Authors: Mari Mancusi
Sure enough, my roommate groaned loudly, grabbing Melvin from the foot of my bed and tossing him in my direction. The bear fell short of the bed and landed on the floor with a soft plop. “No
wonder
you’re having nightmares!” she cried, rising to her feet and heading to her side of the room. “Staying up all night, playing your little games. That cannot be healthy.”
Blah, blah, blah. It was always the same. Felicia was a good roommate, but she would never understand my attraction to virtual play. She lived in the real world—playing lacrosse, shopping on Fifth Avenue, getting manicures at J Sisters. She would never understand the appeal of losing one’s self to another world. Her world was already great.
“Have you ever considered playing some
real
real life once in a while?” Felicia added dryly as she slipped under the covers. “You know, maybe start your ‘sleeping quest’ tonight so you can be well rested enough to continue your ‘college graduation’ quest chain tomorrow morning?”
“Yeah, yeah.” I waved her off. “Go back to sleep, will you? Tell Clive Owen I said hi.”
She giggled, and I knew I had won. As she turned to face the wall, I walked over to my computer, slipping my headphones on. After waking up the monitor, I logged on to the server and selected my game character, ready to get down to business.
And yes, I did mean business. These days I didn’t just play games for fun. They were my job, too. At age eighteen, I was the youngest paid beta tester at Chix0r, the world’s first all female-run gaming company. I’d been working hard all year, testing their soon-to-be-released multiplayer online game RealLife: Medieval Times. The game was scheduled to launch in under a month and had already been hyped by
PC Gamer
as the biggest thing since World of Warcraft. The company had put their trust in me to help them find all the bugs before it went out to the public, and I wasn’t about to let them down, nightmares or no.
The launch screen loaded, revealing a virtual medieval village along with my character Allora. The place was deserted, save for some computer-generated, nonplayer characters (or NPCs as we called them in the game biz) wandering around. It was hard to believe that in just a few weeks this silent world would be buzzing with activity—crammed with avatars from around the world. Players logging in to experience an entirely new virtual life. Creating characters to fight fantastical beasts, competing for epic weapons and gear, and even forming lifelong friends with fellow gamers. In short—a life far more exciting and interesting than their everyday reality.
But for now, this world was still empty—and mine to explore. Allora peered out from the screen, tapping her foot impatiently, awaiting my next move. As an all-female company, Chix0r had gone one step further than the traditional guy-centric games like World of Warcraft, where the characters were flat and static and did exactly what you told them. RealLife’s characters had their own personalities, their own artificial intelligence built into their code. Sort of like the Sims in chainmail. So while you could control your character’s movements and direct his or her path, you couldn’t make them do things they didn’t want to do. They wouldn’t fight if they were hungry. They’d refuse to accept a new quest if they were tired or sick. They got lonely if you didn’t properly socialize them and angry if someone did them wrong. Sometimes they were scarily like real people.
“Okay, fine, Allora, let’s go to the pub,” I whispered, moving the mouse to direct the character to the local tavern. “We’ll get you a tankard of ale.” Allora grinned in excitement as I directed her to her favorite establishment. Not that she had many to choose from. Because we were only in beta mode, the programmers had temporarily sectioned off Allora’s hometown from the rest of the game. My poor character had no idea there was a whole other world outside her city’s walls. To her, the outskirts of Mare Tranquilitatis were the ends of the earth.
As I sat her down at a nearby table, an NPC promptly brought her a beer. She raised her glass and drank it down happily. She looked so content it almost made me wish I could crawl into the computer and join her for a pint. Block out my reality for the night and become part of a better world.
But that, I knew, was just another dream.
TWO
I open my eyes.
I’m underground again. Halfway across a large suspension bridge made of fraying rope and rotten planks, anchored by cracked stone pillars on either side. Looking down I see a chasm of undeterminable depth. Above, inky blackness stretches on forever. The cavernous walls emit a dim glow, as if embedded with some sort of phosphorous material. The air smells acrid. Of sulfur, sweat, or really cheap cologne.
I take a hesitant step, gingerly placing a foot down on one of the creaky wooden planks. A slight wind catches the bridge and it sways in response. I grip the handrails tightly, my heart beating fast and furious.
