Dream Walker (34 page)

He pulled out his cell phone and carefully punched the numbers into his address book. The Great Whatever had gifted him with the digits. Now it was up to him. He needed to make sure he dialed the damn thing and asked the lady out.

Of course,
now
was definitely not a good time. He’d basically just accused her daughter of being associated with a murder. She was probably wishing she’d never written down her digits after all that. It was certainly not going to get him very far. No, he would probably need to give it a few days before he called her. Even better, he really needed to get this murder shit solved. Sabine would be hell of a lot more open to having dinner with him if he could exonerate her daughter.

But that may be easier said than done. Aislen Walker appeared to be a smart, upstanding, young lady, but she didn’t seem at all forthcoming with the truth. She may have been adamant in her claims of ignorance, her tone of voice and demeanor incredulous, but Mathis could see a certain knowingness behind the eyes.

Her only saving grace was that along with that bright glimmer of cognizance, was also a very healthy dose of fear. It wasn’t the type of fear that guilt brings when one’s about to get fingered. She was just plain ol’ scared. There was a difference.

Mathis didn’t know what Aislen’s story was, but she definitely had a story to tell.

He looked down at the obsidian game cube sitting on his living room carpet. It had stories to tell, too. Sure as shit, somewhere within that box and the world it created was an answer. And Mathis was going to go in and find it.

He was a cop for Christ’s sake! A professional investigator, an expert interrogator. He was capable of squeezing some little, video game geek for the truth—and he didn’t need to give anybody any God-damn information to get it, either.

Come hell or high water, Ichiban was going to give him the nitty-gritty and take him to that “place where the action happens.”

Mathis snatched up the gun, slipped on the glove, and turned on The Q. He grabbed the visors and slid the shades over his eyes.

It was game on.

CHAPTER 37

Raze fell wildly through the darkness, thrashing and churning in every direction. He no longer felt the distinct harness of the signal line that connected him to his body. The silvery thread that was ever attached to the viewer as they travelled was nowhere to be found around him. He was severed and disconnected from 3D. This was a bad sign.

He was not traveling the signal line he’d created for Preston Reed either. A good signal line was a direct and instant pathway through space/time. There was no chaotic tossing hither, thither and yon in a clear line. Aislen had entered that signal line and Raze had been sucked into a wormhole of unknown origin and destination—a really bad sign.

As Raze tumbled further through the melanoid tunnel, images began flashing across his mind. Snapshots, stills and animated clips replayed with a rapidity faster than light: the sterile palate of The Womb, all white and sterling silver; the rust red of the Golden Gate Bridge against the clear, azure sky; and the dry, ochre landscape of The Stratum. Faces appeared before him: Grant’s pasty mug as they walked through the halls of Infinium; the grim faces of The 8 hovering above him; Blake, the innocent; Blake, the corrupted; and Scott Parrish, dead in the gray ash.

Raze realized he was falling backwards through time, his life literally flashing before his eyes. This was the worst sign of all.

The playback shifted into slow motion and a series of disjointed memories of his childhood resurfaced: riding his bicycle with the warm, spring wind at his back; his father lifting him to his shoulders to better see the dolphins at the zoo; and his mother bending over him, kissing his forehead as she tucked him into bed.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you, too,” he heard himself say back in a small boy voice.

A sharp jolt of the emotion punched him in the gut with the force of a prizefighter and he doubled over in pain. He’d never heard himself speak such things and now he felt them with a vengeance.

Grief and loss regurgitated from the depths of him as the incapacitating blow continued to work its tempest through him. When the sickness made its way up to his heart, Raze felt it rip apart and, suddenly he had names for every emotion he had never allowed himself feel. The alien feelings of joy, hope, tenderness, and love were all there, let loose like an infection.

The tunnel broke open and Raze was violently ejected out into a dense and infinite blanket of stars. His somersault in the void offered a momentary respite from the emotional deluge, but then a vision of Aislen appeared before him. Dressed in only a blue flamed nimbus that licked and caressed her body, hinting at the bare skin beneath it as she danced across the cosmos. Her face was tranquil and angelic.

Another slew of emotions spewed forth. Raze had become increasingly familiar with these the past few days and he had been completely undone by them, rendered useless whenever he found himself in her presence. He knew their names now too: longing, desire, and passion. They ached in his soul.

As he watched her travel across the galactic expanse, something more, a compelling déjà vu, tormented his memories. She seemed familiar to him, like he knew her from somewhere—from before Demesne—from before life itself. And he felt like he’d been looking for her for eons, yet had forgotten all about that until this moment.

The nostalgia overwhelmed him. How desperately he had missed her! Yet here she was, in front of him the whole time. How had he not realized that?

He tried to call out to her, but his tongue was thick and useless, and she continued drifting further into the infinite.

“Game accessed,” he heard a woman’s voice say from a far-off distance behind him and a force began dragging him in the opposite direction that Aislen traveled.

“But I just found her again,” he protested, though no one was there to hear.

Raze willed himself to swim after her, but the empty space around him felt like granite rather than air and every muscle in his body cramped with the effort. No amount of strength could break him free.

“Game accessed,” the voice said again and he began to recognize what that meant. But Aislen seemed more important. He had to get her back. He reached toward her fading presence.

“Game accessed,” he heard again and he was snapped backwards violently.

“Noooooo!” Raze heard himself cry out, but the unrelenting force reeled him in at warp speed until he slammed back against a surface so hard that it knocked the wind out of him.

“Game accessed,” the woman repeated, closer now, just beyond the ringing in his ears.

