by Ann Denton
I run past the windows in the living room, making sure the idiots can see me, because the last thing I want is for them to go back to the kitchen. I want them to know I’ve run. I want them to chase me. And I want them to catch me.
I hear stomping and shouting behind me, which means they’re outside. I don’t look back. I push my legs to run faster, because those assholes have longer legs. I’m gonna have to hurry to reach my destination before they get their hands on me.
I see my goal over on the left. I shove off the path and head straight for it through the brush, hoping that the bushes and shit will slow these assholes down a bit.
I head toward a building that we haven’t used this entire trip. It’s white like the others, but instead of being lined with windows, it’s all walls. Only a tiny row of windows peek out at the very top of the building, fifteen feet in the air. It's supposed to be like a game hall with a half basketball court, a couple bowling lanes, a pool table, stuff I'm generally not interested in. But Katie had it converted before we arrived into one of the challenges for the guys, a team-building challenge we haven’t gotten to yet. She hired someone to make the entire space an escape room.
I slow down, even though I hear the cursing mobsters getting closer. I never really asked Katie about all the details of this sucker. I’ve never done an escape room before. Now, I’m regretting my ignorance, because I’m gonna have to figure out what the hell I can do here. I know they lock you inside for an hour and you have to solve puzzles or something … but where’s the timer? Do I have to lock the guys in from the outside? Is the timer like a manual thing or like automatic? Do I need a key? Anxiety is an emotion I tend to try to avoid, kinda like I used to try to avoid Dane and his stories about his dachshunds in our old neighborhood. But, here it is, anxiety’s knocking at my knees. Fuck. I try to shake it off and hurry the hell up.
I approach the door of the building. It looks like it's a bit more solid than the ones in our villas. It’s metal, so at least they can't kick it in so easily. And bingo! A grin crosses my face. Katie made things easy. Or her people did. On the outside of the metal door is a huge digital countdown clock. The blinking red numbers show one hour on the clock. I pull the handle to test it. It turns easily enough and I pull it open. The room inside is pitch black—I guess Katie must have had the windows blacked out or something to up the creep factor. I don’t search for a light switch because I don’t give a shit about that. If those bozos get trapped in the dark, all the better for me. I just pull the door wider to try to see if the inside handle turns or if it automatically locks, but the inside of the door has no handle. Score! So, hopefully that means once the door shuts, it’s locked and the timer will start.
I test it, letting the door slam shut. Sure enough, the seconds on the clock start ticking down. Awesome.
Behind me, the footsteps get heavier. I look over and J2 is bursting through the trees with his gun out, looking just as scary as Arnold did when his face was all red-laser-eyed robot. My heart starts ticking faster than the countdown clock. Crap. I need to hurry it up.
I feel around the sides of the clock, looking for any kind of adjustment buttons. The first one turns the numbers from red to green. Fuck you clockmaker! That’s a waste of a button. I slide my fingers further. The next one does change the time on the screen. But it’s the fucking minute hand. It only changes the time to 1:03 after a couple jabs. I glance back. J2 is only steps away. Everyone else isn’t far behind him.
My hand slips off the next button. Stupid nerves. I fumble around and find it again. I press quickly, just as J2’s hand lands on my shoulder. The time cycles to two and then three before he yanks my shoulder back.
I hear Reval or Rubin behind me shout, "Heather you are in big trouble."
J2 seems to agree, based on the way he’s pressing his gun into my back. Sweat trickles down my spine and the feel of that gun. This time, I’m far more worried about it. Suity might not be so dark. But I don’t think J2 has any problems with shooting people.
“This was bad move,” Suity growls as he gets close.
J2 tries to yank me off the door completely, but I cling to it like a tick on a dog. I have to get them inside. I have to! Fuck! I need a plan! But Katie’s the planner—Katie!
“Katie!” I scream, turning my head into the black abyss beyond the doorway. “Run!”
Rubin, Reval, and Blob reach us, but I ignore them, fighting to hold onto the door and clutching the handle as J2 tries to scoop me up by the waist one-handed and pull me away from it. “Katie!” I scream again. “They have guns!”
