Rabbits(24)

“How the fuck did you do that? How did you copy my face and body?”

“We didn’t. We found it on somebody’s phone,” Chloe said.

“Whose phone?”

Chloe and I looked at each other.

“Well?” Tabitha was losing patience.

“A man named Alan Scarpio.”

“The billionaire?”

“Yes,” I said. “Do you know him?”

“No. He’s gone missing, right?”

“That’s right,” Chloe said.

“What’s a missing billionaire doing with a fake video of me on his phone?”

“We don’t know,” I said. “That’s why we’re calling.”

It looked like Tabitha wasn’t sure who she should be mad at, or how mad she should be.

“What in the actual fuck?” she said. We could hear her playing the video clip again while she was speaking with us. “It’s so realistic. It’s creeping me out.”

“You’re sure you don’t remember anything like this happening?” I asked.

“Are you serious?” Tabitha’s eyes were huge. “You think I could forget something like this?”

She held her phone up to a desktop computer and showed us the section of the video where the publicity assistant’s arm was slashed. “Look at all of that blood. Would there really be that much blood?”

“I understand this must be…strange for you,” I said.

“Ya think?”

“I can send you all the information we have, if you like.”

“Yeah. I’ll need all your information.”

“If you have any questions, please get in touch.”

“Thanks. I’m sure I’ll have questions. I mean, you do know this isn’t me in this video, right?” She stared at the two of us. “Right?”

“Right,” I said. “Of course.”

“This is so weird.” Tabitha started watching the video again. “Wait, did Devon put you up to this?”

“I’m sorry, but we don’t know any Devon.”

“Right—except that’s exactly what somebody who knows Devon would say.”

I looked at Chloe. She shrugged.

Tabitha Henry, for the moment at least, appeared to be a dead end.





9


    EVERYTHING THAT ISN’T RABBITS


“This is fascinating.” The Magician pressed the space bar on his laptop and the video stopped playing.

We’d rushed over to the arcade shortly after we’d spoken with Tabitha. The Magician had watched the video three times in a row.

“Is it Rabbits?” I asked, doing my best to keep the excitement out of my voice.

“The hallmarks are definitely there,” he said, “but it’s hard to say. I’m going to have to think about this.”

Then he kicked us out of his office and shut the door.



* * *



—

Is it Rabbits?

I’d asked the Magician the exact same question a number of times in the past.

The first time was the day we met.

I was a senior in college then, completely obsessed with games and gaming, and barely interested in the subjects that actually affected my grade-point average. Thankfully, I’d retained enough of my childhood ability to recall things in detail that I was able to memorize names and dates well enough to keep my academic scholarship. And as long as I remained on scholarship I wouldn’t have to get a job, which meant more time to play games.

Of course it was a game that eventually led me to the Magician.



* * *



—

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s called Wizard’s Quest Four; it works on this Apple II clone.”

Andrew Goshaluk pulled a floppy disk from an old Rolodex-style case and slipped it into a cream-colored drive from another age.

“How old is that computer?”

“Fucking ancient, mate.”

Andrew Goshaluk was slightly overweight, about five foot nine, with straw-colored feathered hair and gold-framed serial killer glasses. We’d met when we were seniors in high school and ended up at the University of Washington together. He was studying computer science and I was working on a degree in English literature with a minor in game theory.

Andrew had come over from London with his father after his mother and sister were killed in a train accident. Although a mutual interest in games had brought us together, my own parents’ subsequent death and the fact that we’d both recently experienced such significant family tragedies made us inseparable in college.

Back in high school, Andrew and I were what you’d call hardcore gamers. We played everything from The Legend of Zelda and Final Fantasy to Risk, chess, and the strategy board game Go, but role-playing games were by far our favorites. Dungeons & Dragons and Traveller were our top two.

By the time we hit college, not all that much had changed. Outside of the occasional unavoidable party or concert, we did almost nothing but play games.

It had been ages since I’d heard Emily Connors use the term “Rabbits” in relation to a secret game that somehow involved extinct woodpeckers and orphaned movie credits, since I’d heard that strange voice cutting through the radio static on something Emily called The Night Station—a voice that I would continue to hear in my dreams, always repeating the same thing over and over, the unmistakable phrase I’d heard that night, on that dark winding country road—a phrase I’d later learn was deeply connected to the mysterious game unofficially known as Rabbits. The Door Is Open.