“What do you mean, she has a point?” I cross my arms and glare at the taxidermy lion, with its accusing eyes and disapproving frown. “I have balls!”
But I am no predator. I’m tall and skinny and weak. If I were one of the animals in the cabinet, I’d be some kind of goat. A slow-running prey animal.
I came here for revenge, but I’m a coward. The little goat inside me keeps bleating that I’m making a fool of myself. I came here hoping to ruin Anton’s game/life. I’m rapidly realizing that hatred is not the same thing as a well-thought-through plan. Now I don’t know if I should go home or soldier on.
One thing is for sure: I can’t stay here, hiding among these dead things. I need to do something.
The leaderboard updates as the last of the thirteen ghosts is exorcised by Sean23. A new flashing spot appears on my map, in the main atrium. The final points. The boss level. I sigh and force myself to move.
I’m on my way when I hear a hollow knocking sound, like pounding at the door. It’s accompanied by a muffled cry. I stop. If Lenny were talking in my ear, she’d tell me to leave it. But I took the earpiece out when Erin19 got the jump on me. So I’m alone with my own poor decision-making abilities and endless capacity for self-sabotage. I follow the noise into a gallery closed off to the public.
The banging gets louder as I walk between the half erected displays. A familiar voice yells and swears from inside a wooden crate. I have no idea how she got herself trapped, but I allow myself a few seconds to enjoy the sounds of sweet, sweet karma before I look around for something I can use to pry the box open. I find a broom.
As soon as I’ve loosened a corner, Erin19 kicks the lid off the crate. She scrambles free, tangled in Bubble Wrap. “What did you do that for?” she yells, shoving my shoulders.
I duck aside. “Thanks for rescuing me, Grayson, I appreciate it, Grayson. Yikes.”
She blocks my path, hands on her hips, eyes wild. “You trapped me in there!”
“No, I didn’t,” I say slowly. “Can you step aside? I have a game to lose.”
“You’ve already lost,” she snarls, marching away.
I don’t have the energy to bite back. I follow her out of the gallery with an empty feeling in my chest. I should be happy to have the decision taken out of my hands. This way, I won’t have to deal with the feelings Anton’s game is dredging up. Except Rose will still be gone, and Anton will still not give a shit.
We reach the end of the corridor. Erin19 stops abruptly and I bump into her. There are about twenty people standing in the atrium wearing identical smart glasses. Most must be contestants, but I also spot Matthew and Beatrix among their number. Everyone is looking up at the ceiling.
“What are they doing?” I whisper to Erin.
She shrugs. We step out of the arched walkway, and I look up. Through my glasses, there’s a strange disturbance in the air. It’s like looking through shimmering water at a distant light. The light is getting closer.
“What the hell? This isn’t part of the game,” Matthew says.
It’s weird seeing him in real life after watching him online for so long. He’s a walking advertisement for masculinity, with his gym body and the way he takes up more space than he needs. Beatrix, small at his side, is his polar opposite, with her vintage clothes and quirky hair.
Whispers start up as the light grows brighter and brighter. I move to shield my eyes, but then I remember that what I’m seeing isn’t real. It’s projected on to the lenses of my glasses like the Shadow City ghosts.
At the center of the light, a figure materializes. It flickers like it’s losing signal. I can’t quite make it out. Finally it settles.
But it’s not another one of Anton’s computer-generated ghosts.
It’s a girl, translucent and edged with smoke. And she can’t be part of the game. Because Anton has spent the good part of a year distancing himself from this person. There’s no way he’d conjure her into existence.
My legs go wobbly, and I have to support myself on the wall. It feels as if someone’s cut my strings, and I can’t remember how to stand or move or breathe. This isn’t possible. It can’t be real.
“Hello, losers,” Rose says. “Do you want to play a game?”
The ghost has her red-lipped smirk. Her thick shiny curls and heavy brows. An oversize sweater so big that it skims her knees and covers her hands. I remember that sweater. It was her favorite.
But it can’t really be her, can it?
Because Rose is dead.
“You’ll love this game,” Rose purrs, her voice breathy in my ear.
Only it’s not quite her voice. It sounds like it’s coming from a very long way away. It crackles and distorts, and so does her ghost. Her edges are indistinct. Any second now she’ll disintegrate.
“I’m imagining this, right?” Beatrix says. “Insomnia and energy drinks have addled my brain.”
Matthew snaps out of his open-mouthed inaction. “The feed’s been hacked. Get through to Anton HQ. Now,” he says, pointing at a shell-shocked crew member.
“Is she real?” Beatrix whispers. “She looks real.”
“Of course she’s not. Someone’s gotten clever with a green screen and a face-swap filter.”
I don’t believe him though. The transparent projection is jerky and keeps flickering from 2D to 3D. Her face has an avatar-like quality, not quite real. But in my heart, it feels like it’s her. I’m not sure if I should throw myself at her feet or run far, far away.
“Do you want to hear a secret?” Rose continues. “My death wasn’t an accident. I was murdered.”
The graffiti outside the tunnel. I was murdered. I slump to the floor. This can’t be happening.
