Tom’s been gone since two days ‘til Christmas Eve. We were supposed to meet up, a quick one before I went home for the holiday, and he never showed. I waited in that [[McDonalds]] for an hour, and another hour to be sure. Texted Tom the whole time. No reply until the next morning, one day ‘til Christmas Eve, when I was already on the highway heading home. All he said was sorry, couldn’t make it. No word on why. I sent out messages from my mother’s [[living room]], but I got a couple more sorrys before they faded out altogether. Nothing since.
I’ve been back at my place for two weeks, and Tom’s been gone for three. Won’t reply to messages, won’t pick up my calls. I’ve been over to his apartment, knocked, waited around outside, but there’s no sign of him. Not even any sign of [[his roommate]]. Saying he’s missing, that he disappeared, feels like overreacting. Maybe I want to say it because I know no-one else will. Tom’s a loner, barely interacts with anyone but me. Not in real life, at least. He doesn’t miss our meetups. They’re his best excuse to get out of the house.
Tom won’t have gone back to family. Far too far to go, he’d say, and no reason, neither. They’ve never seen eye to eye, not for years, not as long as I’ve known him. His roommate’s different. Could still be at home for Christmas, at a stretch. I don’t have her number, so I can’t call up and ask.
Feels like paranoia, like an overreaction to an unread text, but I can’t help it. Tom’s missing.
[[I can’t stay calm.]]
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/73/84/eN75y4sS_o.png">
Sitting in the corner of that big room, someone else’s empty milkshake staring me down across the table. I don’t know where to look. Some guy alone among the screaming families at three in the afternoon, it’s like there’s a spotlight on me. My weak excuse that I’m waiting for a friend for an hour, then two, doesn’t justify my presence. Getting stood up at a McDonalds is too sad. It can’t be real. I feel all coloured in with yellow highlighter, hard to ignore. Curling my fingernails into my palms. Making sure not to make eye contact with anyone, trying not to seem suspicious.
My hand lumbers around the table like a claw in a crane game. Picking up a piece of burger bun, dragging it to the ketchup. Dip it, eat it, and try to sit still before checking for Tom’s text again. He does miss messages, but he’s usually decent enough to let me know when he’s running late.
As the crowd of kids begins to spread, I force myself to give up. Final scraps of food that I can’t bring myself to add to my unsettled stomach sit on the red-crayon tray, abandoned, same as me. When I get out of there, it’s starting to rain. I put my hood up, trying to figure out [[what the hell happened to Tom|Intro]].
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/73/84/eN75y4sS_o.png">
Christmas tree lights blinking on and off, reflected in my phone screen. My little sister bugging me for attention, my step-brother swearing at his new Switch game. The air in the living room smells like mom’s cooking, like bubbling fat. Empty packaging like a crust of litter on the carpet. My mother calls for help in the kitchen, but I’m fixated on my phone, on the final apology text before Tom stopped replying completely.
 //really sorry talk later//
The words go back and forth in my brain until mom’s voice cuts through, sharp as an arrow in the air. Without that, my eyes would never have left the screen. I only go through to stop her yelling, telling myself a new message will be waiting when I get back.
There’s nothing. [[With more nothing to follow|Intro]].
Tom’s apartment is in the sticks, the part of town known as Limbo. Big plans to revitalise the area are decades old. There’s nothing there. Empty buildings, ugly streets. Lots of dust. We never hang out at his place. Tom meets me in town so we can actually do something. I’ve gone over there a couple of times to pick him up, and that’s it. Only been inside once.
Tom never introduced me to his roommate. As far as I know, they’re not friends. He met her through an online ad, looking to fill his spare room, and she took the place because he barely wanted any money for it. Only shut-ins choose to live in Limbo. Otherwise, you end up there because you can’t afford better. She could be either type. I wouldn’t know she existed if Tom didn’t mention her now and then.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/b9/49/TjiXK9aW_o.png">
The last time we met up, he was telling me he might ask her out. I honestly didn’t expect it. Tom’s never shown much interest in that kind of thing, never had a girlfriend while we’ve been friends. Didn’t have a lot to say about it, just that he thought she was cute, and it was time to take a shot. Whether he actually went for it, I don’t know. We sent some texts after that, but he hadn’t gone through with it yet.
[[Hope he didn’t make things awkward.|Intro]]
Things have been too sharp to focus. I haven’t been able to relax since coming home, creeped out by possibilities playing in my brain. What I need is time to chill, but movies blip past without me remembering a word. [[Tom]], wherever he is, is the only thing I can think about. There’s just one option if I want to have half a chance of chilling out.
We met in an [[online game]] a few years ago. I used to be obsessed with it, university and onwards. Signed in every day. Not so much anymore, haven’t been as active this past year. Barely remember to check in every other week. Today it’s necessary. Soft like a comfort blanket. The only place I’d want to visit.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/73/30/gNt5coOk_o.png">
Everything’s the same, because mods don’t update the place anymore. Still looks like turning twenty-one and downing energy drinks to stay awake, keyboard crumbs and my old hoody. I wander around the world, not looking for anything, high off personal history. Walking around, disassociated, feel like I’m visiting my first house. There’re more people than you’d expect clogging up the corridors, people who can’t quit huffing the nostalgia. No-one new joins. This game is for ghosts. People who don’t know how to make themselves leave. Like Tom.
The hospital area seems busy, so I choose to get lost in a crowd. Dozens of names bobbing atop avatars, action figures scrabbling around the room. Talking to anyone smells like too much effort, but I check the names anyway, wondering if I recognise any [[old friends]] in the crowd.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/bb/f8/CABY2FUG_o.png">
Tom Stone is twenty-five years old, one year younger than me. He has dark hair and bright green eyes. Always wears a thick black pair of designer glasses, and owns no more than three t-shirts, max. All his work, programming, is handled online, and none of his clients have ever met him face to face. His apartment reeks like death half the time, but he’s immune. I’ve never seen him eat a piece of fruit, but he warns me not to eat too much sat-fat, for my arteries. When we hang out, he always gets a milkshake. Usually vanilla.
Our friendship feels old. Bark on the tree that’s me. Stronger than what normally comes out of an [[online game]]. It took a few months to realise we lived in the same city. Nearly a year to meet up in person. Just over a year to feel like best friends.
It feels wrong knowing I don’t know what’s happened to him. [[I can’t stay calm.]]
