Rematch

by Todd Mitchell  —

"It isn't fair! It shouldn't end this way!"

I was about to separate David's head from his body, and he just couldn't accept it. Aaron had spewed vicious insults through gritted teeth as I bludgeoned him in the ritual room and ran him through with the Traveler's blades. Pinned to the wall and bleeding out, he spent his final moments telling me he'd see me in Hell. I respected that. Not David. He whined more nasally with each step I took toward him. I lifted the Dagger of Judgement in both hands.

"WAIT!" David shouted. "FACE ME AGAIN!"

He slapped the power button on the console. The game vanished. Snow flickered and static hissed in its place. It was the worst sin a gamer could commit back then.

"You've got to be kidding me," Aaron said, dropping his controller with disgust. "You're going to be a coward all your life if you don't man up and take what's coming to you."

"You ganged up on me!" David shouted. His lip started to quiver.

"We didn't mean to upset you," I assured him. If we pushed the issue, he'd involve his religious parents who didn't know we were playing Brutal Chain, a violent video game about demon-warriors and one of the most controversial interactive media pieces of the late '90s. I didn't feel like hearing how much we needed Jesus tonight.

"I don't want to play anymore," David declared. He popped the cartridge out of the game system and snapped it into its case from the rental store up the street. Aaron clenched his fists and his face turned red. That's when David decided nobody else could sleep in his room and locked us out.

The family's two Great Danes snored on the sectional sofa in the cramped living room. Aaron was nearly hyperventilating with rage, still staring at the locked door. "I'm going to knock this door down and kick his ass," he said. I knew he would do it. I had to think fast. "Maybe I have another idea," I said.

By the time I explained it to Aaron, we could already hear David snoring in his bed. He was a famously heavy sleeper. He started keeping his bedroom window unlocked in his younger years so teammates could wake him up for baseball games without dealing with his parents and barking dogs at the front door.

While David's family slept, Aaron and I ducked out the front door and into the rainy night. We could have just walked home, but I worried Aaron needed a creative outlet for his rage or he might come back and burn the house down. We crept around the corner toward David's window.

Aaron produced the plastic bag from the video store and we shoved fistfuls of sloppy mud inside. He watched the street while I slowly slid the window open. I climbed back into David's room, then took the bag from Aaron as he hoisted himself over the sill to get in.

"Do it," I whispered.

We each muddied our hands and set to work on his eggshell-colored drywall. We started with simple streaks, but Aaron quickly graduated to obscenities. This felt too aggressive, so I gave him another idea.

"Make symbols like in the game!" I whispered.

Across David's walls and right over his gospel grunge posters we copied the weird pseudoglyphs from Brutal Chain's ritual room. I marked the crude shapes of the Traveler's blades and the Dagger of Judgement over his dresser to celebrate my stolen victory. When we stepped back to appreciate our handiwork in the nightlight's glow, I had to admit it looked creepy as hell. It was too much, but there was nothing to do for it now.

"Let's go," I whispered to Aaron.

He slid the cartridge back into the console and flipped the game back on in defiance before heading for the window. Rain and thunder covered our exit while David sawed logs.

"See?" I said, trying my best to sound lighthearted. "I'd say we're even."

"Almost," Aaron said. He was fixated on something near the road. He walked to the sidewalk and reached down to pick up a dripping, mangled wreck of a dead animal I couldn't even identify. He walked back in my direction, now focused on the window over my shoulder. I fought back the urge to dry heave. "Hold on, dude. You can't." "Get out of the way," he warned. I knew we left the line of insanity far behind us, but I also didn't want to know what he would do if I didn't move.

"This is too much, man," I insisted. It was all I could do not to gag as he opened the window again. He chucked the carcass in like a gore grenade, pulled the window shut, and turned to leave like nothing happened.

We never saw David again.

I snuck by his window one night a week later. His parents were home, but he was gone. The walls were scrubbed clean and the posters were torn down. Dust covered the floor where the furniture used to be.

Then the rumors started.

Someone who knew his cousin heard bits and pieces of the story. His parents believed he acted alone. They swore it was Satanism. They pulled him out of school and put him in some kind of religious alternative program. When they didn't like his progress there, they transferred him to a psychiatric facility that snowed him with drugs. People stopped seeing and hearing about him.

