His phone had been ringing for several hours, but Sam didn’t answer. He was inside the game, leaning on a surfboard bolted to aluminum legs and refashioned as a table at a tropical theme bar called Caymans. He was sharing drinks with three women, judging them, deciding among them.
They were Alyssa, Emmylou, and Robey. The last was a redhead who had downloaded the new software, and she was perfectly rendered. When she turned he could see the waves and strands of her thick hair fall away and come together in a natural bounce. Her eyelashes were like fans over her irises. When she spoke he could see her tongue move against her white teeth. If he knew how to read lips, he figured he’d be able to read hers.
However, he really didn’t care what she was saying just now. The girls had been steering the conversation to real-world topics, and that always put him out of the mood. He hated it when people treated Shadow World like a chat room. What happens in the real world should have no impact here. In the game we shouldn’t even know who the real president is, or what stocks are outperforming, or what baseball teams are in first place. We have our own president. Our own stock market. Our own baseball teams. He’d been trying to tune them out, waiting for the conversation to hit upon more local topics, but it was difficult.
“Robey and Alyssa, did you see the news?” Emmylou said. “I guess the police are going to arrest him tomorrow. Maybe even tonight.”
“Emmylou, that’s such a relief,” Robey said. “You know there hasn’t been a single day since I was seventeen when I haven’t thought about him, or been scared of him…”
“I can’t believe they just said his name on the television like that,” Alyssa said. “If I were him, I’d be headed for May-hee-ko.”
“Alyssa, I’m sure they have cops all over his house,” Robey said. “Actually, they probably arrested him as soon as his name went out on the news.”
Interrupting, only because it was better than being bored, Sam said, “Robey, who are we talking about?”
Alyssa laughed. “Sam, what have you been, in-game all day? The Wicker Man, silly. They know who he is. They’re going to arrest him anytime.”
“His name’s Sam, like you,” Emmylou said. “Sam Coyne.” She giggled. “I’d ask your last name, just to be safe, but I figure the Wicker Man wouldn’t be wasting his time playing computer games with the police knocking down his door.”
What the hell?
Knock. Knock. Knock.
This can’t be happening.
Through his apartment door: “Mr. Coyne? This is the police. Please open up.”
Sam left the computer and quickly dialed Bob Ginsburg at home.
“I’ve been trying to call you for hours,” Bob said.
“They’re outside in the hall, Bob! For Chrissakes!”
“Mr. Coyne? We have the building manager with us. He’s going to open the door. Please lie down on the floor and put your hands above your head where we can see them.”
“What’s this about, Sam?”
“I don’t know, Bob. Jesus Christ. Send somebody to meet me.”
“Where are they taking you?”
“I don’t have the slightest idea.”
Dead-bolt click. Door slamming against drywall.
“Down! Down! Down! Down! Get on the floor now!”
In Shadow World, as Alyssa, Emmylou, and Robey continued to discuss the exciting developments in the Wicker Man case, Sam’s silent avatar ferried a pint glass between the table and his lips with a repetitive, mechanical motion.