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/19/ac/X6RuL9Dr_o.png">
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/12/f4/sTKLSQJF_o.png">
Single player’s more my style. The only multiplayer online game I ever got into for more than a week, and it turned out to matter more than anything I’ve ever played. The game itself is just shooting zombies, smashing zombies, turning into zombies. Zombies, basically, being the focus. When I joined, eighteen years old, I’d play medic. Made friends with everyone, for a couple hours. Gravitated towards some other regulars over time. I met [[Tom]] that way. Rushing into trouble, he needed a medic sewn on like a patch on his jacket.
Several months deep, we spent more time blowing up the text chat than blowing up zombies. Kept our mics running for hours ‘til I heard snores coming over the line.
That game was the house where our friendship was born, the home it grew up in. Even loading it up now, there’s that comfy, cereal for dinner sensation that makes me feel like a kid again. Just lasts a minute. Seems even here, [[I can’t stay calm.]]
There’s a name that doesn’t fit. A name I know by heart. Hovering above an avatar I’ve seen a million times before, glowing text, undeniable. It’s Tom’s screenname. He’s online.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/66/88/kf4ULBZv_o.png">
That’s good news? It should be, but I don’t bite the worm, because why would he be here but ignoring my messages, ignoring me hammering his damn door down in person? Even tucked away among the other players, Tom should recognise my name, should see I’m online. If he’s fine, he’d message me, let me know he dropped his phone in the toilet and was too busy trying to fish it out with an oven mitt to answer the door. If he’s avoiding me, he’d leave the area. Confrontation isn’t Tom’s thing. He’d rather eat what he’s given than correct an order. He must see me, and he must know I’m about to hit him up for a hard time. So I don’t. Something’s missing here. Better to check my scope before I [[take the shot]].
Keeping my distance, I creep after virtual Tom like a snake after mice. Five minutes after I first spotted him, he turns for the exit, all alone. Twenty seconds to pause, and I’m after him. He’s out of the hospital, down the street, lashing out at zombies that ignore his personal space with a metal pipe. It’s his [[usual weapon]]. I’ve seen this scene a hundred times before. If he knows I’m following him, he doesn’t react. His avatar betrays no emotion. Or emoticon. Other players dot the map, fighting in little circles like violent waltzes, and I’m doing my best to look like I fit in. Tom goes off on his own, same as always. After I dropped my role as regular, he opted to play alone more often than not.
Tom’s avatar pushes through rotten crowds to get at the shopping mall. Again, so familiar, it’s his favourite place in the game. We used to hang out here, put up barricades that we knew would be torn down in a few hours, and talk over mic. Usually while helping ourselves to some supplies. The mall randomly generates stuff depending on how many zombies are nearby. The safer it is, the more useless shit you dig up. The best stuff only shows when you’re gnawed at the ankles. Tom’s favourite find was a camping rucksack. Trust him to relish the chance to drag more useless garbage around.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/5c/05/ytWpnxMp_o.png">
There are barely any players chilling in the mall, so I have to stay back to keep myself secret. When I sneak peeks, Tom is searching stores for something sweet. I’m looking at his avatar, trying to guess what he’s finding. The game doesn’t snitch. If this was normal, he’d tell me over mic.
I want to talk to Tom. I need to talk to Tom. He’s right there, in pixel form, and I’m being stupid. [[Everything about this is stupid]].
Aiming in this game has been off since the beginning, but most people still favour shotguns or flamethrowers. High damage dealers. Tom never seemed too bothered about the fighting. He would run through crowds of zombies to go looting, or to explore a new street he’d discovered. He’s worst of all in the woodland part of the map, taking time to build fires like we’re about to start roasting marshmallows. Trust Tom to turn an apocalyptic hellscape into a camping trip.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/66/88/kf4ULBZv_o.png">
He uses the metal pipe to keep zombies off while he’s exploring. Prefers it over everything else, even though he has copies of every weapon stashed away in his safehouse. Back when we were new at the game, he needed my medical talents to keep him from turning into dog food every seven steps. Now, he’s good enough to slip through the net without needing anyone to watch his back.
Seeing him use the pipe to club some skulls does [[reassure me|take the shot]]. Tom’s one of the only players left in this dying world who favours such an ineffectual weapon. Anything to avoid having to aim.My avatar crosses the screen, until Tom’s avatar is dead centre by my side. Still nothing from him. Angry now, I open a chat request, text chat, type in a message.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/2e/9e/1Lr3ZwUS_o.png">
 //hey tom//
His avatar stops moving, stands still. I can just make out its dead, white eyes. The graphics were never much to brag about. Angry, still, I type out another message and punch down on the enter key.
 //tom it’s me miles. what the fuck is going on with you? you didnt answer my texts, asshole!//
Tom’s avatar looks at mine, silently considering its options. Then, it blinks out of existence, as he signs off the server.
That’s [[not reassuring]].
Sign off shortly after, knowing there’s nothing else for me in gamer land. Sit back in my chair, staring at the ceiling, making dot to dot from the water stains with my eyes. He ignored me. He saw my message and blanked me. Cut the connection, disappearing all over again.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/66/88/kf4ULBZv_o.png">
Feels weird. Feels like ten minutes before you puke your guts out. Tom’s not this kind of person. He hates arguments, but his tactic is faking smiles and papering over problems. If this was normal, he’d reply like nothing had happened. Like he never even got my texts.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/bb/f8/CABY2FUG_o.png">
Kitchen time. I want a snack to make things better. Something about sugar and fat, it changes your heart. Wipes the fog off the window. Peanut butter on toast, that’s the recipe for optimism.
Even with my mouth full of sticky paste, I can’t taste anything but concern. Looks like [[positive thinking is off]] the menu today. I spit the last bite into the sink, scrape it off my tongue. Don’t want it anymore.
Tom’s been gone four weeks. Flesh-wise, that is. In the game, he’s as active as ever.
I couldn’t get over what happened when I tried to talk to him. His avatar blanking me and fading away, ghosting me in the machine. I knew I’d spooked him. He would disappear if I cornered him again. Benefits of technology, irresistible excuse, no need to physically walk away. I still had to talk to him. Had to find a way.
The nostalgia of the character creator hit hard, hammer to my head. Smashed my skull in. Looking just like it did when I made my account. It was easy making another one. Dummy email address, random jank username, [[whole new person]]. Easy like a lemon. I could follow Tom’s avatar around without him giving it a second thought. Which I did. I followed him around all week.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/77/be/lCfH1nDX_o.png">
For a missing person, Tom is a [[social butterfly]].
