Tiger Rock, page 9
But how did it work? Kane had to know.
Kane jumped to his feet. He looked up at the light, which was still blinking. Were the movements coordinated with Kane’s brain waves, as he suspected? And how had Fazbear synced up to his mind?
Kane climbed onto the orange vinyl chair and touched the circle of light. What had looked like just a glow of light from below was clearly a circular heavy plastic panel. It was covering whatever was the source of the light.
Kane tightened his grip on the panel and attempted to shift it. When gently shoving the panel didn’t do more than wiggle it, he clamped his teeth together the way he did when he was concentrating on catching a long ball trying to clear the fence, made a fist, and pounded on the cover.
Sparks shot down from the edges of the plastic like a meteor shower. Kane ducked his head as he heard sizzles around him, and the food-fight game screen went dark. So did all the lights in the game.
Even though the Fazcade Tag-Team game was mostly in its own cave, plenty of light spilled in from the rest of the dazzling arcade. Kane, therefore, was able to clearly see all three little boys in the other vinyl seats look up at him and scowl.
“Hey!” the spiky-haired kid said. “What’d you do?!”
One of the other kids, a blond boy with long hair that flopped over pale blue eyes, pointed at Kane. “He broke the game!” the boy yelled.
“Yeah,” the third kid, who had hair even yellower than his floppy-haired buddy, chimed in. The gap between his front teeth was obvious when he pulled back his lips and shouted, as he pointed at Kane, “It was him! He did it!”
Chagrined, Kane jumped off the vinyl seat. He wasn’t going to find out anything else tonight. He turned to leave the arcade.
As Kane approached the game cave’s entrance, with the boys still shouting accusations behind him, the curly brown-haired attendant stepped around the corner of one of the pinball machines. She looked past Kane and saw the darkened screen. Then she shifted her attention to the boys, who were still pointing and screaming at Kane.
The girl frowned at Kane and pressed her lips together. Before she could say anything to him, though, he gave her a short nod and strode away from the food-fight game. Tucking his chin, the same way he did after he missed a catch in a game, he kept his eyes on the arcade’s bright red carpet as he got out of there as quickly as he could.
Kane returned home from the Pizzaplex just before his mom got home from work. The phone rang as they both walked into the kitchen.
His mom picked up the phone from the white marble counter near the stainless-steel fridge. Kane, still preoccupied with the arcade, didn’t pay attention to what his mom was saying until she put down the phone and turned toward him.
“Archer is staying over at Miles’s house,” she said. “Apparently, Archer is doing a good job of distracting Miles from his misery.” She dropped her massive taupe purse onto the kitchen island and plunked herself down on one of its dusty-blue plush stools.
Kane took the stool next to his mom’s. He noticed that the pale yellow linen pantsuit she’d put on that morning was just as fresh and unwrinkled now, twelve hours later, as it had been then. She looked just as perky, too. How did she do that?
Kane ran a hand through his hair, which felt limp. That was how he felt, too. He couldn’t seem to shake off what had happened at the arcade.
Kane’s mom stood and went to the fridge. Pulling out a bottled protein drink, she opened it and took a big swig as she turned back to Kane. “I assume you and Sienna went out? You ate?”
Kane shook his head. “Yes,” he said.
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
He blinked. Where in the heck had that come from? He’d never called himself that before. He’d also never thought in that taunting tone. And besides, he wasn’t lying. He’d answered the question about eating, and he had eaten. He’d stopped by the Corner Deli and grabbed a turkey sandwich on his way home from the Pizzaplex.
But you didn’t go on a date, he thought. Half lie, half lie, half lie.
Kane frowned. Reacting to his teasing self-talk, he clarified. “I mean, yes, I ate. But no, Sienna and I didn’t go out. She wanted a sloth evening.”
Kane’s mom smiled. “I could use one of those,” his mom said after she swallowed more of her drink. “But I guess I’ll settle for a long bath.”