“Katie? She’s here?” One of the twins asks hesitantly.
“No one is here,” J2 dismisses him.
R&R disagree. “We should go look. To be sure, no?”
J2’s nostrils flare and he grabs me around the waist, yanking me for once and all off the door. He hefts me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and holds the door open so his comrades can traipse inside.
As they enter, the lights automatically go on. I can’t see inside because of the angle J2 has me dangling at, right near his asshole, but I can see the hospital-like bright lighting. Dammit. That won’t make the search take very long. Hopefully, the room isn’t easy to see into with a single glance. Hopefully, they have to step inside to look around.
Thankfully, they all go inside and J2 follows.
The chatter starts up in Russian again. And I assume the twins are explaining who Katie is, because I hear her name a couple times.
J2 stays in the doorway and keeps me in his arms. But the door doesn’t shut behind us. A sliver of sunlight trails along the ground and up J2’s pant leg. Fuck!
I start to wiggle in his arms, and he has to tuck his gun into his waistband to get both hands on me. I lean back and head butt him in the face.
He drops me.
“Ow!” I clutch my forehead.
“Oi!” he exclaims.
I might have just slammed my head into a brick wall. Or maybe an ax. Is his head pointed? It feels like my skull is split open. Damn. I stumble toward the door, grab the edge, and pull it shut just as J2’s arms whip me back around.
I grab my aching head and squint at the bright room. Whoa. For a second, I think I might be seeing things. It looks like we might have just stepped into a spaceship.The wall panels are all hexagons. White and silver colors dominate. There are little strips of neon colored lights running floor-to-ceiling. There are tiny hallways running like spokes off this main room. And in the center of the room, there’s a giant tube that looks like a neon light bulb.
“What the fuck you think?” J2 grabs my neck. Guess he’s not as awed by the room’s appearance as I am. He lifts me by my throat and my feet kick a little once I can’t touch the ground. He smacks me across the face, hard.
I see red. Literally. My vision blinks red, then black and white, then back to color.
Suity becomes my temporary hero when he says, “Put down her.” But, then he becomes an asshole again with his next words. “She must sign over monies still.”
J2 drops me and I fall to my knees, coughing and sputtering. “That’s right asshole. I’m worth over a hundred mil. Kill me and I’m certain your boss will have no problem wiping your brains off the floor. Of course, there won’t be much to wipe!” I ignore the fact that my voice is a hollow wheeze, which is about as threatening as a liver-spotted ninety-year old on oxygen pumping her fist from her wheelchair.
I feel something wet against my thigh and I hear little hiss. I jump. Just behind me at floor level, a fog machines starts up. The floor of the room is slowly covered in fog. The lights on the wall start flashing in a pattern. Red. Red. Green. Blue. A screen projection pops up on the far wall and a grey alien with three antennae starts talking, too low for me to hear. I’m kind of sorry that we never got around to playing this game. Under normal circumstances, this looks like it would be a hell of a lotta fun.
Rubin and Reval are busy searching the little archways, going down the hallways,
opening stand-up cabinet doors, looking for Katie.
“She is not in here." Rubin turns to me with his hands on his hips. “Why did you say she is in here, when she is not?"
“She trap us!” J2 gestures toward the door.
All of them turn to look at it. Their eyes scan down and I can tell the moment they realize it doesn’t have an interior handle. The temperature in the room shoots up a hundred degrees.
I scrounge up some tears, the kind I'd use on Shane Paul whenever that fucktard was thinking about going on yet another “extended business trip.” Tears only worked on Shane Paul about half the time, so my best guess is that I got a 50-50 shot with these guys. Maybe less since they’re so pissed. But it's worth a try. I let my lower lip tremble. "Those guys deserve a chance to get away."
Both Suity and J2 start cussing.
"Crazy,” Blob grumbles.
Suity pushes past me and tries to open the door even without a handle. He shoves at it. When it won't budge, he kicks it, like a toddler throwing a fit. The only good that does is give him a bruised fucking toe.
