

“By whom?”

“Whom do you think? My so-called, self-styled ‘superiors’ at the medical center. They’ve got this idea that Stalnaker’s an open and shut MPD case.”

“Multiple personality disorder?”

“That’s right. They figure if they just hypnotize him straight into the ground like a fence post, he’ll start popping out personalities like a gumball machine, and then they can make a modest little splash in the psychiatric journals.”

“You don’t agree?” Nolan asked. “I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it? One minute, he’s a mild-mannered loan officer named Myron Stalnaker. The next minute, he’s some crazed, murderous clown named Auggie. If that isn’t a case of multiple personality, what is?”

Gusfield groaned with impatience. “I’m gonna have to educate you a little bit, detective. And I’ll do exactly that on the flight to L.A.”

Nolan felt confused. “You’re going to L.A.?” he said. “What for?”

“Because this case is a lot more interesting than those no-brains at the clinic are ever gonna figure out. I’ll get a major paper out of this. Hell, I’ll probably get a major
book
out of it—a pop-psychology bestseller.”

“So why are you coming to Los Angeles?” Nolan asked. “Your patient, or ex-patient, is right here.”

“Oh, come on, Grobowski. Isn’t it obvious?
Insomnimania’s
in Los Angeles. That’s the key to the whole thing. And the guy who created Auggie’s there, too, right?”

“Right.”

“And you know who and where he is, don’t you?”

“Right again.”

“Well, I’ve got to talk to him.”

“Good luck,” Nolan said with a laugh.

“Why?”

“Zoomer’s not the easiest guy to talk to.”

“‘Zoomer’? What kind of name’s that?”

“A hacker’s name. Have you ever tried talking to a hacker?”

“Have you ever tried talking to a man who thought he was receiving radio signals from Alpha Centauri? Don’t worry. I’ll talk to Zoomer. So what’s your flight number?”

With some trepidation, Nolan gave Gusfield the time and number of his flight. After he hung up, he immediately picked up the receiver again and dialed Marianne’s number.

*

For a few moments, Auggie’s world consisted of nothing but the automobile’s interior. Then he touched a button, and the driver’s side window rolled down. At that moment, he felt his creative world grow abruptly larger as his imagination conjured an elaborate place called “outside.” Now the gentle smells and sounds of evening wafted toward him. He savored the touch of cool air.

Ah, the life of the mind!

This corporeal, fleshy, simulated realm was, of course, less vivid and more ethereal than the brass tacks, informational reality where Auggie actually lived. Even so, he sometimes took a certain pleasure in visiting here. There was a nice randomness, a nonsensical quality about this outpost of his imagination.

It’s an awfully dark place, though.

Auggie briefly considered blasting the Santa Barbara evening with a flash of blazing light. But no, that would break one of his own central rules—that he would leave this dim reality just as it had first appeared in his dreams. After all, one did not retreat to one’s imagination to
escape
from limitation, since limitlessness was a simple fact of the electronic world. One came here when one
hankered
for limitation.

Cramped and dark is perfectly appropriate for this charade.

Auggie peered through the dark toward the sloping back yard across the street. A female simulation was sitting on a bench in the garden. Just enough light leaked through the curtained windows of the house for Auggie to see her. She was sitting motionless, her head tilted back slightly, her eyes closed, her palms turned upright on her knees.

And whose simulation was this?

Oh, yes,
Auggie realized.
It’s Elfie’s.

That clever little pixie had imagined this form into being. And what was this simulation’s name? Auggie had to think a few seconds before remembering.

Marianne. Elfie calls her Marianne. Not
much of a name—and not much of a simulation, either

Indeed, the woman didn’t seem to be doing anything in particular. She wasn’t talking or moving about or interacting with anything or anyone. She was just sitting there, as if staring into her own make-believe mind.

A pity. And I gave Elfie credit for being more creative.

During their conversations, Auggie had sometimes noticed that Elfie spoke of this simulation much too seriously, even superstitiously.

She almost seems to think this “Marianne” is more real than
she
is
.

Preposterous!

But it was worse than preposterous. It was unhealthy. Elfie couldn’t really grow, couldn’t fully join him if she let her imagination run away with her like this.

I’ll have to have a little chat with her try to make her understand.

And if Elfie refused to see reason? If she allowed herself to be controlled by her own illusion?

