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.
Angeclass="underline" 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.
Angeclass="underline" We’ve been watching you. Well done. You were faster than most.
Chas walked toward the stage.
Chas: I don’t understand.
Angeclass="underline" 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?
Angeclass="underline" 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.
Angeclass="underline" 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?
Angeclass="underline" Oh, yes. Quite a number.
Chas: And how do they fail?
Angeclass="underline" 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.
Angeclass="underline" 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.
Angeclass="underline" 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?
Angeclass="underline" 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.
Angeclass="underline" 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.
Angeclass="underline"
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.
Angeclass="underline" 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!
Angeclass="underline" 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.