Two lives left. It hurt her heart to think about it. Her poor son was a freak now, the member of the family with only two lives, and it was her fault. It would take time to sink in and that realization made it harder. She closed her eyes. Two lives.

"What’s happened?"

The voice was most horrible when it had that innocent, wounded pitch that suggested its owner had been wronged. She herself still felt like both wronged and wronger; she could not handle his presence. "GET OUT!" she shouted at her husband, who was slowly but inescapably approaching.

"This isn’t just about us, is it? Please, Pepper. Tell me what’s happened."

She hated hearing the nickname he had given her years ago. She couldn’t bear the idea that she might owe him something--anything, even an explanation. She ran.

He ran after.

A single ghost was something she could avoid without difficulty. She was used to it. Running from her husband was something she wasn’t used to yet. Her husband was smarter than a ghost, and she was in turmoil. She found herself having trouble, driven back, sequestered against the west wall, cornered. She hardly cared. If her husband was going to berate her for getting their son killed, it didn’t matter whether she was free or not. She was captive to her guilt anyway.

"Stop running! Please, Pepper! Tell me why you’re crying." He floated in casually, as if there had been no pursuit and no troubles at all. In his mind Ms. Pac-Man could discern nothing but genuine concern--and this enraged her. Her husband was too good to realize how terrible he was.

"Go see to your son," she spat through tears. "He needs you more than you need me."

His eyes focused. He did not respond. The import of what had happened reached his consciousness, and all that remained was to match it with a fitting conclusion. Pac-Man turned and tore up the stairs.

He does care, Ms. Pac-Man thought. Finally, he does the right thing. Is this what it takes to get him to leave me alone?

It was still. The emptied halls were not neutral in their emptiness, but were tinged with the flavor of guilty sorrow. She descended one level, then another. It was a feeling of indirection worse than running from her husband. Before she had had nowhere to go. Now she had only one place in the world she wanted to go, but she could not go because her husband was there.

There was noise. She could hear it even from three levels down. There was turmoil she could feel, rage and helplessness. She prayed that Inky’s visage would be the next she would behold. He would save her from this. Only the thought of Inky gave her solace, but it was not to be.

"PEPPER!" roared the voice of Pac-Man as he descended again. "They’ve killed him! THEY’VE KILLED HIM!!"

She turned to face the wall, hiding her face. Did he even realize the real cause of his death? Did it matter?

"Pepper." Now he was behind her, the dissension between them forgotten in a way that made her feel ill inside. "They’ve taken our son’s life. We have to get them. We have to fight them now. They can’t get away with this."

She kept her face turned away. "It’s what they do. We always knew that."

"But they never caught us! They’ve never taken any of our lives before! If they had...I don’t know what I would have done if they had." He spun in place, seething, working up his rage again. "But this is our son. Our son! Pepper, I can’t do it alone! You need to help me fight them! We’ll take them out once and for all!"

Ridiculous. "We could never take them out, dear. If we did, there would be no game."

"Then we’ll end the game early and take the finale! But we can’t let them run free, not after this! What if...what if it happens again?" Both of them shuddered at the thought, though their intentions were still as divided as black pixels from white.

"It was never possible to kill the ghosts when we fought them. Never. Why in the world would it be possible now?"

"Curse it, won’t you even try??" Pac-Man cycled in a tight square, his cheeks growing fiery. "Your son needs you. Come on."

He sped away, and to her chagrin Ms. Pac-Man found herself following. She had not noticed the same emotion building in her, but it had. Her feelings for one ghost had masked those opposite feelings for the other three...until now. Could it be that her husband had a stronger understanding of her own emotions than she did, even now?

Up the stairs, three levels. Four. Five. Their son had apparently not been as encumbered by the shock of his own death as his poor parents. He had made two levels of progress in the time it had taken them to reach a sanguine consensus.

"Power pellets make them our prey. The question is, does eating a power pellet change us, or does it somehow change them?" Her husband was darting about wildly, his spoken thoughts a similar circus. The pink ghost sped past, and like a mad thing he moved toward it.

"Wait!" she cried.

"No! Come with me! Our one advantage is that we’re here together! If we can kill them now, it’s only because we’re able to do it as a team! Let’s see what happens when we both eat a power pellet at once!"

