[Thou shalt] behold, if it be truth, and the thing certain, that such abomination is wrought among you; Thou shalt smite the inhabitants of that city with the edge of the sword, destroying it utterly….
—Deuteronomy 13:14-15
As he proceeded through the hallway, John noticed a faint odor that began to increase in strength. He had been to college before, had lived in dorms, and he recognized the smell of unclean restrooms. It should have made him sick, but instead it made him smile.
John found room 132 near the end of the corridor, across the hall from the communal restroom. He knocked on the door and it swung open, revealing the true source of the unfriendly stench.
Half of the room was nearly immaculate. Besides the bare concrete of the floor and walls, the right side contained only a television, a television stand, and a video game system.
The left side of the room had become a receptacle for everything that had once been on the right side. Books were tossed in heaps; clothes, clean and dirty, covered the floor; paper garbage and food waste filled out the stacks.
Seated in the middle of the room was Justin Bailey, holding a game controller. He did not turn to see John, or otherwise acknowledge the presence of a visitor.
Justin Bailey had not bathed in a long time.
Justin Bailey was tall and gaunt, and wore clothes that were several sizes too big. His hair was greasy, matted, tangled. Pit stains extended down the arms of his white tee shirt, and nearly matched the color of his brunette stubble. His mouth hung open, and John could see the yellow, mossy teeth within.
John cleared his throat. “Are you Justin Bailey?”
Justin Bailey nodded at the television screen.
“Justin, I have to ask you something about my sister.”
“Who?”
“My sister, Danielle.”
Justin Bailey stole a glance at John’s face. “What about her?”
“I need to ask you something about her. When was the last time you saw her?”
“What? Why’s that?”
“She was murdered.”
“What’s that?”
“I said she was murdered.”
“What?”
“Yes, she was mur—”
“No, no, no, that’s bullshit!”
“What?”
“That goddamn floor trap! She fell down again! She falls right through it every time!”
John stared in confusion. When he understood that Justin Bailey was speaking of the video game, he entered the room and stood halfway in front of the television. Justin Bailey leaned over a few inches without looking away from the television screen.
“Pause the fucking game,” John said through gritted teeth.
“Just let me get back up there and get the energy tank. Just give me a minute.”
“Listen, kid. I didn’t come here to watch you play video games.”
“Then get the hell out.”
“Listen, kid. I’m not fucking around. This is important.” John leaned in closer and stared Justin Bailey in the eyes. He caught a straight whiff of Justin’s odor and grimaced, but did not retreat.
“This is more important!” Justin Bailey shrieked. He ducked under John’s head to get a clear view of the screen. Then, without taking his hands off the controller, he sprang from the chair and drove his shoulder into John’s midsection. John stumbled backward, tripped over his own feet, and fell into the corner, banging his head against the concrete.
“The fate of the galaxy is in my hands,” Justin Bailey whispered after returning to his seat. John grabbed the back of his head and grunted. “Unless I am able to destroy the stolen lifeform, the space pirates will use it to conquer the remainder of the galactic federation. Do you understand what is at stake here?”
John sat up, still rubbing the back of his head. “Kid….”
“I’ve saved the galaxy seventeen times today. Do you understand how important my work is? Do you appreciate the awesome responsibility that has been handed down to me? What are you up to that’s so damn special?”
John made a fist and held it inches over the game system. Justin Bailey glanced down quickly, and then continued playing.
“I’m going to smash your fucking box if you don’t pause the game and talk to me,” John said.
Justin Bailey grinned wickedly.
“Did you hear me, kid? I’m going to break your goddamn game.”
Justin Bailey chuckled.
“What’s so damn funny?”
“You wouldn’t dare.” Justin narrowed his eyes and held his breath. His concentration intensified for a moment, and then he relaxed. He had crossed the floor trap and obtained the energy tank. “Treacherous you may be, but you wouldn’t destroy the entire universe.”
