Phantasos (12 page)

Twenty-One

AROUND A QUARTER PAST ELEVEN IN the morning, Danny heard a knock on his apartment door. Danny was shuffling around the kitchen, preparing his own lunch—a grilled burger with some stale potato chips smattered beside it on the plate—when he left his stovetop to answer the door.

“Danny!” Aaron said excitedly as Danny swung open the front door of his apartment. Aaron stood in the frame of the door, wearing a worn Fraggle Rock t-shirt and carrying just one bag of luggage.

“Aaron,” Danny said, and he hugged his old friend. “You’re so early!”

“Yeah, dude, I’m sorry. My folks were being a couple of cranks after I told them how I was driving out here to help you, so I hightailed it out of Dodge.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine, I’m just surprised.” Danny leaned forward and patted his old friend on the shoulder. “I’m just making lunch, let me whip you up something quick.”

“I stopped for a bite to eat on the way over, I’m good,” Aaron said, rubbing his stomach.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“It’s been so long,” Danny said.

“Well, like they say,” Aaron said. “I wish it could have been under different circumstances.”

Danny and Aaron had first met in the early eighties, in a computer engineering class at Portland Community College. Danny was making his first serious attempt at a legitimate profession, and figured that—with computers being the wave of the future—applied computer programming was the way to go.

He quickly discovered, however, that he was terrible at disassembling and reassembling motherboards and circuits. Which is where Aaron came in—Aaron was a pro at it, long before he ever took a class on the subject. He’d been a successful entrepreneur, helping small businesses fix and repair failing Apple II and Apple III computers. The III’s in particular had a nasty habit of overheating, and Aaron made a killing helping out cubicle jockeys who treated the office Apple with the same reverence as witchcraft or wizardry.

So Aaron and Danny forged a mutually beneficial friendship—Aaron helped Danny finish complicated assembly projects, and in return, Danny gave Aaron pretty decent bud. Both were happy.

Around ’83, Danny dropped out and drove to California with a hair metal band he had forged. He played rhythm guitar and sang, and although the band had a ridiculous name—Gutter Voltage—they actually weren’t too bad. The band toured around, playing small gigs until eventually dissolving. Afterwards, Danny moved up to Grand Ridge. Not long after that he met Todd, and Planet X was formed.

  Aaron didn’t finish his degree, either. He was making good enough money without it; the paper certificate was a formality he was pursuing just to appease his parents. Around ’85, the computer industry started to really boom. Offices used them, video games used them, movies used them for effects, even music was starting to use them—the damn things were everywhere; analog was facing extinction. And with that rapid spread of technology, Aaron’s astute knowledge of the devices suddenly became less and less unique. Work was harder to find, and it started to pay less. The same cubicle jockey’s that he once charged enormous repair bills to now knew basic coding and repairs themselves. Aaron went belly-up, working odd jobs here and there, until eventually he had to move back in with his parents.

And through it all, the wild band days, the golden age of PC repair, Danny and Aaron always stayed in touch. Needing help at the arcade was a serendipitous moment for them to reconnect—another mutually beneficial moment for the two. Danny needed the help, and Aaron needed the money and a place to stay.

“I’m so sorry about Todd, man,” Aaron said, settling into a recliner in Danny’s living room. Danny, sitting on the couch, legs kicked up on a coffee table and chewing a mouthful of burger, shrugged.

“I don’t think it has hit me yet,” Danny said. “I just…a few nights ago, we were out drinking, you know? Now he’s just…gone.”

Aaron nodded, looking at the floor, never knowing what to say at times like these.

“The phone rings, I expect it to be him. A knock at the door—I expect it to be him. And what the cops keep telling me, if it’s true—and I don’t believe it’s true—it makes me feel like I failed him, dude. Let him down big time.”

“What do you think happened?” Aaron said.

“Few things would upset Todd, or get him really worked up. But when it came to Shelly…that always struck a nerve. So we never really talked about her. I think in the days before his, um, passing—I think someone was messing with him. Either by pretending to be Shelly, or taunting him about her. I found him one night in the back office at the arcade, sobbing hysterically. He ripped the Goddamn phone right out of the wall and obliterated it. I tried to be there for him, I did… I took him out for a night on the town, tried to listen to him… He just wouldn’t let me in.”

