Author's note: I don't play Halo (never have played Halo), so my apologies if I got anything wrong (which I probably did). I've also never played Gears of War. There will likely be some inaccuracies even with my research. Thanks as always for all the comments and support.

If you would like to contact me, you can do so at [email protected]

Chapter 15

“Shit! How does that keep happening? Fuck, man- you were guarding the flag.”

I heard chatter in my headphones. Since it was the middle of the day and I didn’t need Mrs. Feinstein banging on the door, I kept the sound for the game relegated to the headset only. It was a week later, and with the memories of the studio still fresh, I had returned to Halo. Gears of War was becoming too easy. Gears being a third person shooter, it tended to have a lot of unskilled players, and for a FPS expert, it is a joke. Guys shooting without cover, players picking off the grunts while the big guns tear their team to pieces- and the worst, guys trying to shoot a shotgun at long range.

Halo is a thinking man’s game, the ultimate multiplayer game- the elite FPS. It required coordination with team-mates, precision and strategy, and while Gears had gruesome deaths and chainsaws to the face, it just wasn’t doing it any longer. The sweet kills should have been satisfying, but they lacked challenge- something Halo has in spades.

I gradually climbed back onto the elite server over the week, eventually joining up with my old team-mates, who unfortunately, hadn’t really improved.

NoobKillaz567: You were in the nest. I saw you eat a fucking frag grenade. So it ain’t my fault! You were supposed to be watching my back.

SnipezYA_1234: How the hell did you even get on this server, kid?

Me: I killed losers like you. Now, come on- it’s a new round. Let’s fuck these guys up!

NoobKillaz567: Goddamn, this kid’s got a mouth. My mom would smack the shit out of me if she heard me talking like that. How old are you kid?

SnipezYA_1234: I don’t really give a shit as long as you can play. But that loss was your fault, kid. You were supposed to be our fucking sniper. Getting a frag is noob shit. You gotta take out the fucking turret.

NoobKillaz567: Yes, sweet fucking milkweed. This is the stuff.

I had improved to an astronomical degree, considering before, I couldn’t even kill Greg. While the next round loaded, I watched the kill-cam, and I felt a sudden tightness in my throat. I had cost my team the round. The missile turret, whose operator I had been targeting before my death, got off a deadly volley, essentially annihilating everyone on the ground.

I muted my mic and tried to compose myself before the next round. The tightness in my throat remained and along with it, a large lump formed.

My headset crackled.

SnipezYA_1234: Kid, you can’t mute your mic between rounds. We are talking strategy here. I’m going sniper here. You go for the rocket launcher at the far end of the map. Get in the truck and take me to the bluffs.

I swallowed hard, trying to banish the lump, but it remained. I flicked the mic back on, but my voice was scratchy and uncertain.

Me: S-Sorry, I’m back.

NoobKillaz567: If your mommy calls you for dinner, you let us know so we can replace your ass before the next round.

My headset crackled again and quickly filled with laughter from my teammates.

The round started, and I hopped into a vehicle, zooming toward the rocket launcher, eager to prove that the previous round had been a fluke. The sniper hopped into the back, obviously intent on reaching the bluffs above the rocket launcher spawn area. I knew exactly what he was doing because I had done it a thousand times before.

I watched the screen intently, trying to focus on keeping the vehicle moving while also shifting from side to side to avoid enemy fire. My hands had grown surprisingly sweaty, a common condition known as ‘noob grip’. The controller nearly slipped from my hands as the lump in my throat grew. The lump made me think of frogs, and my fertile imagination flared to life, causing my focus to shift for an instant. In the three seconds it took for me to shift my attention back to the game and off the time that I ruined a pair of new jeans trying to catch frogs, I had steered the vehicle into the side of a mountain, killing both myself and my passenger.

SnipezYA_1234: Fuck sakes! What the hell was that? We are fucked now.

It was true. I saw the opposing team grab the rocket launcher and head right for the base. It was a capture the flag sudden death match, meaning one capture would win the game.

I mumbled, “It’s all my fault.”

NoobKillaz2567: You’re damn right. Why don’t you give the controller back to your big brother so we can start sucking less?

SnipezYA_1234: You are fucking up our elite rating. You know five losses in a row gets you kicked off the elite server, right? I’m starting to think that you’re trying to screw with your brother’s account or something.

NoobKillaz2567: This shit never would have happened with KillStreak69.

My former screen-name was a number of things: a friends list, trophies, kill counts and a string of impressive online victories. It meant little to anyone else, but those accomplishments were the bar and after the studio, I needed a victory, no matter how trivial it may seem. If I could reach the plateau, that same brass ring that Ryan Sullivan reached, it would mean KillStreak69 and I were one and the same. Considering I couldn’t exactly show off my prowess with the opposite sex, the video game was my only choice.

Unfortunately, doubt clouded my mind as thoughts moved about my head like sugar-crazed children in a bouncy castle. Shit. That sounded way more fun than this stupid game.

I desperately tried to swallow what felt like a now basketball-sized lump in my throat. Failing, I croaked as I spoke:

Me: I’ll b-bring it next round. I-I’m going back sniper!

My words sounded about as convincing as Greg trying to persuade me that the Camaro was a better car than any brand of Mustang. My voice, which was already high, pitched even higher with my constricted vocal chords and the cancerous lump in my throat.

My headset filled with laughter.

NoobKillaz2567: Fuck sake, I’ve got coke coming out of my nose. You are shitting me with this, or I’m higher than fuck. Goddamn that voice. She sounds like a fucking chipmunk.

SnipezYA_1234: It’s not funny. She’s fucking up our rating. I’m gonna report her before the next round. I’m sure she’s on her brother’s account.

NoobKillaz2567: I played with her before, man. She’s usually legit. There’s a thread about her and everything on the forums. She’s like a fucking prodigy.

SnipezYA_1234: You are high as fuck. And not in the good way. She crashed us into a mountain. She sucks. If we lose one more, we are off this server, and it’ll take fucking months to get back on.

We fought hard, but veteran Halo players can dominate any team if they gain control of all the power weapons on the board. So, it wasn’t surprising that with the sniper rifle and rocket launcher in the hands of the enemy we fell. That made four games in a row we had lost. I thought about disconnecting, but it would mean an instant ban from the elite server.

