Zoe felt irritable. She hadn’t gleaned any worthwhile evidence from her visit to Lazar, but she was more certain than ever that something was amiss. She’d decided that Mr Araz was a bit of a rum character. He was definitely hiding something, and his secretary seemed to be away with the fairies. There was still a vestige of recognition nagging in her brain about Mr Araz too – something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, yet it was something that seemed familiar somehow but not in a nice way. He had reminded her of someone, but she had searched her memory bank and drawn a blank.
Then, there was her brother and her father. She was fed up with their persistent attempts to get her and her mother to play ‘Being There’. Neither one of them was usually all that enthusiastic in encouraging the females in the family to join in their activities, but this time they seemingly wouldn’t stop and that too raised suspicion in Zoe.
She sat at the table in her bedroom trying to make a start on one of her essays. The game that Zak Araz had given to her lay unopened next to her computer. Zoe soon gave up her attempts to write as she was unable to focus on the task in hand. She switched on her ipod and listened to some music, but that was also quickly discarded as it didn’t relax her in the way she had hoped.
Next, Zoe lay on her bed and opened a book, but as she read none of the words would penetrate her head amid the myriad of thoughts that ran wild in there. Zoe decided she would just get into bed and try to sleep, and hopefully she would feel calmer in the morning. She put the book down, slipped beneath the duvet and did some mental relaxation exercises in an effort to quieten her restless mind. It did the trick and soon she was drifting off into a deep sleep.
It was a warm night even though it was still April, and Zoe slept with the window ajar as usual. Her parents were asleep in the next room and had Zoe been awake she would have heard the sound of her father’s rhythmic snoring. Mrs Marshall lay next to her husband trying to get to sleep, but was prevented from doing so by the loud cacophony of noise emanating from the mouth and nostrils of the person sleeping alongside her. She would probably have described the racket as rhythmic only in terms of its pounding and rattling content, as the din burst forth from her husband’s quivering and vibrating lips like a roaring crescendo produced directly from the percussion section of an orchestra.
Zoe stirred a little as a draught ruffled the curtains slightly and drifted across her body, which was by now resting in a heavy sleep cycle. Her brain was awash with sweet and pleasant dreams.
As the curtains parted briefly in the gentle current of air, a small creature seized the chance to slip unnoticed through the tiny gap and into Zoe’s bedroom. It was a bat. For a while it fluttered around the room, before settling in a corner where it watched the girl as she slept. The bat then dropped to the floor and seconds later, a large tarantula spider scuttled across the carpet. It paused at the side of Zoe’s bed before beginning its ascent of a corner of the duvet, which had slipped loose from its position covering the girl’s sleeping body and was now trailing on the bedside rug.
The furry arachnid quickly scaled the dangling quilt and soon reached the pillow near to Zoe’s head, which was framed by the spread of her hair. From there it began to crawl downwards beneath the main part of the duvet that now loosely covered Zoe, until the creature arrived at the point where the girl’s left arm rested half across her stomach. The spider crawled onto Zoe’s arm, inching its way along until it found a big fat juicy vein on the inside of the limb, just above her elbow, where it sank its fangs into the soft flesh. Zoe awoke with a start, her eyes wide open.
Catching sight of the tarantula, she tried to leap out of bed – but to her astonishment and her dismay, she found she couldn’t move. She tried again, but there was still inertia.
What’s the matter with me? Zoe asked herself. I’m awake. My brain is awake and I’m thinking clearly. But I can’t move any other part of my body except for my eyes. She glanced down as far as she could. There were no ropes or chains holding her. So why can’t I move? she asked herself again.
Mild panic began to set in as Zoe’s mind raced. Am I paralysed? she thought. Maybe that’s what happens when tarantulas bite you. Maybe you become stricken and then you die. Oh my good gosh, I’m going to die!
Zoe’s imagination ran riot, until her thoughts were suddenly arrested as she caught sight of the shadowy figure of a man who was standing at the foot of her bed. She couldn’t make out his features in the darkened room, but she knew it wasn’t her dad. He was still snoring away in the next room.
