I finish beating VikingLightning from Minnesota and then I log off of Kingmaker. I think about watching some television, but then I remember the Playqueen meeting tomorrow. I panic, wondering how I’m going to sell this acquisition to Dad, and then I remember that I don’t have to explain anything to Dad ever again.
If I want Playqueen, I can have it. All I have to do is write up a report that addresses the concerns of the lawyers. I want Playqueen’s niche and I don’t want to reinvent their business. By tomorrow evening, Playqueen will be a signed and sealed asset of Nylo. A new prize for the same old humiliation of having to play dumb games against sweaty nerds.
On the player rank screen, VikingLightning goes down a point and my rank remains unchanged. One of the beauties of having a moderator account is that I don’t have to deal with the addictive neurosis of worrying about where I stand. I can simply enjoy playing.
I draw myself a bath in my big claw-foot tub. I have just taken my clothes off when I hear the Nylo Corporation theme song play from my purse. I walk to the big easy chair beside my bed and fish out the game phone, wondering if this means that somebody has lost a life. Who will it be, Henley or Bernard?
I see that I am still in first place, followed by Gabriella, and then Alistair, and then Bernard after all. I guess it will be Henley who comes in last.
Suddenly, the screen changes to a “loading” icon, which is our father’s grinning face spinning in a circle. I guess he thought this would be funny when he was developing it, but now it just seems gruesome.
The spinning beach ball of my father’s severed head is replaced by a closed-circuit video feed. What am I watching here?
I realize after a few moments that I am looking at security camera footage at the Empire State Building. The elevator bay is empty of people, but a janitor strolls into view, half-heartedly pushing a mop bucket. I recognize the way the janitor moves. I recognize his insouciant stroll. It’s Henley. He’s dressed in a janitor uniform and sporting a weird fake handlebar mustache. The black mustache doesn’t match his russet-colored hair.
He waits for cage 1 to open up. He gets inside.
The camera footage cuts to a view from the top of cage 1. Henley gets inside and the doors close. He pushes a button. The elevator starts to rise, and Henley stands there for a while, unmoving, clutching the mop handle. Eventually, he takes out his big game phone and stares into it. He holds it up to the ceiling, raising his hand above his head as far as he can reach.
I know he must be interfacing with the box in the ceiling. He brings the phone back down and looks into it.
All of a sudden, Henley flies into the air. His head cracks against the ceiling and water from the mop bucket flies everywhere, soaking him, soaking the camera. The elevator is falling.
Henley’s neck is bent at an impossible angle and his arms are flailing as he is suspended in the air. The elevator seems to fall for an impossibly long time, and then the feed goes black. The phone returns to the player rank screen. Henley is in last place. Above his rank, a little tombstone appears, and flowers sprout up in front of it.
I am staring at the phone in my hand, unsure of what I am seeing. My other phone, my real phone, starts to ring.
15
It’s Alistair. He is giddy, horrified, confused.
“Was that Henley?” I ask.
“It had to be,” says Alistair.
“We’ve got to call the Empire State Building,” I say.
“And the cops.”
“You call the police and I’ll call the Empire State Building.”
I hate talking to cops. I hang up just as a call comes in from Gabriella. I don’t have time for Gabriella. I don’t bother answering.
I realize that I am not exactly sure how to call the Empire State Building. I run back to my computer and Google it. There are a lot of phone numbers, but none of the ones for security or the front desk are listed.
“Fuck it,” I say. It’s just after midnight. I order myself a car, throw on some clothes, and head downstairs.
The Uber picks me up and we get over the bridge and then snake up the east side into Midtown. I call Gabriella back.
“What the hell was that?” she says dramatically. “Was that Henley?”
“It was probably just some kind of hoax,” I say. “Just part of the game or something.”
“It didn’t look like a hoax,” she says. “It looked like it was really him. It looked like he broke his fucking neck.”
“I’m on my way to the Empire State Building,” I say. “Do you want to meet me there?”
I consider calling Bernard, but I assume he is asleep. Should I wake him up? I don’t really want to deal with him, and we also don’t know anything yet.
“I’m actually at a friend’s place,” says Gabriella.
“You should call Bernard,” I tell her, passing on the duty and knowing that there’s a good chance she won’t bother.
I take out the game phone, flipping it over, staring long and hard at my name on the back. The name is in my father’s handwriting. The screen now just shows the character-creation page. I don’t have a superpower. My travel method is “train pass.” I realize that I can’t turn the phone on or off. How does it even stay charged? I try to press buttons, to make something happen, but nothing I try does anything. The game phone is definitely a one-way device. Eventually, it goes black again.
The car drops me off on 34th Street. Parked in front of the Empire State Building are an ambulance and two police
