An answer to that question abruptly occurred to him. It told him where to hide.
5
The corridor seemed longer than the last time. Reaching the office, Balenger again heard gunfire inside. He drew a long breath and knocked. No answer. He opened the door.
Professor Graham sat behind the computer monitor, furiously working the mouse and keyboard. The dark circles under her eyes were more pronounced.
“I thought you broke the mouse,” Balenger said.
“I always keep spares.” The elderly woman jabbed buttons in a blur, then scowled at the screen. “Damn, they killed me again.”
Balenger heard sirens outside.
“What happened to you?” Professor Graham looked at him. “Your pants.”
Balenger peered down and noticed dirt he’d missed. He brushed it off. “I ran into a couple of obstacles.”
“And the detective who was with you?”
Balenger did his best to keep his voice neutral. “Same obstacles.”
“Do those obstacles have any connection with the commotion outside?”
Balenger nodded. “And with everything we talked about. I’m glad you’re still here.” He didn’t add that, if she hadn’t remained in the office, he’d have done everything in his power to find where she lived.
“I stayed because my pills wore off.”
“Pills?”
“The ones I swallowed a while ago haven’t started to work yet.” The fatigue lines around her eyes seemed to deepen. “I won’t bore you with the specifics.”
Now Balenger understood why she seemed to age visibly when he spoke to her earlier. His suspicion about an illness was correct. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugged fatalistically. “Years ago, the student who taught me that video games prolonged time also made me realize that the reality in there—” She pointed toward the monitor. “—is more vivid than the reality here. What made you come back? Not to be rude, but I want to restart the game.”
“I had a thought.” Balenger prayed he was right. “If I’m being given clues, whoever kidnapped Amanda must have known I’d eventually come here and talk to you about the Sepulcher. You’re the expert in it. I reminded myself that you’re also a video-game expert.”
“An enthusiast. My student’s the true video-game expert.” Professor Graham’s face tensed, then relaxed, as a pain spasm ended.
Balenger hid his desperation. “Does he keep in touch with you?”
“Emails. Phone calls. He was upset when I told him about my health problem. That’s why he sent me this new computer. It has state-of-the-art game capability. The large monitor’s the best I ever had.”
“He’s very generous.”
“He can afford it. That’s why I didn’t refuse.”
“What’s his name?” Balenger made the question seem off-handed.
“Jonathan Creed. I see you recognize it.”
“No.”
“But you reacted to it.”
“Only because it’s distinctive.”
“Even non-game players sometimes recognize it.”
“Why?” Balenger had trouble concealing his intensity.
“There are a few people who are undisputed legends in the game world, people who designed games of such genius that they set an impossibly high standard. Or else they’re marketing geniuses. CliffyB, for one. His game’s called Unreal Tournament.”
“Unreal? That’s a significant title if I understand what you said earlier about the power of games to take us to an alternate reality.”
“Then there’s Shigeru Miyamoto, who created Super Mario Bros. He was the first to give character motivation to the game’s hero. Mario navigates an underground maze, fighting monsters while he tries to rescue a kidnapped girl.”
“A kidnapped girl?”
“I can imagine why the parallel strikes you.”
“Tell me more about these designers.”
“John Romero and John Carmack developed the first-person shooter games like the one I played earlier: Doom. In contrast, Will Wright developed God games.”
“God games?”
“Like SimCity. It’s a cartoon version of a city. With all the problems of a city. Pollution. Deteriorating infrastructure. Slums. Poverty. Labor problems. The goal of the game is to make adjustments to the city in an effort to improve it. But the game player soon realizes that by making well-intended changes, sometimes disastrous things can happen. That’s why it’s called a God game. Whereas first-person shooter games are viewed from the limited perspective of a weapon’s barrel, the player of a God game has an omniscient view of everything — and total control.”
“But unlike God, the player doesn’t know how everything’s going to turn out, right?” Balenger asked. “Unlike God, the player can make mistakes.”
“Who says God can’t make mistakes?” Professor Graham’s face tightened. “I don’t understand why these pills aren’t working.”
Balenger repeated her earlier comment. “An omniscient view of everything.” He gazed at the upper corners of the room.
“What are you doing?”
“Thinking about God.” With a chill, Balenger scanned the bookcases.
“What are you looking for?”
Balenger’s pulse raced. “When did Jonathan Creed send you this computer?”
“Two weeks ago. Why?”
Balenger leaned close and drew his hands over the monitor, examining it in detail. He suddenly felt off-balance, as if he’d entered the alternate reality they’d been discussing. “I know you want to continue playing Doom. But why don’t you let me buy you a cup of coffee somewhere?”
“You’re right. I do want to continue playing.”
“I think we could talk more freely if we went somewhere else.”
Professor Graham looked baffled.
“The monitor’s bugged.”
“What?”
“Look at the holes in the front and back corners. Miniature cameras. Probably microphones. We’re his private TV show! Let’s get the hell out of here.”
LEVEL SIX
AVATAR
1
The clouds thickened, darkening the valley.
“We don’t have much time. Do what I tell you.” Viv swung to survey the ruins. Her gaze lingered over her husband’s body and his crushed, bloody face. Then she roused herself into motion again. “There.” She pointed toward a fallen building where the walls and roof had landed in a crisscross pattern that resembled a pyramid.
Amanda hurried with her.
“Help me pull the boards from the middle,” Viv said. “We need to make a hollow.”
Amanda tugged the boards out, splinters jabbing her fingers.
“Put the boards on top. Overlay them so they cover gaps. We’re trying to make a roof.”
A cold wind pushed Amanda. Shivering, she glanced over her shoulder at the angry clouds roiling across the valley.
“Quickly.” Viv layered more boards.
Amanda worked harder. A cavity formed. As the wind nearly blew her cap away, she pulled and stacked.
Grunting with effort, Viv deepened the hollow. “Do you know what hypothermia is?”
“A drop in body temperature.”
“In the mountains, weather changes rapidly. Feel how cold that wind is.” Viv crisscrossed more boards. “If we get wet and chilled, we’ve got three hours before our core temperature drops so low that we’ll die. Basically, we’ll shiver to death.”
Amanda looked over her shoulder again, but this time not toward the storm: instead toward Ray. She saw him in an open area beyond the ruins, his green jumpsuit vivid against the dark sky. He stared down at something, obviously disturbed by it, but she couldn’t see what it was.