“Fuck. I can’t do this.”

The doubt played itself over and over in my head, like great sweeping waves crashing down on a bobbing life raft- I was barely holding on.

NoobKillaz2567: Wait? What did you say, kid?

Me: Nothing. I didn’t say fucking anything.

SnipezYA_1234: You said you can’t do this. What can’t you fucking do? Screw with your brother’s account? We heard you, so there’s no fucking point lying.

Me: I didn’t say a fucking thing. I was thinking about doing shitty in the next round. That’s it. I’m fine.

NoobKillaz2567: I’m wasted, but I heard you say it. You kind of like mumbled it, but yeah I heard it. Look, kid- we’re going to beat these fuckers because I know you’re good.

SnipezYA_1234: NoobKillaz the fucking motivational speaker.

NoobKillaz2567: I’m thinking about a new career.

SnipezYA_1234: Fuck sake, man. Get in the game. Last time you were wasted like that you said you wanted to be a fucking astronaut. It’s too late anyway.

The loading screen counted down 3-2-1, and we were thrust once again into the vibrant yet deadly world of Halo. I recognized the map immediately, and we all knew what to do. We had all played it hundreds of times before.

Me: Hey Noob, uh, am I as good as KillStreak?

NoobKillaz2567: Maybe. You take down those tanks, and we’ll talk, kid.

SnipezYA_1234: What is this a fucking counselling session? Let’s fuck these guys up.

I raced toward the rocket launcher, and this time I managed to get it before the other team. With three massive tanks barrelling down on me, I fired off a quick salvo, managing to destroy one of them. The other team was attempting a vehicle rush. It was usually sound strategy, but tanks were cumbersome and easy pickings for the rocket launcher. They had made a fatal error.

NoobKillaz2567: Fuck yeah! That’s more like it.

We were still heavily outgunned, but we had managed to capture all the power weapons, including the sniper rifle, although it was useless against heavy armour. Still, the opposing team had to actually leave their tanks to capture the flag, making them easy fodder for a sniper’s bullet.

I sprinted toward the enemy base, knowing that the tank driver I killed would respawn and rejoin the tank rush. Since they were veteran players, I guessed the enemy would probably try and find a flying vehicle to support the tank rush. Tank rushes could end a round within the first two minutes, but if the defending team fortified their positions, it usually significantly delayed victory.

I watched an aircraft, similar to a stealth bomber fly overhead, and smirked- the enemy flag was completely unguarded.

A series of winding and narrow paths led up the base of the cliff where the enemy’s flag sat atop a rocky outcropping. I cursed myself for not jumping into a vehicle, but I realized if I had, I would have been a massive blinking target on the radar of the now departed enemy aircraft. I slowly manoeuvred my character along the narrow paths, carefully scaling the cliff face.

Me: Going for the flag, Ghost on the way.

SnipezYA_1234: They are fucking pounding us here, you better fucking hurry, kid.

I heard laughing, but it wasn’t from my headset. The sudden tittering, sounding like tinkling wind chimes, drew my attention away from the game and nearly caused my death, causing me to teeter on a ledge.

Me: Shit. That was close.

NoobKillaz2567: What is it? That flag should be as easy as Snipez’s sister.

SnipesYA_1234: But not as easy as your fucking mom. Seriously though, kid, the Ghost is here and I gotta get outta the fucking nest. How close are you?

Me: I’m looking at it right now.

I had reached the top of the cliff and while I was lucky to reach the apex, I was even luckier to find not only the flag, but my means of escape- a jetpack. I quickly picked up the pack and then moved my character onto the flag, starting the capture sequence.

“It’s so much fun! Come on, ya hafta try it with me!”

“But I don’t wanna! It’s too hard!!”

“I’ll turn the rope slower this time. I promise!”

Childlike voices filled my ears, similar to how Monique’s panting could cause a rise out of me immediately shutting out anything but the girl blowing in my ear. The dulcet tones blocked the sound of the game and the voices of my team-mates.

While it wasn’t officially summer yet, a heatwave had been baking Los Angeles for the past two weeks. Greg and Eve didn’t have air conditioning, so I was stuck in a stifling apartment, which was another likely cause for the ‘noob grip’ I had on my controller.

It meant that it was better to have the windows open then to sit inside a microwave all day, but with the lower volume on the TV and only one part of my ear covered by the headset, I could hear the girls playing outside. Not only could I hear them, but with the slight breeze, which made the sweltering apartment bearable, it made it seem like the girls were in the apartment.

NoobKillaz2567: Kid, kid- hey! Hello?

NoobKillaz2567: You get that flag yet?

I dropped the controller, letting it skitter across the floor as I raced toward the window. I dragged a chair along with me letting it screech across the floor. Clambering up on a chair, I applied all of my weight to shut the window. Of course, it had to be one of the ancient and very heavy double pane glass windows. The fucking thing wouldn’t budge.

“Okay! It’s my turn now. You did good!”

A skipping rope slapped gently against the asphalt, each jump and each giggle caused candy-coated claws to dig into my mind, the claws digging deeper and deeper as my desire to join the girls grew.

“Wow! You did three skips that time! I wanna be good like that!”

I looked out the window and saw a skipping rope tied to a telephone pole. Two girls, one of them Kaylee’s age and one Ashley’s, were taking turns holding the rope. Each time they failed to jump the rope, they switched places. The whiney, nattering voice of the younger girl should have been a massive turnoff, like a beautiful girl with a mannish voice, but instead, it planted a powerful need, an alien yearning to reach out to these girls- to play with them, but it also caused a resurgence of doubt.

“Would they even want to play with me?”

SnipezYA_1234: What the fuck, kid? What are you doing back at the base?

NoobKillaz2567: What are you talking about? We’re in the middle of a game here.

SnipezYA_1234: I thought you had the fucking flag!? I warned you about the respawn of the second fucking tank driver. What the fuck happened?

Unable to shut the window, I quickly returned to the game, snatching my controller from the floor in the process. I decided to risk turning the volume up on the television, desperately hoping to drown out the girls. Without surround sound and minus the subwoofer, I knew the sound wouldn’t leak into Mrs. Feinstein’s apartment, interrupting her tea time or knitting, or whatever the hell she did in the afternoon. Or maybe she was taking part in a satanic ritual to torture all the world’s children with her boring old lady lessons. Either way, I was back in the game, and the slight volume raise allowed me to focus on saving my position on the elite server.