I look up, seeking out my destination and to my surprise I see Glenda, standing at the bridge’s end. Glenda’s my personal trainer, the one who’s been teaching me yoga breathing techniques, to help lessen my dependence on asthma medication. She waves, offering me one of her trademark brilliant smiles.
I try to smile back, but my mouth refuses to cooperate as my mind buzzes with questions. Why is she here? What does she want from me? And why are her eyes, shining through the darkness, glowing an iridescent green?
Realizing there’s only one way to find out, I draw in a breath and dare another step. The bridge groans under my weight; it must be ancient and the rope is beyond brittle. I look behind me, but I’m too far to go back now. I have to keep going. I have to hope it will stay together for at least one more crossing.
“Keep walking,” Glenda encourages, her voice sounding almost ethereal as it bounces off the walls of the cave. “You’re almost there.”
The bridge feels endless, but still I persevere. What choice do I have?
Finally, I’m close to the end. Close to Glenda. Close to the safety of solid ground. But just as I’m about to make that final leap, a loud cracking assaults my ears. I whirl around, in time to see the stone pillars disintegrate before my eyes. The rope suspension splits. The bridge shudders and cracks, the far side swinging down into the cavern. A split second later I’m vertical, hanging on to the handrails for dear life.
“Help!” I scream to Glenda, who is standing above me, arms crossed, a serene smile on her seamless face. She’s wearing a long white robe, the costume of a Greek goddess. A white star glows from her forehead. “You’ve got to help me!”
But she doesn’t move. “Pull yourself out, Mariah,” she commands in a calm voice. “You have the power to do so. You always have.”
Terrified, I try to do as she says—to pull myself up, my feet dangling uselessly, clawing for some kind of purchase. I’m not making much progress. My heart pounds. My arms burn. I can’t hold on much longer. “Please!” I beg, tears streaming down my cheeks, blurring my already spotty vision. I can’t believe she’s just standing there when I’m about to plummet to my death. “Help me. Give me your hand.”
“You don’t need my help anymore, Mariah,” Glenda says with another gentle smile. “Look within yourself. You have the power.”
I have no idea what she’s talking about, but now is not the time to try to puzzle it out. Summoning all the willpower and adrenaline I can muster, I give one last heave and hoist myself onto the bank. My chest slams into solid rock, knocking the wind from my lungs. Automatically I search my pockets for my inhaler, but Glenda steps lightly on my hand with a soft slippered foot.
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Gazers only enhance the pull of the moon. For successful reentry you must stop inhaling.”
I open my mouth to tell her she’s crazy. That no breathing exercise is going to help me in a time like this. But then, strangely, I realize she’s right. I
can
breathe. Large lungfuls of air without any effort. I gulp them in like a fish out of water.
When I’ve finally caught my breath, I scramble to my feet. Now that I’m confident I’ll live, the anger burns in my gut. “Why didn’t you help me?” I demand, crossing my arms over my chest. “I could have died, you know.”
At first Glenda doesn’t answer. Just stands there, smiling her strange, serene smile. At that moment I’m not sure if I want to punch her or hug her.
“You don’t need my help anymore,” she says at last, placing a small white hand on my arm. Her skin is so pale, it’s almost translucent. As if she’s never seen the sun. “You’re almost ready,” she adds.
“Ready?” I repeat, confused. “Ready for what?”
“For reentry,” she replies, matter-of-factly. “The Eclipsers have been hard at work to get you out for some time now. Myself included. Our doctors think you’re almost there.”
Her words prick at my brain. As if they should mean something but don’t. “Reentry?” I repeat helplessly, not knowing what else to say.
“You’re starting to remember,” she says gently. “These dreams are a good sign of that. Soon you will awaken back home. But you’ve been gone a long time, Mariah, and your mind has been through a lot. Moongazing can cause serious brain damage. While our doctors believe your brain is still intact—all the vital functions still working—we’re not sure how your memory will be affected.”
I scrunch my face up, trying to make sense of her words. I know she’s speaking English, but I can’t make heads or tails of what she means. “Why are you calling me Mariah?” I ask at last, the one thing I can manage to focus on. The men in my dreams—they called me that, too.
