NPC Download

She couldn’t remember making the decision to stare at the spiral, and she laughed at herself the first time. Scrolling through a thread, the discussion dissolved after the first two or three replies and turned into a series of memes, each calling the other stupid or dangerous or stupid and dangerous.

The third reply was an animated spiral. The phrases ‘NPC Download’ & ‘Stare to Receive’ would emerge, pulse, then recede. Behind, a continuous vortex of white lines swirled above a blue background.

She’d laughed at the joke, then a few seconds passed, and she blinked. She’d stared at the animation, and her mind had gone blank, just for a second. She glanced around her empty bedroom and wondered what people would think.

Knowing that she’d been scrolling too much, she put the phone down and went into the bathroom. Washing her face and brushing her teeth, she looked at herself and wondered. How dumb would she have looked if someone had caught her staring at that thing?

Remembering the spiral, she looked into her own eyes. The toothbrush in her mouth paused, and her jaw went slack. She stared, pupils dilated. The voice in her head spoke: “Stare to Receive” and “NPC Download”.

Then, she blinked and caught herself. A line of toothpaste had dripped from the corner of her mouth and traced a thin line to her chin.

She spit and rinsed the toothbrush before wiping her face with a towel. Stupid.

Sliding under the covers, she put her phone on the charger and closed her eyes. In the faint light coming from the window, the metal case glistened.

She saw the spiral behind her closed eyes. She needed to sleep, and she wanted to look at the image again. Tomorrow, she promised herself. Tomorrow.

Turning on her side, she looked at the wall away from her phone. Drawing a long breath and letting it out, she relaxed her mind. Her thoughts drifted, her mind flashing images of work, driving, and a grocery clerk.

The floating thoughts stopped. She thought of the thread where the image had been. They might delete it, and lying on her side, she couldn’t remember how she found it. What if it disappeared? What if a moderator shut the thread?

She flipped over and lifted the phone. Entering the passkey, she checked her history. Her chest tight, she clicked the top two entries. Not it, she clicked the third and relaxed. She’d found it.

The spiral was still there. She saved the image to her phone and liked the comment.

Blue and white reflecting in her eyes, she indulged until her eyes grew heavy, and the phone slipped out of her hand.

Waking several hours later, the phone pressed against her cheek. Peeling it away, she glanced before setting it on her nightstand. The message light was blinking.

Eyes blurry, she typed the passcode. A message thanking her for the like appeared, along with another spiral. Orange and blue, it pulsed and turned. The word “Gratitude” flashed in pale blue.

She smiled and replied with a wink emoji before putting the phone back on the nightstand.

The next morning, she woke and stretched. Checking her phone, there was no response. She’d hoped for one, but reminded herself that she’d not said anything. All she had done was click like and send an emoji.

Still.

Showering, she remembered the second spiral and couldn’t place its colors. The first had been blue and white. The new one had been… blue and…

Finishing quickly, she only half dried and sat on the edge of her bed, hair dripping down her back. She brought up the second one: Gratitude. She smiled. Orange and blue with a sky blue flash. She indulged for a few minutes and wondered how something so stupid relaxed her so much. She clicked the username: Nods_32.

Their replies had dozens of similar spirals. She favorited the username and sent a note: “Pretty spirals. Thanks.”

She shivered and told herself that the water dripping from her hair had done it. The voice in her head reminded her that she was grateful, though. The spirals were pretty.

Pushing it all aside, she stood. If she wasted any more time, she was going to be late.

At work, she couldn’t decide which was more brainless, sitting in a cubicle all day or watching the spirals. At least the spirals felt like something, quiet and thrilling. They didn’t do anything, and who cared if she indulged a little?

She stole glances at the phone lurking in her purse, checking for any responses. Nothing arrived until just before lunch. Then, Nods_32 had responded.

“If you like those…”

A hyperlink followed. She clicked. A website with a grid of different thumbnails appeared. Some were spirals. Others pulsed colors which melded and shifted in abstract clouds. One was concentric circles that pulsed between red and white. Quick, unreadable words flashed. She shivered.

