.Black Leaf and Marcie are Dead!

A week later, everything went to shit. Mike showed up at Frost's home late one night, distraught and disheveled.

"What the hell happened?" she asked.

"Marcie's pregnant. Or she was." Minerva noted the double shock of the two tenses and tried to catch up.

"How the hell did that...? Never mind how. What do you mean by was? Did she get an abortion?" Crap, she thought to herself, that's all I need. A teenager sex scandal with one of my gamers. The press was going to ruin her lawn again.

"What? No, I could never do that," Mike screeched, affronted. "Preborn life is sacred," he said, sounding like a quote.

"Good, fine. Did she have a miscarriage, or what?"

"Oh." He visibly deflated. "I made it look like a suicide." She stared. Her face was trained to reflect shock in situations like this, but her inner mind was assessing the damages.

A teenager getting pregnant with a boy who wasn't in her games, or publicly associated with her might be survivable. And if the cops found her fetus, the suicide would be easily explained, they'd never look for a 'real' culprit.

This might not be too bad. Depends on how well he 'sold' the suicide. "What did you do?" she asked softly. "What happened?" She eased him over to the sofa and set him down. He stared at the coffee table while she fixed him a drink.

"She called me over, told me to climb up the porch into her window," he said after a while, "like I always did." He tossed back the very weak Scotch and soda she'd made.

"She said she was pregnant. We were going to have a baby. She was so happy about it. She'd tried to talk to Debbie about it, but she was off gaming." Minerva cringed at the realization that she'd had a chance to prevent this. Or at least gain better control of the shape of the event.

"She wanted to introduce me to her parents, then announce the wedding, THEN announce the baby." He looked up at Minerva, eyes red, rocking back and forth on his cushion.

"I couldn't do that. My program at Western... I'm ineligible if I'm married. And if I have a kid without being married, my dad... And... And Marcie's cute and everything, but she's not... I couldn't." His pleading look bored into her soul. Boringly, but it bored.

"No, of course you couldn't," she said, just to keep the story going. Arguments were a waste of time until she had the whole situation.

"Well, she always talked about Black Leaf, you know? And there are those groups saying that your D&D character, if you're the right personality, they become you, right?" She nodded, a placeholder rather than agreement. He relaxed a bit, leaning onto her. She stroked his hair, trying to make him feel safe. If he suspected that she'd throw him to the wolves without a hint of shame, he'd shut down.

"So, I got her on the bed, held a pillow over her face until she passed out. Then I hung her from her ceiling fan. I used her computer, she has this program that prints things in her own handwriting, a Marciefont. I made it look like Black Leaf's death drove her insane."

"What, exactly, did you write, Mike?" she asked, barely breathing. He nuzzled against her bosom, tears flowing slowly from his eyes.

He took a deep breath and recited, "It's my fault Black Leaf died. I can't face life alone! Marcie."

Frost stroked his hair a bit, thinking furiously.

"You idiot," she finally said. He sat up.

"What?"

"You...fucking...idiot." She clenched her fists at her side to keep from slapping him. Not that he didn't deserve it, but she wore rather ornate rings that could leave very distinct scars. This was not the time to be gaining attention in emergency rooms.

"I don't understand..." he started.

"Much of anything," she finished. "Look. If she really thought that SHE was her character, she'd have signed the paper 'Black Leaf,' right? Maybe referred to BL in the FIRST person, not third?" She stood and started pacing around the room.

"So the cops have a gaming connection. They're going to look for who was gaming with her. They're going to look for ME!" She stopped by the window and fumed, staring out into the darkness.

"But that's okay, right?" he said, coming to stand behind her. "I mean, you didn't kill her, you're innocent."

"Listen. To. Me. The press loves a scandal. They're going to demand that someone be blamed for the death of a promising student, a joyful young girl. They're going to look for a reason. If the game is the reason, they're going to look at the game." She turned around and stared at him. He watched as she started tugging off her rings.

"This isn't like 1982. Cops on the force have gamed. They're going to ask about that poison. They're going to ask the kids, and they're going to ask me why there wasn't a saving throw. If it looks hinky, they may not prosecute, but someone is going to get a quote for the paper."

"Probably from some MADD broad," Mike muttered.

"BADD," Frost corrected absently. "Bothered About D&D, not Drunk Driving. Yeah, those loons are going to come out of the woodwork..." She paused, thoughts coming fast and furious. Mike started to ask what she was thinking about, but was distracted by a noise from somewhere in the house.

"Is someone else here?" he asked.

"My cat," she said. "But I just realized. This isn't 1982."