Phantasos (13 page)

Twenty-Three

AARON WAS PROVING TO BE EVERY bit as useful at the arcade as Danny hoped he’d be. The night was, for the most part, going well. Danny had to chase away TV reporters a couple of times, but in a sick twist of fate, Todd’s death had drawn more than just media attention—the arcade was having one of its busiest nights in recent memory. Danny was recognizing faces that he hadn’t seen in ages, and quarter trays were busting at the seems all over the arcade. Business was booming.

Aaron and Danny stood behind the prize counter, Aaron helping himself to a pink spool of cotton candy and Danny sipping on a Diet Coke. Across from them, they stared at Phantasos. The marquee at the top of the machine, once a glowing white orb, was dark. It didn’t just look like it was unplugged, Danny thought. It looked lifeless.

“It’s funny,” Danny said, pointing at Phantasos. “Yesterday, we were having so many problems with the cabinets around that machine. I had to issue refunds on Streets of Rage and Final Fight. Galaga and Ms. Pac-Man started to malfunction, too. All of the machines that surrounded Phantasos were failing.”

Aaron raised his hands, mocking a wizard looking into a crystal ball. “Ooooh,” he said dramatically. “It’s like Phantasos
wanted
the other machines to break down, so everyone would be forced into playing
it
instead.”

“Shut up,” Danny said.

Aaron nodded. “Seriously, Dan. You had Phantasos, Streets of Rage, Final Fight, Galaga, and Ms. Pac-Man all on the same power supply. Look at em all—Phantasos is nearly twice as tall as the others. It’s a power hog. No wonder the other machines were failing; they couldn’t compete. Little baby piglets all trying to get a suckle, and Phantasos was the big boy at the front of the line.”

“Thanks for the visual imagery,” Danny said, then he looked distraught, as if he’d suddenly remembered leaving the oven on before coming to work.

“What’s wrong?” Aaron said.

“With all that’s happened, I nearly forgot. There was a kid in here yesterday, one of my regulars. He played that wretched machine and got really, really sick.”

Aaron stopped smiling and asked, “Has anyone else played it?”

“I don’t think so,” Danny said. “God, I just want it out of here.”

As if he heard Danny say the words, a man in a three-piece suit appeared in the throngs of teenagers and children huddled around arcade cabinets. Danny caught eyes with him through the crowd; the man smiled, nodded, and approached the prize counter.

“Mr. Feist,” the man said, extending a gloved hand.

“Mr. Varghese,” Danny said, returning the gesture.

The two shook hands.

“Mr. Feist, the reasons for my visit tonight are twofold. First, on behalf of myself and all of us at the Vidtronix Games Corporation, I want to offer my deepest and most sincere condolences for Mr. Prower’s accident yesterday.”

Danny nodded. “Thanks.”

“Secondly,” Mr. Varghese said, “my visit today concerns the Phantasos machine itself. Has it had any malfunctions? Has it been giving you any problems?”

Danny shrugged. “No.”

“Unusual,” Mr. Varghese said. “Very unusual.” He turned around and looked at Phantasos, then gasped and pointed at the marquee. “Ah, yes. It is not powered on! We received the alert earlier this afternoon. You see, there’s a tiny sensor in the cabinet that relays back to our head office, and it tells us whether or not the machine is turned on. The alert came in that your Phantasos was, indeed, turned off.”

Mr. Varghese ran a gloved hand across the glass top of the prize counter, examined the dirty smudge it left on his index finger, and winced. “It’s important that we monitor our cabinets, to make sure they are powered on during business hours. We had an arcade proprietor, like yourself, in Northern California, who graciously hosted one of our Phantasos cabinets…just to leave it in a broom closet while he collected our monthly payments to him. Can you imagine? The nerve of some people! The audacity. Not that I’m accusing you of such an act, Mr. Feist. No, no, no. I am positive this is all a simple misunderstanding.”

Danny took a deep breath. He couldn’t help but feel a bit intimidated by the magnitude of it all. “There’s no misunderstanding, Mr. Varghese. I unplugged the cabinet earlier this afternoon.”

Mr. Varghese gasped again, but this time it felt feigned. “Why ever would you do such a thing?” he asked.

Danny said, “We had a kid in here yesterday play it, and he became very ill. Also, we have a theory that it was drawing too much power, causing other machines in the arcade to malfunction.