Went vague with the details. Username is garbage words, hard to even remember. My real avatar looks like me. Got it as close as possible. Tom did too. This one, it’s someone else’s fantasy. An emo kid power trip, just missing the fingerless gloves. Not my thing. Makes for a good disguise.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/77/be/lCfH1nDX_o.png">
Online, added some random players so the skin seems lived in. Deleted DMs from those new friends, especially ones that read like a seventeen-year-old girl sent it. No intention of getting involved with anyone new. Not like I’m planning on [[making friends|positive thinking is off]] while I’m here.
Watching Tom dance around the map, hitting up other players with trades, taking part. Real for everyone but me. It twists the knife. He’s not ignoring me in the game. I’m incognito. Still, not a single call or text. He’s left my life without leaving a note.
Can’t stop myself, typing commands on the keyboard like a hacker in an old movie, pushing my new avatar to sneak up behind him. Screaming through the keys for that pixelated infiltrator to follow him like a dog. Tom doesn’t react to me. I’m invisible, shoe leather, beneath his notice.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/66/88/kf4ULBZv_o.png">
The more time I spend skulking around Tom’s avatar, the more I fail to see a difference between this self and the self that’s gone AWOL. Might be better if they didn’t have such similar faces. Tom goes around online like he always has, stopping at the same hotspots and doing the same things. I bet if [[the mic was blaring]], he’d be saying the same shit as always.
It feels like one thing and one thing only, and that feeling is fucking up. The only difference here to Tom at any other time is that he’s stopped wanting to see me. That means [[the problem isn’t him]]. It’s me.Avatar Tom’s heading for [[the houses]], which means so am I. Once we leave the congregation of regulars behind, we have the place basically to ourselves. It’s an odd hour. Nothing but zombies for miles. I follow far enough behind to stay out of sight as Tom takes them out, thrashing them to pieces with his pipe.
<center><img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/66/88/kf4ULBZv_o.png"></center>
He’s so invested in cornering a couple of [[undead NPCs]] that he doesn’t notice another sneaking up behind him. The glassy-eyed cluster of code ignores me and heads right for Tom. The zombies prefer to target players who are actively hostile. Call it checks and balances.
A rare event, the zombie manages to catch him off guard, grabbing and toppling him to the floor. There should be sound. If we were walkie-talkie-ing like we should be, he’d be yelling about his mistake. The silence is a sadness.
Tom’s having trouble with the zombie. There’s still a little life left in one of the ones he was fighting before, and it’s going to go for another attack. I can tell that Tom is low on health. Long-term familiarity with game mechanics sets up a sixth sense. If I keep hanging back, he’ll end up chewing dirt in a few seconds. Even if I know acting on emotion is [[a bad idea]].
Hours of talking over mic, both before and after we met in flesh world. Tom’s laugh came out through his nose. Embarrassing habit, back when we were baby-faced.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/2e/9e/1Lr3ZwUS_o.png">
Some of the most important conversations of my life were half-heard through microphone static. Things turning sour at university, my parents finally finalising their divorce after so many years of dragging their feet. My two whole breakups and my ex posting those photos online for everyone to see. Tom talked me through it all while we smashed skulls in game.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/66/88/kf4ULBZv_o.png">
I paid him back in dumb jokes and vanilla milkshakes. Rides places and perspective when he needed it.
Yelling at each other over mic as a distraction when one of us spotted an item worth having. He sees some firelighters out of my line of sight and yells out 'make that sauce wetter, fella!', a phrase that has no right to make me laugh the way it does. A call back to earlier conversations. The snake of our friendship eating its tail as we travel back through bullshit that made us laugh two years ago.
[[Tom never forgets anything.|social butterfly]]<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/bf/1b/KS1tUjyY_o.png">
The houses is where the game sticks you when you first create a character. It’s where my new avatar woke up recently.
Neat suburban nightmares polka dot the middle of the map. In the little lore this game bothers to establish, this is where the zombies lived, before they started rotting. Tom and I always called this stretch the houses, the place with the highest concentration of ruined, identical, broken-down-door low-poly homes away from homeowners. They rarely spit out any good loot, and it’s easy to get caught by corpses, so no veteran players spend their time here. Now that veterans are the only ones left playing, [[the place remains deserted|the problem isn’t him]].
This game wouldn’t win any awards for character creativity. Everyone in here is a stereotype of some sort. The zombie designs stand out as especially lazy. Fat bankers in torn suits. High school jocks with ripped up faces and shoulder pads askew. Priests and nuns soaked in blood like congregation wine gone wrong. Hipster kids with bulging bug eyes and, shoutout to the writer’s room for this unique nugget, big brand coffee cups clutched in their claws. Originality bleeds from the seams.
The NPCs that Tom is laying into are the cheerleader type. Pretty blonde paper dolls with a missing left limb. Rotten teen idols. Tom has one of them pulped beyond repair. The other one doesn’t have long left.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/66/88/kf4ULBZv_o.png">
He’s going at them hard for [[a guy who usually leaves well enough alone|the problem isn’t him]].Feeling like a fool before the deed is done, I instruct my new character to attack with the only weapon I have handy. Shitty starter shotgun at my service. Barely any ammo, but it distracts the zombie long enough for Tom to take it out. As his avatar is metaphorically brushing dust off his knees, I cast my close range heal on him. Medic instincts never die, unlike our patients. An old-school animation of sticky plasters and sewing needles swirls across the screen, taking over Tom and me. First few seconds I’ve been out of control of my avatar, and it gives me time to think. Cruel kindness that that is.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/77/be/lCfH1nDX_o.png">
The first chance I get, I sprint away from him, spending stamina to separate us as soon as possible. Shouldn’t have interfered with him. It’s a game. Who cares if he gets hurt? All that’d happen is he’d lose fifty percent of his inventory and endure an hour lockout. Tom, real person Tom, wherever he is right now, wouldn’t be hurt.
I’ve done nothing but blow my cover. [[Hope it was worth it]].My incognito character is out of stamina and I am out of breath. Adrenaline is eating at my heart like an electric shock. Time to think means time to question. What am I doing here?
Tom doesn’t want me around.
No texts, no calls, no more midnight McDonalds meetups. He’s being clear. I’m the idiot who can’t read English. Can’t see a full-size sign in front of my face.
This has graduated from a game to something worse, and I’m chasing a virtual felony the longer I fail to stop myself. Having to wear a whole other face to talk to my friend makes it clear he would rather I didn’t show my face at all.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/73/84/eN75y4sS_o.png">
[[I have a gut punch feeling I know what I did wrong.]]
Beating myself up for jumping in when Tom was getting beaten, I’m not paying attention to the screen. My head is in my hands in real life, my character left without instruction in the post-apocalypse while I deal with my own end of the world.