The sole tank driver continued to pound our position with heavy lasers and mortars. A laser blast flew a few inches from my head, scorching the wall behind me. Meanwhile, the aircraft maintained a target lock on our sniper nest, and I had lost the rocket launcher- the only portable weapon capable of taking down a vehicle. We were royally fucked.

Me: I can’t do this.

NoobKillaz2567: Come on, Killer_Six. We can still take these guys.

I hadn’t meant to say a word. My inner doubt had somehow reached my lips, and I realized- it wasn’t the first time. Everything that I was thinking was somehow bypassing my normally perfect filter. In the studio, I was vulnerable, newly changed, so it was easier to open up to Ashley. I also felt that I could trust her, but these two assholes, otherwise known as my team-mates, I didn’t want them to know anything about me, especially not the fact that I was doubting my skills.

As Ryan, I quickly learned that the truth must be guarded. When a person tells the truth, they might as well be exposing their neck and back to a knife. Hannah taught me this. When I was honest with her about being horny when she was trying to grieve over her stupid cat, I got the major silent treatment. Girls essentially teach men to lie. We don’t want the same things, so, to fit into their world, we lie.

Losing the ability to filter my emotions or even to control my speech was mind blowing. It was powerful evidence that I was not the same person.

That I wasn’t Ryan Sullivan.

No, I had to push on, this game represented my ego, my masculinity, and if I didn’t win, then the serum would. To most it might seem foolish to put so much stock in a game, but I needed this victory desperately. After the studio, Mrs. Feinstein, and most recently, the yearning I had to put on the blinking Barbie shoes, untouched since my arrival, and join the skipping girls, it was vital to Ryan Sullivan’s survival that I notch a victory.

I resumed play with an intense focus, realizing that the proximity of our flag to the respawn location would make it nearly impossible for the enemy to capture it, if we could actually target them. I raced out of the base, jumping into an aerial vehicle and started taking pot-shots at the tank. This drew the attention of the more heavily armed enemy ship, but this is exactly what I wanted.

The bulkier enemy ship may have had impressive firepower, but my vehicle, being smaller and faster, had the distinct advantage of better manoeuvrability. I darted from side to side, avoiding laser and heavy machine gun fire. I grinned as I approached the rocky outcropping, accelerating toward what looked like my inevitable destruction. At the last second, before impact, I pulled up on the throttle, skidding against the cliff face, but managing to propel the ship upward. One of the engines was damaged, but it was nothing compared to the spectacular explosion below me. The enemy ship smashed into the rock, bursting on impact as both ship and driver were immolated. The ship struck so hard that the rock face was permanently altered, a large ship-sized crater now a feature of the rock face, and a testament to my victory.

I steered my damaged ship on top of the enemy base, hit the eject button and watched as the ship careened into the respawned former pilot, killing him instantly. Luckily, the pilot respawned away from the flag, and I began the capture sequence.

I made my escape with a jetpack, which easily allowed me to dodge the tank’s heavy lasers. Within less than a minute of my last death, I had won the match.

NoobKillaz2567: Goddamn, that was some sick flying, Killer_Six. The kill-cam angle with the ship landing on that fucker, poetry in fucking motion. Four to one now. We going to take these mother fuckers down!

SnipezYA_1234: Gotta admit, that was pretty good, kid. You fucking raped those guys. You’re gonna have a target on your back for the next four rounds though.

NoobKillaz2567: So are you really six? Like six years old?

Me: Yeah. You got a fucking problem with that?

NoobKillaz2567: No, ma’am. Do you team with KillStreak69? Haven’t seen that bastard for a while. You know where he is?

Me: He’s my brother, and he’s probably out banging some chick. Think he plays Gears more these days.

Laughter crackled in my headset, but it wasn’t at my expense this time. I had won these assholes over and saved our position on the elite server. The next map was one I knew very well, and one where I could absolutely dominate. The loading countdown began, and I held my controller firmly. I was going to carve these bitches up.

As the timer reached zero, I came to a rapid realization.

I didn’t want to play anymore, and not only that, but continuing the game seemed like attending a whole day of church followed by eight hours trapped in a room with Mrs. Feinstein listening to her recount the first two-hundred years of her life.

Me: What the fuck is wrong with me?

NoobKillaz2567: You with us Killer_Six? Why are you just standing there? We gotta be first to the turrets.

SnipezYA_1234: Come on, kid! Fucking move!

NoobKillaz2567: Maybe she lost connection.

I stared at the screen, absolutely dumbfounded. The five matches we played had only taken about twenty minutes, and I should have been completely jacked up, sitting there tearing through the enemy, racking up kills and maintaining an impressive kill streak, but I wasn’t.

I finally managed to move my character, but it was like I was only going through the motions. Worse still, I started to hear the laughter of the girls over the explosions and death that leaked from my television. I turned up the volume to a point where the laughter should have been drowned out, but my mind filled in the blanks, like a terrible song on loop.

NoobKillaz2567: Kid, if you have to go- I mean we get it. Just let us know. We are safe from the ban with that win. If you gotta like go for dinner or whatever, it’s cool.

Just like that, I had lost my credibility, the respect from fellow gamers- I was back to being kid. Again, it shouldn’t have been such a big deal, they were only words, and Halo was only a game, but it was a game that I loved. I had replayed the single-player campaign with Greg and spent countless hours on the multiplayer.

Me: Yeah, sorry my fucking mom’s calling me for dinner. See you assholes later.

I popped out Halo and put in Tomb Raider, hoping that a switch to a different game and a sweet, sweet ass would reignite my passion for gaming. The black title screen stared back at me, reflecting a confused and uninterested little girl holding a controller so loosely that it could easily slip out of her hands. Like a discarded toy replaced after a Christmas or birthday haul, I set the controller down and made my way back to the window.

I could have been raiding tombs and looking at a tight, female backside and instead- instead I wanted to fucking skip with children? It was like Halo and Tomb Raider didn’t even exist, my mind, seemingly incapable of two separate thoughts was betraying me.

I watched the little girls enjoying themselves, their faces displaying their innocence and the simple joy of play. Thoughts of powerful frustration and anger overtook the desire to skip, but they immediately moved to my lips.

