Alterlife III Read online

  Alterlife III

  Matt Moss

  Contents

  1. The Man From Seattle

  2. Regrets

  3. Old Friends

  4. Sharing Secrets

  5. Like New Cleaners

  6. Duffel Bag and A Pickup Truck

  7. Two Rooms

  8. Coping With Emotions

  9. Trip to Atlantis

  10. X12

  11. Introductions

  12. Taking Command

  13. Know the Enemy

  14. The New Girl

  15. Alterations

  16. Man in the Box

  17. One Way Out

  18. The Grind

  19. The Gift

  20. Of Rabbits And Men

  21. Solo

  22. Worthy and Wanting

  23. Desperation

  24. The Librarian

  25. Breeze Off The Pond

  26. The Last Supper

  27. The Navigator

  28. Bad Moon Rising

  29. Game Over

  …

  THANK YOU

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  1

  The Man From Seattle

  Inside the hospital, I kneel beside Ben’s bed and stare at my firstborn.

  “When are you going to come back to us, son?” I take his limp hand in mine and brush his brown hair away from his face. “Your family needs you to come back to us.” Tears fall from my eyes as I talk to him. “Your mother isn’t doing so well. She blames me for all of this. And you know what? She’s right. It’s all my fault. And no matter how hard I try, no matter what I say in an attempt to make her feel better, nothing will mend the wound. She’ll only feel better when you come back.”

  I break away and open the window blinds to let the early morning light in.

  “The sun is rising, son. And, one day, you’ll do the same. I promise.” I wipe the tears from my face and continue to tell him about the city of Seattle, our new home. “I think you might like it here. I’ve been doing some driving lately in hopes of clearing my mind, and that’s given me a better grasp on the area. There’s mountains and rivers to explore, just a short drive from the city. And some really good snowboarding, too. I know we were talking about going back when we were in North Carolina…” I pull up a chair and sit by his side.

  “But it rains here more than I’d like. Suppose that’s alright since we’re indoors most of the time, right?” I chuckle through the irony and the pain. “But I’m not indoors as much as I used to be. I’ve quit Alterlife.” My mind goes blank after saying the words. I’m still coming to terms with it. I have to.

  I take a drink from the complimentary bottle of water near his bedside. “For eight months now, I’ve not been online. Why did I quit, you ask? Well, Ben, look what it got me. A bunch of maniacs came to our house with guns and tried to murder all of us. But I killed them all, son. Shot them down and ripped them apart. And none of that would have ever happened had I never starting playing Alterlife.” I lean in close to his face, as if whispering a secret. “That’s why I’m never playing again. I can’t anymore. Nothing good will come from it.”

  I look at my son, curious, and then I sit back, suddenly dumbstruck by his words. “How did you know about that? I haven’t told anyone.” I regard Ben with caution, deciding whether or not I should tell him. What if he were to tell someone else my secret? I’d be locked up in the loony bin for sure.

  I have to tell someone. “Okay, fine. Since you asked. But you can’t tell anyone.” I take a deep breath before revealing my affliction. “Deakins spoke to me in the hospital, right after the incident. It freaked me out at first too, believe me. I thought I was losing my mind. But since that time eight months ago, he’s spoken to me three other times.” I wait for his reaction. I nod in agreement. “That’s what I thought, too.” Pause. “Well, he wants me to get back in the game and finish what I started. No, I’m not going to, I told you that.” Pause. Shake my head. “No, he won’t say anything else except that I need to meet some guy named Giology, and that I must get back in the game and kill the gods to end the virus. I don’t see the importance because the virus is pretty much eradicated now, confined only to the game, as the players have fought back and taken control of it spreading throughout Alterlife. Deakins just makes it very clear that it’s of the utmost importance that I return.”

  I ease back in the chair, letting Ben take in my words. I sit up, frustrated. “No. I don’t care if you think Deakins is telling the truth. I’m done. I’m not going back, and there’s nothing in this world that can make me change my mind. That’s final, and I won’t discuss it anymore.”

  My scowl turns into a smile, and I softly rub Ben’s head. “It’s okay, you don’t have to apologize for anything. Not ever. I love you, too. And I’m proud of you. You’re going to do great things, Ben. Far greater things than I have. And I can’t wait to see the man you become.”

  I go to use the bathroom, wash my hands and stare into the mirror. I pry my right eyelid open, looking at my eyeball and all of the red veins that are spidering around the yellowing sides.

  Most people only notice the pretty part of the eye and all the colors that it holds, like a tiny little universe of its own. They can’t see the strained, bloody veins that seem to be creeping towards the pretty colors, seemingly wanting to strangle it, to turn it into a dull, lifeless gray. Nobody likes the ugly parts of the world and, therefore, they pay them no mind. Or maybe they are oblivious and just can’t see them, living a happy and content life in their own, pretty little world.

  But I’ve always taken notice of the ugly parts.

  Their numbers are growing.

  And they’re coming to strangle me.

  I am the pretty colors.