Glenda reaches out to brush a strand of hair from my face, gazing at me with tender eyes. “Because that is who you are,” she replies. Then she glances at her wristwatch. A strange accessory for her otherwise primitive dress. “I’m sorry, there’s no time to explain,” she adds, her voice reluctant and apologetic. “You must listen carefully. When you go through reentry, you won’t know where you are. Or even who you are. You’ll be vulnerable, scared, alone. If Duske finds you, he may try to suck you back in—make you promises, get you back on the Gazers.” Her smile fades, her lips dipping into a frown. “Don’t trust him. We may not be able to get you out a second time.”
I stare at her, feeling as if I’ve walked into a movie twenty minutes late. I don’t even know what questions to ask.
Glenda continues. “When you get home, call Dawn. He’ll find you and take you to us.” Glenda reaches into a small reticule tied to her belt and pulls out a feather pen. She takes my hand in hers and scribbles something on the back.
Don’t trust Duske. Find Dawn.
-...- .-- -.
I stare at my hand, confused as anything. “What does that mean? What are these symbols?” I demand.
But Glenda only shakes her head. “I’m sorry, child. We’re out of time. It’s pulling you back now.” Her voice sounds a million miles away. “Just remember—seek Dawn. Avoid Duske.”
“Seek Dawn, avoid Duske,” I repeat helplessly. I can feel the darkness creep in around me, yanking at the edges of my sanity. “Anything else?”
“Yes. One other thing,” Glenda says, her voice grave. “Whatever happens, whatever you do, promise me you won’t look into the moon.”
THREE
“Miss Brown? Will you be joining us today? Or are you only here for your midmorning nap?”
Laughter erupted in the classroom as I slowly lifted my head from my desk, my brain still foggy from my dream. My face burned as I realized my professor, Dr. Davenport, along with my entire film studies class was watching me with great amusement. How long had I been out? Had I been screaming? Thank goodness I wasn’t gasping for breath this time. That would have pretty much zeroed out any coolness points I had left.
“Oh good. I’ve managed to unplug you from the matrix,” my teacher quipped, giving me a wink to let me know I was forgiven. Luckily I was one of her favorite students due to our shared secret love of sci-fi films. Not that she’d ever admit it to the rest of the wannabe filmmaker crowd. For them, if it wasn’t
Citizen Kane
, it was crap.
“Sorry,” I muttered, rubbing my eyes and trying to regain my senses. My heart was still beating fast and reality still felt a bit hazy. Not surprising, really—the dream had been so real, and so disconcerting. Even now, all I could focus on were Glenda’s words.
You’re starting to remember …
Oh, I remembered something all right. Namely my roommate’s suggestion I go see a shrink.
“It’s okay, Miss Brown,” my teacher assured me. “Now, do you care to tell the class why Rick is so furious with Ilsa when she first shows up in
Casablanca
?”
My shoulders relaxed. Phew. An easy one. “He thinks she betrayed him,” I replied automatically. “When she disappeared in Paris on that final day.”
We’d watched the film two days, but I’d already seen it a billion times at home and at the IFC theater in the Village. Sci-fi flicks aside, it was one of my favorites. The love affair between Rick and Ilsa in the shadow of the Nazi invasion was just so tragic and romantic. And the ending! I mean, not to be all spoiler alert, but the sacrifice Rick makes to save the world? It’s so swoon-worthy.
Dr. Davenport smiled at me and opened her mouth, presumably to ask a followup question, but at that moment, the clock struck ten, signaling the end of class.
The room erupted in activity, students bouncing from their seats, grabbing their books and laptops, and heading for the exit, barely acknowledging their teacher’s reminder about the night’s assignment. As I walked down the row of desks, I felt a determined poke at my back. I whirled around to find my boyfriend, Craig, grinning at me from ear to ear.
“Good save,” he teased as we exited the classroom. “I thought you were a goner for sure.”
“Please.” I snorted. “It’d take more than
Casablanca
trivia to bring
me
down.”
He slapped me playfully on the back. “That’s my girl!” he praised. Then he leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. I endured it for a second, then brushed him away. He was always trying to PDA me in the hallway, which was more than a little embarrassing. After all, we were in school. Teachers were watching. Not to mention fellow students.