Virtually Dead

Chapter Seventeen

Chas landed in full sunlight on a flat, empty stretch of sand that faded off to a blurred horizon as far as he could see in every direction. He immediately had a sense of something not quite right. Some primal instinct at work. The sand seemed divided by shallow waterways into square parcels. To the south he could see water, but no shoreline. Just a sharp division between the two. Tall, red For Sale obelisks spun in slow motion over several parcels, and as he stood, a large, black building began slowly to rez on the neighbouring plot.

He started walking toward it. He could have flown, but he felt as if he had less control in the air than on the ground, and something was telling him that he needed to stay in control. He waded through the waterway that separated the two parcels, and emerged closer to what was clearly The Blackhouse.

Gradually, as he got nearer, detail began to form. It seemed as if the building were constructed from some kind of black steel, welded together and studded with huge, round-headed rivets. Enormous double doors, three or four times Chas’ own height, stood wide, and as he approached them he saw that giant, demonic heads with short, curling horns had been carved into each of them, glowing red opals in the place of eyes. He hesitated and peered inside. It was dark, in stark contrast to the white, dusty glare of the midday sun on the outside. He took several cautious steps through the doors and stopped.

There, in front of him, on a floor as black as the rest of the building, was a large pool of blood. Chas had seen blood left by murderers at many crime scenes over the years, but there was something chilling about this pool of it here in the middle of a virtual floor somewhere in the ether. He knew, of course, that it wasn’t real. That he had no cause to be afraid. And yet, without reason, he felt uncomfortable. He tapped into Open Chat.

Chas: Hello?

And waited. There was no reply. Why had Angel sent him a TP to this place? It made no sense. He took several steps further inside and heard a loud creak, the sound of metal grinding against metal. He turned quickly, in time to see the giant doors close behind him. They shut with a resounding clang. And his discomfort turned to something very much like fear.

This was insane!

He fumbled to open up his Inventory and the Landmark folder within it. There, he found all the LMs Doobie had given him. He clicked on one and selected Teleport.

Nothing happened.

He tried again. The same. He tried another. Still nothing. Something about this place was disabling his ability to teleport out. He was trapped. There were no windows here, and he wondered how he could see. There was a light source somewhere, but he was unable to locate it. The blood on the floor seemed to glow in the dark. Carefully, he worked his way around it, anxious not to step in it, the crime scene investigator in him fastidious about not disturbing evidence. And as he reached the far side, he saw that someone, or something, had not taken the same care as he. There were trails through the blood, and tracks led out of it into a corridor that curved away out of sight. But they weren’t footprints. They were clawmarks, as if some huge creature had feasted here amongst the blood and then dragged itself off down the corridor, leaving a bloody trail in its wake.

Chas supposed he still had the option to quit the program, to simply log out. But that, he reasoned, would be foolish. What could possibly happen to him? He tried to rationalise the tension he felt tightening across his chest. He was simply projecting real-life fears on to Second Life fantasy. None of this was real. He forced himself to relax and take deep breaths. And he started off along the corridor, following the trail of clawmarks.

As he rounded the curve, he saw light ahead, and moving further along, a row of small windows appeared, opening to the outside. Light fell into the building in long, misty yellow shafts. And the blood on the floor glowed even more vividly, caught in the beams. Chas forced himself on, keeping close to the wall, until finally the corridor opened into a vast, square arena, light pouring into it from tall windows on all sides. The bloody clawmarks led into the centre of the arena, where an even larger pool of blood reflected the light from the windows, steam rising from it into the gloom, as if the air were chill and the blood still fresh and warm.

Angel: Welcome.

Chas was momentarily startled, looking up to see a small group of people seated in a circle on a low stage at the far side of the arena.

Angel: We’ve been watching you. Well done. You were faster than most.

Chas walked toward the stage.

Chas: I don’t understand.

Angel: A little psychological test. Had you failed it, I would have deemed you unsuitable for therapy in Second Life.

He saw her clearly now for the first time and knew that he would not have recognised her were it not for the tag above her head. She was dressed, head to foot, in deep purple, a long, flowing dress with a neckline cut almost to the naval. A silver-chained red pendant hung between ample breasts, a mirror of the earrings that hung like drops of blood from each lobe. Her face was the purest white, crimson lips cut like a deep slash across its lower half. Her eyes were the coldest, palest blue. Husky eyes. Black hair streaked with silver hung down below her waist, and in the crook of a very pale arm, she held open a large oxblood leather-bound tome, with the word Spellbook tooled into its front cover.

