Killer Takes All

CHAPTER 32

Saturday, March 12, 2005

2:00 p.m.

Leo had been reluctant to play; said he’d left gaming behind years before. Kay had flatly refused. White Rabbit belonged to a time of their lives she would rather not relive.

Stacy had attempted to overcome Leo’s reluctance by explaining that Alice was absolutely right when she’d ascertained that they planned to use the game as a way to understand who they were up against. Getting into the head of a killer was a technique as old as crime and investigation, but perfected by the FBI in the 1980s.

The feds had dubbed the technique “profiling,” the investigators who specialized in the technique “profilers.” It was about as sexy as police work got. Lots of media coverage. Respect and awe from both the public and law enforcement. Some damn spectacular success stats.

Even so, in the end it’d been Alice who’d convinced her father. She’d begged him. She would set up the game. All he’d have to do was show up. It’d be fun.

So here she was. Alice met them at the door. She wore a bright patchwork vest-similar to the rabbit’s in Carroll’s story.

“Hurry,” the girl said. “We’re late. So very, very late.”

Stacy began to correct her-she was actually right on time-then realized that Alice was already in character.

“Follow me…follow me…”

She turned and hurried inside, leading them to the kitchen. It looked like a snack truck had exploded in the room. The center island was covered with bags and bowls of every snack food possible. A small cooler sat in the midst of the chips, pork rinds and M amp;M’s candies.

Stacy crossed to it and saw it was loaded with soda pops and coffee drinks.

The front doorbell rang and Alice hurried to answer, muttering about the time.

In the next moment, Alice scurried back into the room, shadowed by Spencer, Tony and Leo. All the while, Alice tapped her foot impatiently, muttering under her breath and repeatedly checking her pocket watch.

“Alice isn’t being rude,” Leo explained. “She’s IC. In character.”

“Exactly,” Alice said, grinning at her father. “And right now I’m OOC, out of character.”

“What’s with the junk food?” Tony asked, wandering to the island.

“It’s a gamer thing. Energy drinks, pork rinds, chips, the nastier the better.”

“My kind of game,” he said, reaching for the basket of barbecue cracklings.

“Energy drinks?” Stacy asked. “Mountain Dew?”

“Lots of caffeine. At Dad’s insistence, we also have Starbucks Double Shots.”

They did, indeed. Stacy helped herself to a can, popped the top and poured the coffee beverage over a cup of ice. When they had all helped themselves to a refreshment, they sat.

“Since you’re all newbies,” Alice began, “I figured we’d play a really basic version.”

Leo cleared his throat. “Newbie? Excuse me?”

She laughed. “Except for Dad, of course.” She continued, “There are a number of different scenarios, even a one-on-one, between a player’s character of choice and the White Rabbit.

“The basic story goes like this. The White Rabbit has taken control of Wonderland. Once a place where time had been turned on end, a place of maddening but benign beauty, he has turned it into a place of death. And of evil. Nature turned inside out. Using dark magic, he controls the creatures who reside in Wonderland. Alice and her band of heroes must destroy the White Rabbit, not only saving Wonderland and its king and queen-but the world above as well. For the White Rabbit is dangerously close to adapting his dark magic to our world.”

Leo stepped in. “Like any good book or film, the best RPGs have a narrative, its heroes a grand mission. The stakes are high, the clock ticking.”

“Jeez,” Tony said around a mouthful of cracklings, “and here I thought I was going to get to kick some fantasy creep’s ass.”

Leo laughed. “You will, Detective. But White Rabbit is more than a hack-and-slash scenario.”

“Hack and slash?” Spencer asked.

“A game that’s little more than the near endless slaughter of bad guys-and anything else in the players’ paths. I find that gets boring, but some players and GMs want nothing but.”

Leo glanced at his daughter. “Alice?”

She took over. “I chose a character for each of you, a job usually left to each player. The band of heroes includes Alice, of course. She’s the leader. The other members of today’s team are da Vinci, Nero and Angel.”

She retrieved a Crown Royal bag from the floor beside her, opened it, reached inside and drew out a miniature. Made of cardboard and hand-painted, it depicted a young girl. “Alice,” she said, and slid it across to Stacy. “You’re the group’s leader. You’re intelligent and brave, with superhuman strength. Besides your physical strength, you carry a crossbow. Alice has the heart of a warrior and the spirit of an adventurer.”

Alice retrieved a second figure from the bag. “Da Vinci,” she said, holding up a replica of da Vinci’s famous drawing “Vitruvian.” She snapped it into a plastic holder and slid it across to Spencer. “Da Vinci is a genius. He’s a master at spells and potions. He also possesses the ability to read minds, though he can be fooled. However, he is all brain and no brawn.”

One corner of Spencer’s mouth lifted. “Sexy.”

Alice withdrew another figure, a male wearing black jeans and T-shirt, dark glasses. “Nero,” she said.

Something in her tone piqued Stacy’s curiosity. “What’s his story?”

“Nero’s the most unpredictable of all the characters. The most dangerous.”

“Why?” Tony puffed up slightly, obviously assuming the character was his.

“He’s a necromancer.”

“A what?”

“A spell-wielding character who specializes in death magic. He can be hard to control and is often untrustworthy. I worried about throwing him in with an inexperienced band like yourselves.”

Stacy glanced at Spencer. She suspected he was thinking the same as she-that it was creepy the way Alice described the characters as if they were real and could think for themselves.

“There’s always a betrayer,” Leo added. “The Judas figure.”

“And I’m it?” Tony asked, not quite as puffed up now.

“No.” Alice fixed the miniature in its stand and slid it to her father.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Interesting.”