John gave the system a forceful rap. A hollow thud reverberated. Justin Bailey paused the game, dropped the controller, and threw his hands up, as if he were a hostage in a bank heist. The smell of Justin Bailey’s armpits quickly filled the room.
“Are you nuts?” Justin Bailey hissed. “Are you willing to kill us all for your petty interrogation?”
John jerked on a cord, drawing the controller toward him. Justin Bailey tensed, as if to move, but did nothing.
“I want to know what happened the last time you saw Danielle.” John gripped the controller and climbed to his feet. He wasn’t sure what damage he could do by pushing the buttons, but holding the controller gave a symbolic impression of power. If the necessity arose, John would destroy the game system with a fast stomp.
“Then why don’t you ask her? I guarantee that she is less urgently occupied than I am.”
It hadn’t struck John until then that the student was entirely serious. Justin Bailey had failed to comprehend John’s earlier statements, and he truly believed that the fate of the universe depended on the outcome of his game. John’s anger briefly waned, and curiosity took up the slack.
“You honestly believe that this game you play is real?”
“As do you. You cannot destroy what does not exist.”
“You know that’s not what I mean. You think the pictorial representations on the television screen correlate to real places and things? You think there really are space pirates trying to conquer the galaxy?”
“That is what the federation has told me. I don’t know why they should lie.”
“That’s in the game!”
“No, it’s in the instruction booklet.”
John sighed. Anger began its return.
“How long have you been playing this fucking game?” John asked.
“Since that day.”
“What day?”
“The day you spoke of. The last time—”
“Of which I spoke.”
“The last time I saw Danielle.”
John shook his head, first in disbelief, and then in denial. “I mean, how long has it been since you took a break, to eat, or sleep, or go to the bathroom?”
“My arms are tired. May I put them down?”
“Put them down, for Christ’s sake! I never told you to put them up.” John waved Justin Bailey’s arms down. “Listen, are you saying that after you saw my sister, you came back here to play video games, and haven’t stopped since?”
“It is my duty.”
“Duty? To whom?”
Justin Bailey raised an arm to point at a bundle of paper on the other side of the room. “Danielle told me to,” he said.
John took a step toward the papers, and then remembered the controller and the game system. “Go get the papers,” he told Justin Bailey. “Hand them to me.”
Justin Bailey rose shakily to his feet. John suddenly noticed that Justin’s pants were thoroughly stained with urine. John shuddered.
Justin Bailey moved obediently to the junk pile, lifted the papers, and made a halfhearted attempt to shuffle them into order.
“Today,” John ordered.
Justin Bailey walked the papers over to John. When John had them, Justin Bailey returned to his seat. John held the papers at his side, and continued staring at Justin Bailey.
“I don’t care what my sister told you. Danielle is dead. You’re entertaining a corpse. You’re not saving any planets, and you’re not stopping any pirates. I’m sorry you’re a fucking psycho, but I need to find out what happened to my sister.”
Justin Bailey made no response.
John flipped through the text-ridden papers, looking for a title or the first page. His attention was soon drawn to three stanzas that had been highlighted in red:
When blessed again and canonized
And baptized for the war,
I'll see the wisedog’s million-man
To Hades’ bottom floor.
With key and plan and ampersand
I'll lift and fist a knock,
Where bloodied hands in forty’s den
Discover Hitler's cock.
Am I to run through this main route?
Through ruined moat and tao?
To stagger out of endless time
Was mirth or bane, but now,
Shall son of Simon summon there
The father of the pit?
Will lord and chairman find the one
The rite of pens has writ?
The hunter bears the august charm
Of foul and chosen arm,
She sets the world alarm.
This wisdom spans a swinging gate
That sight and sense conceal:
There is no greater fiction than
That fiction is not real.
John looked at the rest of that page. He examined a few more. Unsatisfied, he scanned the entire document.
He had seen it all before.
“How the hell did he get this?” John wondered. He began to ask the question out loud, but was interrupted when Justin Bailey punched him in the face.