“That’s a lie!” A blond girl with Anton’s ugly face on her orange hoodie pushes through the other contestants to address the whole room. “Everyone knows she took drugs and then knocked herself out in the swimming pool.”
She’s right. I attended the inquest into Rose’s death, or some of it. The room was stifling and packed with journalists. By the time they started talking about the details of how Rose died, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I had to run outside.
I read about it the next day. Death by misadventure. Drugs and alcohol involved. Drowning. No suspicious circumstances.
It didn’t matter. I already knew who was responsible.
Rose flickers. “Do you want to find out who did it? Here’s a promise for you all. By the end of tonight, everyone will know exactly who killed me. And to make it more exciting, I’m going to let you do the hard work and figure it out. Six suspects, six secrets. One murderer.”
She clicks her fingers, and a giant spinning prize wheel appears next to her. It’s like something from a game show. Each of the six segments is a different garish color and marked with a black silhouette and a question mark. There’s an arrow at the top and a swirly red circle in the middle, like a piece of candy.
Six segments, six suspects. With a grin, she spins the wheel. It makes a rapid clicking noise as the arrow races past each suspect, the colors blurring into one. It doesn’t show any sign of stopping; it just spins and spins.
“Oh my god, this is a total disaster! We need to get this shut down,” Beatrix cries.
“You think they’re not trying?” Matthew retorts. “Will someone get Anton on a call already?”
“We can’t get through,” a crew member replies. “She’s locked us out of everything. Our phones, the smart cams, even Shadow City. I don’t know how. It’s like she’s…”
“She’s what?” Beatrix says, holding a hand to her mouth.
“Like she’s not broadcasting from this world,” the man replies.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Matthew says.
“Do you want to see something cool?” Rose whispers, the wheel spinning and clicking. “I think you do.”
A screen unrolls on my lenses, and a video plays.
It’s Anton and the Accomplices. The four of them are standing in the street as a Lamborghini burns violently behind them. The noise of the flames is enough to make me sweat. I don’t remember seeing this video. Perhaps it was never released.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Rose shouts, squaring up to Anton. She’s wearing an expensive leather jacket over a summer dress, lips painted red, hair long and loose. She looks so alive.
“It was a prank.” Anton laughs, holding up his hands in playful defense. He has tattoos down both arms that clash with his big nerdy spectacles. “I didn’t know it would literally explode.”
“You could have killed me, you narcissistic asshole!”
“Please don’t argue.” Beatrix intervenes, stepping between them. Two-tone hair, scruffy Converse. “No one’s hurt, are they?”
“And here comes sweet little Beatrix, rushing in to protect her brother,” Rose snarls. “Grow up, Beatrix. They don’t deserve your loyalty.”
“Why do you have to be such a bitch?” Matthew interjects.
“I give you a month, tops.” Rose steps closer to Matthew. They’re the same height, but Matthew’s built much heavier than her. She jabs a finger against his sternum. “You’ll cheat on her like you cheated on the others.”
“Stop it,” Beatrix shouts, on the verge of tears. “All of you, stop it.”
Anton laughs. The flames crackle and roar, and he throws his head back, mouth open, tears in his eyes. With the fire lighting him up in reds and oranges, he’s almost demonic.
Rose rounds on him, and I think she might hit him. Rose always did have a temper. Then the fight goes out of her, and somehow, it’s even scarier. “I’m done. I’m just done.”
Anton removes his glasses to wipe his eyes, still laughing. “What do you mean, done? Come on, Rose.”
Rose’s voice is level. “I mean I’m out. I’m not doing this anymore. I’ve had dozens of sponsorship offers. Collaborations. Public appearances. Fuck, Anton, look at me. I can make ten times the money that you pay me. And bonus, I won’t have to put up with your bullshit anymore.”
Anton’s smile fades. He goes very still. Behind him, Beatrix and Matthew exchange worried looks.
“You’re setting up your own rival channel? No, that’s not happening,” Anton says quietly.
“You don’t get a choice in it,” Rose says. “You don’t own me.”
“I made you!” he screams, all spittle with veins pulsating in his neck. “And I can end you just as easily.”
Whoever’s filming the argument laughs nervously. Anton notices the camera for the first time and storms toward it, his face contorted.
“Turn that off. Right now. Turn it—”
The video ends.
Everyone in the hall is silent. That was a very different Anton from the one we usually see. No charm—just animalistic bloodlust.
Rose claps her hands. “Fun times, right?” She grins. “That was recorded a few weeks before I died. Makes you think, doesn’t it?”
“Where did she get that video?” Beatrix whispers. “Has she hacked into Anton’s computer? That’s the only place there was a copy.”
Matthew stands next to her, slowly shaking his head, arms hanging limply. The clicking on the prize wheel grows slower and slower. The arrow drags itself into the purple segment and stops. Rose peels the silhouette off the wheel, revealing a photo of Anton beneath.
“Give it up for our first suspect,” she says. She is no longer smiling.
“Anton wouldn’t,” the blond girl in the orange hoodie whispers. “He’s not a murderer.”
“Tonight is under my control now. You’re playing my game.” Rose salutes us like Anton does in his videos. “Play on, Accomplices.”
Then, just like that, she vanishes.