The only thing that wakes me up is the sharp familiar sound of the [[chat request]] chime.The last time Tom and I talked face to face. I shouldn’t have said what I said, stupid even at the time. I hounded myself for it all the way home. His reaction made it clear I made a mistake. Not that I could have predicted how badly I was fucking up as it was happening.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/73/84/eN75y4sS_o.png">
[[Can’t think about it now.|Hope it was worth it]] The deed is dead and done. What am I supposed to do about it?Staring at the screen and there’s no mistake. Tom’s right behind me. His avatar, at any rate. Standing right there, with the game getting impatient that I haven’t responded to the request. Tom’s request. An exclamation point glows green on the screen. I click it, and there he is. Back at last. Even if he is trapped in a text bubble.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/66/88/kf4ULBZv_o.png">
 //thanks for saving me//
I sit silently, rereading his words, when a second message pops up.
 //I was in trouble. you really helped me out//
Shivering fingers spell out words and I send something back.
 //no problem man//
Our avatars, his old one, worn in over thousands of long nights and sleep-starved mornings, and the imposter I’ve become, stand together. Their dull eyes glare back at me, behind the screen, watching to see what I’ll do next. Where I’ll take it from here.
[[But I already know the answer.]]We waste the next week like we used to. We play the game. Tom and I together.
I sink more hours than I should into my incognito online life, neglecting the real world, living like a student for a second time. Packets pile up by my side as I treat my body like a conduit to an onscreen self. I can barely make myself get up to piss.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/77/be/lCfH1nDX_o.png">
How could I when he’s [[talking to me]] again?
The guilt doesn’t go away. I’m still stalking, even if the victim’s got Stockholm syndrome. If he knew it was me, I wouldn’t be here. My phone doesn’t glow anymore. No text alerts to light it up. Tom’s gone from reality. I want to say the same.
If I could live online, I’d do it. It’s [[all I care about]] anymore. //hey man//
 //how’s my new friend today?//
 //could be worse. howere you?//
 //good! want to kill a few cheerleaders?//
 //sure man whatever youre up for//
 //lets go to the railway track as well. think that could be nice//
 //yeah sure. we’ll do [[whatever you want|But I already know the answer.]].//
Time goes by and Tom disappears into code and pixels. His voice, his face, even the fingerprint painting surface of his glasses are all turning Vaseline hazy in my head. He’s fine online, but in the flesh he’s forgotten about me.
If there were mutual friends, or family, or fucking anyone I could talk to about him, I would, but [[Tom doesn’t have anyone]]. Our loneliness was part of the point. We relied on the rock of our friendship to push through another sorry week of living. Maybe that was me. Me alone.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/73/84/eN75y4sS_o.png">
[[I don’t know Tom anymore]]. I’m starting to suspect I never did. //nice of you to drop by//
 //hey man you doing okay?//
 //yeah just waiting for my no.2//
 //dont call me that T ahhhh//
 //why not? ;p//
 //like im a piece of shit? come on man//
 //oh not like that f//
 //i know i know//
 //all I mean is you’re basically the only one I talk to on here so you’re like my sidekick//
 //ha, sure man. [[whatever you say|all I care about]]//Tom’s been gone six and a half weeks. It’s February fifth. I need to start planning for Valentine’s.
The sun outside is a memory for me at this point. My job kept calling about missed deadlines, data entry I hadn’t handed over, so I said I was sick. I feel sick. I think something’s wrong with me.
Nothing feels normal. Everything’s skewed sideways from the lack of sleep. I’m online as long as Tom’s online, and he’s online a lot.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/66/88/kf4ULBZv_o.png">
My own name doesn’t sound like mine anymore. The seven-second screenname I spat out whenever that was is what I answer to now. Tom told me his name was Tom so [[that’s what I call him]]. Chat window always open. I won’t risk missing a second.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/77/be/lCfH1nDX_o.png">
He might have ghosted me after that last meet up. He must have done.
Even if he’s [[gone for good]], at least he’s here. //tom you up?//
 //yeah you know it. can’t leave you to get your ass kicked alone can I?//
 //think you got that the othey way round man//
 //hold on food is ready//
 //sure dont worry//
 //OK got it. now where were we? :)//
 //woods?//
 //sounds good to me lets go!//
 //[[you got it tom|I don’t know Tom anymore]]//Even when I ignore it, there are things that don’t fit. Tom isn’t the type to put me through this. Is he? After everything, I thought we were some kind of family. A little more than kin, and less than kind.
[[Some of the things he says]] seem off. There’s an undercurrent underneath the words, and I wonder.
Does Tom know who I am?
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/73/84/eN75y4sS_o.png">
I’m all dressed up in someone else, but Tom knows me. If he recognised me, despite the disguise, I wouldn’t be surprised. The question is, if that’s the case, why are we still playing this game?
[[Which way’s forward]] when all I have is WASD? //wish I had something to eat
 you can have these marshmallows, the stamina gain is nothing
 in real life tom – remember that?
 barely
 I miss goin to mcds. cant help myself with that cheap nasty shit
 eh there’s better stuff out there. I didn’t think you’d like that kind of thing
 yeah it meets a need
 but [[there’s better ways|gone for good]] right?//I wake up the next day after five fitful hours of semi-sleep. Reality looks wrong, but the game’s still there. I sign in as soon as my eyes adjust to being awake.
I have to wait for Tom to come online. Sometimes it takes an hour, but he’s never gone long. We’re living out our lives online together. Him and whoever the fuck I am.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/32/4e/ToFZlhCG_o.png">
Hanging around the hospital, hoping to pick Tom out of the restless faces. Chat request sounds before I spot him.
 //[[good morning]]//Neither of us needs to say it, but we make tracks towards the mall. We were working through it last night, looking for shiny blocks of nothing to add to our collections. Darting through the double doors, fighting off a flashback of the first time we were here. The first time since Tom went online only.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/5c/05/ytWpnxMp_o.png">
He signed off as soon as I spoke to him. If I was on my long-neglected original account, we wouldn’t be together now. Cloak and dagger’s my only option for talking to my best friend. Not how it should be.
Feeling the need to sit down, I don’t notice what I’m doing. I put my avatar down on a bench by an uninteractive ice cream stand. Like it makes a difference. I was already sitting in real life. Tom’s taxidermy glass avatar eyes look up at me as he comes to stand by my side.
Somewhere, his fingers are [[hitting the space bar]], telling it what to do. //feeling okay?//
Thoughtful, from a friend who wants nothing to do with me. At least he likes me version two.