Panic arose again inside Zoe. She could hear her heart thumping. The man stepped forward until he was standing with his face almost alongside Zoe’s. Her eyes swivelled as she took in his features. As she did so, there was a flash of recognition and shock too as she remembered the last time she had seen that face. It was three years back and she could still recall the image of the two of them staring at each other across the space between the operating table and the computer screen in an alien spacecraft. Zoe had been strapped to the table and screaming at him. Now in the darkness of her bedroom, she gave a little shiver at the memory.
Benson, she thought. It’s DS Benson. He’ll save me!
Zoe was so relieved she didn’t think to ask herself why on earth DS Benson would be in her bedroom in the middle of the night, especially on a night when she’d just been bitten by a deadly poisonous spider that isn’t even native to the British Isles, leaving her paralysed as a result. All she could think of was that she would now have the help she needed.
Zoe tried to smile but her mouth wouldn’t move, similarly her vocal chords didn’t work when she tried to speak. But nevertheless, she felt more at ease now Benson was here. He stared intently into Zoe’s eyes for a few moments. Then he stood up to his full height and walked across the room to where her mobile phone lay on her dressing table, and picked it up.
He’s going to phone for an ambulance, thought Zoe. I knew he would help me.
Her fear began to subside as her eyes followed Benson’s movements. However, he didn’t call an ambulance. He instead put the phone down and turned his attention to Zoe’s computer, which he connected to the mains and switched on.
What’s he doing? thought Zoe, fear and alarm returning to her brain. Why isn’t he helping me?
Benson opened up the DVD case that lay on Zoe’s table and extracted a disc. Opening up the appropriate drawer in the computer, he inserted the DVD and the screen flickered into life. The words ‘Welcome to Being There’ blazed a bold illuminated message through the blackness of Zoe’s bedroom. Benson attached headphones to the computer and brought up the games menu onto the screen.
Panic filled Zoe’s brain now. She was scared. Here she was lying helpless in her bed and this man, this policeman, who she had been certain would do the right thing and summon medical aid for her in her current predicament, was instead about to play a computer game. What was that all about? It was surreal. But what would he do next?
Even as Zoe’s mind raised this question, she saw Benson walk back to her bedside. Her already substantial fears increased further as he hurriedly drew back the duvet. Leaning over her he pulled her sharply towards him, turning her body as he did so. Zoe wanted to scream and kick out, but her paralysis prevented her from doing anything other than submit to Benson’s wishes.
He placed his hands under Zoe’s armpits and hauled her upwards and out of bed. He half dragged and half carried her across the room to where the computer screen blinked out its message to ‘Select your choice of Reality Action’ and, supporting Zoe’s body on one arm, Benson pulled out a chair and pushed her down until she was sitting stiffly on the seat. He picked up the headphones and placed them across Zoe’s head, securing the ear pieces onto her ears. He then selected a reality game from the menu and clicked on the icon marked ‘Play’.
Almost immediately, Zoe found herself in the Women’s Singles Final at Wimbledon. It was very real. Despite her paralysis, she could feel the handle of the racket in her hand; she could feel her body moving as if she was really running around the tennis court; she could even hear the crowd roaring, followed by their hushed tones as she and her opponent made their serves and played their shots. Zoe could see why her brother and father had been so rapturous about the game and why they had so badly wanted her to play. It was an incredible experience. She felt as if she was inside the game, or was it inside her? She couldn’t really tell. It was so overwhelming.
Zoe soon became aware of a weird sensation engulfing her. Her thoughts seemed to be detaching themselves from her body. It was very strange. Part of her mind was focused on the fact that she was paralysed, yet here she was in the middle of a game of tennis where it felt as if it was really happening and her body was running and moving as normal.
A couple of questions shot into Zoe’s head as another part of her brain struggled to make sense of why Benson should be here. Why is he doing this? And what is he up to? she asked herself.