Aaron looked forward blankly. “Shit, dude. That’s heavy.”

“I know. I know. The worst part is, the cops won’t even listen to me. They’re convinced he did what he did intentionally. Either out of grief or anger over Shelly, or something. It’s open and shut for them.”

Aaron was quiet, and Danny felt bad—he knew it was an uncomfortable situation, and no matter what either of them said it wouldn’t be the
right thing to say
, one of those awkward conversations where the best thing to do was just distract yourself and move past it, because the only other option was wallowing.

So, Danny said: “Want to play some Nintendo?”

The afternoon lightened up past that point. Danny and Aaron took turns playing Punch-Out and, for the first time in twenty-four hours, Danny laughed. It was good to have some positivity around to counteract all the darkness and sadness. After a few rounds of Punch-Out and some seriously competitive Duck Hunt, Danny checked his watch and turned off the Nintendo. He said, “Well. I guess it’s time for your first day on the job.”

The two drove to the arcade in Aaron’s station wagon, the old Buick hiccupping big plumes of smoke from the exhaust after each red light.

“You made it from Portland in this beast?” Danny said.

“Surprising, right?”

They pulled up to Planet X, and Aaron parked in the alley behind the arcade. Danny yanked his keys from his pocket and, for the first time ever, prepared to open for business without Todd.

Danny walked in, flicked the lights on, turned the A/C down cool.

Aaron was impressed. “It’s bigger than I remember, dude.”

Danny said, “It’s a pretty giant space. It’s why we pay out the nose for rent.”

“There’s more machines than last time, too. Way more.”

“Well, it’s been a couple years since you’ve visited. Todd, well, bless him—he had a habit of installing extra cabinets, even if they weren’t always in the budget.”

Suddenly, Aaron froze in place. He stood, terrified, as if he’d seen a ghost. He raised one hand and pointed forward.

“What? What’s wrong?” Danny said.

“What the hell is
that?
Why do you have one of
those
in your
arcade?
”

“What are you talking about?” Danny said, and he could see that Aaron was pointing at Phantasos. “An arcade cabinet? Well, Aaron, you might be surprised to know that the key to any successful arcade business is having, you know, games.”

“No. No, no, no, no. When did you get this?” Aaron said.

“A few days ago.”

“You gotta get it out of here, man. Pronto.”

“All right. Well, we can’t.”

“What do you mean we can’t?”

Danny sighed. “It was some deal Todd agreed to last week. The machine doesn’t make any money, but the company who manufactured it is paying us to host it in our space. Some big, long, legal agreement. They’re paying us $500 a month to have it in the arcade.”

“Vidtronix,” Aaron said.

“Yeah,” Danny said. “How’d you know?”

“Danny, have you two been living under a rock out here? I know Grand Ridge is kind of in the boonies, but jeeze—don’t you pay attention to anything? You have to get rid of that damn machine.”

“Okay,” Danny said. “I don’t really care for that
damn machine
myself. But the agreement is airtight. I can’t just haul it out back. Even if I wanted to, that $500 a month is going a long way towards rent. We’ll capsize without it.”

“I don’t care. It has to go.”

“Dude, I asked you out here to help me
make
money, not
lose
it. What has got you so worked up about it?”

“It’s cursed.”

Danny laughed. “I don’t believe in curses.”

“Todd’s dead, isn’t he?”

Danny’s smile vanished. “That’s messed up, Aaron—”

“And I bet before he died, he played a game of Phantasos.”

Danny crossed his arms. “I’m not going to let you stand here and make light of all of this, over some crappy urban legend one of your stoner buddies told you—”

“Danny,” Aaron said, looking serious. He put two hands on Danny’s shoulders and said, “Listen to me. Just hear me out. Earlier in the year, one of these things tipped over on a kid up in Washington.
Tipped over on him
. Whether you believe it’s because it’s cursed or not is irrelevant. You have to admit it’s a top-heavy sonuvabitch.”

Danny uncrossed his arms. “It is. They almost knocked it over delivering it.”

“A few months after that, one of them caught on fire in Beaverton, at an arcade in that big mall they have over there. Damn thing almost burned down a theatre of people watching the Ninja Turtles movie next-door. They had to evacuate the entire mall.”

Danny said, “Okay.”