She looked at Kane. “Are you okay? You look a little”—she frowned and studied him—“stressed, I guess. You have some tightness under your eyes there.”
Kane shook his head. “I’m okay. Just thinking about all the stuff I need to get done.”
You’re full of it, he thought.
Rattled and tired, Kane stood and prepared to tell his mom that he was going to turn in early. Instead, he heard himself saying, “I’m going out for a run.”
“Okay, hon,” his mom said. “Be careful. Be sure you wear that reflective vest.” She smiled at him when he rolled his eyes. Then she finished her protein drink and tossed the bottle in the trash. “I’m going to turn in after my bath. I’ll see you in the morning.” Kane’s mom stood on her tiptoes. He leaned down for a peck on the cheek.
When his mom walked out of the room, Kane didn’t move. He wasn’t sure what to do next.
He didn’t want to go for a run. Why had he said he was going to go for a run?
Run, run, run, he thought. For a strange second, Kane felt like doing a little jitterbug step. Then the urge passed. He walked out of the kitchen and started toward the stairs leading up to the second floor of the house.
Because interior design was his mom’s business, her own home had to look “magazine-spread-worthy,” or so she said. As a result, Kane was used to living in a house that was filled with design trends that “popped.” The almost-black-stained walnut floors, the gray-silk-wallpapered walls, the chrome accents in a living room filled with linen-covered plush furniture, and the modern art and sculptures strategically placed throughout the main living area were not what he’d call comfy and inviting. But apparently, they were “chic.”
Party time, Kane thought as he bounded up the stairs.
Kane noticed the way he was moving and wondered why he was doing it. He also had the sudden desire to grab one of the framed modern art prints from the wall and throw it down into the foyer.
What was wrong with him?
Kane suppressed the bizarre destructive urge. He bolted into his bedroom, where his mom’s interior design efforts did not intrude, and he shut the door.
Looking at the room that was as familiar to him as his own skin, Kane thought, for the first time ever, What’s with all the gray in here?
“I like gray,” Kane said out loud.
Kane walked to his queen-size bed and flopped down on it. Stretching out, he gazed around his room.
Lots of gray, he thought as his gaze circled the large room. Boring! The word stretched out in his head—boooorring.
“I like gray,” Kane repeated as if reassuring himself.
He liked black, too. Black and silver were the colors of his favorite major league baseball team.
Admittedly, Kane had been Archer’s age when he’d picked out the gray paint for his walls, along with his black-painted shaker-style headboard and matching dresser, nightstand, chest of drawers, and metal credenza-style desk. At the time, he’d also picked posters of his favorite baseball players for his walls. He’d since outgrown those and replaced them with a couple framed sketches of baseball diamonds and even more framed photos of Sienna, his friends, and Archer. Most of the room was like a pictorial of his high school years.
Boooorring, Kane thought again.
Kane screwed up his face and rubbed his temples. What was boring? Why did he think that?
Unlike a lot of kids, Kane had enjoyed high school. Sure, it helped that he was one of the sports stars in his class. But he liked learning, too. It had been his idea, for instance, to tackle the subject of his essay. His friends had all picked sports topics, but Kane had thought the workings of the left and right brain were really fascinating, and he’d been happy to do the research.
Fascinating like a wart, Kane thought.
“Okay, that’s enough!” Kane snapped. He sat up and grabbed his head.
What was going on with him? It was like someone else was thinking the thoughts in his head.
Kane shot to his feet and ran to the bathroom. He stared into the oval mirror above his gray—yes, gray—rectangular sink. He looked at himself in the mirror.
Other than the fact that his carefully created blowout hairstyle had gone limp sometime during the evening at the arcade, Kane looked the same as he always had. Didn’t he?
Kane leaned toward the mirror. He squinted at himself. As he did, he saw the tightness under his eyes that his mom had mentioned. He also saw something else, a kind of smart-aleck glint in his eye, as if he was looking back at himself with condescending—and critical—amusement.
