Viv whirled toward the wreckage. “That door. Help me with it.”
The door lay under part of a roof. It looked flimsy, three boards secured by cross boards. When they freed and lifted it, Amanda thought it might fall apart. The wind almost blew it from their hands. Struggling, Amanda glanced toward the open area two blocks away where Ray now faced the storm. He seemed so disturbed by what he’d found that only now was he reacting to the approaching weather.
They reached the shelter. Amanda saw Ray hurry toward the ruins. Then flying dust obscured him. Rain pelted the ground. Chunks of wood sped past her.
Amanda set the door flat. More rain hit the ground. She felt drops strike her back while she and Viv squirmed into the hollow. It smelled of mold and dust. She and Viv reached out and dragged the door in their direction, tilting it sideways against the opening. They left a gap on each end where they clung to the door’s edges.
The wind whistled against the gaps. Cold rain struck Amanda’s fingers.
“Don’t let go!” Viv’s shout was amplified by the small enclosure. Even so, the wind was so loud that Amanda barely heard. “Whatever happens, don’t let go!”
A hand grabbed the door and tugged.
“Let me in!” Ray yelled.
“No room!” Viv screamed.
“You’ve got to let me in!”
“Go to hell!”
Another hand grabbed the door. Ray yanked so furiously that he opened a gap at the top. His face leaned toward them: gaunt, beard-stubbled, eyes filled with rage. Rain streaked at him. Dust and chunks of wood flew past him. His gaze narrowed fiercely, suggesting he intended to drag Amanda and Viv out and take their place.
He seemed to debate with himself. Unexpectedly, he released his hold on the door. As the wind strengthened, almost veiling him in dust, he charged away.
Amanda got a tighter grip on the door an instant before the wind would have hurled it along the street. She and Viv pulled it over the shelter’s entrance. Rain struck the door’s edge, pelting Amanda’s fingers.
“Do you believe in the power of simultaneous prayer?” the voice asked.
“Shut up!” Viv yelled.
“Suppose a woman is seriously ill, and her church prays that she’ll get better. Hundreds of believers, all praying at once. What if the church’s pastor contacts churches all across the country, and those congregations pray at the same time also. Hundreds of thousands of simultaneous prayers. Do you believe those prayers will have an effect?”
The rain pounded the shelter’s roof so loudly that the Game Master’s words were faint through Amanda’s headset. Her fingers gripped the side of the door.
“Some studies suggest that if the sick person knows about the prayers, the psychological effect is so powerful that healing can occur. Now consider the power of a massively multiplayer online video game.”
“A massively what? You’re not making sense! Shut up!” Viv pleaded, gripping the door.
“One of the most popular massively multiplayer games is called Anarchy Online. A player pays a monthly fee for the right to assume the identity of a character on the alternate-reality planet of Rubi-Ka. It’s filled with exotic creatures in a spectacular locale with a humanoid culture.”
The rain became icy. When Amanda couldn’t move her fingers, she released her right hand from the door and blew on it, trying to warm it.
“No!” Viv told her. “Don’t let go!”
“Amanda,” the voice asked, “do you know what an avatar is?”
“Leave me alone!” Amanda switched hands, blowing on her left while her right hand gripped the door.
“Surely someone with a Master’s degree in literature knows what an avatar is.”
Again, Viv gave her an angry look.
“An avatar is a god in bodily form,” Amanda answered.
“Your education wasn’t wasted on you. In massively multiplayer games, the character a player assumes is called an avatar. An alternate identity. Sometimes a player wants to assume another identity because his identity in so-called real life isn’t satisfying. Maybe he’s overweight and has pimples, and he’s thirty years old, but he still lives with his mother while he earns a minimum wage in a fast-food restaurant. But when he functions as his avatar on the planet of Rubi-Ka, none of the other players knows what he looks like or how big a failure he is. On Rubi-Ka, he still needs to get a job in order to have a place to live and buy clothes and eat. But there, his mind is all that matters. He has a chance for a brand new start, nothing holding him back. Using his intelligence, he can improve his avatar’s life. Indeed, it’s amazing how failures in this life become achievers on Rubi-Ka, and it’s interesting that half the male players choose to switch genders and portray women.”
Blowing on her numb fingers, Amanda felt sensation seep back into them. She understood now what hypothermia was and how she could die from it.
“‘Anarchy Online is owned by a company called Funcom, which has an array of computers in Oslo, Norway,” the voice said. “They need enormous computing power because at any given time perhaps as many as two million people play the game. All around the world. Every country imaginable. Millions of people simultaneously assuming identities in an alternate reality, playing the game all day and all night, because their life here disappoints. A massively multiplayer online game. If studies show that there’s validity to the psychological power of massive simultaneous prayer, how much more validity is there to the force of a massively multiplayer game? Which is more appealing? The pimply face, the room next to his mother’s, the loneliness of masturbation because no female will go out with him? Or living an alternate reality as a female avatar in a virtual world where everyone has equal opportunities?”
As the wind howled, a few drops of water seeped from the roof and landed on the hip of Amanda’s jumpsuit.
“On Rubi-Ka,” the Game Master said, “avatars accumulate possessions the same as we do in our version of reality. Some are precious objects. Others are valuable tools or expensive dwellings. Players covet these. If their avatars don’t manage to gain these objects on Rubi-Ka, a player can sometimes buy them on eBay. In theory, these are imaginary objects, but they take on their own reality. On eBay, you can even buy and sell avatars, assuming new identities if the old ones no longer suit you. One reality merges with another.”
Shivering, Amanda noticed another drop of water dangling from the ceiling. “It’s seeping through.”
“As long as it doesn’t soak us,” Viv said.
Amanda told the Game Master, “I’ve got news for you. This is reality.”
“So you say. Perhaps this is a good time for me to tell you about Reverend Owen Pentecost.”
“Who?”
“The genius who created the Sepulcher of Worldly Desires. You survived another obstacle. You deserve more information. Ray, can you hear me?”
No answer.
“Ray?”
“I hear you.” Ray sounded bitter.
“How are you getting along out there?”
“Just fine.”
“Not too cold?”
“I’ve been through worse.”
Ray’s anger was palpable through Amanda’s headset.
“Well, as long as you’re comfortable,” the Game Master said. “Reverend Owen Pentecost. That wasn’t his real name, and he wasn’t a minister. His father was a minister, though, and after Pentecost was expelled from Harvard medical school, he assumed the mantle of a minister and left Boston, heading toward the frontier to spread the good word. He arrived in Avalon in April of 1899. There was a terrible drought, but Pentecost knew that it couldn’t last forever, so he encouraged the town to pray and keep praying! When the rain didn’t come, he told them it was because they hadn’t truly repented their sins. They needed to pray harder. Finally, when the rains arrived in June, they couldn’t thank him enough for helping to end the drought. But that was the only good news. The first sign of what was to come involved a shopkeeper named Peter Bethune, who was struck and killed by lightning as he ran from his wagon toward his store.”