She wandered back to the kitchen and got a cold bottle of Evian mineral water. She was aware that her life had become ridiculous. She spent too much time on her job, but also too much time by herself in her apartment, especially on weekends. It wasn’t that she couldn’t get dates; she was just turned off by men in general lately.
She still fantasized about finding someone compatible, having children. But she was increasingly tired of the depressing and maddening cycle of trying to meet someone interesting. She usually ended up with guys who were either hopelessly boring or thirty-something jackasses who still acted like teenagers, though without the charm of youth. Hopeless, hopeless, hopeless, she thought as she sent off a cheery lie to her dad in Florida.
The phone rang, and she glanced at her wristwatch—it was twenty past twelve.
She snatched up the receiver. “Hampton speaking.”
“It’s Chuck, Patsy. Really sorry to call so late. Is it okay? You awake?”
“Sure, no problem, Chucky Cheese. I’m up with the other vampires—yourself included, I guess.”
It was kind of late, but she was glad to hear from Chuck Hufstedler, who was a computer geek at the FBI in Washington. The two of them helped each other out sometimes, and she’d recently talked to him about the unsolved D.C. murders, especially the Jane Does. Chuck had told her that he was also in contact with Alex Cross, but Cross had trouble of his own right now. His fiancée had been kidnapped, and Patsy Hampton wondered if it had anything to do with the killings in Southeast.
“I’m wide awake, Chuck. What’s up? What’s on your big mind?”
He started with a disclaimer that said volumes about his incredibly low self-esteem: “Maybe nothing, but maybe something a little interesting on those killings in Southeast, and particularly the two young girls in Shaw. This really comes out of left field, though.”
The FBI computer expert had her attention. “That’s where this killer lives, Chuck, in deep left field. Tell me what you have. I’m wide awake and listening. Talk to me, Chucky Cheese.”
Chuck hemmed and hawed. He was always like that, which was too bad because he was basically a really nice guy. “You know anything about RPGs, Patsy?” he asked.
“I know it stands for role-playing games, and let’s see, there’s a popular one called Dragons and Dungeons, or Dungeons and Dragons—whatever the order.”
“It’s Dungeons and Dragons, or Advanced Dungeons and Dragons. Confession time, kiddo: I occasionally play an RPG myself, it’s called Millennium’s End. I play a couple of hours a day, usually. More on weekends.”
“New to me. Go on, Chuck.” God, she thought, cyberspace confessions in the middle of the night.
“Very popular game, even with so-called adults. The characters in Millennium’s End work for Black Eagle Security. It’s a private organization of troubleshooters who hire out for investigative services around the world. The characters are all good guys, crusaders for good.”
“Uh-huh, Chuck. Say six Hail Marys, now make an Act of Contrition, then get to the damn point. It is around twelve-thirty, pal.”
“Right, I am heartily sorry, and deeply embarrassed, too. Anyway, there’s a chatroom on-line that I visited. It’s called the Gamester’s Chatroom, and it’s on AOL. As I speak, there’s a fascinating discussion going on about a new kind of game. It’s more an anti-game, though. All the role-playing games I know are about good characters’ trying to conquer chaos and evil. The game under discussion has a couple of evil characters’ trying to overcome good. Specifically, Patsy, one of the characters is attacking and murdering women in the Southeast part of D.C. Lots of lurid detail on the murders. These aren’t the actual players, but they know about the game. The game itself is probably protected. Thought you should know. The game is called the Four Horsemen.”
Patsy Hampton was definitely wide awake now. “I’m on it. Thanks, Chuck. Let’s keep this between the two of us for the moment, okay, Chuck?”
“Yeah. Okay.”
It took her a couple of minutes to log on to AOL, then get into the Gamester’s Chatroom. She didn’t participate, just read what the others had to say. This was interesting. She wondered if she had just stumbled onto her first big break in the Jane Doe case.
The others in the room were named Viper, Landlocked, J-Boy, and Lancelot. They chattered on and on about the hottest fantasy games and cutting-edge magazines, which nearly succeeded in putting her to sleep. The Four Horsemen came up twice, but only in passing, as a point of reference. Lancelot was the one who mentioned it. Chuck was right: these probably weren’t the actual players, but they knew about the game somehow.
The fantasy nerds were starting to wear really thin with her by quarter past one. Finally, out of frustration, she typed out a message for the little shitheels. She called herself Sappho.
I CAME IN LATE, BUT HORSEMEN SOUNDS LIKE A NEAT KIND OF REVOLUTIONARY GAME TO ME, LANCELOT. PRETTY AUDACIOUS STUFF, NO?
Lancelot shot back:
NOT REALLY, SAPPO. THERE’S A LOT OF IT GOING AROUND LATELY. ANTIHEROES, SICKOS. ESPECIALLY IN VAMPIRE GAME CIRCLES.
Hampton typed:
HAVEN’T I READ ABOUT MURDERS LIKE THESE IN THE NEWSPAPERS? BY THE WAY, IT’S SAPPHO, LIKE THE POET.
Lancelot replied,
YEAH, BUT LOTS OF RPGs USE CURRENT EVENTS. NO BIGGIE, REALLY, SAPPO.
Hampton grinned. He was an obnoxious little nerd, but she had him—for the moment, anyway. And she needed him. How much did he know about the Four Horsemen? Could he be a player? She tried to peek at Lancelot’s profile, but he had restricted access to it.