“Okay, so, again: cursed or not, that should be a warning sign, right? If it’s a machine that’s prone to overheating and catching on fire, that should raise a flag, don’t you think? A few weeks back rumors of this thing started circulating. I didn’t believe it at first either, so I checked it out for myself. The company that makes it—Vidtronix—no one seems to know anything about them. And the people who play their games? I’m sorry,
game,
singular; Phantasos is their only one. The people who play it are either hurt, or die mysteriously, or hell—one kid even vanished! He played it, went home, and evaporated right out of his bedroom. No one can find him, Danny!”

By this point, Aaron was yelling.

“Whether you believe it’s cursed, or you don’t, this bastard brings trouble anywhere it goes. You’re worried about what Vidtronix will do if you cancel your agreement? Do you think it could be worse than what’ll happen if your Phantasos tips over on a kid? Can you imagine the lawsuit? You’ll lose a lot more than $500, that’s for sure. Same goes for if it burns the whole damn place down.”

Danny nodded. If everything that Aaron was saying was true, then it was alarming.

“And tell me honestly,” Aaron said, “that it doesn’t give you the creeps. Tell me that deep down, when you stop to think about it, it doesn’t have any connection to Todd’s death.”

And Danny couldn’t say that it didn’t, so he dropped to the floor, leaned behind the machine, and unplugged it from the wall.

Twenty-Two

ALLEY SAT IN THE BACKSEAT OF the Emerson family car, an ’85 Toyota van. He watched despondently as the scenery along Shady Reach blurred by, fanning himself with his hand. The van’s air conditioning was acting up again.

“I’m hot,” he said, and his mother looked up in the rearview mirror.

“We’re almost there.”

“I don’t want to be doing this today.”

“I know you don’t, Alley. It’ll be over before you know it, and you’ll be home hanging out with Benji. If your father ever lets him in the house again.”

“Rodney Frye busts my balls a lot, mom.”

Mrs. Emerson raised her eyebrows. “Language, young man.” The van gently rolled to a stop at the red light on Shady Reach and Inglewood.

“Well, he does. He busts on Benji sometimes, too, but mostly on me. It’s been this way for forever. Rodney got what was coming to him.”

“Maybe,” Mrs. Emerson said. “But you’ll forgive your father for wanting to come home and rest after work. What would have happened if the police were called out? A nightmare that would have been. And your sister—he especially didn’t want Lauren involved.”

Alley shrugged. “I wish I could have seen that fat bastard get his face socked in.”

“Hey—language! I mean it. Maybe you and Benji should spend some time apart. There’s too many teenage boy hormones building up between the two of you, lately.”

“Yeah mom, keep Benji away from the house. Great idea. So I can have
no
friends to hang out with this summer.”

Mrs. Emerson watched the road, didn’t reply. She couldn’t argue that. The traffic light turned green, and the van slowly started to proceed.

“How much farther are we from Dr. Yates office?”

“Ten minutes or so, Alley Cat. Why?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Alley lied. He looked out his window at the woman who’d been standing on the corner of Shady Reach and Inglewood the whole while the van was stopped. She was dressed plainly, yet had no facial features to speak of and stood with a funny gait. Though she had no eyes, Alley felt her staring at him from the moment they approached the light.

He tilted around in his seat to watch her as the van bounced along Shady Reach. She cocked her head and continued to stare, and just before the van turned westbound on Parker, she raised one arm crookedly above her head. And waved.

“Your mother tells me you’ve been having very vivid hallucinations lately,” Dr. Yates said, shining a flashlight in one of Alley’s eyes and then the other.

“That would be an understatement,” Alley said. Mrs. Emerson sat in the corner of the doctor’s office, legs pinned together at the knee, arms crossed.

Dr. Yates said, “Hm. Tell me about them, Al.”

“It’s weird. Last night I thought I saw my mom, a few hours before she was actually home. It’s mostly…people. Like, I see
people
but they’re not people. And my dreams…don’t get me started on the dreams I’ve been having.”

“You know, Alec,” Dr. Yates said, patronizingly. “You’re on a very serious rotation of medications right now. They can take quite a toll on the mind. They can make you feel drowsy, awake, happy, sad. And it’s unfortunate, but it’s necessary.”

“I’m glad you mentioned that,” Alley said. “Because I’ve been doing some research, and I’ve read that other people who simultaneously take Tuinal and Darvocet—like I am—have had similar experiences.”