 //you know how it is. tired.//
No-one can say I’m not honest. I’ve had a headache for a fortnight.
 //me too. not sleeping so good.//
The titbits Tom drops about what’s going on outside the game are fuel for my fire. Few and far between, he mentions life in flesh world like a kid talking about trouble they got in at school. With reluctant rarity. I tug the tiny thread he’s given me as hard as it can handle.
 //something going on irl?//
 //not really. bad diet maybe. wish I had someone to cook for me. :)//
He was never good at getting goodness into his system, not that it stopped him threatening me for throwing down doughnuts when we were hanging out. He would laugh and pretend to push the box onto the floor. I’d wipe a finger of red jelly down his cheek and he’d swipe at me, yelling about my frail act of betrayal. This message makes me forget how far into the past I’m reaching.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/66/88/kf4ULBZv_o.png">
 //get yourself a chef//
 //yeah that would be nice. the problem with living alone I guess//
Alone’s not right. [[What about the roommate?]] I had to hear about her, so I know she exists.
 //oh your roommate moved out then?//
 //what roommate. I don’t have one. when did I say that?//
 //never mind. guess that was [[someone else.]]//Even if he didn’t introduce us, Tom talked about the girl he lived with from time to time. I assumed she was a shut-in like him. Never thought about her much until he mentioned he was going to ask her out.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/b9/49/TjiXK9aW_o.png">
If he did it after all, she might have moved out. I could see a sore spot like that keeping him out of contact for a while. Embarrassment burns everyone badly, Tom’s no exception.
Even so, I wouldn’t expect him to hide his head [[for this long.|hitting the space bar]]No, it’s not, it’s rot, it’s rotten, it’s gotten out of hand! This isn’t right anymore. Tom, what are you talking about? It’s so stupid. Anyone adult would be able to just tell Tom, listen, I need to know what the hell is happening!
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/bb/f8/CABY2FUG_o.png">
He has to be hiding out at home. Licking whatever wounds he won’t let me in on. If I go over and wring my hands against his door, eventually he’ll have to wave the white flag. Even if he doesn’t want to, Tom will answer. He hates conflict. Hammering on his door will be too much to ignore.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/66/88/kf4ULBZv_o.png">
It’s that or let it go, and let it go for good. No word from Tom in too long spells exit game in any language. If I keep carrying on this way, I can’t covet some real-life relationship I’ve already tainted in Tom’s eyes. Even if he hadn’t shut me out, stalking isn’t something most people would overlook. Tom in the flesh is gone for good if I keep clutching at an avatar. I can’t come back from this bullshit.
Time for me to make a choice. Biggest for a while.
Whatever way, it shapes how shit turns out with Tom.
   ''Do I dare to [[dash over to his door?]]''
   ''Or face the facts it’s my fault, [[we’re finished in the flesh.]]''No way can I waste any more time. I tear over to Tom’s place as fast as I can. [[My car complains]] the whole way. No surprise after it’s been suffering in silence for so long. I haven’t driven for days and days. I don’t even remember when it was. The car certainly doesn’t want to drag itself all the way out to the sticks.
It’s quiet in Tom’s neighbourhood. Limbo, like they call it. Nicknames stick for a reason. I don’t pass anyone on my way to his apartment building, or to the door. It looks like the last time I was here. Frozen in ice since I came by.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/73/84/eN75y4sS_o.png">
I hammer hard on the door. If anyone’s inside, they have to hear me. They have to help me. I could be crazy. I feel fucked up, like my brain is broken. Spoiled meat, split in the middle. All I need is a friendly face to tell me to fuck off.
Hitting my hand against the door, ignoring the sting, I yell and beg. Someone, come to see me. Let me down softly, let me down rough. Tom, I’m insane, and I need to see you face to face for one final time. Then I’ll go for good.
But [[I’m not going until you come out]] of there.Time to forgo one fantasy for another. I’ll never get another text from Tom. It’s done, and I’m delusional to think I’ll see him face to face again. I’m calling time of death on Tom Stone. It’s over.
But it’s only over out there.
Weeks waste away with me sitting staring at the screen. Typing in a text box what I’ve given up on being able to say out loud. Whoever I am now, Tom prefers this person. And I like him in my life enough to shove the way I feel about that deep down inside.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/73/84/eN75y4sS_o.png">
We talk just like we used to, though never on the mic. That’d give the game away. The unsettling sound of Miles’ voice is the last thing Tom wants to hear, echoing in his ears. Tom doesn’t know Miles anymore, he knows the new me, my smiling onscreen substitute. He calls me the new name, and he calls it often, but I can still say Tom’s name as often as I want.
I tell myself it’s all right, every text chat, every late night spent looting synthetic storefronts on my lag-prone laptop. My friend is fine. We play together like we used to. Tom and I are together, like it was supposed to be.
He still cares about me. He tells me over chat. Healing wounds for him whenever he’s hurt. Sharing stuff we scavenge around a map I know by heart. Never anything new, but it’s enough. It’s not enough. But it has to be. I chose what I chose.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/66/88/kf4ULBZv_o.png">
I could never let him go. We have what we have, him and I. Every evening through to evening again, I sit, staring at the screen. Staring into Tom’s glassy eyes, reminding myself.
This was the only way it could have [[ended]].''That’s it quits, but if you want better, you can take a chance.
[[Reroll the dice|someone else.]], and see what sides turn up this time.''There’s no life left in my collapsing car. The thing is falling apart, splitting at the seams. It’s older than I am, but it’s all I can afford. It struggles to start some days, but it’s enough for the little I need.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/bb/f8/CABY2FUG_o.png">
Tom and I always talked about taking it far, far away for a trip. He wanted to go camping somewhere with real grass. I teased Tom he was trying to recreate something straight out of our game nights. The times we sat out in woods made of ones and zeroes. He laughed enough to let me know he wasn’t worried what I thought about it. He’d never gone camping in his life. It was some idyllic idea borrowed from the boy scouts. A TV vision of a trip you’re supposed to want to take.
We did want to do it. Things never lined up like we would have liked. It was impractical. It never happened. I wish we’d done it anyway now. Fuck our schedules, and the money. I wish we’d gone and [[never come back|dash over to his door?]].When the door swings open at last, it’s not Tom. There’s a girl, her face flustered from my aggressive campaign against the apartment door. This must be the roommate.
