“Well, no, not exactly. You know, like, in a book.”
“If I was going to name myself after an animal I'd want to see it first.”
“That's because you have no imagination. Gamers have imagination. We create stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“The Game, stupid. And then we transcend the game. The game becomes the reality. Is that total whack, or what?”
“Yeah, total whack.” It had been a long day with a lot of adrenaline expended. For that matter, it had been a long week that had brought a lot of terror and death. This kid was right about one thing. I hadn't expected the bearer of that terror and death to have green hair and a tongue stud. “So this is a game,” I said. “With a Web Master?”
“Pretty cool, huh?”
“Did you pull wings off butterflies when you were a kid?”
“No. I was a total wimp kid. I was a wimp until I found the Web Master and got into The Game.”
“Are there rules to The Game or do you just go around randomly killing people?”
“The Web Master runs The Game. He's the one who decides who can play. Not everyone gets to play, you know. There are always five players and a prize. This time you're the prize. I know you've been getting messages from the Web Master. That's part of his job. He's the one who keeps the rabbit running while the players are in the elimination stage. This is my second game. The first game was a couple years ago. I was last man standing on that one, too. I got to hunt a cop that time.”
“What's with the flowers?”
“That's The Game designation. If you play the Web Master's game, you're a Red Roses and White Carnations player.”
I couldn't believe I was standing on the sidewalk, talking to this kid who looked more like the Green Goblin than a Fisher Cat and was holding me at gunpoint. . . and not a car drove by. No one strolled through the emergency room doors, looking for a place to sneak a smoke. No emergency vehicles barreled down the street with lights flashing.
“You look kind of young to be killing people,” I said. As if age mattered when you were insane.
“Yeah, so far as I know, I'm the youngest player. I was seventeen when I killed Lillian Paressi. I got so excited I did the deed on her after she was dead.”
“That's sick and disgusting.”
Fisher Cat giggled. “Maybe I'll do it on you, too, after I blow your head apart. I should have done it on Singh. The Web Master sent me to Vegas to get Singh. Really nice of you to find the little jerk for us. You don't just walk out on a Game. The Game is everything.”
I thought I was sounding pretty comfortable. My voice wasn't wobbling. My breathing appeared normal. I was asking questions. Deep inside there was bone-?jarring fear. This was a seriously sick person. He had a gun. And it was going to ruin his night if he didn't kill me.
“The Fisher Cat has a real good sense of smell,” he said. “I can smell your fear.”
“I don't think that's fear you smell,” I said. “My sisters water broke on me.”
“Don't joke about it,” he yelled. “This is serious. This is the Game.”
Oh boy. Good going, Stephanie. Now he's mad.
He waved the gun at me. “Walk toward the garage.”
I hesitated and he shoved the gun in my face. “I swear to God, I'll kill you right here if you don't start walking,” he said, still agitated.
So maybe it was fear he smelled. I was putting out a lot of it. I walked toward the garage, thinking the garage might be helpful. It looked empty, but visiting hours were still going on and I knew there had to be people around. I'd never paid attention before, but there had to be security cameras. Whether they were working or anyone was watching was a whole other thing.
We were still on the sidewalk, almost to the back of the garage. I assumed we were going in through the rear exit and once we were inside I would make my move. My plan was to jump behind a car and then run like the wind, screaming my lungs out. Not real sophisticated, but it was all I had.
“Stop here,” he said. “This is my truck.”
It was a dark blue pickup parked at the curb. The paint was faded and there was rust showing around the tail pipe. The bed was covered with an old white fiberglass cap. So much for escape plan A.
“Get in the back,” Fisher Cat said. “We're going for a ride.”