It was at that precise moment that she became aware of something else happening in the game. It was a low hum, almost inaudible but with a regular rhythmic pattern like a pulse or a heartbeat, accompanied by a rapidly flashed subliminal message that bled into her brain. The pulsing beat and the flickering words were cleverly coordinated and extremely hypnotic, to the point where Zoe was only vaguely aware of them even though they were constantly there.
It must be my body’s survival instinct, Zoe thought. Because I can’t move, my brain has heightened my senses and my mental state. I can hear, see and think much clearer than usual, which is why I can hear the hum and that beat, and also be conscious of the flashing message. I bet people who play this game don’t normally notice anything. They must then become hypnotised. But who are they controlled by? And, moreover, this means that Benson is part of whatever it is that wants to dominate people… and for sure I’m someone they desperately want to control. Trouble is I’m helpless and I don’t know how much longer I can get my mind to resist, and there’s no one around to help me!
Zoe had never played a game like this before. It was as if the game was a living thing. She could feel it sucking her in, enveloping her, sending its hypnotic, seductive rhythms and messages right into her very being, spreading its words throughout her brain like tendrils or roots of a rapidly growing plant. She was beginning to feel overwhelmed. Slowly but surely, she was losing her free will. She had to fight it. She had to. She couldn’t give in. If the game wanted her, then it would have to fight hard.
After twenty minutes or so, Zoe could feel herself weakening. It was harder and harder for her to hold onto reality… her reality, not that of the game. In fact reality itself was becoming more confusing by the second, as her brain zigzagged rapidly between the situation she was in within the confines of her own bedroom and the tennis game which was increasingly taking its toll on her mind and her body. What’s more, she was starting to absorb the subliminal contents of the game into her memory and subconscious.
I can’t resist it any longer, she thought, desperately. I have to let go.
She closed her eyes as she felt her mind slipping away. She sensed the dark maelstrom of sleep pervading her head. She was rapidly drifting and tumbling into unconsciousness.
Suddenly the bedroom door burst open and a loud voice said, “Zoe! What on earth are you doing playing on that thing at this time of night?”
It was her mother. She had lain in bed listening to the noises as Benson moved Zoe across the room. Unable to sleep and caught between her husband’s snoring and the intermittent loud noises coming from her daughter’s bedroom, Mrs Marshall had decided she had more chance of stopping Zoe’s shenanigans than she did of obliterating the racket emanating from her spouse’s nostrils.
Now in Zoe’s room, in the throes of anger and filled with frustration from lying next to her lump of a husband as he gave his nightly impression of porcine communication and equine snorting, she wrenched the headphones from her daughter’s hair and launched into a loud tirade about how inconsiderate and selfish she was to be playing on a computer and making such a noise while others were trying to sleep.
By the time Mrs Marshall had calmed down, Zoe’s brain was working normally. She still couldn’t move, but at least she could think. She wondered what had happened to Benson. He’d disappeared as soon as her mum had flung open the bedroom door. Zoe didn’t see where he went as she was unable to turn her head, but she assumed he must be hiding – perhaps under her bed or in the wardrobe. The thought disturbed her more because she couldn’t communicate it to her mum, and she was scared that if her mum went back to her own room, Benson might come out – from wherever it was that he was hiding – and try to connect her to the computer game again. Her one hope was that he’d managed to somehow open the window and slip away in the commotion that followed Mrs Marshall’s loud and noisy foray into the room. Zoe rapidly turned her thoughts to finding a way to communicate her current plight to her mother.
Had she been able to move her head, Zoe would have seen the bat that was now quivering as it hung upside down in the darkest corner of her bedroom. Mrs Marshall saw it and that set off another loud diatribe. She yelled loudly at the bat to get out, in between bouts of screaming, hand flapping and arm waving, as she tried to evade the fluttering, darting and now confused creature. Her broadside woke Mr Marshall from his clamorous slumbers. He charged into Zoe’s room just as the bat exited through the open window.