CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

When Nathan left and Charice and Daniel retreated to their room, leaving a trail of noodles behind them, I popped open my laptop and took to the searching. Well, eventually, I did that. I did make myself a gin and tonic, which I know is a little like drinking alone, but my feeling is that you can’t drink alone when you’re on the Internet. Besides which, I went light on the gin and heavy on the tonic.

Searching was a waste of time, however, because Doctor XXX was not connected to anyone. The name had never been used previously, as far as I could tell, never competed in any other tournaments, never had any connection to anyone I had met.

That sounds like striking out, but it actually was a piece of information in and of itself. Someone had created this identity, just for me. And for Imogen, apparently, which was strange. Why? What was the connection between us?

When you have very little information, the bits that you do have are important. And this was important. If I could figure out what Imogen and I had in common, maybe I could make this whole thing unravel.

I logged back in to Twitch TV and started broadcasting again. This time, I actually was playing a little Hearthstone, which I find relaxing and helps me think. The usual gang of knuckleheads were there watching me, and it was nice to have an audience. I did an Arena run as a Paladin this time, winning the first three games in a row. It seemed like I was having a great evening until chat went crazy.

Doctor XXX was back.

“Hey,” typed our mysterious doctor. “Do you have a second?”

Twitch chat was like, Girl, no!, but I did have a second. I told Twitch to keep it together, and opened up a private conversation with the doctor.

“So,” I typed. Initially it was going to be a prelude into something else, but after I looked at it, I felt like it was salvo enough. I didn’t know who I was addressing here—this guy could be anything from a murderer to the fan that sexed up Swan (unlikely, but still hypothetically possible) to some rando that wasn’t even in town. “So” would do.

“Okay,” typed Doctor XXX, “I’m really sorry about today. Just so you know, I didn’t know anything about Karou. In case you got that idea.”

Okay, I thought. So, not completely a rando. Someone who knew about Karou. Of course, news of Karou’s death had probably made the rounds on social media, so it still didn’t mean that he couldn’t be messaging me from Stratford-upon-Avon or the Antarctica research station. But it made it less likely. I almost told him that the police were looking for him, but this suddenly struck me as a comment that would likely lead to our doctor vanishing again.

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.

“Because I feel guilty,” said Doctor XXX. “I can’t imagine anything crueler than sending you to a room with a violently murdered person. It was an accident. I am so sorry.”

It seemed an honest enough answer, but I wanted to plug in the only piece of information I had, even if the transition was a little dickish.

“Why are you following Imogen?” I asked.

There was a very long time before there was a reply. So long that I wondered whether I would have been better off with the police angle. I even alt-tabbed over to my regular Twitch chat channel, where people were taking bets on how I would eventually be killed. Twitch chat is sort of my Statler and Waldorf, now that I think about it.

“I can only be killed by a Highlander,” I said into camera, which redirected them into a whole different conversation. Like Statler and Waldorf, they were easy to redirect. Why do we always come here? / I guess we’ll never know.

Doctor XXX didn’t vanish, though. He finally responded.

“What?” he typed.

Three minutes for “What?” Either he was very VERY shocked, or he was just multitasking. I pressed further.

“You’re only following two people,” I typed. “Me and Imogen. LadyBlazer is her username. I was just wandering why.”

“I don’t know who that is,” typed Doctor XXX.

Sure you don’t. I clicked on his profile and discovered that now he was only following one person. Me. I guess that explained what he was doing for those three minutes.

It was my turn to take a moment. I could argue with this clown, but what was the point? I wish I had taken a screenshot, but what would I have done with it? Thrown it in his face? To what end? What I really wanted was more information from him.

“Oh,” I typed. “I guess I got confused. Do you want to meet tomorrow at the tournament?”

I sent him a link to the Major Redding. Admission aboard the boat—in contrast to the hotel—wasn’t free. But it seemed unwise to point that out.

“I’ll be there if you want to meet up,” I typed. “You can explain this problem of yours to me. Be sure to wear that green cap of yours.”

And this time, Doctor XXX was gone for good.

I streamed for a little bit more, although clearly I was elsewhere, because I lost the next three games. But the bizarre strangers of the Internet were not done with me, because I got yet another message. From another doctor.

Doctor XY: “Hey babe!”

It was only a matter of time before my problems became a meme, and I ignored this doctor, who I assumed was just a knucklehead having fun.

“Do you know why they call me Doctor XY?”

I also ignored this question, whose answer I assumed involved a penis.

But Doctor XY kept sending me new messages.

“Can you meet me tomorrow at the Major Redding? I have a special surprise for you. Something prickly.”

Ugh, I moused over to mute the guy and he added:

“You could wear that T-shirt I like. The black one with the pink unicorn that doesn’t fit you.”

And that got my attention, because I didn’t wear that shirt when I streamed precisely because it didn’t fit me. I had left it in the dryer a little too long, and I just hadn’t gotten around to throwing it away yet.

“Who is this?” I asked.

“Meet me on the main deck of the Major Redding. It’ll be a surprise.”