“What...What the fuck is wrong with me?!”

“Okay, I need to fucking get with it here. I’m not going outside to play. This is fucking insane.”

“Why am I talking to myself?”

My thoughts formed the words without any filter, without control.

A shrill voice peeped, “Are you OK?” It was the younger girl.

The older girl yelled, “You want to play with us?” What was it with kids? Why did they seemingly want to play with each other, and especially little girls? Ashley didn’t want to play with the boys after she became Madison. All she wanted to do was play with me. Was it because of their filter, their age or were they infected by some sort of hive mind parasites? I’m guessing the latter.

I had to close that fucking window.

I climbed back onto the chair, but this time I was armed with a hammer. I took the tool in two hands and slowly brought it down on top of the window. It budged, moving about an inch. I repeated this process until it was half closed.

“We’ll let you go first! Ask your mommy if you can come and play!”

“Yeah, after we’re gonna play at the water park in the shooty things!” I knew what they meant. There was a small water park about a block from the apartment. It had slides, sprinklers and even a giant bucket that once filled would drench the kids from head to toe, resulting in shrieks of joy.

It sounded like it would be really fun and maybe the girls would be my friends.

I slammed the hammer down on the window, causing some of the paint to chip in the process. Finally, I managed to close it, successfully blocking out the voices that called to me like a pack of wolves who had lost one of their own.

“I’m not letting them get to me. I’m going to do what I want.”

I picked up the discarded controller and tried to turn my mind back to the game. All I could picture, however, was the skipping rope, the slides, sprinklers and that giant bucket- and laughing and playing with my new-found friends. After all, it was kind of weird that I had a friend who was a grown man, and even Eve- she was kind of a friend, but with her warm hugs, gentle voice, she was more like…

Murder. Death. Kill. Tomb Raider wasn’t doing it. I quickly popped Gears of War in- I needed chainsaws to the head, blood gore, bits of brain, and bone. Again, I couldn’t get past the title screen.

I set the controller down on the coffee table. My entire body began to shake as I slowly picked up the hammer. The implement was raised slowly, to the point where it rested gently on my shoulder. Despite my meagre strength, the weight of the hammer still allowed it to land with significant force. It cracked the faceplate of the controller. The second blow dislodged the battery pack, while the third, caught one of the joysticks, bending it at an unnatural angle.

All rational and reasonable thought fled my mind. I shrieked, my body and now my voice, completely out of control.

I hated the controller, and for some reason, it bore the brunt of my rage. Again and again, I dropped the hammer, my exertion eventually causing a painful burning in my arms, but still, I persisted. Ryan Sullivan had never felt such emotions, never exhibited such a weakness. When I was angry, I lashed out, but the emotions were fleeting, and they didn’t linger as long as I removed the cause of them, which usually meant leaving or beating the shit out of someone.

Even in my previous rages, I was calculated, controlled- I hit Greg, but I knew what I was doing. It had a purpose. The destruction of the only controller in the apartment that didn’t severely hamper my skill was beyond illogical- it was madness. I felt less like a human being and more like an exotic creature, a wailing ball of ire, spewing red-orange and blue flames in all directions.

My vision, tainted by a red haze, I didn’t even see my target, and I was only broken from my choler, by the sound of shattering glass.

Like the first blast of ice cold water on a raging libido, my anger was immediately doused. I turned to look at the source of the noise and saw that a glass had fallen off the table. Thankfully, it didn’t shatter into tiny shards, so picking it up would be easy enough. I took a moment to catch my breath and then looked at the damage I had done to the controller.

The face plate was cracked to a point where the innards of the device, the complex layer of computer chips, were visible. It could have been taped if not for the joystick, which looked like a badly broken thumb, bent and twisted at an impossible angle. Finally, the face buttons had been driven into the layer upon layer of computer chips, cracking what I understood to be the brain of the controller. It was not salvageable in the least.

“Shit. Greg and Eve are going to be really mad at me.”

Again, I was talking to myself, but worst of all- fuck, I should not see them that way. Mad at me? It was my controller, and it was a stupid glass. Why did it matter? Yes, they might be a bit upset, but so what? If they said anything, I’d tell them to fuck off, to mind their own fucking business.

I sighed heavily and leaned down to pick up the broken pieces of glass. On my hands and knees, I scoured the floor, managing to find all but one. I continued searching for the fragment, deciding to check underneath the couch, when I felt something sharp cut into my leg. Looking down in horror, I could see that the wayward piece of glass had pierced my bare knee.

I stood quickly, as a result the glass fell from my knee, but the damage was done. I looked down and saw that there was deep gash, which bled freely.

I figured that I would apply my reason and my adult mind to control my emotions, and the pain, but I never even had a chance. As I looked down at the blood and the wound, I burst into tears.

The tiny, insignificant tear I had shed in Greg’s car the night I escaped from the studio was nothing compared to the flood that came. Within seconds my cheeks were wet as I reached out to cradle my bloodied knee. My cries were loud yet wordless, coming in pained unintelligible moans and fractured almost strangled shrieks.

I thought of Greg, and then Eve, desperately seeking her comfort rather than her medical knowledge, I felt a word on my tongue, my mouth moved to form it.

“Mo….!”

Even through the pain, I managed to stop myself, to murder any thought that the woman who hated Ryan Sullivan could ever fill such a role. While I sought comfort for the jagged, throbbing pain in my knee, I would not surrender to the serum. I gritted my teeth, and the crying slowly petered off, reduced to pathetic sniffles and an embarrassing runny nose.

I limped to the bathroom and pulled my step stool up to the cabinet, quickly removing a box of Band-Aids. Upon closer inspection of the wound, however, I realized that I would need gauze. I limped to the kitchen to get the first aid kit from underneath the sink.

It actually wasn’t first time I needed it. After a drunken party where I decided to suddenly think I was an expert knife juggler, Eve also patched me up. Of course with the alcohol, I barely felt it. Now, however, it hurt like hell. Imagine a hundred tiny bee stings in your knee recurring every two seconds or so. It felt like there was still glass in my knee, but I was in too much pain to pull it out.

The door received a firm and familiar blow. A heavy cane assaulted the wood, followed by a concerned yet unyielding voice. “Riley! Are you hurt? Are you alone? Tell me child!”