Hearing footsteps in the aisle, she shoved her phone back into her purse.

At lunch, she got a sandwich and ate in her car. Nods_32 sent her a message just before she had to go back into the office.

“Love your picture. Is that Anderson’s restaurant?”

She swallowed. Picture? Clicking her profile, she searched her post history. She didn’t remember any pictures. After scanning, she found a thread from two years before and saw the image. She and her best friend leaned together for a selfie. The edge of a plate appeared in the bottom foreground, and in the upper right, a sliver of a riverbank appeared.

It was Anderson’s.

She locked her phone and went into the office.

The edge of a plate and a sliver of riverbank. That’s it. The only reason she’d posted it was that it didn’t show anything personal. It had been one of those stupid threads asking people to show something positive instead of arguing, and she’d remembered how nice that day had been.

How could he even know which was her? It was her and her friend.

A couple hours later, she opened her phone, deleted his message, and unfavorited the website. She wouldn’t look at it again.

After getting back to her apartment, she cooked and worked out to stay busy. Admonishing herself for glancing at the phone and feeling disappointment when no message appeared, she told herself to just leave it alone.

Sliding into bed, she closed her eyes. Her mind offered the memory of the first spiral: blue and white. ‘NPC Download’, ‘Stare to Receive’. Her body relaxed, shoulders and arms getting heavy. Moving felt like swimming in syrup.

She’d saved the first spiral to her phone. It would be safe.

Unlocking the screen, she found it and lay on her side, phone propped on the mattress. She sighed and leaned closer so that it filled her vision. If she unfocused her eyes a little, it felt like falling. Or, maybe, the vortex was pulling her down.

Eyes heavy, her breathing slowed. The two messages swelled, brightened, then flashed once before fading back to the plain spiral. The flash caused her dilated eyes to blink, and each time she opened them, the fatigue in her eyelids invited her to leave them closed. She battled, wanting so much to keep watching.

Her breathing fell into sync with the emergence and fade of the message. In breath when it brightened, out-breath when it faded. Blank. In-breath when it brightened, outbreath when it faded.

The world went still. Everything was fine. Tired, watching, and fine.

Rising from a drowsy haze, the phone screen was on. A blue and orange spiral swirled. During some time that she’d forgotten, she’d found it again. Gratitude.

Yes. The spirals were nice. She was grateful.

She drifted, breathing with the rise and fall of the word.

When she opened her eyes, the phone was not on the bed. She searched under the sheets and didn’t find it. Leaning over, she found it. It had fallen onto the floor between the dresser and mattress.

The blue message light blinked. Nods_32 had sent her a message.

“You remember the spaghetti with truffles? I get it at Anderson’s every time.”

She typed with a drowsy smile. “Blueberry cobbler.”

The response was instant. “My favorite. I’m sorry for yesterday. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She smiled. “Wonder how you knew.”

“Educated guess, but a good one, right?”

“Spooky guess.”

“Sorry. I’m tasting the blueberry cobbler now, though: sweet, astringent, and that little bit of cinnamon.”

Her mouth watered, and she put down the phone. In the shower, warm water rained down, and she indulged in imagining the gratitude spiral.

She focused on breathing for the three count as the word appeared, holding it, then releasing: 1, 2, 3… A shiver of pleasure answered, and she stood with her head bent, catching her breath.

Drying and dressing, she returned to her phone and replied to Nods_32.

“Thank you for clearing that up.”

“You’re welcome. Glad you let me.”

A warm pulse spread from her stomach.

Descending the steps to the parking lot of her apartment complex, one of the tenants from a floor above smiled and preceded her down the stairs.

In the lot, they went their own way. At her car, she prepared to step into the gap between hers and the black coupe next to it. As she did, the car moved and backed away. The driver wore a suit and waved. She returned the wave and tried to place his face.

At lunch, she ate in her car again. She re-read the exchange with Nods_32 several times, smiling at the end. Her body rewarded her with a warm pulse.