Mr. Varghese laughed. “Kids become sick when playing with amusements, Mr. Feist! A child tosses his cookies on a roller coaster, you don’t close down Disneyland, do you? Or—suppose one becomes ill while watching a film. Surely, the entire theatre would not close for business afterwards.”

Danny sighed. “It’s more than all that,” Danny said. “It’s bad luck. I’m sorry, it really has no place here at Planet X.”

“What are you saying?” Mr. Varghese said.

Aaron took a step away from the two, stuffing a wad of cotton candy into his mouth as he shrunk away.

Danny said, “I’m saying that I’m sorry, but as long as you’re here, I need you to remove Phantasos.”

“That’s impossible,” Mr. Varghese said. “Even if I wanted to, I don’t have the necessary men or vehicles to remove it.”

“Then come back tomorrow.”

Mr. Varghese smiled. “Danny, Phantasos isn’t going anywhere.”

“The hell it isn’t. I want it gone.”

“If you want, I can show you the contract your business partner agreed to.”

“My business partner is dead.”

“It’s no matter,” Mr. Varghese said. “The agreement is between Vidtronix and Planet X, and it was acted upon in good faith. Phantasos will remain in this arcade until the end of next month, at which point the contract will automatically renew for another month, if not acted upon. Of course, Vidtronix—or you—can choose to cancel at the end of the month. But for the meantime?” Mr. Varghese raised his hands with a shrug.

“I’ll take it out myself,” Danny said. “I’ll leave it in the alley out back until you pick it up next month, I don’t care.”

“You should care, Mr. Feist,” Mr. Varghese said. “I really wish you’d examine the agreement Mr. Prower entered into. If any damage comes to Phantasos—outside of normal wear-and-tear—Planet X will be charged the full retail cost of a Phantasos machine.”

“Which is?”

“I don’t have the exact number, but approximately $9,149.”

Danny crossed his arms.

“I do not wish for our encounter to be combative, Mr. Feist. I assure you, I am not your adversary! But if you’d like to inspect our agreement, I’d be more than happy to furnish you with a copy. I’m assuming yours is misplaced, or else everything I’ve said tonight wouldn’t be so shocking to you. And though I encourage you to inspect the contract thoroughly, I will say this—Vidtronix has employed a litigator from Bloom & Bloom LLP for all of our contractual needs. Surely you’ve heard of the Bloom firm. Our attorney guarantees that each of our contracts are airtight, as they say. Who is your attorney, Mr. Feist? I’m sure I can put them in touch with ours, maybe to better resolve this matter.”

Danny grimaced. Of course he didn’t have an attorney. Planet X could barely afford the electric bill each month. And he was certain that Mr. Varghese knew that, too. He was being taunted, so rather than engage, he said, “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“Excellent, gentlemen,” Mr. Varghese said, and he nodded to Danny and Aaron. Then, he pivoted on one foot, pointed himself towards Phantasos, and crouched down to plug the machine back in.

When he was finished he dusted off his suit, politely nodded again to Danny and Aaron, wished them a good evening, then exited the arcade.

After a short silence between the two, Aaron said to Danny: “Wow. What a dick.”

Danny agreed, then asked Aaron to watch the prize cabinet for a moment while he went to the back office. Aaron said, “Sure, of course,” then Danny disappeared around the corner.

Only a moment or two later, Danny reappeared with a roll of tape in one hand and a paper with some scribbles on it in the other.

Danny stood before Phantasos, pulled off a piece of tape, and slapped it over the quarter slot of the machine. Then, he took another piece of tape, fastened it to the piece of paper, and affixed the paper to the front of the machine.

Danny stood back and read his work to make sure it was bold, easy to read, and written correctly: Out of Order.

Aaron laughed and slapped Danny on the shoulder.

Danny said, “There we go. Let’s see if him and his lawyers have a sensor for
that
.”

Twenty-Four

BENJI STRETCHED OUT ON HIS BED, where he’d been all day. Grounded. Until that day, Benji assumed he was too old for such punishments. But, Mr. and Mrs. Bauer disagreed. Mr. Emerson had visited early in the morning to tell Benji’s parents about the altercation the night before—of which, they had no idea. After Mr. Emerson left, Benji’s dad thanked his son for the embarrassment and ordered him to spend the day upstairs in his room.

Despite being banned from video games, Benji had spent most of the afternoon fiddling with his Gameboy. He played Tetris until the batteries in the handheld died; when they did, he desperately searched his room for four AA’s. He found one in an old stereo remote, and two more in a broken portable radio. Despite tearing his room apart, he could not find a necessary fourth battery for the life of him.