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Not her…not now. OK Ryan hold it together. Don’t make a fucking sound.”

I closed my eyes, trying to think about anything other than the pain, and while my adult mind managed to convey to my body that it shouldn’t be a massive pussy about a little scratch, the fear of being discovered alone in the apartment and in obvious need of medical care set off a new round of crying. Now it was fear and pain, coupled with humiliation. As I cried, blood ran down my leg. My whole body shook as my heart thundered and my head swam.

The heavy cane mounted a new assault on the door.

“Child! I can hear you crying in there, you are obviously in pain! Let me help me! If you don’t open this door immediately, I will be forced to call the paramedics!”

My eyes flung open as if someone had tugged on a shade, sending it hurtling toward the roller. I limped toward the door, carrying my stool with me, and slowly clicked the deadbolt. Reaching up for the door handle, I turned it feebly, watching as Mrs. Feinstein rushed toward me, trailed by the two little girls from outside.

Upon seeing me, the wizened crone’s normally iron-like façade crumbled, her face, normally held in such a way to maintain a tempered yet at times frightening state, gave way immediately to compassion.

“See, Grannie? I told you she was hurt.”

“Is she gonna be OK, Grannie?”

Mrs. Feinstein smiled in a way that was wholly alien to my previous understanding of her very existence- which was to generally torment me and children around the world from some sort of fortress of skulls. Then, she shocked me further, by speaking in a voice that was meant to be comforting. “It’s a nasty one, but we’ll get her fixed up. Emma, can you please get Grannie that first aid kit over there?

Emma, the older girl, nodded her head and dutifully obeyed. Mrs. Feinstein turned to the young one and said, “Sophia, you’re going to be my special helper too. I need you to tell Riley that it’ll be OK, and to be brave, OK?”

This was not the same woman. How could she both a grandmother or great grandmother when she was also the queen of all witches?

“Emma, you watch yourself near the table. There could still be broken glass on the floor.” The older girl stopped suddenly and stood up straight, the same way I did whenever Mrs. Feinstein used her authoritative tone or tapped her cane on the floor. Emma moved across the floor gracefully, her steps matching her lithe dancer’s body. Both girls had brown hair, although Sophia’s was more of a chestnut. Despite the sweltering not-even-summer day, the girls wore proper dresses, with bows and frills- or something. They looked more like dolls instead of children, especially the way Emma moved almost mechanically across the floor.

Mrs. Feinstein hobbled toward the couch and set herself down, using the cane to steady herself, while I looked on from the adjacent cushion. She said calmly, “There’s no need to be afraid, Riley. I’m here to help you. Have you called your mother?”

I whimpered in pain and shook my head solemnly. This response elicited a frown from Mrs. Feinstein, again making it seem like her entire face was caving in. The firm tone returned, like melted steel suddenly tempered again, “The first thing you should have done is call your mother. And if your parents insist on leaving you home alone, you should know the number of a neighbour for situations just like this.” Despite the strong tone, I didn’t sense condescension, not like when she was speaking to Eve about her parenting skills, or lack thereof.

Mrs. Feinstein asked, “I will call her then. What is her number?” She pulled a ridiculous ancient looking flip phone from her purse.

I started biting the inside of my bottom lip, realizing that with each response, Mrs. Feinstein’s brow furrowed deeper and deeper. I replied, “I-I don’t know. It’s in my phone though. Um. I left it on the kitchen table.” This caused Mrs. Feinstein’s brows to lower further. If they descended any lower, they would seriously obstruct the woman’s vision.

Mrs. Feinstein instructed Sophia to apply pressure to my wound. The little girl smiled at me and gently patted my hand, “You’ll be OK. Do you like skipping? How come you didn’t wanna skip with us?” I shook my head in reply.

Emma fetched my phone and brought it to Mrs. Feinstein. She peered at the device and snorted derisively. “How does…one?” Emma sighed lightly and smiled. “This is like daddy’s phone. I know how it works. Here.”

Emma stared at the phone in confusion. “I can’t find her mom’s number. Or dad.”

Mrs. Feinstein sighed heavily and tapped the floor with her cane, “This is unacceptable. First, they leave the child alone. And now she has injured herself, and I cannot contact her parents. This is absolutely repugnant irresponsible behaviour.”

I said, “It’s in there. You just don’t know where to look.”

Emma shook her head obnoxiously, turning one way and then the next with serious attitude and an upturned lip, “Uh huh! My daddy lets me on his phone all the time. I call mommy from there sometimes. I typed M-O-M but no number!”

I reached my hand out, wincing at times as Sophia continued to apply pressure to my wound. Emma deposited the phone in my hand but did so with an extended tongue. Mrs. Feinstein looked at her granddaughter crossly, “Manners, Emma. Your behaviour is unbecoming of a young lady.”

Once the phone was in my hand, I quickly found Eve’s number. Pulling the phone close to my chest, to hide the screen from the others, I rapidly edited Eve’s contact information. Within seconds, Eve became MUMMY.

I turned the phone around to show Emma. She laughed, “You spelled it wrong, dummy!”

I nodded, trying to hide a smirk, “Yeah, I guess you’re smarter than me.” Mrs. Feinstein cast a withering glare at Emma, who offered me a rapid, “Sorry, Grannie.”

I dialed Eve’s number, part of me desperately hoping that she wouldn’t pick up or that she had taken Greg’s car to work. She never answered the phone in the car, and she got angry when Greg did it.

“Hello? Ryan? I don’t have much time to talk, I’m just finishing a break, and we’re shorthanded today.” She was surprised, but with good reason, I never called her at work, in fact- I never called her.

I replied with the same level of confusion, “Uh…hi. Mom.”

Eve’s voice was barely a whisper, “Ryan? What the hell is going on?”

I said, “It’s Riley, Mom. I-I hurt myself. Mrs. Feinstein is here. I cut myself on some glass.”

There was silence, and then something clearly clicked within Eve’s mind. She replied, “Oh sweetie, are you OK? Mommy’s coming home right now.”

While I should have felt a deep sense of unease, a powerful near revulsion at the thought of Eve being my mother, it didn’t come. Instead, her concern and the sweetness of her voice comforted me, seemingly dulling the pain as the air danced along my wound. It was as if we were in a club and Eve was the girl hanging off me the whole night, acting like some kind of female cock blocker. She was the grenade that I wanted nothing to do with, and yet throughout the night, started growing on me, despite my previous taste.