 //Y-you woke me up.//
She seems almost scared. I’m not sure why, unless Tom told her something about me that I wouldn’t agree with. Which he might have. After all, anything could be happening behind my back. It’s not like I have any idea who my friend is anymore. Who knows what impression he gave to this girl.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/aa/1d/WAl2g75V_o.png">
At a glance, I’m not convinced of what Tom saw in her. Shitty of me, sure, but that’s the truth. Her hair hangs flat against her face like she hasn’t showered for some time. Not that I can’t say the same. Still, I’d say my initial impression is she’s dull. I can’t see where Tom calling her cute came from.
I clear my throat and say sorry for disturbing her sleep. Even so, the opportunity is irreplaceable. I have an in, at last. No backing down. [[There are some things I need to know]].I introduce myself, all smiles.
 //I’m Miles.//
There’s not much meat on her, so I don’t struggle to slip into the apartment, pushing past her and into the main room. A bookshelf stands to the left of the door, by the bathroom. The kitchen’s round the corner. There’s a television up against the back wall, piles of pizza boxes beside it. Still full of food scraps from the look of things. Tom’s roommate rubs her hands together. Nervous tic. She’s startled by my sudden appearance, but too bad. Have some hospitality.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/d4/86/loGWeGZp_o.png">
 //Is Tom here?//
The apartment is silent aside from my voice and her breath, like we’re eating up all the air. Doesn’t seem like anyone else is hiding here anywhere.
 //He’s my friend. Haven’t heard from him in a while.//
Catch her eyes, narrow mine. Waiting for the reason why the infamously introverted Tom Stone is nowhere to be seen. She has to have something to say. [[She lives here as well]].<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/aa/1d/WAl2g75V_o.png">
The girl brushes a greasy straw of hair out of her eyes, and sighs, with a slight smile.
 //I was worried at first, too.//
Not as much as me. Worrying was my bread and butter since it was two days ‘til Christmas Eve.
 //He texted me over the holiday to say he found someone else to live with.//
I try to tell her Tom wouldn’t do that, but she shrugs and says when she came home from the holidays, he had already moved out. Moved into memory, for the both of us.
 //It seemed like he was in love with them…//
Scoffing, I confess my surprise. Let’s start with Tom isn’t the sort to do something like that. Let’s continue by thinking who the fuck did he ever spend time with? Let’s finish up by saying he said he had feelings for her the last time I spoke to him.
 //Me? Oh… he never said.//
The way she brushes her hair through her hands and her eyes go everywhere except for mine, the delicate dance without shifting from her spot, shows she’s flattered by the news. If she didn’t reject him, then what the hell happened? [[Is Tom just gone?]] It’s like I never knew him at all.The last time we talked, Tom was telling me it was time he took his shot. I wasn’t even sure he was interested in girls before he brought up asking out his roommate. If he felt like he was getting older, like he needed to take action for once in his life, it would make sense. She was the only girl he knew. A lazy attempt at getting laid.
That’s what I thought, when Tom and I were actually interacting in person for what turned out to be the last time. When he brought up telling her he liked her, I overreacted. Tried to dissuade him from doing something I saw as stupid. They lived together, so it wasn’t like either one could cool off if things went wrong. It’s bad form to fuck your roommates.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/73/84/eN75y4sS_o.png">
He brushed me off, assuring me he’d be sensible. If it was a no, then it was a no. He’d leave her alone. Then I had to say [[the stupidest thing I could think of]].I told Tom he didn’t need to force interest in whatever girl was closest when we both knew he couldn’t care less. He barely brought up his roommate, so how much could she matter to him, honestly? His face went cold and I could tell it wasn’t going well, but I had more to say. More stupid shit I just had to spit out.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/bb/f8/CABY2FUG_o.png">
Tom and I had been best friends for so long, and I reminded him that what we had was better than what either of us had with anyone else. Which he agreed with. So why… I wanted to know why… there was even a question of him going after some girl he hardly knew, when the two of us knew each other so much better.
The atmosphere after that was rainforest humid. Hard to breathe. Tom didn’t answer right away. He sat and stared into space, while I felt like I’d fucked up harder than I ever had in my life. Eventually, he said he needed to think and we’d talk about it soon, but that was the last time I saw him. Our texts afterwards were normal, but they stopped not long later.
Ever since, I’ve wondered if what I said was the reason [[we stopped talking altogether.]]I need to excuse myself. My head is heavy, stuffed full of static, and sitting down is all I can think about. I ask the roommate if I can use the bathroom and she points it out to me. She says okay like she doesn’t like the idea, and I must come off as crazy. My pupils are probably spinning like plates on sticks, but I need to sit and splash some water on my face, so I don’t wait to see if she’s actually okay with it.
The bathroom is a welcome relief where I can forget I’m real for a while. I sit myself down on the toilet lid and rub my head against my hands.
It doesn’t feel right. Can’t be real. Tom wouldn’t run away, would he? Without a word?
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/7a/76/hzkDsS6R_o.png">
The bright bathroom light turns my moment of peace into an interrogation room. The sick smell of soap is overwhelming. If I’d eaten anything, maybe I could throw up. Get some sort of peace from that. But there’s nothing but bile inside of me.
The harsh light hounds me, asking the question I’ve avoided all the way to the apartment.
[[What do I want to be true?]]Maybe there’s a pill or something somewhere in the cabinet to calm my racing brain. They have one of those mirrors that opens out above the sink. Opening it, looking through the labels, there’s not much. Tom was never much of a med head. He preferred to suffer in silence. The toughest painkiller in here is probably Tylenol.
There’s only one thing in there worth noticing, tucked behind a packet of spare toothbrushes. Tom’s glasses. Sitting on the shelf.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/bb/f8/CABY2FUG_o.png">
The floor spins and I go to grab them, and all the bottles clatter onto the tiles. Loudly.
[[Seems like it’s time for a follow up question]].She’s waiting outside the bathroom door. The noise from the mess I made was hard to miss. I always have been bad with my hands. Her peeled onion eyes stare back at me, colourless, and she knows I saw something I shouldn’t. We’re not playing the game anymore. That time is over.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/aa/1d/WAl2g75V_o.png">
 //What did you do to Tom?//
That’s what I should have asked all along. He never knew her well. I said he shouldn’t get a roommate off an online ad. All I need to know is how big a mistake he made. She doesn’t say a word, but stares all the while with her icicle glare.
 //I want to know where the fuck he is!//
If she’s scared, she doesn’t show it. That perfunctory shyness at the start of this was a performance. If we were talking about someone other than Tom, then I’d already be out the door with my tail between my legs. Too bad for her, she doesn’t know who she’s dealing with.