She went to the trash folder in her account. The old messages were still there. She found the link and clicked it.

Atop the grid, a new thumbnail appeared. It was a close-up of blueberries, and after a few seconds, the image twisted and swirled. The blueberries turned and were drawn to a center point before vanishing. She clicked the thumbnail.

“For a new friend, I hope,” the caption beneath read.

The animation continued, the blueberry color fading from purplish to pale white. She sighed, her eyelids fluttering.

Clenching her eyes shut, she looked away. The animation had cycled back to the beginning. It swirled, the berries melding into a solid color with swirls of white before the color drained away. It flashed. Her eyes fluttered and closed as the warm pulse returned.

Opening her eyes, the animation was gone. Her lunch hour was over. She cursed, pushed the car door open, and began to dial. Her best friend picked up.

“Hey, I was thinking about that time we went to Anderson’s after the river rafting thing a couple of years ago. Want to go tonight?”

Her friend answered, and she frowned.

“Yes, tonight. It’s not that far. I’ll get reservations.”

Her friend replied.

“Ok. Next time? You have to promise.”

She nodded and ended the call, glad she’d not mentioned the spirals. Her friend wouldn’t have understood, and a flutter in her chest confirmed it. Secrets were fun.

Her message light was blinking. It was a message from Nods_32.

“Glad you got to taste it.”

Her mouth watered. She locked her phone and entered her office building.

As she left the office, she stewed over not being able to go with her friend. Turning onto the highway towards the river, she thought of spaghetti with truffles and blueberry cobbler.

The traffic to the west of the city towards the river thinned, and a weathered sign appeared beside the road: Anderson’s. Coming here was a good idea. She appreciated Nods_32’s reminder.

When she pulled up to the valet station and stepped out, a man across the parking lot waved and ran towards her, struggling to button his red jacket and run at the same time.

“I’m coming. Sorry.”

He handed her a ticket and said he hoped she enjoyed her meal. As he entered her car, he smiled. Did she know him?

Inside, the restaurant was full. A table required an hour wait. The host suggested the bar. She agreed, and he led her to it, giving her a place at the end. The bartender approached and took her drink order.

“First time here?”

She shook her head

“Menu?”

She shook her head again. “Spaghetti with truffles?”

“Sure thing.”

The table from her selfie was at the edge of the dining room and overlooked the river. Two couples occupied the table. They smiled and conversed like she and her friend had, normal and uninteresting.

The food arrived, and it was better than she remembered. She finished, and when the bartender took the plate away, he offered a mischievous grin.

“Dessert?”

“Blueberry cobbler.”

“You have been here before.”

It arrived a few minutes later, barely whipped cream seeming to melt on top. Her mouth watered, and she leaned forward to smell the fruit and sighed when the whiff of cinnamon entered her nose.

Savoring with slow, even breaths, she let the taste linger, seeing the swirl of blueberries vanish into blank white when she swallowed. She sighed, a warmth spreading from her stomach.

She continued that way with each bite, disappointed and wanting more when it was all gone. The bartender approached with an odd smile.

“Was fun to watch someone enjoy it that much.”

Flushed, she asked for the check. The warmth had turned into a distraction, and she felt the weight of the phone in her purse. She needed to see the animation again. The dessert had been a tease. Her body ached for more.

She paid and exited. The red-jacketed valet appeared, and she gave him her half of the ticket. When he returned with the car, he put a hand on her shoulder.

“Please tell me you had the cobbler.”

She remembered the face, not from when she arrived. Before. She’d seen it.

“I did.”

He nodded and opened the car door.

“Too bad you had to eat alone.”

She got in, glancing at him in the rearview mirror as she pulled away.

As she wondered where she’d seen the face, the need to watch the blueberries buried the thought in a growing need. The scent of it remained in her nose, as if the whole car had become saturated in it.

Her body felt like a knot, which was centered between her legs, and passing time cinched the knot tighter.

Working through the twisting roads away from the restaurant became difficult, and the lights of traffic became an irritation. She needed quiet. She needed to focus.