  I am the ugly veins.

  After splashing water on my face and regaining my composure, I go back into Ben’s room.

  “Sorry about that.” I sit back down in the chair. “Carla is doing well. She’s adjusted better than any of us have, and she seems to be liking school. She’s already making friends, which makes me happy since it’s been such a rough year for her. Just the other day, she asked to invite a few kids over to the house for a playdate. Your mother said yes, and it made Carla so happy, but I know that Jenny would rather nobody came over, ever. Her trust in everything and everyone is gone, completely shattered after everything that happened. She barely goes out anymore. She even has all the groceries delivered to the house; always by someone new and from a new grocery store.” I look at the floor. “She’s getting through this the best she can. We all are.”

  I stand up and pace the room. “We painted your room at the house the other day. Carolina blue, just like you like. Even hung up posters and jerseys of your favorite basketball players. Yes, of course Jordan’s jersey is on the wall. How could I forget about that?” I shuffle my foot on the floor and get choked up remembering the films of Jordan’s basketball games that we used to watch together, and how we would go practice in the driveway afterwards. “Anyway, it’s ready whenever you are.”

  After a moment of silence, I think about how much money it’s costing to keep Ben here. Like an idiot, I didn’t have health insurance and just depended on all the money that I was making in Alterlife to keep us safe. Having someone in a coma for the better part of a year isn’t cheap. I’m just thankful that I’m able to afford his care. It’s the least I can do after being responsible for putting him here.

  “I know you don’t care about this right now, but I’m going to tell you anyway because you’re part of the family and deserve to know. Jim Pattocks, after setting us up here with a new life, locked all of my bank accounts and transferred all of my money into a secure account that I can only access with his pe
rmission. He can’t access it himself, but he has to sign off on any transactions made. It’s for my protection. It’s so I can’t be found.”

  “But he’s got another account set up to withdraw funds to pay for your hospital treatment. And to put ten thousand dollars a month into our family’s bank account. I signed off on it since that’s more than enough for us to live on. I also signed over the brewery to Mr. Scott, the head brewmaster, with no explanation as to why, and Jim didn’t tell him the reason, either, when he delivered the deed.”

  As far as the world is concerned, John Crussel and his family no longer exist. They died back in North Carolina, at their mansion by a group of armed robbers. There was a funeral for the family and everything. Paid actors were in attendance.

  All of John Crussel’s assets have been dissolved.

  But I’m not sure if the Gamemasters bought the fake deaths or not, despite Jim being very fast and professional about the whole thing. I guess it really doesn’t matter since they got what they wanted.

  I’m no longer a threat.

  “Don’t worry about your mother and I. We’re going to make it through this one way or another. She loves me, and I love her with all my heart. Nothing will ever change that, Ben. It’s just that this whole thing, and you… it’s really hard to go through, son. They say that time heals all things, but I’m not so sure that it will if you go away. We can’t lose you, you hear me? So I’m going to need you to fight, okay? You fight like hell against whatever’s going on inside you so that you can come back to us.”

  I drop my head and touch his hand before leaving. “Your father is a fighter, and so are you. It’s in your blood.”

  You were a fighter, John. Now you’ve given up.

  I have. Sometimes, you’ve got to know when to fold.

  My fight is over.

  I brush the back of my hand against his face.

  “I’ve got to go talk to strangers now, son. Your mother and Jim insist on me going to these therapy groups. They say it will help me. But just between us, I don’t get it. It’s a bunch of people in a room, all of them sharing feelings and fake smiles, but nobody really gives a shit about the other person or what they’re going through. Sure, maybe in the moment they do, but the sympathy soon flees and then it’s back to the same self-serving mentality of how they can get their next dopamine hit of social sympathy. It’s one big love fest and, at the end of the day, everyone feels the same way they did before they came in.” The sunlight crashing in through the window forces my eyes to squint. “But there’s that one moment in the sun where people are listening—I guess that’s what keeps everybody coming back.”

  Kiss on the forehead. “Goodbye, son. I’ll see you tomorrow, same time, same place.”

  I grab my complimentary water bottle and softly close the door, leaving the still room and the steady beep of Ben’s monitor.

  Walking into Virtual Reality Addicts Anonymous, Paxton, the therapy group leader, stands beside the door with a basket in-hand and collects everyone’s devices. No distractions allowed.

  I toss my phone in the basket and walk into the room, which looks more like a yoga studio than anything—murals of bamboo trees, wheat grass, and green, gentle rolling hills under blue skies with puffy white clouds. Smooth stones are placed around the room, and there’s a water feature that adds a tranquil, soothing sound to the room.

  I think I’m actually going to fall asleep this time.

  A circle of twenty chairs are placed in the middle of the hardwood floor, and they’re almost full. A few people talk among themselves, but most, reserved like me, keep to their own.

  I take a seat and fold my hands.