I tried to convince myself his parents were the real villains in his story. Who reacts that way? Who is so goddamn sure of themselves that they can't be troubled to listen to their own kid? Furthermore, Aaron might have murdered him at 13 years old if it weren't for my quick thinking.

Nobody else knew but Aaron. I occasionally instant messaged him about it. Shouldn't David's parents know? Should we try to visit him? Apologize? Aaron had no interest. He genuinely didn't give a shit whether David lived or died. We stopped hanging out. I heard he got into MMA and had occasional run-ins with the law (shocking, I know), but he moved out of the neighborhood and pretty well disappeared too.

It weighed on me at our high school graduation when they reached what should have been David’s name and called someone else’s name instead.

I did tell highlights of the story one time. It was during a job interview at the studio where they made Brutal Chain, if you can believe that. They loved it. It helped win over the hiring managers and earned me a job as a junior designer. I figured if anybody understood things getting blown out of proportion, it was the guys who kept getting sued over their video games. Almost everybody I met at work had a story about the game causing trouble when they were kids.

As if I didn't think about the old neighborhood enough, I'd been dating a girl from our graduating class, Alexis, and it was serious enough not to break things off just because we shared a zip code. As an alternative, I set us up in a nice townhouse closer to the studio 30 minutes away and tried to give myself permission to live a good life.

That worked until David injured a guard and broke out of the psych facility.

Professional game development was the perfect career for me. It didn't leave time to think about much else. Every day was triple booked between the last game that shipped, the one in development, and the one we were slated to work on next. Reclaim too many nights and weekends and they'd simply find someone who would sacrifice them, usually for less pay.

When David broke out, I had the opposite problem. As a developer of games for mature audiences, we weren't just allowed to spend time looking into crimes and violence, it was encouraged. I wasn't the only person in the office researching David’s escape. Some of my coworkers even rooted for him.

Apparently he overpowered an orderly built like an offensive lineman and made it out a staff exit. Nobody saw it coming. Police said they were investigating but that it was a complicated matter. David hadn’t been thought dangerous before that and technically didn't have any priors. Hell, I was guiltier than he was.

The photos they released to the public filled me with dread. He was forever the scrawny nerd in my mind, but security still frames showed that kid as a man, capable of harm and moving with a sense of purpose. As the story developed I was increasingly desperate not to let our history get around.

The studio's common area was abuzz after a potential David sighting in downtown Maysfield. Someone called in a tip which led local businesses to review security footage. Sure enough, there he was in a black winter coat, dark pants, and plain boots, scowling from under a big hood. Police added it to their reports.

"Looking for his next victim!" joked a coder who talked too much.

"Our next demon-warrior!" said a producer seated nearby. The connection to the past gave me chills.

"Isn't that your neck of the woods?" the coder asked me.

"I grew up nearby," I said, trying to shrug dismissively. "You never know what's going to happen there."

Alexis knew something was bothering me. I blamed it on work. It was selfish, but I also felt like I ought to protect her from the whole thing. We made small talk through dinner and she encouraged me to get some rest. It wasn't my best night of sleep.

"Did you hear about the fire back home?" she asked over breakfast.

Not a great way to start the day.

"No, what happened?" I asked.

"It was at that accounting firm near the school," she said. "They suspect arson. Somebody said they saw a guy just standing among the flames. When the fire department showed up, they couldn't find him. Creepy."

"I don't think I know the place," I said honestly, glad for something innocent to contribute.

"Sure you do," she said. "It's right by your family's old house. It used to be that video rental store."

I played it cool despite the churning in my stomach. I said it was a shame and threw out my breakfast. We said our goodbyes as I hurried down to the garage to head to the office.

It was time to talk to Aaron. I didn’t really want to, but he might know something I didn't. If not, he ought to know to keep an eye out.

I had to compare his online court records to a public directory website to find him.

"Yeah man, what's up?" Aaron said after I reminded him who I was. His tone made it clear he didn't particularly care about the answer.

"Yeah, hey man," I said, trying to sound normal. "Listen, I think David's back in the picture."

"Who?" he said.

"David," I said. "Y'know. With the...room?"

"Oh, that shit?" he said. "Look, man. You've got to move past it. I haven't thought about that in years."

"Right," I said. "It's just that he's a little...different now."

"Different how?"

I hesitated. "I uh...think he might have burned down the old game store."

Aaron paused. "What is he really nuts now or something?"

"I don't really know," I admitted. "Maybe it's nothing. I wish we could have put all this behind us a long time ago."