 //Tom! Your roommate! Where is he?//
I [[don’t like the smile]] that creeps across her face. //Oh, Tom [[isn’t]] my roommate.//She shares the whole story.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/aa/1d/WAl2g75V_o.png">
This girl, and her name never comes up, is not the roommate Tom talked about. She was a cashier at the local grocery store, the one Tom goes to when he has to restock his supply cache. That’s where they met. Being a space cadet, Tom takes two or three trips every time he needs something from the store. That turned him into a regular. This girl, the pseudo-roommate, worked the graveyards when Tom would show up most often. One of the only consistent sights on her night shifts was Tom speeding through the aisles, trying to remember what he forgot before he spent too much time AFK.
I know who Tom was. He would have been polite, apologetic for taking up too much of her time. He rarely interacted with the world outside, so he overcompensated when he did. Big smiles, all the teeth. How easy would it be for someone to convince themselves that smile said more than it should have? I already know the answer to that well enough.
The next part of the story takes place after she decided that Tom was her soulmate. In her isolated existence, there was nothing better than Tom Stone’s smile showing up suddenly in the middle of the graveyard shift. She forced the logic around inside her head to convince herself they were perfect for each other.
I’m not accurately quoting the way she’s telling it. [[Self-awareness is added in the edit]].In her version, Tom practically begs her to secretly follow him home, hang around outside his apartment, and start keeping track of what he does. Which even she admits is not a lot. His desk isn’t up against the window, so she can’t spy on what he does online. And Tom doesn’t do much else.
She catches a car come pick him up a few times, my cameo in her story, I suspect, but she can’t follow us on foot. Otherwise, he only ever goes to the grocery store.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/bb/f8/CABY2FUG_o.png">
She tells herself that Tom is as lonely as she is. Dissatisfied with life and in need of someone to come save him. Talk about projecting, she’s a full-on cinema screen.
Here’s my version of the story. This stalker crossed the line multiple times, but Tom wasn’t the type to tell someone off. He was also not the type to bother finding a new store to go on his midnight snack runs to if it meant walking an extra ten minutes. He would have told himself it was fine, an overactive imagination on his part. Something too awkward and embarrassing to mention to me.
She tells it like a love story, but it sounds like she grilled him for any information she could get whenever he came to the grocery store. He even dropped the game, a self-deprecating confession that he couldn’t keep himself away from something so out of date. Trying to make himself seem less interesting.
Now all I need to know is [[how it ended]].Suddenly, she’s not so interested in telling me her side of the story. We’ve reached the tragic crux of what happened to Tom.
She skips over the specifics, but I get enough to paint a picture. The fantasy life inside her head was starting to feel flat, and she wanted more. She wanted to take Tom for herself. That’s why she appeared outside his apartment, early in the morning, after a shift he didn’t show up during. She wanted to see him.
I can put the pieces together. A few hours later, I was sitting in McDonalds, wondering where the hell he’d got to. Getting angry at the bus, angry at my watch, and finally angry at Tom. Never knowing there was someone else to blame.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/c9/d2/RNsaVIbX_o.png">
All she tells me is she tried for her big, expected romantic moment in the sun, and Tom, tragically, didn’t see eye to eye on the issue. [[It must have taken a lot]] for him to outright reject her. I’d be proud of him for standing up for himself, under normal circumstances. Too bad [[we’re twenty miles outside normal]], and still speeding into the sunset.<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/bb/f8/CABY2FUG_o.png">
I’ve never known Tom shy away from making a situation worse by refusing to say something about it. Even online, he considers the block button a cardinal sin. I remember finding out he’d spent an entire month eating nothing but tinned beans and expired spam because a time sink programming job he’d had refused to pay him for the work. If I hadn’t helped out, he never would have handled the situation himself.
With people, he’s even worse. Which might be why dating and friendship are foreign entities to him. He once told me I was one of the only people he’d known in his life he was sure wouldn’t want to beat him up for being honest about stuff. I don’t know if he had a reason for thinking that. Tom could be kind of a paranoid guy, like most loners.
Not paranoid enough, [[as I’m finding out|how it ended]].When she tells me Tom is dead, I’m not sure I’m surprised. I’ve felt like he was gone all along, but not like this. It’s still a sledgehammer in the centre of my head to hear he’s dead and gone. That he has been this whole time.
She doesn’t tell me why. She doesn’t even tell me exactly how. All she says is she insisted he see things her way, and when he tried to kick her out, raising his voice for perhaps the first time since he was a screaming toddler, she had, as she puts it, no choice.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/bb/f8/CABY2FUG_o.png">
[[And Tom was gone.]]She locked herself up inside the apartment with what was left of her wish fulfilment fantasy life. Trying to keep Tom alive, in her mind, for as much time as possible. It didn’t last. His real roommate returned not long later. Her hourglass ran out before she could even realise the danger she was in.
The stalker was in Tom’s room, with his body. When she heard another voice in the apartment, she waited. The roommate came through to ask why there was a mess in the living room, and that was the last question she managed to ask. Her last words were aimed at the wrong person.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/c9/d2/RNsaVIbX_o.png">
Sometime between strangling the roommate and taking her out in trash bags, the stalker had the idea to read through Tom’s text messages. Lips twitching as she tells me she already knew all about Miles. All about me.
The other thing she found out from reading reams of texts between Tom and me, was that he’d had a crush on one of the two corpses now cluttering up his bedroom. [[The real roommate]].My new friend makes it clear she didn’t let death spare the girl from feeling the full, hot force of her resentment. She kicked her and smashed her ‘til her legs turned outward. Sliced her up with kitchen scissors, took her eyelids off, and turned the body into little more than loose handfuls of hamburger.
She would keep talking about it forever, but she senses I’m getting sick, and stops herself. The look on her face is feral, nothing but teeth, when she tells me her reasoning.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/c9/d2/RNsaVIbX_o.png">
It was the roommate’s fault that Tom rejected her. She had her unfair advantage. She was why he turned her down. Without her, they’d be happy right now. Naturally.
Can’t imagine how she’d have felt about me, if she had the whole truth. Just as well we [[kept it out of the texts]]. Something social awkwardness has done to actually improve my life.Not for the first time, Tom spent the next few nights without getting out of bed once. His lovestruck stalker was quick to clear any trace of the roommate out of there, but she let Tom linger longer in her life. I don’t know where the girl ended up. In the trash, somewhere in Limbo that no-one will ever look.
I don’t want to think about her propping Tom up in bed like a teddy bear. Keeping him preserved to pretend that happy ever after was still on the horizon. She didn’t want reality to disturb her while she was playing house. She even sent the final texts from Tom’s phone, when I started blowing it up. The two of us have known each other longer than I thought.