Chas: Well, what was the test?

Angel: The virtual world, Chas, affects different people in different ways. In spite of knowing that what we experience here is not real, some people are very deeply affected by it. They transfer real fears and feelings from the real world to the virtual, where the very nature of the experience is rooted deeply in our imaginations, tapping into the hidden depths of our psyche. Everything can seem more profound. More intense.

And Chas remembered Doobie’s words from yesterday. Human emotions — love, hate, jealousy, envy — are like the light that burns twice as bright but only half as long.

Angel: And for some people that intensity can be dangerous. They become overtaken by their own emotions, in a way that neither they, nor I, can control. The experience is damaging. We require a certain inner strength to survive this second life intact.

Chas: So some people fail your test?

Angel: Oh, yes. Quite a number.

Chas: And how do they fail?

Angel: Some of them simply never cross the threshold. The very act of moving from bright sunlight into the dark unknown is too much for them. Then there are those who retreat at the sight of blood. Blood is symbolic, you see. Of life, and death. Of our own mortality. So many people go through life failing to come to terms with the fact that, in the end, they will die. Religion has, since the dawn of time, facilitated mankind’s need for denial, faith feeding a belief that, after all, death can be defeated. It is the ultimate example of man’s great capacity for self-deception. Then there are those who simply panic when the doors close. Some think to try to teleport out, some don’t. But the brain freezes, paralysed by an irrational fear. After all, what harm can really become them here? All they have to do is log out. I’m sure that thought passed through your mind.

Chas: Yes.

He did not like feeling that he was so predictable, that every emotion he had gone through had been carefully choreographed, his responses to them falling into preordained categories. A psychologist’s boxes ticked and checked.

Angel: But still you proceeded to the arena. Which demonstrates a depth of character that tells me you are mentally strong enough to join our little group.

Chas felt unaccountably annoyed. As if he had somehow been manipulated against his will, subjected to scrutiny, tried, tested and judged.

Chas: I suppose I should feel privileged then.

Angel: Yes, Chas, you should. You are already proving yourself stronger than your RL counterpart.

Chas realised that there was some truth in that. Not stronger, necessarily, but more confident. More like the man he had been before Mora’s death. As if Chas was the part of himself that had died with her, and his ghost was in some way being resurrected here in Second Life, as in some virtual afterlife. It was a confusing and unsettling thought. After all, who would he be when he logged out again? Michael or Chas? Or was it possible that, with time, more and more of Chas would return with him to RL?

Angel: Come, take a seat. And I will introduce you to the group.

Chas climbed up on to the stage, where a single, empty seat awaited him. He clicked on it and sat. The others all had their heads turned toward him, watching in silence. There were five of them. He felt very self-conscious.

Angel: Laffa Minit has been attending our sessions for nearly six months now.

Laffa Minit made a small bow. She was a furry. A voluptuous female body with a rabbit’s head and red, cupid lips.

Angel:

Laffa has been involved in an extra-marital affair for over a year. She is trying to come to terms with conflicting emotions of guilt and addiction. Guilt, about the betrayal of her husband, and a hopeless psychological addiction to her lover. Unfortunately, the only progress we seem to have made — if we can call it that — is that Laffa now has another lover. In Second Life. Something we were debating before your arrival. But we’ll come back to that.

Seated next to Laffa was a Goth called Demetrius Smith.

Angel: Demi also has a problem with addiction. Demi’s addiction is sex, and I’m not so sure it wasn’t a mistake introducing him to Second Life. Rather too many opportunities to indulge that addiction, am I right, Demi?

Demetrius: LOLOLOL!

Angel: And then there is Dark. Dark Daley. Dark has troubled, hidden fantasies, that we have still not persuaded him to share with us.

Chas looked at Dark. Of all the members of the group, he seemed the most normal, a young man with an untidy shock of brown hair. He was bare-chested, with a ring through his left nipple and a tattoo on his right shoulder. He wore baggy black trousers and no shoes.

Angel: And Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee are twins.

These were two dumpy, unattractive girls, with pigtails and identical blue pinafore dresses. Their feet didn’t quite touch the floor, and their legs swung free, like bored children.

