Rabbits(19)

“You met Scarpio here in the arcade before he had pie in the diner?” the Magician asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “Right downstairs.”

The Magician hit a few keys and waited for something to boot up on his laptop.

“What did he want?”

“He asked me to help him.”

“He asked you to help him?” The Magician’s choice of emphasis would have been insulting, if it wasn’t so completely warranted by the situation. Me helping Alan Scarpio fix Rabbits? It wasn’t just surprising, it was completely insane.

“And you’re sure this was the phone in Scarpio’s possession?”

“Positive,” I said. “I mean, I’m pretty sure. It looks the same.”

“Tell me everything you can remember,” the Magician instructed.

I went through all of it: how Scarpio had told me something was wrong with the game, that he needed my help for some reason, and if we didn’t fix Rabbits before the next iteration of the game began, we’d all be well and truly fucked. Then I described the pie, the mystery woman, the rhubarb recording, and, finally, the waitress who’d eventually handed me Alan Scarpio’s phone.

“Scarpio was playing Robotron the night you met him?”

“That’s right.”

“And he received a call that clearly worried him somehow, but there’s no record of that call on this phone?”

I nodded.

The Magician appeared to consider that information carefully.

It was at this point that an old yellow analog phone on the desk rang once and then stopped, the loud clipped ring echoing through the room for a few long seconds.

The Magician looked over at the phone. “I have to take that.”

“It stopped,” I said.

“I’ll be in touch,” the Magician said firmly, then carefully unhooked Scarpio’s phone from his computer, handed it back to me, and led me out of his office.

I could hear him muttering something to himself as he closed and locked the door behind me.

Chloe was sitting outside on the stairs when I stepped out of the office.

“I thought the Magician never plays the game,” I said as Chloe and I walked downstairs and into the arcade proper.

“He used to play, but not anymore,” Chloe said, slipping a quarter into a Mappy cabinet. “He just advises those who do. You know this, K.”

“I know. It just feels like he’s really into it this time.”

“Well, you did just bring him Alan Scarpio’s phone.”

“Fair point.”

I watched Chloe expertly guide her tiny pixelated mouse avatar around the screen.

“What are you gonna do now?” She asked.

“I’m going home.”

“Enjoy the cosmic thrill ride that is your life, K,” Chloe said as she cleared another screen on her game.

I covered her eyes for a second, but she somehow still managed to keep her onscreen character alive.

“I’m unstoppable.” She laughed.

“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “See you later.”



* * *



—

I woke up at two in the morning to the sound of buzzing.

I normally have my phone set to silent like a rational human being who needs sleep, but Alan Scarpio was suddenly orbiting my life, and there was no way I was going to risk missing anything important because of something as mundane as a good night’s sleep.

I picked up the phone in the middle of the second vibration.

“Hello?”

“Hey, K.”

“Chloe?”

“Sorry for calling so late.”

“No worries. I was up,” I lied.

“In the dark?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you don’t have any lights on.”

I sat up in bed. “Where are you?”

“Out front.”

“What are you doing?”

“I can come back tomorrow or meet you at the arcade, if it’s easier. It’s just that I was on my way home when it came to me.”

“When what came to you?”

“It’ll be way cooler if I show you.”

“Okay. Give me five minutes.”

I hung up, brushed my teeth, then pulled on a pair of light gray jersey pants. I tried on three shirts before I decided on the Red Dwarf T-shirt I’d received in the mail that morning. Red Dwarf was Chloe’s favorite television show of all time. I loved Red Dwarf as well—but to be honest, there’s a one hundred percent chance that I’d bought that shirt specifically because I knew Chloe would dig it.

“Alan Scarpio doesn’t have a dog,” she said as she rushed into my living room. “He’s allergic.”

She didn’t even glance at my shirt.

“What?” I asked.

Chloe picked up Scarpio’s phone from the coffee table. “His phone’s wallpaper features a dog.”

“So?”

“That has to be a clue.”

“Does it?”

“You have Alan Scarpio’s phone, K. He asked you to help him fix Rabbits. This is un-fucking-precedented territory.”

“Yeah,” I said. “You might be right.”