Raze could feel his flesh encasing him again and an excruciating pain at the back of his head. He opened his eyes. The black expanse of the universe was still there, but Aislen was not. Few stars remained and those that did were distant and slowly fading into a mist of fog.

“Game accessed.” The voice was insistent.

The twinkling lights of the night reemerged from their backdrop and Raze could now see they were the lights of the skyline that towered above him. He began to hear the sounds of rushing and squealing and sirens blaring; and he recognized the sounds of the waterfall melodically tickling his ears. He was still alive.

“Game accessed.”

His mind cleared as he realized he was back on the rooftop of his warehouse.

“Game accessed.” The Womb called out and Raze was instantly and fully alert. He leapt to his feet with a desperate urgency that was his own now.

Mathis was in the game and if Aislen was still alive, Raze had to stop Mathis from sending her to her destruction.

CHAPTER 38

As soon as he entered Base Camp, Mathis went on the prowl. His first hardcore stint in Demesne had taught him more than a few lessons. He knew that in order to begin his journey through the Octaves he needed a partner. A clan would be even better.

Ichiban wasn’t going to come hold his hand this time. That egomaniacal superfreak was sure to make him work for it; expect Mathis to seek him out, prostrate himself at his feet, hand over the info on Aislen, then grovel to be taken to where “the action happens” as promised.

Well, it wasn’t going to go down like that. Mathis didn’t actually have a plan for how it
was
going to go down, but he knew he was going to get what he wanted without leading the virgin to the sacrifice. Aislen and Sabine would be kept out of all this and Mathis would get his answers.

Rather than audition for the pros, Mathis decided to scope out the newbies. They’d be grateful for a mentor and wouldn’t have an agenda of their own yet. He had even learned a tad bit of geekspeak to help him blend in with the goobers. Not a fact he was proud of, but there was no way in hell he’d be getting ganked this go around.

He marched into Base Camp with all the swagger he could muster and did a quick once over of the fresh meat. A half dozen n00bs postured about, each a clone of the next, looking like what every new player looked like—a buffed and badass mercenary. There was no way to tell which one of them actually had any skill. But beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“You!” Mathis yelled, punching his finger at an exceptionally beefy one, “and you!” he barked at another who was fucking the air with a sword. “Come with me!”

The two newbians fell in line with him, no questions asked. Mathis considered that a win, although it also proved how stupid they were. He took one last glance around the room at the remaining pool of players. It would have been nice to have more expendable bodies on the team for any combat scenarios they encountered, but Mathis didn’t want to be hindered by all the inexperience he saw loitering about. His not-so-fearsome twosome would have to do.

Just as he turned to march them toward the door, a player spawned out of thin air into Base Camp: a squat troll with a sickly green tint to his skin, dressed in what looked like nothing more than a burlap sack. He waddled directly up to Mathis and looked up at him with eyes that protruded three inches from his head and spun like whirligigs in their sockets. The only thing remotely attractive about the hideous creature was the massive, semi-automatic weapon strapped on his back.

“Hey, dude. I need a lift,” the troll said, fixing one telescopic eye on Mathis, while the other one rotated around, scoping out the other players in the arena. “Can I join your little clan, here?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” Mathis thought to himself, but before he could be so rude as to actually say it, the troll continued.

“I know what you’re thinking, man. But I get a lot of action lookin’ like this, if you know what I mean.” He gave Mathis a grotesque wink.

Mathis opened his mouth to protest, but the troll interrupted him again, getting serious.

“Look. I’m an original playa from back at Beta. I know my way backwards and forwards in this joint...
and,
” he thumbed a crooked stub toward the weapon on his back. “I got Big Bertha here.

“I need to get back to the 9th Circuit so I can use her on the whore that just fragged my ass. And since this game doesn’t let you go Lone Ranger ’til the 5th, I need a team to piggyback on.”

Mathis ears lit up at the mention of the 9th Circuit. It was right where he needed to be. He sized up the whole three thick feet of the varmint, discouraged. He really didn’t need this shrimp slowing him down, but if he was really that good, it would save Mathis from having to waste time grinding his way through the Octaves.

“What’s your name?” Mathis asked.

“I go by Dookie.”

That didn’t help.

“Don’t hate,” Dookie said, reading the look on his face. “Like I said, it works for me.”

Mathis sighed with resignation. Without the troll along it would be the blind leading the blind. “Alright...
Dookie
. If you can help us get to the 9th Circuit as quickly as possible, you can join us. I have some business to take care of there myself.”

“He, he. I’m sure you do, big guy,” the troll smiled slyly, revealing one, rotten tooth. “I’m sure you do.”

Mathis made a mental not to himself not to look at the beast lest he gag. “Let’s get goin’ then,” he said.

The troll weeble-wobbled out the door, leading the way, which was fine with Mathis.

∞

Raze fumbled his way into the house and stumbled like a drunkard across the catwalk toward his room. Not being completely assimilated back in his body, he misjudged the position of the doorway and slammed hard into its metal frame. A sharp spasm ripped through his shoulder and he had to prop himself against the wall to catch his breath. The pain actually helped him remember the boundaries of his flesh. Here was his arm. There was his neck. He found his fingers and wiggled them.

“Game accessed. Game accessed. Game accessed.” Though it was her usual serene voice, on repeat, The Womb sounded maniacal.

Raze rested his face against the cool concrete, letting it soothe the throbbing in his head. He couldn’t let his sense of urgency turn into panic or he would be even more useless. He pressed himself off the wall and shuffled into the bedroom, making it safely to the soft cushion of his bed.