I replied, “I’m OK, Mom. You don’t have to worry, I’m tough. You don’t need to ...”

The phone was ripped from my hands as Mrs. Feinstein showed a surprising amount of strength for someone in such a gnarled state. I blinked slowly in surprise shocked that she had pulled it from me so easily.

Sophia asked, “How come you broke your game? Did it make you mad?”

Emma smirked and said matter-of-factly, “I bet it did.”

I shook my head, “No! I mean- it was the controller, it didn’t work.”

Emma laughed, “My cousin Kyle said the same thing. But he threw his at the wall. How’d you even get a hammer? And how come you get to stay home alone?”

I was thankful I didn’t feel the urge to play with these girls, and it likely had to do with the fact that both of them, and Emma especially, were extremely annoying.

I said, “I’m not telling you shit. Go away, I can do this myself.” I snatched the cloth from Sophia and peered down at my knee. It still hurt, but it looked like the bleeding had slowed.

Mrs. Feinstein had gone into the bathroom to have what I assumed was a private conversation. A part of me seethed, knowing that I had been removed from the adult conversation completely. Mrs. Feinstein obviously didn’t know my actual identity, but it still pissed me off. I knew that Eve and Greg were already having conversations behind my back.

Sophia’s bottom lip trembled, “You’re mean. I don’t think I wanna play with you. You don’t even have any fun toys.”

Allowing my anger at the exclusion from the adult conversation to influence my behaviour, and forgetting I was supposed to be six-year old Riley, I quickly retorted, “Then you should fucking leave. I didn’t ask for your help. I can do this myself.”

To prove it, I removed a bandage and gauze from the first aid kit, proceeding to quickly deal with my injury. Why was I being such a pussy about this? I knew it was the serum, but even still, what I had seen as a gaping wound spurting blood was a little slit. As my machismo returned, I realized that it was really nothing more than a scratch. I had faced way worse during full contact no equipment football games on bases. We usually left the field bloodied but content.

“Riley! You will absolutely not speak that way in front of my granddaughters! Now I see that you’ve bandaged yourself, but did you apply some antiseptic? Did you wash the cut thoroughly?” She shook her head, “I still cannot believe your mother leaves you here alone. What would have happened if I hadn’t heard you crying? What then?”

I said flippantly, “I wasn’t really crying. And it doesn’t hurt anymore. I don’t need that. My mom’s a nurse. She’ll probably look at it when she gets home.”

Sophia looked like she was about to cry, “How come you are so mean? I-I…want to help. I want to make you feel better.”

Emma said, “She thinks she’s tough. But I bet when we leave, she’s crying her eyes out.” Emma proceeded to make obnoxious crying baby noises, “Wah! Wah! Wah!”, but when neither Mrs. Feinstein nor her sister laughed, she stopped.

Sophia said, “My mommy said sometimes when we hurt…we get mad. If we played maybe you’d feel OK?”

Emma nodded, “I got a Frozen game for my birthday. We could play until your mom gets here. And after we could play dolls.”

Before the laboratory, the plot to mold children into future pill poppers and the agency dealing only in perfection, I was not a conspiracy theorist. I believed things happened for a reason, but not because of some wide reaching intrigue. Megan Fox was in movies because she was drop-fucking-dead gorgeous. Ashley couldn’t get serious roles because she was too hot. These were not conspiracies- these were simple facts.

However, I was beginning to think that Frozen was tied to the laboratory scheme, that there were some hidden messages in it that caused all little girls to fall in love with the movie, the toys, the games- the toilet paper. I hadn’t met one little girl who wasn’t obsessed with it, and even I had to admit- whenever I heard the word, I felt a little squeal of joy trying desperately to escape.

“I really want a skating Elsa doll.”

Sophia beamed, “Yeah! Me too! I hope Santa brings me one. Emma’s already got that one, but she won’t share! So do ya wanna play?”

The thought had only briefly passed through my mind, but the instant it did, it was like a massive metallic hook pierced the notion and swung it toward my lips, like a fly fisherman pulling a wriggling bass into his boat. I fought the urge to clap my hands over my mouth in surprise.

Without waiting for me to say another word, Emma sprinted out of the apartment. Shit. This was bad. When the girls were a source of irritation it was much easier to battle my desire to play with them, but if they were actually doing something fun…

Mrs. Feinstein said, “Before you girls play, I need to ensure that Riley’s injury is properly treated. Did you use antiseptic young lady?”

I frowned, “Uh. I-I don’t remember.”

I fumed internally at the continued power that Mrs. Feinstein wielded over me. Ryan Sullivan would have looked at the brittle old woman and ignored her completely, not even giving her the time of day. She had a similar power over Greg and Eve, but they weren’t in the body of a six-year old girl. In her presence, I felt like a scolded child.

I should have lied and told her yes, but her stern face accompanied by furrowed brows made it extremely difficult to lie to her. Incredibly, more than anyone else, the server from El Casa, the bus drivers and even Mrs. Daniels, who was treating me like her own child, none of them could make me feel my physical age like Mrs. Feinstein.

Maybe she really was a witch?

Without waiting for me to say anything, Mrs. Feinstein removed the bandage slowly, causing me to wince. Sophia gently patted my hand and smiled. Mrs. Feinstein fetched the antiseptic spray from the kit, peering down at me with none of the sternness she had exhibited moments ago. “This will sting, Riley. Do you have a teddy or something you can hold?”

I shook my head, “I can take it. It’s no biggie.”

This caused a smile to form on the face of the alleged witch. “You are courageous, young lady.”

I closed my eyes, waiting for the sudden pain. It came, but I managed to rein in my emotions. I kept telling myself that I had suffered far worse injuries, hoping that my thoughts wouldn’t be immediately vocalized. Mrs. Feinstein replaced the bandage with a smile.

Sophia looked at me in wonderment, “Wow! You’re really tough, Riley. I wanna be like you.”

I said, “Better start drinking then, kid.” This response elicited a glower from Mrs. Feinstein.

Mrs. Feinstein asked, “What sort of television programs are your parents allowing you to watch? Or did you get such inappropriate language from these video machines?”