Angel: But only in Second Life. In real life they are lesbian lovers, each victims of child abuse at the hands of male relatives.

Chas shifted uncomfortably. This was clearly a group of very disturbed people, and it disturbed him to think that he was included among them.

Chas: Hi

No one replied.

Angel: So where were we? Ah, yes. The question of betrayal. I think that everyone accepts that by taking an RL lover, Laffa is betraying her husband, and compounding that betrayal by lies and deceit. Now, here is the moral question which has been testing us. Is she commiting the same act of betrayal by taking a lover in SL? Betraying, in fact, not only her husband, but her RL lover as well?

Dark: How can you betray someone in the real world by humping a cartoon in the virtual one? It’s patently absurd.

Demetrius: No, it’s not. Betrayal is in the mind. Betrayal of the flesh is only an extension of the mental treachery. So to take an SL lover is just as much of a betrayal as having an illicit partner in RL.

Dark: Crap!

Angel: No, it’s an interesting point, Dark. It could be argued that all betrayal begins in the mind. Long before it ever turns to flesh.

Tweedle Dum: Depends whether you want to call it betrayal, or not. Just because you fall out of love with someone doesn’t mean you’re betraying them. It happens, that’s all.

Tweedle Dee: Up to a point, maybe. But the betrayal begins, surely, when you start to lie. The betrayal is the deceit.

Dark: Oh, gimme a fucking break!

Chas was startled by this sudden lapse from the intellectual to the profane.

Dark: Take it to a fucking court, for Chrissake! What do you think they’d say? That she’s been commiting adultery with a bunch of electrons on a computer screen? I don’t think so. The fact that she’s fucking some guy in RL, that’s a different story. That’s cheating, plain and simple, and if I knew who the poor husband was I’d fucking tell him.

Angel: One of Dark’s not so hidden fantasies, Chas, is his desire to one day construct an entire sentence made up only of profanities. What do you think about it, Laffa?

Laffa: If I could stop crying for a moment, I might tell you.

Dark: Jesus Christ!

Tweedle Dum: Oh, grow up, Laffa. If you go around fucking everything on three legs then you gotta expect to field a bit of flak.

Laffa: Okay, since you’re all so frigging perfect, let me tell you what I think. I think the only reason I’ve taken a lover in SL is because I’m so unhappy in RL. And because my SL lover makes me happy, I am able to carry some of that happiness with with me back into RL. And both my husband and my lover benefit. So they should be grateful.

Dark: Yeh, like you’re doing them such a favour.

Laffa: Why do you always have to be so negative? You’re a sarcastic bastard, Dark. Always happy to talk about others. Never about yourself. And your secret fantasies. You’re probably just some perv child molester!

Chas felt the tension in the group ratchet up another few notches.

Angel: What do you think, Chas?

Chas was startled. He had not expected to have to contribute.

Chas: Er... I don’t know. To be honest, it’s not something I’ve ever given any thought to.

Demetrius: You don’t have to think about it. You hear an argument. You get a gut feeling. What’s yours?

Chas: Well, probably I’d be with Angel on this. The first betrayal is always in the mind.

Tweedle Dee: That is just so much shit. So you’ve got a lover, right? And you’re out on your own somewhere for the night without her. And some chick hits on you. Your hormones kick in, you fuck her. You never see her again. It’s a one-night stand. You never thought about it beforehand, you never think about it again. Means nothing to you. Purely physical. But do you think your lover’s going to see it that way? Will she, hell! Betrayal’s just as much physical as it is mental. It can be one, or the other, or both. It all counts.

Tweedle Dum: So is that what happened with you and that girl at Twinkle’s?

Tweedle Dee: What?

Tweedle Dum: What was her name, Rachel? The one with the implants.

Tweedle Dum: Aw, for Chrissake, don’t start that again!

Angel: No, let’s not. I’m not sure that we’ve exhausted the subject, but maybe we should come back to it another time. Chas, why don’t you tell us why you’re here?

Chas stiffened. Immediately tense, and glad that no one could see his discomfort beyond the screen.

Chas: I’m here because you asked me to be.

Dark: LOLOLOL! Good avoidance technique, Chas. Almost as good as mine.

Angel: Okay, let me kick this off for you. Chas is having difficulty dealing with the death of his wife.

Demetrius: How long since she died?