Dr. Yates clicked his tongue, turned to Mrs. Emerson, then back to Alley. “Your mother was right, Al. You’re very smart for a kid your age. Most of my patients recite the facts off of Garbage Pail Kids cards to me, not prescription drug trivia.”

“Well?”

“Well,” Dr. Yates said. “If you’re asking if I’m going to alter your doses, or remove one of those medications, for now the answer is no. But we will reevaluate you and see you again next week, yes?”

Alley nodded, defeated.

After the doctor’s evaluation, Alley ran ahead to sit in the waiting room while Dr. Yates and Mrs. Emerson could discuss some “private matters.”

“What’s going on with my kid, doctor?” Mrs. Emerson begged. “He’s been jittery and unlike himself since his fainting spell yesterday.”

Dr. Yates nodded. “I don’t think it’s a photosensitivity, so, I’ll let you deliver the news that the video game ban has been lifted. To be safe, keep an eye on him, make sure he plays them in moderation.”

Mrs. Emerson was blank. “Great. I’ll let him know right away he can play Space Invaders again. What about these hallucinations, doc?”

Dr. Yates paused. “Has Al been having problems lately? At home?”

“Don’t even dare imply what I think—”

“No,” Dr. Yates said, “No, no. I’ve seldom met as caring parents as your husband and yourself. Not that at all. But over the course of my examination, he mentioned that you came home late last night…there was a fight on the front lawn…”

“What are you getting at?”

“He has a stressful enough life as it is. He craves stability. If you’re working late hours, or his friend goes a few rounds with the neighborhood bully, it’ll upset him. He has a lot of grief and anger, and that could be manifesting itself in these...these visions that he’s having.”

“Bullshit,” Mrs. Emerson said, then she blushed. “Excuse my language, sir, but he has been a trooper with the hand that life has dealt him. It doesn’t make any sense for these problems to start now. What do you think about what he said? About the medications?”

“I think he’s a child: not a physician, not a pharmacist. I think to alter his doses now would be disastrous. Clinically, Al is as healthy as we could hope for, all things considered. These hallucinations and nightmares, well—to me, they sound like psychosis.”

Mrs. Emerson let out a long, deep sigh.

“You mentioned that he’s stopped going to hospice counseling?”

“He couldn’t stand it. Hell, neither could I.”

“Well, he may need some type of professional outlet still. That’s fine if hospice is no longer the right option for you, but I strongly believe Al’s current problems are of the mind, not the body. I have both a psychologist and psychiatrist I’d like to refer you to.”

“No. No more doctors. It’s summer vacation. He has enough appointments lined up this summer. Christ, the kid needs a week without an appointment. Just one week.”

“Take the advice or don’t,” Dr. Yates said, and he shrugged. “But if you want him to start feeling better, that’s where I’d begin.”

The car ride home was long, and still, and silent, punctuated only by the easy listening station on the van’s radio. 97.9 FM—smooth hits for those long car trips. Mrs. Emerson was just about to break the silence when an REO Speedwagon song crackled from the car speakers and Alley said, “Can we stop at Burger King?”

Mrs. Emerson obliged and pulled into the nearest restaurant. She ordered a Yumbo and a Dr. Pepper for herself, and a plain cheeseburger and a chocolate shake for Alley. Before they pulled away, the employee at the drive-through window handed Mrs. Emerson some napkins, and in a tone as rich and cheerful as a morning rainbow said, “I’ll get your fucking son, you understand me?”

Alley bolted up in the backseat of the van as the young cashier leaned her head out of the drive-through window to smile and wave at Alley.

“What the hell did she just say?” Alley blurted.

“What?” Mrs. Emerson said, startled. “What did who say?”

The cashier, confused, went back inside to take the next car’s order as the Emerson’s van pulled away.

“The girl at the drive-through just now—what did she say?” Alley begged.

“She said: ‘enjoy your food, come again.’” Mrs. Emerson handed a brown paper bag and a chocolate shake behind her to Alley.

Alley’s chest heaved up and down as Mrs. Emerson started to piece together what had happened.

“Why, Alley? What did
you
hear her say?”

“It’s nothing, mom. It’s nothing. It’s nothing.”

Mrs. Emerson pulled out onto Shady Reach and said, “Well, next time we’ll get McDonald’s.”