I try not to look smug as he howls and clutches his foot. J2 slips past him and starts yanking at the edges of the door as though he can do better. There are no hinges on this side of the door for him to grab onto. It’s completely flat. His attempt is completely pathetic. I roll my eyes.
Rubin and Reval come forward. Unlike the others, they don't seem pissed. They seem sad.
"Heather, you don’t trust us?"
I’m taken aback, the wind is knocked out of me. They fucking thought I still trusted them? "What kind of question is that?" I scoff.
They're acting like they're all hurt that I tricked them when they double-crossed me first. Wow. Fucking entitled. And it’s like someone’s thrown a match on me, and I’ve just been waiting for the chance to go up in flames. I don’t give a shit that we’re locked in a fucking escape room and they all have weapons! They want to kill me? I think, Go ahead. Enjoy stepping around my dead body for the next three hours, you dumb fucks. I hope I death shit on your shoes.
“You!” I growl, taking a step forward. “You think I would ever motherfucking trust you?” I toss my head back and laugh. I point at J2 and Suity. “At least they don’t lie and pretend this could all motherfucking work out. They know they’re gonna kill me eventually. I know it. So, fuck you. I’m trying to give the others a goddamned chance.”
I shove Rubin and stomp over to the other side of the room, where a clear box full of rainbow-colored crystals sits. I throw the box across the room and scream. Not one of them moves to stop me. They all just stand silently, watching. Because there’s nothing else for them to say. Everyone in this room knows that I’m on as much of a countdown clock as that door.
Question is, can I escape before time’s up?
Chapter Seventeen
Katie
“We better get back,” Kenneth starts to sit up.
I follow, but his stomach growls.
Dammit. Now that I know what it means for him to be hungry, I wish I hadn’t offered Alec my food. I glance around and realize that wherever we’ve run off to—this little meadow in the woods—it’s near the golf course. Danny’s villa isn’t far.
I grab Kenneth's hand. His eyes avoid mine. Until I yank him sideways and start walking away from our campsite and toward the golf course, forcing him to follow like a lost little puppy.
"What are you doing?" he asks.
"Getting you something to eat."
We skirt the golf course and stick to the tree line so we won’t be seen. We move quietly. Neither of us are great shakes at keeping silent, so slow and steady is the best bet. My ears are alert the entire time, listening for voices, for footsteps, for gunshots. But all I hear is the breeze and the stupid squawk of a parrot nearby.
“Cum on my tits!” it screeches. “Motherfucker, cum on my tits!”
I have to bite back a laugh. I’m pretty sure that bird didn’t know the phrase before Heather came to this island. It’s fucking ironic that she’s said that line enough for a parrot to memorize it, since I know she’s always complaining about that. My thoughts fly to her, wondering where she’s at and what she’s doing, hoping she’s safe. I feel a tug toward her villa, and part of me wants to tromp down there right away just to get my eyes on her. But Alec is right. We’re in no state fit to attack and survive. And we need to make Danny’s sacrifice … I grit my teeth and shove my thoughts in a different direction. No fucking way can I think about that without getting madder than a puffed toad.
I force myself to focus on snacks. I don’t know exactly where they’re hidden right now, so we’re gonna have to search and hope those Russian motherfuckers didn’t find them. I yank Kenneth toward Danny’s villa, noting the front door is bent but not broken. I try the handle. Unfortunately, it’s still locked. I pull Kenneth around the backside, away from the path.
"What are you doing?” Kenneth asks. "There's nothing but a couple candies and bottled water in these villas." He sighs. “If we could go to my kitchen—”
I shake my head. “Too central. They’re probably all right around there. And maybe what you said about no food is true in most the villas. But this happens to be Danny's. And that motherfucker is a snack hoarder.”
Conveniently, the floor to ceiling living room windows for Danny's villa have been smashed in, just like mine. We step carefully around all the glass, and I make my way to Danny's bedroom. I throw aside the sheets. Nothing. I crouch down on the carpet and look under the bed.
"What are you doing?"
"Assmonkey likes to hide the snacks from me.”
“Snacks?”