  There’s Margarette, talking as usual with her high-pitched, energetic voice. She thinks she’s the mom of the group and always replies to someone after they finish their turn speaking, usually in an overcompensated, caring sort of way. Then she immediately starts talking about her own problems, even though it’s not her turn to speak. But nobody says anything to her because they don’t want to be confrontational. Because this is a ‘safe space’.

  I blankly stare at the floor, thinking this is a complete waste of time. I begin to chuckle to myself, drawing a look from nervous Angie who’s sitting next to me, biting on her fingernails.

  I can’t believe I’m doing this. I shouldn’t even be here. I’m nothing like these people. Bunch of pansies and hippies.

  Paxton walks into the room and addresses the group. “Greetings, everybody. It’s good to see you all again. I’ve got something pressing on my agenda, so Tarin here will be your group leader today.”

  Tarin gives a quick raise of the hand; a shy wave. “Hello, everyone.”

  “Hello, Tarin,” at least ten people in the group say at the same time. I grin at the way they all act, not counting myself as one of them.

  “You all have a good day, and I’ll see you next time,” Paxton says, then leaves.

  Tarin walks to his chair and sits. He looks around the room with an overly-satisfied grin on his face. “Today we’re just going to keep sharing our stories and supporting one another like we have been. At the end, we’ll do an activity that will raise our spirits, preparing us to tackle whatever comes our way with confidence and clarity. All of our insecurities and bad feelings will be washed away afterwards, and we will be rejuvenated in our cause,” he exclaims and waves his arm in a sweeping motion.

  This guy is actually nodding his head and smiling with an open mouth like a muppet.

  I shake my head, ready to get the hell out of here. Just as I prepare to leave, another tortured, lost soul bursts through the door and takes a seat next to me.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she says—not really meaning it by the lack of sincerity in her language—and drops her bag to the floor.

  The new group leader, Tarin, extends a hand. “You’re not late. In fact, you’re just in time. Who would like to start first?” he asks, looking for volunteers.

  Three people raise their hands, but none more eager than Margarette. “Oh, me,” she says, sitting up as tall as she can in her seat, reaching her hand way up high.

  “You,” Tarin says, pointing to her. “You’re first.”

  For shit’s sake...

  Margarette stands, smooths her clothes out, swallows and gathers herself. “Hello everyone. My name is Margarette and I’m a virtual reality addict.”

  “Hello, Margarette,” everyone replies simultaneously. A couple even clap, fans apparently. Margarette smiles and gives a slight curtsey, then begins. “I’m here because virtual reality took control of my life. But I’m happy to say that I’ve been aligned now for six weeks straight!”

  People clap in support.

  Six weeks? Try eight months and let me know how ‘aligned’ you are.

  This empty hole in my life is like nothing I’ve ever known before. Aside from losing Ben, it’s the darkest, most empty pit of despair I’ve ever known. Virtual reality and Alterlife have done this to me. And there’s no filling the void, no magic pill that I can take to make the hollow feeling go away because it is part of me, like blood and bone. My body has been reprogrammed, and nothing except for the very thing that causes me so much emptiness will make it better.

  It comforts me that I’m not the only one who feels this way. Tens of millions around the world are suffering from Post Virtual Reality Anxiety Disorder, or PVRAD for short, causing an epidemic that doctors and scientists are starting to pay more attention to. Especially now that the suicide rate due to the overuse of VR is on a steep rise.

  Margarette recalls her experience with virtual reality, how she was an account executive for some successful advertising company but was addicted to living online, and how she had an apartment on the thirteenth floor in downtown Manhattan.

  Her voice becomes a muffled sound in my ears as I ignore her and focus on the floor in front of me, admiring the grain in the wood.

  Beside me, the woman who was late lights up a cigarette.

  Tarin stands up.
“Excuse me, ma’am. You can’t smoke in here.”

  The woman shrugs in her blue jean jacket, takes a long drag, then puts the cherry out on the floor.

  Margarette tries not to show that she’s offended, but her face betrays her and she looks like she just walked into an abandoned house full of cats. Shaking away the moment, she continues. “And that’s when I knew I needed help. So here I am,” she says and holds her arms out to her adoring fans.

  Claps and words of encouragement from all around.

  I slow clap, exaggerating to the extreme.

  The woman next to me grins at my actions, then pops in a piece of gum.

  “Wonderful. Thank you for sharing,” group leader Tarin says. “Alright then, who’s next?”

  The woman chewing gum next to me raises her hand.

  “Yes, you. Go ahead and share with us,” Tarin invites.

  She lets her hand down. “Oh, I’m not sharing. I just need to piss.”

  “Down the hall on your left,” he tells her.

  “This guy looks like he wants to share,” the woman says, pointing to me with a smile as she stands from her chair.

  I furrow my brow at her. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

  She blows a bubble and pops it. “No. But you look like you need to be here more than anyone else, and I sure as hell don’t want to listen to someone like her again,” she states, pointing at Margarette.

  Margarette scoffs and adjusts herself in her seat.

  “No offense,” the woman says to her with a pitiful smile.