While she planned what to do, she slid her fingers inside Tom’s online life. Took over his accounts as best she could. Even after she kissed goodbye to the body, she held onto his laptop and phone. Not that she did much more than ignore my calls. Tom didn’t talk to many people. Mostly it was me.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/66/88/kf4ULBZv_o.png">
Since he died, she’s been living his life. Hiding out in his apartment, eating his food, wearing his clothes, using his toothbrush. [[Playing his profile on our game]]. Pretending, for anyone who noticed him, that Tom was living his life like he always did. Getting some kind of thrill out of dressing up in everything he had. The joke is, she was acting for an audience of one. [[I’m the only one]] who noticed enough of a difference to doubt her charade.She started stalking Tom in the game the second her shift finished, the first day he mentioned it. She made an account and followed him around. Familiar idea to me at this point. I don’t need the explanation.
She was watching him long enough to copy his play style well when she took over his account. I barely noticed a difference, all this time. Blame the lack of diversity in the game’s code. There are only so many things to do.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/66/88/kf4ULBZv_o.png">
It makes my skin sick to think it wasn’t Tom all along. Since he’s been gone, she’s the one I’ve spent my time with. So much time. All spent with the virus puppeteering my friend’s body around. I should have seen the strings.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/77/be/lCfH1nDX_o.png">
The only question I have left, is whether she was being genuine in her affectionate tone towards my own incognito character. I thought he seemed sweet on me, but mixed up in the mess left by Tom’s disappearance, I didn’t think it could mean anything. I thought it was more red herring weirdness in the wake of what had happened. Now I feel like his stalker was [[sizing up a replacement paramour|kept it out of the texts]] for after she got over him.
I’m lucky I found out when I did. If Tom’s account had tried to get me to meet, I’d have fallen straight into quicksand for the chance to see him again.I’m looking at her now as she smiles, trying to look sweet as she delivers the next helping of her bullshit. She says she knows all about me. There were tons of texts and personal messages between me and Tom. Enough for her to feel like she shares the same intimate connection we once did.
Then she tells me she knows what I wish I knew.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/aa/1d/WAl2g75V_o.png">
She has access to a side of Tom I never had. All the personal effects he left behind when she sent him off to heaven. Everything he ever said to anyone else. Semi-anonymous social media posts under another name. My desperation must smell pretty strong, because she can tell I want answers.
She asks if I want to know what Tom really thought of me. The one thing I’ve wanted to know since I tried to tell him I’ve been in love with him for over a year, on the last time I’ll ever see him. Because she knows. She knows the truth of what Tom said about me. What he thought. She’s pieced it all together using her unfair advantage of going through his grave.
And now she wants to tell me. The only issue is, do I want to know?
   ''I can’t resist this last chance. [[I have to hear it.]]''
   ''No, no, I don’t want to know. [[Not like this.]]''As if I could resist. She sees it in my eyes before I can answer.
 //It’s the right decision, Miles. You deserve to know everything that Tom felt.//
I’m ready. I need to know. Will it be what I want? My heartrate rises as I hang on for the answer.
 //I can show you a message you’ll find interesting.//
Tom’s stalker takes a phone out of her pocket. I’m standing still, staring at it in her hands, when she strikes out with a knee to my crotch. Spitting, stumbling, there isn’t much I can do when she kicks me in the ribs. I’m not in shape. Even though she’s a skinny streak of dirty hair, I haven’t got a hope in hell. I have to lie there while she hammers her heels into my chest and stomach, not a breath left inside my lungs. I try to grab her ankle, and she easily avoids me. She was waiting for her moment. I should have seen it coming.
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/c9/d2/RNsaVIbX_o.png">
When I’m badly bruised and beaten down, she starts to strangle me. My arms lack the strength to latch onto her enough to throw her off me. At least she didn’t lie. I now know everything that Tom must have felt as he watched her killing him. I still don’t know how she did it. Don’t know if it hurt the same way this does.
The last thing I know is [[I’ve lost]].This isn’t the way.
She stares at me, trying to read my eyes, smirking at the corner of her mouth. Feeling like she’s got me in her rifle sights.
 //It’s the right decision, Miles. You deserve to know everything that Tom felt.//
I do, but that doesn’t mean you has the answers. This person never knew Tom. They hollowed him out so they could fill him up with fantasies, even after he was already dead. They did that to him. There’s no scenario I can entertain where I ask them for their opinion on anything. They don’t know Tom. They never did.
 //I can show you a message you’ll find interesting.//
<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/4c/35/4RmC1oII_o.png">
Tom’s stalker starts to take a phone out of her pocket, and I see my chance. The bathroom door is right beside a bookcase, and, as she’s looking down, unpicking her pocket, I push the whole thing over. The bookcase tips towards her, and she screams as it slams her against the ground. She’s too skinny to push it off her in time to stage a counterattack.
Just to be safe, I sit on it. Her breath shoots out of her and she struggles to suck it back in, the shelves squeezing her tight about the chest. Good thing I never listened to Tom when he told me to stop sucking down the sat-fats.
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While I have her pinned down, I put in a call to the police. They’re loathe to drag their lazy asses out to Limbo, until I insist that I have an active fucking murderer trapped under my ass for a limited time only. Offer due to expire soon. When she hears they’re on their way, she stops struggling so much. Even the stalker knows she’s left too much of a trace to get out of this one easily. She was living here, after all. [[The charade had to end sometime]]. Even she must have had an inkling of this eventuality.''That’s it quits, but if you want better, you can take a chance.
[[Reroll the dice|I’m the only one]], and see what sides turn up this time.''I don’t need to know what she thinks Tom thought about me. She has no way of knowing the truth, and the little he left behind in messages is something I don’t need to hear from her. It’s gone. It died when he died. I have to accept that there are some things I’ll never know now.
Whatever Tom would have done next is never going to happen now. He might not even have known himself. All I can do is decide for myself what the answer was. What it might have been, if things hadn’t ended up the way they have.
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I’m certain of one thing. This stalker took Tom’s life. I won’t let her own this last part of him that’s left. I won’t let her own ''me''. Tom’s entitled to take his last secret with him, wherever he went.
[[I have to make my peace without it]].And here we are at the end. There’s no flash forward to the future, just feelings.
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What did Tom really want? That’s not part of the ending. That’s up to me. That’s all we do, in the end. We give ourselves answers, and we try to get by.
None of us really know anyone else. Not for sure. But I know what I need to know.
And I know [[that’s enough]].<img src="https://images2.imgbox.com/56/21/AoF8mq7p_o.png">
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