Well, I’ll just have to take matters in my own hands. I will free her one way or another. It won’t be the first time, after all.

A distant beeping pierced the night. The simulation remained motionless for a few moments while the beeping continued. Then she rose from her bench, stretched, and walked inside her house.

The night was empty again. All that could be heard was a loop of crickets chirping.

That’s all there is to see.
Auggie sighed.
I’d better get back to the Basement now.

*

Nolan groaned with annoyance and anxiety when Marianne’s answering machine took his call. But to his enormous relief, Marianne picked up the phone while he was waiting to leave a message.

“I’m glad you called,” Marianne said when she found out who it was. “I’ve been wondering how things were going.”

“Things are a lot better, now that I can hear your voice. Where were you, in the shower?”

“No. I was sitting in the garden.”

“Isn’t it kind of late to be outside?”

“It’s only seven-thirty here.”

“Yeah, but it’s dark, isn’t it?”

Marianne laughed slightly. “Come on, Nolan. It’s Santa Barbara. What’s going to happen to me in my own garden?”

Nolan fell quiet for a moment. It wouldn’t do any good for him to start getting overly protective.

“God, I miss you,” he said at last.

“I miss you, too.”

“When this whole thing’s over, why don’t the two of us run away for a while? Tell the world to go to hell?”

“That sounds lovely. But you sound discouraged.”

“Yeah, well, I guess I am.”

“What did you find out?”

“Not much. Stalnaker’s some kind of psychiatric case, and he
does
seem to have killed Howard Cronin, but I can’t make any connection between him and Renee or Judson.”

“I know you were hoping for more. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll tell you the rest when I get back, but it isn’t much,” Nolan said. “What have you been up to?”

“I’ve just been getting caught up on some work,” Marianne said.

Nolan didn’t like the vague, deceptive sound in her voice.

“You haven’t been hunting for Auggie again, have you?” he asked.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

“Because it’s dangerous.”

“Nolan, I told you I wouldn’t, and I won’t.”

Nolan sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just discouraged and cranky.”

“I hate to think of you being so far away,” Marianne said.

“No more than I do. I’m flying back to L.A. tomorrow. Can we get together soon?”

“Yes. Soon.”

Nolan hung up the phone. He rose from his bed, walked to the window, and watched the light, cold white drizzle still falling over Omaha. He still didn’t know if it was snow or sleet.

Just one of the million and one things I don’t know.

*

Renee was sitting under the red and white beach umbrella at Babbage Beach again, her red slacks rolled up as before. Marianne was looking at her through the screen. The orange sun had just dipped below the horizon and was re-starting its descent from the top of the screen.

Marianne was sleepy, but not as sleepy as she expected to be after being up most of the night searching vainly through Insomnimania’s desktop maze for Auggie. So far, her fasting hadn’t produced any real effect except a slight case of nausea, and her garden meditations hadn’t done much more than keep her in a mellow frame of mind.

Even so, she felt right-brained enough at the moment to carry on a seaside conversation with her virtual friend. As usual, Renee’s gestures and expressions seemed much more subtle than the crude computer animation could realistically allow, and semi-hallucinatory voice seemed quite vivid. Marianne’s imagination was fully engaged—as it was going to have to be the next time she met Auggie.

“You shouldn’t have lied to Nolan,” Renee said.

“When?” Marianne asked.

“When you talked to him earlier tonight. You told him you weren’t poking around Insomnimania. You told him you were getting caught up on your work.”

“You’re nosy.”

“I’m supposed to be nosy. I’m your conscience.”

“And dishonesty’s bad for a relationship, right?”

“It is when you’re such a lousy liar. He’s probably seen through you already.”

Marianne didn’t bother trying to explain the reasons for her deception, that Nolan would fly into an unnecessary panic and maybe even get angry if she told him the truth. She knew that Renee—whether imaginary or real—would be too stubborn to change her tune about this issue. Besides, Renee was probably right. Nolan undoubtedly
had
seen through her already.

“We never decided what those clouds are,” Marianne said, pointing to the middle portion of the sky.

“No, I guess we didn’t,” Renee said.

“I still say they’re cirrus.”

“And I still say stratocumulus.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Marianne said. “I promise to look it up before we meet next time.”