While Kane was gazing into the brown eyes that for some reason had a bit more gold in them than he remembered, he suddenly winked at himself. The wink sent him stumbling back from the sink.
“I did not just wink at myself,” Kane said out loud. His words seemed to bounce off the bathroom’s gray-travertine-tiled walls and come back at him.
Yep, you did, Kane thought.
“I’m just tired,” Kane said to himself.
Yeah, that’s it, sport, he thought. Lie, lie, lie.
Kane clamped his hands over his ears. Shaking his head, he grabbed his toothbrush from its black holder by the sink.
Waah, waah. Baby needs to go beddy-bye, he thought as he vigorously brushed his teeth.
Kane did his best to blank out his mind as he finished with his teeth and headed to his bed. When he again thought, run, run, run, he started listing major league baseball players and their stats in his head. After just a couple dozen of them, he drifted off to sleep.
The next day was a Friday, and Kane was happy about that. Getting through the school day had been brutal. The bizarre thoughts wouldn’t stop popping into his head. It seemed like everything he saw triggered some new judgment that he’d never made before. He felt like he was losing his mind.
Although he hadn’t felt like himself all day, it wasn’t until the end of his date with Sienna that he’d faced what was going on with him.
After grabbing a chicken burrito at a new stand at the weekend farmers market, Kane and Sienna had strolled through the market hand in hand, as they often did. The market was like an upscale, grown-up version of the Pizzaplex’s arcade. Nearly everyone who came to the market was in a good mood. Happy chatter and laughter and dozens of mouthwatering food aromas were a backdrop for checking out displays of local produce, artisan foods, and nearly every art and craft you could think of.
Kane didn’t enjoy “poking around” all the displays as much as Sienna did, but he loved being with Sienna, so he never complained about their farmers market dates. And when Sienna spotted something that she liked, generally something really inexpensive, he’d buy it for her. She loved that.
“You’re so romantic,” she’d told him hundreds of times.
Tonight, Sienna was a little off. She had a pimple on the end of her nose, and she was self-conscious about it. “It was there when I woke up this morning,” she’d said to him when he’d picked her up before school. “Don’t look at it.”
Can’t take my eyes off it, he’d thought, chuckling inwardly. It’s bigger than Chica’s cupcake!
Shocked not only by the unkind thought but also by a comparison to a Fazbear character, Kane had wisely said, “It’s not noticeable. And even if it was, your beauty trumps it.”
Sienna had smiled and given Kane a kiss as he had listened to a long snort in his head. Fast and loose, he’d thought. What a line.
Kane had frowned. It wasn’t a line. He really thought Sienna was beautiful. And what did “fast and loose” mean anyway?
“Hey, look at these!” Sienna said now, tugging on Kane’s arm. She led him toward a kiosk that sold miniature animals made out of seashells. “Oh, they’re so clever,” she said as she scanned the shelves. She flashed a smile at the elderly woman who sat on a black canvas director’s chair near the stuff she had for sale. The thin gray-haired lady smiled back at Sienna and winked at Kane.
Sienna plucked one of the little shell animals off its shelf. “It’s a sloth!” she squealed, clearly delighted.
Kane glanced at the sign that listed the prices of the animals. The little sloth was only six dollars. He could buy that for her.
Kane started to reach for the sloth. Before his hand got to it, though, for some reason, he turned. His gaze landed on a kiosk that sold natural skin products. MADE FROM HONEY AND OATS AND A LOT OF LOVE, the kiosk’s sign read.
Kane, wanting very much to take the sloth from Sienna’s hand and buy it, instead nudged Sienna and pointed at the skin-care kiosk. “You should put back that sloth,” he said. “Let’s go over there, and I’ll buy you something for the big zit on your nose.”
I’m the man! Kane thought. He had a strong urge to grin and do a fist pump. I’m a hoot, he told himself.
But what he’d said wasn’t funny. It was childish and mean. Why had he said it?