So, as the sun set outside, Benji stared at the blank screen of the Gameboy in defeat, imagining where little pixelated falling bricks would be.

When it seemed that he would finally fall asleep from boredom, his father hollered up the stairwell: “Benji, you got a call.”

Benji hopped off his bed, swung his bedroom door open, and scurried down the stairs. When he reached the landing he found his father, stern faced, holding the phone with his hand cupped over the mouthpiece.

“I’m only letting you take it because it’s Alley. Make it quick.”

Benji nodded, then took the phone from his father.

“Hey,” Benji said.

“Yo,” Alley said. “Why’d you hang up?”

“What are you talking about?”

“A second ago. Why did you hang up on me?”

“Alley,” Benji said. “What are you
talking
about?”

“Don’t tease me, Ben. I’ve had a long day.”

“Alley, I have no idea what’s going on.”

“We were talking on the phone, two minutes ago, then you just—hung up on me.”

“Al,” Benji said. “I have been locked in my bedroom all day. I haven’t talked to you since last night.”

A long pause.

“Are you…sure?” Alley said.

“Sure I haven’t been talking to you? Yes, Alley. I’m positive.”

“Okay. I’m sorry. I must have been confused again.”

“Alley, are you feeling okay?”

“Not really. I actually think I might be sick. I have to go. I’m sorry.”
Click.

Benji ran a hand through his hair and wondered,
What the hell was that all about?
Then, he glanced into the living room where his parents were sitting. They were each distracted, watching an episode of Dallas, so Benji took a few steps back and quickly opened the kitchen junk drawer. He found a single AA battery sandwiched between some old envelopes and a sewing kit. Quickly, he stuffed it in his pocket and ran upstairs.

Across the street, Alley climbed the stairs to the second floor of the Emerson home, took a sharp right at the landing, and headed for the bathroom. He pushed the door open in a panic, entered, then slammed the door shut behind him and locked it. He clutched his stomach and fell to his knees before the toilet.

He flipped the seat up on the toilet, took a deep breath, and the rest was uncontrollable. He was sick to his stomach, and he emptied in gushes. After a second or two it felt like the worst was over. He reached his hand out, grabbed a wad of toilet paper, and used it to wipe his mouth.

Outside, Lauren was knocking on the door. “Alley—are you okay?”

Alley murmured “yeah” then let loose again. Only this time, instead of traces of dinner, blood came up. Gallons of it. It erupted from his mouth in hot bursts, splattering the toilet and the floor. He cupped his hand over his mouth, hoping it would stop, then he closed his eyes.

I’m just imagining it.

When he opened his eyes once more, he almost fainted at the sight of red—the bathtub, the toilet, the walls—everywhere he looked, the room was dripping with it.

It’s a dream. A bad dream. I’m seeing things again.

“Alley?” Lauren repeated. “Alley talk to me, are you okay?”

“I, ungh…”

Lauren said, “Alley, listen to me. Get into the medicine cabinet. Open all of your medicines, and swallow them all at once. Do it. You’ll feel so much better.”

“You’re not Lauren,” he said.

“What?” Lauren said. “Don’t be ridiculous. Now do what I tell you. Open them all. Swallow.”

“I’ll die,” Alley said.

“No, you’ll feel better.”

Silence.

“I’m dying.”

Outside, Lauren was pounding on the bathroom door, frantically jiggling the handle. By now her mother had run upstairs to see what all of the commotion was.

“Alley, open up,” Lauren shouted. Since she heard her younger brother first go into the bathroom, she had been begging for him to let her in. When she thought she heard him say the words “I’m dying,” she raised her right leg and kicked forward. The bathroom door splintered at the knob and swung open.

“Alley, what’s going on?” Mrs. Emerson said, rushing into the room.

Lauren dropped to the floor beside her brother and felt his forehead. There was a thin film of cold sweat beading up above his eyebrows. In the toilet was a small smattering of vomit.

“Blood…” Alley said. “There’s so much blood.”

“What blood, Alley?” Lauren said. “What blood?”

“Are you really Lauren?”

Lauren started to cry. “Of course I’m Lauren, you dink. Alley, what’s wrong?”

Alley cocked his head, looked at where his mother stood in the bathroom doorway. “Is that really mom?”

“Yes, honey,” Mrs. Emerson said. “Of course—”

“Good,” Alley said, and then he passed out.