Alexander Plansky - Arcadia

Lewis hadn’t even had time to take a sip when the cordless home phone rang in its charge port. He was surprised she even had one of those in this day and age. The caller ID displayed a local number but no name .

Out of curiosity, he answered it. “Hello?”

“Desmond, is that you?” It was Lance Bateman, her father. Lewis remembered Jenna telling him she’d just gotten the phone installed; she must not have put in all of her contacts yet. Or maybe she just didn’t want to put her parents in. Either way, he realized picking up the phone had probably been a mistake.

“Yeah, yeah… Sorry, I’ve had a rough day.”

“I heard. Jesus, that’s terrible. Jenna told me when I called earlier, said she had to rush off to the police station.” He sounded genuinely concerned. “In fact, I was calling to check in and say how sorry I am to hear what happened. I wasn’t sure if you two were back yet, or if you’d gone to your place. Jenna hasn’t been answering her cell phone all afternoon.”

That struck Lewis as odd. “Thank you, Mr. Bateman. I really appreciate that.” He took a big swig of scotch.

“Hey, like I said, call me Lance!” There was an awkward pause. “God, she wouldn’t tell me anything. I had to watch it on the local news.”

Lewis realized he hadn’t checked any media outlets since leaving the station. “What’s the press saying?”

“Well, at first it was just ‘Pasadena man kills FedEx driver,’ but then more details started coming out. They mentioned he was shot by the police trying to kill someone else who had arrived at the scene, so I guess that was you, and… Jesus, did they shoot him right in front of you?”

Lewis nodded, then realized Bateman wouldn’t see the gesture. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, they did.”

“That’s terrible.”

He shrugged, taking a sip of scotch. “Beats the alternative.”

“And of course, they’re talking about his video game habits.”

Here we go , Lewis thought. He imagined Jenna listening and rolling her eyes.

“I mean the guy sounded like your stereotypical gamer: overweight, lived in his parent’s basement, clearly had social issues…”

“Charlie was a nice guy.” He looked down at his drink. “At least he had been.”

“See that’s the real tragedy of it all. Violent games can corrupt the weak minded, even if they’re good people at heart.”

Lewis sat up. “You know Lance, I think this time you may be right.”

There was a chuckle from the other end. “Wow Desmond, that’s… I think you’re the first of Jenna’s friends to ever agree with me on this.” He laughed again, trying to lighten the mood. It was thoughtful of him, Lewis decided.

“I wouldn’t say violent games are bad across the board,” he clarified, “but I think maybe in a few cases they can be dangerous. Have you ever argued that some developers deliberately try to impact people’s sanity?”

Bateman paused. “Well, some of my friends at Family First might take that stance, but I feel their rhetoric can be a bit alienating. Reverend Thompson once told me he thought game companies did the devil’s work, but I’d say that’s a tad extreme.” Another chuckle. “I’d say it’s carelessness, really. Developers add more blood and gore to make more money because they think that’s what sells more. And sadly, it does. They’re corrupting society by catering to people’s baser instincts and desires and getting filthy rich off of it.” Lewis imagined him saying all this while standing on his patio with its breathtaking view of L.A.

The voice on the phone continued. “The video game industry has been larger than Hollywood for some time now. I remember reading an article last year that said Grand Theft Auto V had made over $6 billion, and it’s still selling. Avatar made $2.7 billion nearly a decade ago, and no movie’s come close to that since!”

There was another pause. He heard Bateman take a breath. “Sorry, I get easily worked up on this subject.”

“No worries,” Lewis said, taking another swig of Glenfiddich and feeling it burn his throat on the way down. He wondered when his girlfriend was getting back.

“Anyway,” Bateman continued. “Is Jenna around?”

“No, she’s out doing some last-minute grocery shopping.”

A pause. “Do you mind if I ask you a question? It’s kind of an odd one…”

“I’ve been asked a lot of odd questions today. Ask anything.”

“Have you… noticed a change in Jenna’s behavior recently?”

Lewis thought for a moment. “I can’t say that I have.”

Silence. Then, “It’s just… I don’t know… maybe she’s been fine with her friends, but she’s been acting strange recently to her mother and I, just within the last couple of weeks. I can’t place it exactly, but she just seems… different lately.” A pause. “Does she play a lot of the same games Charlie did?”

“Some of them, I guess.”

“It’s just… her mother and I are so worried she’ll wind up like him, like Charlie. She rarely talks to us anymore and I’m afraid that one day I’ll turn on the TV and see that she’s killed somebody.” He sounded like he was holding back tears.

“I don’t think you have to worry about that, Mr. Bateman. Then again, everything seems pretty strange to me right now.”

“Perfectly understandable. Sorry for rambling. And please, call me Lance.”

The call ended. Lewis sat there for a moment, deep in thought. Then he got up, walked over to Jenna’s office and flicked on the light switch. He sat down in her chair and booted up the computer. He knew her password and was quickly into the system, opening up the game from its desktop icon of a black hole. He slid the Oculus Rift over his head and found himself floating in space, the silver sci-fi letters of the title appearing before him in giant letters.

He pressed a random button to continue, tapped his foot impatiently as he flew through space toward the black hole and the damaged starship, then quickly selected “Load Game.” He was disappointed to see that the two save files, labeled “Jenna” and “Des” respectively, did not report game progress or total play time.

There was another way to see how far she was, of course. He could simply load her file: if he recognized where she was, he knew roughly how many hours she’d played, and if he didn’t recognize it he would know she’d gotten ahead of him. He reached out his Touch controller, highlighting her name. All he had to do now was press a button, and he’d load her save. His hand hovered there, the cursor wavering slightly in digital space.

Somewhere, distantly, he heard the front door opening. “Des, I’m back!” she shouted.

Quickly, he exited the game, closed her laptop, and placed the VR gear back where it’d been on her desk. Then he turned off the light and ducked out of the room.

They sat on either side of the bar counter, eating their dinner and not saying a word. After keeping it pent up inside him all afternoon, Lewis decided to speak his mind.

“I think the game made Charlie do those things.”

Jenna nearly choked on her food. She coughed a couple times, then drank some water. “Excuse me, what? ”

“ Rogue Horizon . He was having hallucinations, bad dreams. Somehow, it drove him insane, and he killed that guy and nearly killed me too.” Lewis’s tone was remarkably calm. He’d thought about it for so long it didn’t even sound strange to him anymore.

“You don’t know the game caused those nightmares,” she said, stabbing penne with her fork.

“That’s what you told me.”