Chas: A little over six months.

Dark: Oh, for Chrissake, man! Get over it.

Laffa: Yeh, who’re you grieving for? Her or you?

Tweedle Dee: People die, Chas. Didn’t you know? Happens to us all someday. Nothing we can do for the ones who’re gone, except get on with the living.

Chas was startled by the brutality of this response. Angel had always trodden gently around the subject, getting him to explore his feelings, suggesting ways that he might be able to come to terms with his loss.

Demetrius: I never did hold with this grieving thing. The death of a loved one is always a shock. But we get over shocks. Personally, I think the Irish have got it right. Hold a wake. Have a party. Celebrate the life that’s gone. Grief, in the end, is nothing more than self-pity.

There was a long silence then. And Chas felt that all their eyes were on him.

Angel: Well, Chas. Was that the kind of response you expected?

Chas: I didn’t know what to expect. Not abuse, certainly.

Dark: Well, you won’t get much sympathy from this lot. We’ve all got our own problems, bud. And there probably isn’t anyone here who hasn’t lost a loved one. So get your head out of your butt and get on with your life.

Angel: Okay, okay. I think you’ve made your views clear enough. We have all, at one time or another, had the opportunity to tell our own stories. So next time, we’ll listen to Chas. And he can tell us exactly why he’s having such difficulty coming to terms with his wife’s death.

But Chas knew there was no way he was going to tell these people anything. Exposing his soul to them would be like throwing meat to a flock of vultures. It was clear that they would simply pick over the remains of his love for Mora without any regard for his feelings or any attempt at understanding them.

He told Angel as much when the session drew to a close. The others had drifted off, and he was left standing with her in the arena on his own. She shook her head.

Angel: It’s hard, Chas, I know. But people are like that in SL. Maybe not just SL. Maybe it’s the Internet. People are never face-to-face or eye-to-eye. And somehow they seem to think that frees them from all the usual social obligations of politeness and tact. Look at any of the online forums. Bloody, brutal battlegrounds sometimes, where bile flows freely and people give expression to things they would never say to your face. Here they have their AV’s to hide behind. They are anonymous and say what they like.

The sun was sinking low in the sky now, and red light fell in long slabs across the arena floor, light reflecting in the large pool of blood, steam still rising like smoke into the evening light. Through the window, Chas saw the sun almost on the horizon, sending yellow diamonds sparkling across the broken surface of the ocean toward them.

Chas: Maybe that’s true, Angel. But I don’t have to put myself in the firing line.

Angel: Don’t be so touchy, Chas. The group approach is a very different kind of therapy. You need to let go. Of whatever emotion it is that’s messing with your mind. Whether it be anger, pity, hurt... Let those feelings out. Direct them at others. Because they will direct theirs at you.

Chas: I noticed.

Angel: But don’t you see, Chas, it’s a release for everyone. Of all that tension that builds up inside us. It’s all we ever really need. Tension is like pressure contained without any means of escape. If we can’t find a release valve, in the end we will either blow up or implode. And remember, these people don’t know who you are. And you don’t know them. You would pass each other in the street without recognition. So there is no past, no future, only the present, when we are all together in the group. Give it a chance. If you’re still not happy after the third of fourth session, then call it a day. But you’ve come this far. Don’t turn back at the first hurdle.

Chas noticed a blue banner flashing on and off the foot of his screen. Twist had just come on line. He decided to change the subject and looked around the vast interior of the black metal building. For the first time, he noticed a grilled staircase spiralling up to another level and wondered what was up there.

Chas: What is this place, Angel?

Angel: It was owned by a group of graphics programmers, Chas. Used to be a Goth club, I believe. I bought it from them. It was ideal for my purposes. They wrote the scripts for me, for the pools of blood and the claw marks. Pretty realistic, huh?

Chas: Scarily so, Angel. And I’ve seen some blood in my time.

Angel: LOL, Chas. So you have.

A teleport invitation appeared from Twist.

Chas: I have to go, Angel.

Angel: You’ll come to the next session?

Chas sighed.

Chas: IM me with a day and time, and if I can I’ll be there.

Angel Catchpole smiles.

Angel: Good. Well, TC then, Chas.

Chas: TC?

Angel: LOL. Take care.

Chas clicked to accept Twist’s teleport, and in a rush of sound his screen went black.