Tony frowned. “What about me?”

“I’ve reserved a very special character for you. Angel,” she said, drawing the miniature from the bag. She set the figure, a representation of a dark-haired woman outfitted in a skintight superhero costume.

Tony gazed at the figure, disgusted. “I’m a chick?”

Spencer hooted in amusement. Stacy chuckled and Alice smiled, obviously enjoying her moments as “God.”

“Not just any chick,” the girl said. “A powerful illusionist, she uses her power to defeat her enemies.”

Tony sulked. “A chick. Why me?”

“Overcome, Pasta Man,” Spencer said. “Have a few more pork rinds.”

“Four characters, four miniatures,” Stacy murmured. “Your heroes represent real-life people, don’t they?”

“Except for Alice. Lewis, who I chose not to use today, represents Lewis Carroll, Wonderland’s original creator. Da Vinci is Dad, and Nero is his old partner, the co-creator of the game. Angel is Mom, Dad’s nickname for her back then.”

Spencer frowned. “If those are the characters, how do the Dormouse, March Hare and Cheshire Cat come into play?”

Leo stepped in. “In all RPGs, the heroes must battle foes. In D amp; D the foes are monsters. In our game, they are the original creatures of Wonderland. They have turned to evil and are controlled by the White Rabbit.”

Stacy frowned. “But I thought this was a killer-takes-all scenario? If we’re a band of heroes, that means we must betray one another.”

Leo nodded. “Any of the characters can turn at any moment. Some are more susceptible, like Nero. Angel has been known to create the illusion of safety for her fellow comrades when a trap awaits.”

“And some-” Alice jumped in “-have been known to sacrifice themselves for the success of the mission. Or the safety of a friend.”

“Or,” Leo added, “to sacrifice a fellow hero to save the world.”

“So remember, only one will be left standing at the end of the game.” Alice paused for effect, moving her gaze among them. “Which of you will it be?”

Stacy felt herself being drawn into the scenario. She looked at each of her fellows, wondering who would be the one to save the world. Wanting to be the one, but determined to put the safety of all before her own heroic immortality.

Alice continued. “Your success, or defeat, is determined by your choices, your skills and the roll of the dice.”

“Explain,” Spencer said.

“We play with a 20-sided dice. Rolling a twenty is a critical hit, a one a critical miss.”

“Meaning?”

“A critical hit means your spell, move or whatever, was more effective than intended. For example, if you want to stop a monster’s advance and you get a critical hit, you’ll not just stop him but blow him to smithereens. A critical miss is just the opposite. The monster doesn’t just hurt you, he tears you into pieces, which he then eats and burps up for the next hour.”

“Lovely image,” Spencer murmured.

“What about something in between?” Stacy asked. “Say an eight?”

“The GM is God, remember? He decides how successful your action is.”

“Any other questions?”

There weren’t, and the teenager looked at each of them, expression serious. “A last word of caution. Choose wisely. Work together. The White Rabbit is wily indeed. Are we ready to begin?”

They all looked at Stacy. “You’re our leader. Are we ready?”

“Yes-it’s time to begin.”

The minutes passed quickly and it didn’t take long for them to get the hang of it, Stacy realized. She had to admit, it was enjoyable. And powerful. The scenario sucked her in and she no longer thought of her fellow players by their real identities but as their characters. The psychological pull was great, and Stacy understood why RPGs frightened many parents. And why Billie had said they were too powerful for people with a fragile grasp on reality.

They confronted the Mad Hatter, who critically wounded da Vinci before Alice had killed him with her crossbow. Nero had been trapped in the White Rabbit’s shrinking house, and they’d been forced to leave him behind.

Now they faced the most formidable foe to date: a caterpillar larger than all of them put together. He smoked a pipe; its curling green smoke a deadly poison to all it came in contact with.

Da Vinci offered an antidote potion. In his weakened state, less than a critical hit would kill him.

The game master prepared to roll. Kay appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Excuse me. Leo?”

Her voice trembled. The inventor looked up, smile dying on his lips. Stacy turned. Kay was as pale as a ghost. She seemed to be hanging on to the door frame to keep from toppling over.

Leo got to his feet. “My God, Kay. What’s wrong?”

The adults followed Leo to his feet. Stacy glanced at Alice. She sat frozen, staring at her mother.

“Come see… It’s-” She brought a hand to her mouth; Stacy saw that it shook. “Your office.”

“My office?” Leo said. “What-”

“Mrs. Maitlin found…she called me.”

“Leo,” Stacy said softly, touching his arm, “your daughter.”

He looked at Alice, as if just remembering her presence. “You stay,” he ordered.

“But, Dad-”

“Not a word. You stay.”

Stacy frowned. She wasn’t a parent, but it seemed a little more sensitivity might be in order. The teenager was obviously frightened.

They exited the kitchen. The housekeeper hovered outside Leo’s office door. She looked as shaken up as Kay.

Stacy glanced toward the foyer. Word that something was happening must have spread, because Troy stood in the doorway.

He looked her way. He wore mirrored sunglasses, which she always found disconcerting. She disliked not being able to see another’s eyes, but instead to see herself reflected back at her.

Freud would have had a field day with that.

“Stacy? Coming?”

That came from Leo. She tore her gaze from the driver. “Yes.”

Stacy followed Spencer and his partner into the office. Leo trailed behind her.

On the gleaming wooden floor the shape of a heart had been drawn. Inside it lay two oversize playing cards, the kind magicians and kids’ birthday clowns sometimes used, the Five and Seven of Spades. Both had been torn in half.

Beneath the heart, the intruder had scrawled a message.

The roses are red now.