Serafina and the Virtual Man - By Marie Treanor Page 0,82

caught up f—”

He broke off and stopped dead in his tracks. “What the…?” He was back downstairs, in his sitting room. Disoriented to the point of dizziness, he dimly realised two other things. It wasn’t daylight, but nighttime, for the spotlights were casting their atmospheric glow. And Adam was sprawled on one of the sofas, gazing up at him. He still looked tired, but now he was clean-shaven and wearing not the worn old jeans and T-shirt of before, but chinos and a dark, open-necked shirt that Dale vividly remembered.

Petra sat on the other sofa, twisting her gin and tonic in her fingers.

Shit, was I dreaming and never got up? Or… Fuck, did the last five months never happen? Oh, please, God…

“So what do you really think?” Adam asked.

Dale’s knees almost buckled. Those were the words Adam had said to him the night he’d died, the night after showing him the new system, after they’d played with it a bit and then had dinner with Petra and retired to the sitting room. Dale had been blown away by Adam’s new toy, which was far more than he’d ever expected. Adam had always shown flashes of brilliance, but this new system was pure genius…

I did dream all that came after that? Thank Christ, thank Christ… Only what do I say? What did I say then?

“I think you’re fishing for compliments,” Dale said huskily. “And for once in your life, you deserve them. You know you do.” That was it, word for word. This is weird… But better. Surely much, much better…

Adam grinned. “Who’s the genius?”

“You’re the fucking genius.” Dale threw a cushion at him, and he caught it with his usual deftness.

For an instant, just like he remembered, as Adam’s smile faded, there was a hint of uncertainty in his dark eyes. “This could be really big, couldn’t it?”

“Shit, Adam, this is really big. Even better than I’d imagined from what you told me. We are so set up for life.”

And this time, this time, Adam would keep his life too. Fuck St. Tropez and Florida. They could wait a couple of years. He wanted to wait a couple of years.

“That’s what I thought,” Adam said with engaging relief. “I’ve been too close to it, too involved to get things in proper focus. Sorry,” he added, reaching for his beer, “I haven’t been doing my share of the day-to-day stuff. I never mean to dump on you, but I know I do.”

Dale shook his head mutely, for panic was galloping through him. How much of the past was real? Which parts were dream, which reality?

Reality! Shit, am I in virtual reality? I just walked through the trigger—of course I fucking am!

“Adam,” he said hoarsely, just as the curtain flapped and the wild figure of James Killearn charged across the room, wielding his machete. Petra screamed; Dale staggered backward in spite of himself, and Adam leapt to his feet, just as he’d done when it had really happened.

What’s going on? Why is he doing this? Is this his punishment, making me relive it?

“Arse!” he shouted. “You think I want to live through it all again? You think I won’t just wish myself out of this?”

Adam, rolling on the floor in a deadly struggle with the brutal Killearn, actually laughed. That was the only thing he hadn’t done the night this had actually happened. “Make it different, then,” he gasped, hanging on to Killearn’s wrist and bashing his hand repeatedly on the hearth. “Show me what happened, or what you wish had happened. Choose and play, you bastard.”

In spite of everything, the challenge spoke to the gamer in him, stopped him leaving instantly. And then he couldn’t take his eyes off the struggling men, looking for faults in Adam’s memory of events. It looked pretty much as it was. Then he scanned the room, because if he was going to play, it had to be right. Then he could make different choices, and even if it made no difference to the outcome in reality, at least Adam would know he’d make it right if he could.

Adam? This weird, digital spirit of Adam, whatever it was. Christ, this is doing my head in… Don’t think, just play.

His hunting rifle lay on top of the drinks cabinet. That was wrong. Wrong gun, wrong place. He couldn’t change the gun, but he could put it closer to where it was meant to be. Picking it up, he walked around the struggling bodies on the floor toward