"It's behind me, man," Aaron said. "If he gets weird around me I'm gonna kick his ass."

"I don't think it has to be like that," I said. I slipped right back into playing peacemaker after all these years.

"It's not like anything," Aaron said. "You worry too much. Listen, I gotta go."

"Alright," I said. "Just keep an eye out."

"He needs to keep an eye out."

He hung up.

I tried to pour myself into my work. Until I knew what was happening, I needed to stay employed. Developers were in meetings with upper management that was dissatisfied with the latest prototype. If they decide to scrap it, we were all in for crunch time until development was back on track. In passing, I pulled aside Brett, a veteran design lead from the old arcade days.

“What inspired some of the big hits you guys made in the old days?” I asked.

“Oh, a lot of things,” he said. “A lot of times it was a question of what we could write around the type of game we wanted to make. Anything to get kids into the arcade.” “What about some of the more controversial stuff?” I added innocently. “Something like Brutal Chain?” “That one was a little different,” he said. A smile spread across his face. “We had some help.” “What kind of help?” I asked. “A few of us used to roam the thrift store together on lunch breaks,” he said. “One time we found this old book about a cult that lived hundreds of years ago. Everyone in it died or disappeared under suspicious circumstances. We borrowed a lot from that.”

“Interesting,” I said. “What kind of things were you able to borrow?” “Those symbols, for one,” he said. “A lot of them were supposed to be prayers and summoning spells.” “Like…in the ritual room,” I said with growing unease. “Right,” he said. “In the game, that’s where players fight for the ultimate power, right? That’s pretty much what the cult believed. That these warrior spirits could be called to aid in their cause. Stuff like that. We don’t officially admit to any of that now that we have a big publisher behind us.” “Jesus,” I said, forcing a laugh. “Weren’t you guys worried about kids doing real cult rituals together?” “The kids are safe,” he said with a laugh. “Long as they didn’t include an animal sacrifice.”

Shit.

Brett turned to continue down the hall. “How would you have handled a real demon-warrior guy if you’d accidentally summoned it?” I called after him.
“Hah! I know, right?” he called back. I walked back to my desk and noticed a text from Alexis on my phone.

"Now a murder? What's going on back home?" I held my breath as I unlocked the phone to see the article she linked.

BREAKING: DISTURBING DETAILS EMERGE AS MAYSVILLE POLICE INVESTIGATE HOMICIDE

One man was pronounced dead Wednesday after Maysville police responded to reports of an altercation at his apartment.

A witness reported a single assailant leaving a bloody scene where a man was pinned high on a wall with what he described as decorative swords. Police have since recovered the weapons but were apparently unable to gather a useful description of the suspect or potential accomplices, doubting that the individual spotted could have acted alone...

I stopped reading. I knew what the suspect looked like. I knew what the victim looked like. David had ambushed Aaron, and I might have been the last person to talk to him. I was probably next if I didn’t find a way to fix this. It was too late to come clean to Alexis. If I couldn’t talk to her about smearing mud on a kid’s wall, I certainly wasn’t going to say I was worried a demon-possessed buddy was on his way to kill me.

A voice interrupted my racing thoughts. “Hey, everything alright?”

It was Brett, the design lead.

“Oh, yeah. Sure,” I said. “Just working on documentation. Your story helped.”

“Okay,” he said uncertainly. “Well, listen. Some kind of detective just came in to ask about you. I said you weren’t here. He left this card and asked that you contact him right away.” He hesitated after dropping the card. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but take some time and straighten it out. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you upper management won’t go for this kind of thing.”

“Of course,” I said, grabbing my backpack. “It’s okay. I’m on it.”

He turned to leave, but hesitated.

“I’d kick him in the nuts,” he said.

“What?”

“The demon you asked about,” he said. “Nobody has strong nuts. Demon or not.”

Cold winter night closed in as I walked to the car. Every shadow and noise was a potential threat. I started to hatch a plan on the drive home. I could throw a suitcase together in five minutes, turn the car around, and never come back here again. I could confess to David's parents on the way out of town. Maybe they could get through to him. I could finally be honest with myself. I didn’t care what happened to David or his parents at this point. I resented the situation. I wanted somebody to sedate him again. I wanted a head start and a chance to disappear.