A sign for a roadside park flashed in her headlights, and she veered off the road.

The park was abandoned at this time of night, and she found a dark spot before shutting off the engine. She had the phone and unlocked it. Clicking the link, the page appeared.

The blueberry animation wasn’t there.

“Damnit!”

She sent a message to Nods_32.

“No blueberries?”

Three dots blinked.

“Text when you’re home.”

No. She couldn’t wait.

“I am.”

No dots appeared for what seemed an eternity, and she prepared to start the car when they blinked.

“Don’t lie.”

She flushed as the scent of blueberries became overwhelming.

“How?”

“When you get home.”

Angry, embarrassed, and frustrated, she started the car and raced home. In the parking lot, she retrieved the phone.

“Home.”

An eternity passed, then the dots pulsed.

“Trunk.”

She unbuckled her seat belt and got out. A VR helmet lay in the trunk. Next to it, a take-out box in a plastic bag sat with the Anderson’s logo on the side. She untied the bag. Half the valet ticket was taped to the top. She smelled blueberries. Dropping the bag into the trunk, she pulled the valet ticket from the box. It was the bottom half of the one from Anderson’s.

The valet’s face. He’d been the man in the black car the prior morning.

She retrieved her phone and texted Nods_32.

“WTF”

“Cobbler is our favorite.”

“I’m calling the police.”

“Of course.”

She stared at the response, her body aching.

The three dots pulsed. Then, they stopped. No message came through. She waited. Nothing happened. She began to type.

“I’m frightened.”

“Yes.”

“Stop.”

“I have. Goodbye.”

She saw the helmet. “Wait.”

No response came. She slammed the trunk, still feeling the ache, and climbed the stairs. She dropped her keys when she tried to unlock the door. Hands shaking, she lifted them and guided the key in with both hands. She dropped everything and stripped on her way to the bedroom. Her hands drifted over nipples and between her legs before she lay down.

She tried with her hands and attempted to relax into the sensation. Her arousal climbed, then plateaued, refusing to go further. Turning on her side, she pulled her vibrator from the nightstand and touched it to herself, shuddering with the extra stimulation. Her arousal rose and found a new plateau. Orgasm waited a long, long way above her.

She grunted, wanting the release, but it wouldn’t come.

“Don’t,” she begged herself.

As her body begged and offered glimpses of the spiral, she resisted. She wasn’t part of a science experiment. With a set jaw, she filled her head with every fantasy, every memory: the shy valedictorian who taught her to play chess but was clueless when she ran her foot along his calf, the faceless stranger who ripped her clothes off, the image of her first boyfriend looking up from between her legs, his face wanton and needy as he ate her out.

Grudgingly, her body responded, and like a tire with a thin leak, her body let go. Dry and unsatisfying, it eased the tension. She sat up and rattled the vibrator back into the nightstand.

Her clothes left a trail from her bedroom to the front door. She traced it back, picking them up as she went. Her purse and phone were last.

No message indicator blinked. She shoved the phone back in her purse.

She put on a bathrobe and sat on the couch in front of the TV, letting the flashing images play before her eyes. Legs drawn up to her chest, she stared.

In the trunk, the helmet waited. She had to throw it away.

Tomorrow.

The following morning, there was still no message. She clicked the link for the website. It was gone. The username Nods_32 had been deleted. All the spirals in the threads were gone. All that remained was the spiral she’d downloaded.

She deleted and wiped it from her trash folder.

The next day, work was flat gray. In the car, all she smelled was blueberries. She returned home and stared at the TV.

It would pass. She’d indulged and had just missed real trouble. Within a few days, maybe a week, it would all be out of her system. Things would be normal and quiet.

And flat gray like today was.

Throw the visor away. She needed to throw the cobbler out. It would already be going bad.

Lifting herself from the couch, she descended to her car and opened the trunk. The heavy scent of blueberries on the edge of going bad wafted out. The helmet sat beside them.

She lifted both out and walked to the dumpster. Tossing the bag in, she drew her arm back with the helmet.