I was saved from answering the question by Emma’s sudden reappearance. She quickly went about setting up the board game. Sophia left my side, but I didn’t budge. Still, with the game happening in the same room, I knew it would be nearly impossible to resist. Along with the game, Emma had brought a backpack, which surprise- surprise, was Frozen-themed. Sticking out from the top of the pack was a collection of plastic limbs.

Sophia asked as if her entire existence depended on my answer, “Are ya coming to play?”

I shook my head, “I-I don’t like Frozen. And I’m not feeling good.”

It was a harder lie to tell than I anticipated. However, Mrs. Feinstein didn’t press the issue. She remained on the couch, watching her granddaughters with a smile. Sophia pouted at first, but she quickly got into the game.

The way I understood it, the game was similar to Snakes and Ladders, but instead of snakes, it used slides. The winner was the first one to reach Elsa’s ice castle. As stupid as the game sounded, five minutes later, I wanted to play so badly it was all I could think about.

I considered, for a moment, ripping off the bandage, exposing the wound to the air anything, driving my fingernails into it- anything to take my mind off the game and how desperately I wanted to join the two other girls.

Mrs. Feinstein turned to me, “Are you sure you don’t want to play, dear? It looks like a lot of fun. You aren’t actually glued to the couch are you? Is that why you can’t play?”

Something escaped from my mouth, a nearly alien sound made in unison with Sophia. My mouth turned up into a smile, my cheeks dimpling in the process.

Mrs. Feinstein said knowingly, “Ah, so super glue is the culprit. Well there’s only one remedy girls. We’re going to have to pull Riley off the couch.”

Emma said, “Grannie, we want you to play too! You can be Olaf.”

The woman replied, “No, no that won’t do. I can’t sit on the floor like you unfortunately. Why I’d probably never be able to get back up! Here you girls would be off to college, and I’d still be here.”

Sophia said, “You’re silly, Grannie!”

Mrs. Feinstein smiled, “I know, dear. Now we’ll let Riley come on her own. I was just ribbing about pulling her off the couch.”

I remained on the couch, trying to think of anything to keep my mind off the game. I pictured girls in bikinis and tight-assed club girls wearing so little it would be considered scandalous, grinding against me and generally filling the fantasy of any red-blooded male on the planet. When this didn’t work, I tried going through the plot of Goodfellas, the Godfather- the first five Friday the 13th movies, but nothing was working. The sights and sounds of the game pierced my brain like a white-hot arrow.

Seconds later, I realized that I was slowly edging my way off the couch.

Emma said, “Riley, you can be Elsa if you want.”

These were apparently the magic words. I flew off the couch and settled in next to Sophia, taking the offered game piece in my hands as if it was suddenly the most important object in the world. I identified with Anna, being the younger sister, but I wanted to be Elsa because- because she made fucking ice out of her hands. Oh, and she made a really pretty dress too.

Shit. Was I was really comparing myself to Frozen characters?

One game. I would play one game with them, then I’d hide in the bedroom until Eve got home.

Sophia asked, “How old are you?”

I answered, “Six.” This caused Sophia’s face to break into a wide grin. She said excitedly, peering at me with wide expectant eyes, “Me too! I go to Grannie’s after school. Do you wanna play next time too?”

I knew the look she was giving me, although usually it belonged to the girl at the bar or the gym that I had no interest in. She was the girl that was trying too hard and offered no challenge.

Emma interjected, “We only go to Grannie’s on Mondays and sometimes Wednesdays.”

I instantly disliked Emma. She reminded me of know-it-all kids from school. She was first to raise her hand, and if she wasn’t first, she would try and raise it higher than anyone else. I had dated girls like her and usually they turned into the epitome of high maintenance attention whores. Girls who needed constant reassurance concerning their looks, their intelligence…and incredibly, even the way they breathed. A girl actually asked me once if her exhaling bothered me. Not surprisingly, she was an incredibly easy lay because quick compliments would soften even the hardest eyes.

Mrs. Feinstein said, “Since this is Riley’s first time playing, why not let her go first?” Sophia smiled happily and clapped her hands together. Emma simply nodded.

I spun a small cardboard wheel and the game began. Halfway through the game, I was in the lead, with Sophia only a couple spaces behind me. As the game neared the end, I was pleased that I managed to control any childish or girlish outbursts. With a lucky spin, I was positioned to win the game on the next turn. With the realization that victory was near, a great bubbly feeling entered my body, bringing with it an overarching sense of happiness. I pulled my knees up into my body, attempting to squelch the emotion. Fear also descended on me, as I saw my actions, my thoughts as foreign. Simply put, I shouldn’t have been so overjoyed at the prospect of beating a six and an eight year old at a game designed for kids. This wasn’t a kill streak that lasted the whole match or the first phone number on a slow night- it was a stupid piece of cardboard.

Thirty seconds later, I had won. Unfettered, uncontrollable joy burst from me, followed by a rapid flapping of my arms.

Emma said, “You trying to fly away, Riley? You’re a weirdo.”

It took a moment for the joy to wash away, but it did so easily, once I realized the implication of my actions.

I hadn’t flapped my arms like that since…I was five years old. It was something an overexcited child did, the happiness, the exhilaration too great for mere cries of victory- it needed frantic motions. Like Emma, kids made fun of me for it, and gradually I stopped doing it, but the fact that it had returned, more than anything else, was mind blowing.

Unlike alien giggling and the unfamiliar dresses and toys, the flapping was something wholly familiar that placed my mind back firmly into my childhood. While it was humiliating, I also remembered why I was so excited- summer vacation, my dad coming home and the hours I knew we’d spend together- birthdays and Christmas.

Sophia grinned, “So you wanna play again?”

I did, a thousand times over, and while I knew that Sophia and Emma would have to leave eventually, I already started to feel anticipation in my limbs at their eventual return. My mind suddenly filled with pictures of us skipping, playing at the water park, and my face- it looked exactly like Sophia’s, with happy dancing eyes and a smile as wide as my face- it was innocence and bliss, a mind without worry, without the serum- a battle fought and lost yet completely forgotten.

“No! Fuck-Fucking no way! I don’t want to play this stupid fucking game, and you cunts and your fucking dolls- just leave…! I don’t want to see you anymore!”

Sophia’s expression went from stupefied with the smile dropping off her face to hurt and finally to a face that scrunched up as if struck physically with a steady flow of tears.