I turned on the car’s radio and forced myself to hum along on the drive back.
I pulled into my tight one-car garage and closed the overhead door before getting out. Five minutes and I'm gone. I approached the door leading to the rest of the basement, surprised to see I must have left it open earlier. I flipped the light switch to see my way to the stairs. Nothing happened.

Two more flips. Not even a flicker. My blood ran cold as I noticed the faint glow illuminating the unfinished storage space just out of view. I approached slowly and turned the corner.

"Face me again," he growled in a rumbling voice next to a huge, antique CRT television I didn't even recognize. Brutal Chain's menu flickered on the screen. David didn't look like a demon warrior. He wore hopelessly dated baggy jeans and a T-shirt bearing a fashion designer's name nobody has heard in ages. Admittedly, he looked like he did nonstop push-ups and squats since the last day we spoke. Upside down in his right hand he gripped a perfect replica of the Dagger of Judgement. It was no toy. Even the low light of the old TV made its razor-sharp edges gleam.

"David, I'm glad you're here," I lied. "I want to talk to you about everything. Apologize for everything."

"Face. Me. Again," he repeated, taking a step forward.

"David, that's not going to do anything. You win," I said. "Don't let this shit ruin the rest of your life. Don't let an idiot like me or an asshole like Aaron or even your parents take one more day away from you. We can each pick a direction from here and leave. That can be it!"

I slowly reached down, only taking my eyes off him for a split second to figure out which plug ran to the console and yanked it out of the wall. Flickering snow disrupted the game once more as static hissed from the speaker.

"COWARD!" David roared as he rushed me.

Through adrenaline or sheer luck I caught his wrists perfectly but could never have anticipated the force behind his lunge. As we toppled over I felt the sharp sting as his blade slipped through the top of my forearm.

I tried to scramble back to my feet. Pain shot up my wounded arm and dropped me again. David lifted to his feet all at once in defiance of gravity with both hands wrapped around the dagger’s grip.

"David LISTEN TO ME" I shouted.

When he hesitated, I kicked him heel-first in the nuts so hard it drove him backward into the huge TV. His head and upper back slammed against the screen causing a spiderweb of cracks to break up the static snow.

Killer cheat code. Thanks Brett.

This stunned David long enough for me to grab the dagger and push him flat on his back, smashing the game console on the floor behind him. He stared in woozy confusion as I raised the dagger myself. My arm burned like fire as blood dripped from the cut. I should have let Aaron burn his house down all those years ago. Now it was kill or be killed. Dammit.

With all my weight I drove the dagger straight down into his chest. It didn’t penetrate the skin at all, glancing off at an awkward angle and putting me off balance on my injured side. David wrenched the dagger out of my right hand by the blade end, eyes now glowing deep red. He clamped his other fist around my wounded forearm, blinding me with pain for a split second. All that kept me conscious was the knowledge that he was about to stab me to death with a video game prop.

He pulled my wounded arm toward the floor. I involuntarily focused on the TV table just beyond it with its one wobbly leg. We all had one like this growing up and fixed it with napkins and folded up notebook paper. By random chance, the leg in front of me was the one not quite touching the floor.

I rolled into it, knocking it free from the table and pushing the back edge of the table in the direction of David’s upper body. He released my other arm reflexively as the 200-pound TV fell on him, screen first.

Tipping over a CRT was as bad as they warn you about. Maybe worse. The thick glass shattered. Components exploded. Electricity surged freely. I used my good side to pull myself further from the firework show as David's legs convulsed. The TV burned itself out, and the room returned to perfect dark and quiet as I lost consciousness. I dreamed of frantic lights bouncing between uniforms, reflecting from badges and drawn guns. New voices issued urgent orders and expressed bewilderment.

"Stay still," one said. "We're gonna get you some help."

"Jesus," said another. "What was he doing down here?"

"What's this supposed to mean?" asked the first.

They studied familiar symbols on my foundation walls. The carcass of a deer rotted beside me. David had prepared the ritual and I walked right into it. The TV smoldered, face down on the floor with a puddle beneath it where he laid moments ago. Streaks led across the floor to the back wall where he scrawled in crimson before his escape:

“TIE GAME”

A dispatcher chirped in over a fuzzy radio requesting details on a transfer for trauma care and psychiatric evaluation. They responded with my description instead of his.

I laughed weakly. He got me today, but I’d see him in Hell.

And follow us into the depths of madness...on Instagram, Facebook, Threads and YouTube!