“Yeah, Alec would bring in chips and stuff. We kinda had an ongoing war—" I say as I yank open the closet doors.
"You don't like my food?" Kenneth voice is quiet. The question is almost a whisper.
I turn around slowly. Crap! "That's not it!" Oh, he’s gotta be madder than the snake that married a garden hose. Or worse—hurt. I know how Kenneth feels about his food. Fuck! I don’t want him to be hurt. I swallow and carefully think through my next words before I say them. "You're an amazing chef. Your food is orgasmic. Literally. Sometimes though … I just want chips at midnight."
He closes his eyes and shakes his head.
I’m on pins and needles, waiting for him to say something. I’m about to throw my arms around his waist and beg his forgiveness and swear off junk food for life when he says, “I guess … I understand. You don’t have the same issues with junk food that I do.”
I move forward so I can take his hand and stare up at his face. “What?”
He shrugs. “When money was tight, that’s what I ate. I’d figure out what had the most calories and just … that was it for the day.”
My heart sinks. “And now you hate it.”
He bites his lip. “It brings back bad memories.”
“Well, shit.”
He shrugs. “It’s better than being hungry. But … um, I think I want to take a shower real quick if you don’t mind.”
I nod. I can’t tell if he’s just trying to get away from me or if he really does hate the gross, sweaty mess that this overnight hike has made us. But all I can do is respect his wishes.
When he leaves, I go back to searching. I find the duffel bag up high behind the fru-fru curtains, balanced on the curtain rod and leaning on the wall. I have no idea how Danny managed to get it to balance up there, but he did. I drag a chair over and yank the bag down, nearly falling backward over the chair in the process.
I unzip the bag. And to me, it’s like looking down on a little slice of processed heaven. There are ranch Doritos, Cracker Jacks, Skittles, Starburst—I don’t wait, I bust one of those puppies open and go right for the orange—and all kinds of other yummys.
As I chew, I stare at the bag for a minute, not really sure what to do. But Kenneth has to eat. We came all this way, and he's too run down. He’s gotta be ready to fight. I just need to pull him out of this funk. I ri
p open a bag of Cheetos as I think. I stick one in my mouth.
An idea comes to me. And almost as soon as it comes, it makes me feel as self-conscious as that girl at the middle school dance who sees her crush leaning against the wall chatting. She eyes him, thinking "this is it, this is my chance," but then when she trots over to him, she gets as tongue-tied and awkward as a newborn calf.
My hands start to shake. But Kenneth needs to eat. Like, life and death needs to eat. He associates this food with awful memories. But other food … he associates with sensuality.
Maybe I can help him redefine these things he hates. Or maybe this is a terrible idea. Maybe I should just let him go to sleep. Maybe I should just give him a bottle of water and let them nap it off and hope for the best. I don't want to have him get pissed off at me. For some reason, Alec’s face pops into my brain like a little fucking annoying Jiminy Cricket. He whispers into my ear, What do you really think Katie? Do you really think he’s gonna get mad at you?
I go over to Danny's duffel bag. I shuffle through the contents, looking for something that might work. My cheeks burn as if I've already gone over to Kenneth and been rejected and humiliated.
I head out to the living room, to the sink by the bar. I turn on the tap. I gulp down some water and then I undress and use the little towel from the bar-top to wipe myself down. I don’t want to interrupt Kenneth’s shower. And I won’t have the courage to try this if he’s already watching.
Once I’m clean, I head back to the bedroom. I grab the black duffel bag. And I make my way to the bed.
The shower shuts off and through the open doorway to the bathroom, I can see Kenneth rubbing himself down with a towel, facing away from me.
I'm splayed out on Danny's bed, nude, covered in candy and chips. I've painted lines of Cheeto cheese up my neck and on the insides of my thighs which are spread wide, knees out, so that he can look at my core. A line of M&Ms trail up my stomach like buttons. I used caramel corn to make a “bra.” There’s a little rainbow of skittles above my pot of gold. I’d done that first, thinking I'd open with the cheesy line, "Want to taste my rainbow?"