One last time. He’s gone. There would be no way to reach him. It would be over. She’d be safe.

Holding it at arm’s length, she looked at the screens and pushed the power button. The screens flashed, and a tinkling came from the earphones. She couldn’t see anything beyond melding colors. She leaned closer.

Stop.

A swirl? One of the pulsing abstracts? One earphone to her ear, the tinkling sound became a low buzz, pleasant and soothing. She sighed.

He was gone. It would be ok.

She pressed the second earphone over her ear, and the pleasant buzz became a three-dimensional sound space, and in the visors, she saw swirls and pulsing text she couldn’t read.

It’ll be ok. You missed the trouble.

She lifted the headphones off her head and walked back to her apartment. Locking the door and bolting it, she went to her bedroom after turning off the television.

Putting the helmet on, she sighed and lay down. She pushed the power button.

NPC Download, it began.

She woke to silence and unpowered screens. Lifting the visor away, her body shifted. She’d taken off her clothes, and a chilled dampness touched her legs. She sat up and discovered a wet spot on the sheets. The muscles of her inner thighs ached.

She left the visor on the bed and went to the bathroom. Her hair carried the impression of the visor’s band around her head while the rest was an impossible tangle.

She started the shower and stepped in, going still as warm water coated her skin and dripped away. Soaping awoke new aches as though she’d been lifting weights after a long break. The muscles at her elbows and shoulders seemed to creak with each movement.

Call in sick, she thought. No one would know.

Instead, she turned off the water and toweled off. The visor remained on the bed. Call in sick. The warm pulse rewarded her.

No. She was in control. She dressed and gathered her things.

Descending to the parking lot, a young man stood behind her car, hand on the rear fender. She stopped, keeping the car between them. It wasn’t the valet.

“You should give it back,” the man said.

She edged towards the stairs. “I threw it away.”

He took a step.

“Liar.”

Shame and arousal bloomed, reddening her cheeks.

He produced a phone and frowned at her as he unlocked it. He glanced and swiped, then he returned it to his jacket. His frown deepened. She’d been caught, and her cheeks flushed with heat.

“Threw it away?”

“Yes.”

“Who used it for seven hours last night?”

“I don’t know. Go away.”

“You should at least be courteous. Grateful.”

His tone held so much infuriating condescension, such unbelievable arrogance. She wanted to scream at him. She also wanted him to continue. Each word plucked a string in her that vibrated every sensitive part of her body.

“Don’t hurt me.”

Shaking his head, he held out his hand.

“Give it to me,” he said. “Or, acknowledge you want help.”

“I don’t need help.”

“Stop. Lying.”

He walked towards her. She trembled, feet pinned to the concrete.

Stepping so they were inches apart, he looked down on her.

Her breath shuddered, and she averted her eyes.

“Admit it.”

“I’m terrified.”

He shook his head. “You’re terrified because...?”

“I lied,” she said.

He nodded. “I’ll be in my car. Bring it to me.”

He didn’t move, and she edged away before climbing the stairs and entering her apartment. She found the visor and lifted it.

Returning to her front door, she stopped. Call the police. Call a friend. Call work. Anything.

She saw the spiral: “Gratitude.”

They’d be so disappointed in her. They’d take the spirals, the helmet, and worse, they’d leave her alone. He was waiting.

She swallowed and opened the door, locking it behind her before descending the stairs.

The black car waited. He’d started the engine, and the low sound guided her.

He tapped an impatient finger on the steering wheel and gestured to the passenger door.

She opened it and got in, her hand slipping on the door handle. He looked at the visor and shook his head. So disappointed. She gasped with shame and arousal.

“Threw it away.”

“I’m sorry.”

She folded her hands in her lap and stared at her feet. With a tight frown, he nodded, and the tension in her shoulders eased a millimeter.

“Are,” she whispered. “Are you him?”

He smiled and shook his head as he put the car into gear.

“When you’re ready.”

“Ready?”

They began to move.

“Seatbelt,” he said. “We want you to be safe.”