This was consistent with what he had taught her over the years--to take advantage of any new factor. She let this curiosity which had stemmed from vengeance become the dominant force in her. Quivering, she counted the exact distance in dots between her chosen starting point and that of her husband. With a frantic mind, she calculated how to compensate after Blinky drove her out of her snug corner. She exchanged heated words with her husband as they tried to coordinate their attack in the midst of chaos.

They had forgotten about one factor. Junior had finally caught on to what they were doing. She felt him come to a stop before his father, and though she could not hear the words they exchanged from where she circled, she knew that he disapproved. Bless his young heart, she thought. He’s not shaken. It was nothing to him.

In time, though, the two males sought her out and had a new plan for her. Far from scolding his father for his experiment, Pac-Man Junior had wanted in on it. If the force of two power pellets had a chance of doing real damage, three would be that much more potent. And all three Pacs felt the need to channel their frustration. No familiar act would do--only something radical and dangerous.

With only two power pellets left on the current level, they were forced to wait until Junior was able to clear the level and proceed to the next one. There, what had already been a difficult operation became even more complex. It was no trivial thing to arrange for three moving bodies to pluck up three pellets at exactly the same instant, even without worrying about their timeless pursuers. This family, however, was one all too eager to submerge its differences in a challenging project. The routine of dodging ghosts was something they had each practiced to the verge of tedium, but this new challenge was enough to make Ms. Pac-Man forget her fears, Junior forget his recent death, and Pac-Man forget the uncharacteristic rage that had descended on him. They assigned themselves each a target and a vantage point and a signal for when to make the strike, as synchronized with the passage of ghosts in their customary lines of attack. It was a mathematical quandary emergent between the illuminated lines.

The ghosts hurried in and out like insects, unsuspecting. They were as creatures frenzied by a bounty of food, for that was just what they were: never before had three morsels been available at one time. Instinct was what won over in such a circumstance, and this kept them from interfering with the plan. It went perfectly. Three angular mouths closed simultaneously over three pulsating pellets. Three glowing yellow souls were energized with the fervor of the righteous, seizing their chance where they could to destroy. She took one, he took another, the specters fell apart as they always had, but their destruction seemed somehow a more potent act.

Alas, there turned out to be no truth to this apparent genocide. The ghosts reformed in Central Control, the flashing ceased, and the food chain was restored to its proper order. The three warriors convened in a corner, shivering.

"I didn’t really think it would work," said Pac-Man. But it was worth a try. Don’t worry. We’ve got some other tricks we can pull."

His small family looked hopelessly to him. Any minute, his wife was thinking, I’ll lose this fervor and remember why I ran from you. But she listened, as did their offspring, as up on the next level up Pac-Man outlined the next step they were to try. Three pellets eaten simultaneously, and then one ghost converged upon from three directions. The power of three power pellets might work if it were focused, all at once, on a single target. If that didn’t work, perhaps nothing would.

"Which one?" asked Junior.

"Sue," said Ms. Pac Man.

"Huh? Why her?"

Pac-Man frowned. "I would have marked her the worst choice. She’s the least predictable."

Ms. Pac-Man turned a few degrees away. "I want her gone."

"Okay, let’s be sensible about this. If this works, they’re all gone, sooner or later. Those are the stakes. What we need for right now is a test subject. A ghost that won’t surprise us, and that won’t attack us while we’re preparing. And I think that leaves us with Pinky or Inky."

"Not In--" she started to say, and then turned away fully. She spent a beat in silence. "I think they’re headed toward us," she warned. "I’ll go draw them away."

"What do you mean? I don’t think they’re coming this way at all," said her husband simply. But she wasn’t there to hear the end of it. She was off to warn Inky, something that she should have thought of two levels ago.

He found her first. Quietly hovering just off the edge of the screen, Inky appeared and faced her. They traveled together, him in front, her behind. "I know what you’re up to," he said.

"Do you know whether it will work?" she asked, startled.

He glanced away, just a shift of his eyes. "I don’t know your exact plan."

"But you do know our goal."

"Yes."

"Then why are you still here?"

The ghost caught a loop and reversed her way, and she backed up, her eyes wide. "Don’t do it," he told her.

"Why not?"

"You can’t destroy a ghost. You mustn’t. I can’t let you."

"But...but you’re--" At this point there were too many doubts amassed in her mind to make the kind of power play it would take to break through. She ducked away, only to ask again as she fled, "Why not?"

"We are a family," came the reply. "Like you."

Conflicted was not a strong enough word for her feelings.

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