Sienna, her face flushed and her eyes narrowed into slits, put her back to Kane. Without saying a word to him, she pulled out some money and bought herself the sloth. Then she thanked the old lady and marched away from the kiosk without even glancing at Kane.
“That was a bonehead move, young man,” the old woman said.
Kane heard a roar in his head. Sticks and stones, he thought.
And that was when he realized he had to accept the truth.
But not now. First, he had to make up with Sienna.
Kane took off after Sienna. He had to practically run to catch up with her because she was striding quickly through the farmers market.
“Sienna,” he called out. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me.”
But the thing was that he did know. He absolutely knew.
Unfortunately, though, there was just no way he was going to be able to explain it to her. It was too incredible.
“Get away from me!” Sienna flung at Kane when he came up beside her and tried to take her arm. She shook off his hand.
“I’m really sorry,” Kane tried again.
“Forget it,” Sienna said. “You’re right. My zit is huge. So, I think I’ll just take my zit home and spend the evening with it. It’s massive, but it’s a lot nicer than you are.”
Sienna broke into a trot and started jogging away from Kane. He followed her.
“Let me drive you home,” he called.
“I’d rather get a ride with a serial killer,” she shouted.
Several couples turned and looked at Sienna. She ignored them.
The couples were looking at Kane, too. He might as well have had a neon sign over his head that read STUPID BOYFRIEND.
Not stupid, Kane growled in his head. What would have been stupid was buying the dumb sloth. The skin cream thing was rock and roll!
At this point, even if he could have convinced Sienna to get in his car with him, Kane wouldn’t have driven her home. He couldn’t be with her right now. He was too mind-blown.
Or actually, he was mind-possessed.
That was what was going on, he understood now. It had happened at the Pizzaplex, in the food-fight game cave.
Like any normal human, Kane had a voice in his head. He’d had one for as long as he could remember. The voice chattered at him about what he needed to do, how he could do better, and how he should have done that and shouldn’t have done the other thing. The voice made projections about the future. It worried and fretted. It also schemed and complained. It compared, and it assessed. Kane’s voice, like all inner voices, was a very busy voice. It rarely shut up. The voice, the left-brain aspect of Kane that had motivated him to learn about the way the brain worked, was Kane’s AI computer self. And Kane was used to the voice. He knew how to use it for his own good, and he knew how to ignore it when necessary. He also was familiar with the tone of his inner voice. He knew what he sounded like in his head.
So Kane knew that he was hearing a new voice in his head. His voice was still there, some of the time. But another voice had joined it.
Kane knew who that new voice belonged to.
As strange as it sounded, Kane was sure that the new voice in his head belonged to Montgomery Gator. Monty’s AI, via the food-fight game at the Pizzeria, had somehow gotten into Kane’s neurocircuitry when they were playing the game. And it wasn’t leaving. Monty was now a resident in Kane’s head. He just hoped he wouldn’t be a permanent one.
All the strange thoughts Kane had been having since the night before, all the snarky little judgments that had been running through his mind—these weren’t his own. The thoughts sounded just like things Monty had said in the game. Obviously, the thoughts belonged to Monty.
It had been Monty who had suggested skin cream instead of a sloth made of shells.
Crocs eat sloths for snacks, Kane thought.
“Shut up,” he muttered.
And he groaned. How was he going to live with not one but two AI voices in his head?
Somehow, even as he wrestled with what was happening to him, Kane managed to get to sleep that night. He also managed to haul himself out of bed the next morning, have breakfast with his mom, and hang out with Archer after Archer got home from Miles’s house. Kane even got to the school in time to catch the team bus to Saturday afternoon’s game. Several times during the ride he’d tried to call Sienna, but she wasn’t taking his calls. He didn’t blame her. But he kept trying.
After he and his teammates trooped aboard the old team bus, which belched the sharp odor of diesel fuel as its engine surged and the bus jolted into motion, Kane took out his phone yet again. He tapped Sienna’s number on his screen.