A brooding expression crossed Renee’s face.

“Let’s not meet a next time, okay?” Renee said.

“Why not?” Marianne asked, a bit startled.

“Because I keep sitting here trying to remember what the real ocean was like. And I don’t like not being able to remember. I don’t like not knowing.”

“I’m sorry,” Marianne said.

A particularly large, noisy wave broke against the shore. Marianne actually winced at the sudden and unbidden sensation of a breeze—a damp, chilly, mist-ridden breeze that smelled and tasted of salt and seaweed.

“I liked being alive,” Renee lamented. “I really, really liked it. It’s not like I hate being here. It’s just that I have to
act
as though I like it. I have to act as though I feel
anything.
It’s all just an act—moods, pleasures, pains, all sensations. Being alive wasn’t like that.” Renee heaved a long, unhappy sigh. “Can we call it quits after this meeting?”

“Of course,” Marianne said.

“Thank you.”

“It will be hard to let you go, though. Do you realize we’ve had our best conversations here? It’s as if it took your death to make us really talk. Isn’t that sad?”

“Yes, it is. Very sad.”

The two of them fell into a silence broken only by the sound of electronic waves.

“Renee, I have to find Auggie,” Marianne whispered. “I looked for him last night and all tonight, too, and it’s almost time for Insomnimania to go off. Where is he? Do you know? Do you know
who
he is?”

“What does it matter?” Renee replied.

“Because he knows who killed you. I want to find your killer.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think? You were my best friend.”

Renee shook her head wearily. “You’d be surprised what death does to your priorities. Ideas like vindication, spite, revenge—they seem pretty strange from this side of things.”

“Renee, you don’t understand,” said Marianne, feeling her voice choke slightly. “I don’t feel hatred or vengefulness, either. I don’t know why, but I just don’t feel them. And I want to find out
why
I don’t feel them. And in order to find out, I have to find
him.
Renee, for whatever reason, it
matters
who killed you.”

Renee smiled.

“You’re really taking this personally, huh?” she said.

“Do you remember
anything?”
demanded Marianne. “Do you know who it was?”

“Sure, I know who it was. It was a clown. It was Auggie. It was a goofy painted fuck who plays wacky tunes while he does his killings. Come on, Marianne. You know him, too.”

“Renee, it was a
woman!”
Marianne said.

“A woman what? A woman clown?”

“It was a woman who drowned you. They could tell from the blood tests. You scratched her. I keep seeing her in my mind, Renee. I don’t know whether she’s real, but I can see her at your party, and I always feel like she’s trying to tell me something.”

“And what is she trying to tell you?”

“I don’t know. I just see her lips move, but I can’t hear what she’s trying to say.”

“Oh come on, Marianne!” Renee said with exasperation. “It’s all in your imagination, after all—just like I am.”

Marianne was hit by a wave of exhaustion, and the beach scene wavered. Colors swept randomly across the screen. But then Marianne quieted her mind and the scene restabilized. Renee was still sitting there, looking at her expectantly.

“Renee, why won’t you just tell me who Auggie is?” Marianne asked.

“I keep telling you. Auggie is Auggie,” said Renee. “You might as well ask me, ‘Who is Marianne?’”

“Renee, someone out there
pretends
to be Auggie. An actual person plays that role, uses that name.”

Renee looked at her with simple sincerity. “No, Marianne. You’re wrong. There’s just Auggie. The clown in the computer. He’s the killer. He’s the only one you’re looking for. He’s not somebody’s handle or alias or alter ego. He’s just himself.”

“I don’t get it.”

“And I don’t know how to make it any clearer.
Auggie is Auggie.
Try to understand that. It’s really very simple.”

“How can we stop him?”

“I don’t think you can.”

Marianne stared deep into Renee’s eyes. She felt dizzy. It was as if she were standing between two mirrors, watching her own reflection being repeated backward and forward, growing smaller and smaller into infinity. She knew that Renee was telling the truth. And if Renee knew the truth, then
she
had to know it, too, because she was making up Renee. And the truth, it seemed, was crystal clear—so clear that she could look straight through it without seeing it at all.

Auggie is Auggie.

“Where has Auggie been these past nights?” Marianne asked.

“Right here in Insomnimania.”

“But
where
in Insomnimania?”

“In the Basement.”