Mrs. Feinstein also appeared shocked, but she rapidly regained her composure. She said firmly, “Girls, clean up your things and wait for your parents in the apartment.”

The woman’s voice was steely. With it, she could have commanded presidents, kings- and yet she chose teaching for some reason.

The girls did as they were told. Emma cast an angry look in my direction, while Sophia continued to cry. Within a minute both of them were out the door.

Mrs. Feinstein remained on the couch. I had expected her to start threatening me with her cane, but she was oddly calm. “Are you happy here, Riley?”

The question caught me completely off guard, “What are you talking about? Sure, I’m happy. What the hell kind of question is that?”

I was expecting a fierce and lengthy lecture from her about how a proper young lady should act, and not call other young ladies ‘cunts’.

Mrs. Feinstein replied, “Your behaviour today tells a different story. You were having so much fun with my granddaughters, why did you speak to them that way?”

I said, “I told you already. I didn’t want to play their stupid game anymore.”

The old woman nodded, “Do you have any friends at school?”

I shook my head, “Fuck. What does that have to do with anything?”

Mrs. Feinstein said with surprising softness, “I just want to make sure you are happy and safe, Riley. I’ve seen you with your father. I know you two get along very well, but you should have friends your own age. And you are staying home alone, I just don’t think ...”

I said, “Mind your goddamn business.”

Mrs. Feinstein said, “I’ve dealt with tougher nuts than you, young lady. Don’t think that because I’m old that there’s cobwebs up here. I’m still sharp as a tack. Now, I want you to answer me truthfully. Are you attending school?”

The old woman’s steely gaze made it difficult to lie, but I was still the master. I replied, “Y-Yes of course. What makes you think I’m not?”

Mrs. Feinstein said matter-of-factly, “You aren’t terribly well socialized. That means that you don’t seem to know how to act around children your own age.”

I replied, “What? So we all have to be tea-sipping Frozen obsessed dress wearing Polly prissy pants?”

Mrs. Feinstein’s features did not change, but she could not hide the amusement in her eyes, “No. Absolutely not.” Her eyes hardened, “Do you stay alone by yourself after school every day? I ask this because I’m concerned for your safety.”

I said, “Just leave me the fuck alone, OK? I didn’t ask for your help. I showed you that I did the bandage myself. I can take care of whatever happens.”

Just then, the door flew open. Eve ran in and immediately wrapped her arms around me. She picked me up and planted kisses on my cheek, all the while nattering, “Baby! Are you OK? Does it still hurt?”

Despite the fact that the wound had been bandaged, Eve’s frantic behaviour and seemingly real anxiety transferred to me, and suddenly, I felt pain again. Tears welled in my eyes, my entire body seemingly wracked with pain, and then like some sort of wonderful painkiller, it was gone. Eve was fiercely hugging me. She placed her hand on my cheek and gently guided my head so that our cheeks were touching.

She spoke gently, “Shh. Shh. It’s OK, baby, mommy’s here.”

I felt safe in her arms. Breaking away from her or swearing at her for treating me like a child would break character. So I allowed the embrace to continue. Plus, it wasn’t like I was hugging her back.

Mrs. Feinstein interrupted our near tearful reunion. “I know that you are a young and inexperienced parent, but you cannot under any circumstances leave your child alone like this again.”

I broke out of Eve’s embrace and said flippantly, “Aren’t your granddaughters in your apartment? Alone?”

Mrs. Feinstein clucked, “Yes. But they do not have access to hammers. The drinking glasses available to them are plastic. And most importantly, they aren’t you, young lady. Emma is very mature, and she looks after her sister very well. I wouldn’t leave them alone for an extended period of time, but they’ve earned my trust.”

She turned to Eve, “Miss, your daughter is extremely ill-mannered. She is a veritable hellion. I have no idea how someone who takes care of individuals with serious illnesses could have such a constant lapse in judgment. She was extremely ungrateful for the help that I provided, in your absence, and,” Mrs. Feinstein lifted herself up using the ornate cane, quickly hobbling over to stand an inch apart from Eve, “frankly, the way you and your husband have chosen to raise her is absolutely appalling. A six-year old girl should not be swearing in the same manner as a common criminal, or a low-rent hussy.”

She tapped her cane firmly on the floor, causing Eve and I to stand at attention, “I’ve half a mind to contact child protective services. Not simply because of her behaviour, but the very fact that you leave her alone and give her free rein in the apartment. She could have seriously injured herself. Miss, your beautiful daughter could have died. What if the cut she received was more grievous, what if she had severed an artery?”

Mrs. Feinstein shook her head slowly, “Now what have you got to say for yourself?”

Eve took the full brunt of the attack, simply standing there with her mouth slightly open and her shoulders slowly sagging under the weight of the severe scolding. I opened my mouth in reply, but Mrs. Feinstein’s withering gaze, which I assumed could actually kill flowers and small rodents, sucked the courage from my body.

Eve lowered her head and said, “I-I’m sorry. It’ll never happen again, I just- I had a split shift, and I couldn’t find a babysitter, plus money’s really tight since we moved. We lived in this awful neighbourhood before, and I think that’s where she picked up a lot of that language. Riley’s usually so careful around the house, and I’m really not sure how she got the hammer. Please, please don’t call child services.”

Either Eve was an incredible actress, or she genuinely didn’t want me to be taken away. I didn’t want her to be my mother, but maybe- maybe we could be friends.

Mrs. Feinstein’s expression gradually softened, although it had gone from menacing bird of prey to pissed off old lady. “I’ll consider it. Now I must go. I’ve left my granddaughters alone long enough.”

Before leaving she turned to me, not simply glaring at me, but actually appearing hawkish again with a protruding angry jaw. Even when she was giving Eve shit, she hadn’t looked like that. “Young lady, I hope you enjoy the taste of Ivory Snow because barring some divine intervention, if you ever- and I mean ever speak that way in front of my granddaughters again, you will be burping soap bubbles for a week.”

I watched with wide eyes as the crotchety old woman hobbled out the door. Eve and I shared worried looks as the sound of the metallic cane thumping against the parkay floor grew more distant.

I said, “Maybe she’ll die before she can make the complaint?”

My attempt at levity had clearly fallen flat. Eve shook her head sadly, the worried look refusing to leave her face.