by Spencer Baum
VampireGnats is another option.
The third option is Stabbies.
Go online now and tell us what you think! Chad says.
While the as-yet unnamed bugs spread out to cause more mayhem, our televisions go back to Jenna, who, since escaping the Minotaur, has found her way to the east wing of the course. Seeing that Jenna has the yellow key in her hand, a contestant named Randy Zeffler tells her he knows where the yellow door is.
“Show me,” Jenna says. Together, they run towards a narrow tunnel where the walls glow red with heat.
Within minutes, Jenna has collected a crowd of followers. Herman Gutierrez, Kennedy Marlow, Randy Zeffler, and Terence Mulvetti are all in tow. They move left to right across our televisions.
Needlenoses has won the vote! Chad says, as the camera shows a swarm of them approaching Jenna’s group from the other side of the course. Their wings make a deep buzzing sound as they move. They are coming up on Royce Unser. He hears them approach. He runs faster, ducking down a tunnel to the left and taking part of the swarm with him.
A few seconds later, cornered, Royce has more Needlenoses in his face than he can deal with. With each stab they weaken him. He falls and they descend on him. His body deflates like a punctured pool toy as his skin goes pale.
Cut back to Jenna, who has the yellow key in-hand and is on her way towards the yellow door.
Oh my are we headed for one heck of a finish! says Chad.
Jenna opens the yellow door and descends into darkness on the other side.
Down, down, far below, into the labyrinth they must go, says Chad.
The final challenge of the course is a dense, spiraling maze that fills the arena floor. Narrow corridors of high stone walls. Jenna reaches a dead end and backtracks. She runs into Evan Novak who is coming from the other way.
“Not this way!” he yells, running past her.
And behind Evan, a familiar buzz echoes in the tunnel.
We’ve got quite a collection of contestants in that maze, and a swarm of Needlenoses trying to find them, says Marion.
The camera still on Jenna, we see Malcolm Campbell cross the corridor far ahead. Jenna rushes to catch him, but as she makes the turn, a giant mosquito stabs her in the back.
She shrieks. She twists her body violently, throwing the creature loose. It comes at her again and she swats it with an open hand, knocking it into the wall. Its wing broken, it falls to the floor. She steps over it and keeps going.
Cut to Nathan Cavanaugh, who, according to Chad, is nearing the exit of the labyrinth.
We watch Nathan discover a tunnel with a set of bright lights shining at the end. The orange key is suspended in midair at the end of the tunnel!
Nathan takes the key, goes around the corner, and finds himself in a long straightaway.
All that stands between Nathan Cavanaugh and a first-place finish in tonight’s Semifinals course is one final dash! says Chad.
Running, then jogging, then staggering in exhaustion, Nathan finally makes it to the end. He has the key. He opens the orange door and dives into the darkness.
Nathan Cavanaugh is the first to advance to the Finale! Chad announces.
A new graphic appears on our screens.
Survivors: 1 of 12.
Jordan Anderson is next to make it onto the straightaway. A minute later, he is through the orange door.
2 of 12.
They’re coming quickly now. People who found their way out of the maze. Michael Petty, Jurrigan Tulpatec, Malcolm Campbell…
3 of 12. 4 of 12. 5 of 12.
Solomon has hit the straightaway, followed by Harold Lory.
And here comes Jenna! says Chad.
Solomon Moss goes through the orange door. 6 of 12.
More people enter the straightaway, Lee Patton and Evan Novak.
Harold Lory goes through the orange door. 7 of 12.
Bertram Hess goes through. 8 of 12.
Jenna is next in line, says Chad. We are seconds from her escape. The Albuquerque Assassin—what an improbable run she had tonight!
She’s faced her death and conquered her fear, says Marion. It’s made her dangerous. Clearly, going into the Finale, she has to be considered…
W’oh! says Chad. Jenna Duvall…just…took a tumble.
More than a tumble, says Marion. Look at her.
Look at her indeed. Jenna, clear of any obstacle, fell to the ground, as if her body was completely out of her control. What just happened?
It’s a nasty fall, says Marion.
I think she may have tripped on her own feet, says Chad.
Her legs gave out, says Marion. I’ve seen this before. There’s only so much the human body can stand, and Jenna has pushed herself to the limit tonight.
Well she needs to find something extra and get up, says Chad. She’s about to get passed.
The other contestants nearing the home stretch, Jenna’s fall changes everything. Suddenly we realize how tenuous her position has become. Ninth place might quickly become thirteenth if she doesn’t get up.
She looks hurt.
She’s not moving, says Chad.
I think she may have knocked herself out cold, says Marion.
In fifty million living rooms around the world they shout, “Get up, Jenna!”
In sports bars across America: “Get up! Get up!”
She’s not moving. What’s happened to her? It’s as if her legs simply gave out.
Jenna Duvall has had incredible luck all night long, says Chad. But now it looks like her luck has run out. Her body must be completely spent.
You know, she had a run-in with a Needlenose a few minutes ago, says Marion. It got her in the back. She may have lost too much blood...
Contestants who were deeply lost in the maze when Jenna hit the straightaway are about to pass her now. Garson Laramie, Edwin Foster, Byrd Jenkins. They bring the survivor count up to 11.
Only one more gets to make it out before they lock the doors.
Well, I’ve got to tell you, I’m going to be disappointed if it ends like this for Jenna Duvall, says Chad. She ran so hard tonight.
But in the end, she’s a murderer like everyone else on the course, says Marion. She was sentenced to death.
That she was, says Chad.
Jenna moves, pressing herself up on her elbow.
She’s awake! Chad says.
The question now, says Marion, is can she get to her feet in time?
Victoria James and Robin Hightower are both on the home stretch and rapidly approaching. If either one of them beats Jenna to the door she loses. Looking dazed, her face covered in blood, Jenna pushes herself to her hands and knees, right as Robin and Victoria pass her.
She’s got to move! Chad shouts.
She’s up. She’s running. She’s a few yards behind Victoria and Robin.
There’s no way she’s going to catch them in time, says Marion.
What happens next will become the talk of the nation.
Victoria is one step ahead of Robin. There is one slot available to the two of them. It should be a footrace to see which of them gets it.
But Robin chooses not to race at all. Leaping from her feet, Robin wraps her arms around Victoria’s legs and tackles her to the ground.
Holy moley! Robin Hightower! Chad says. What is she doing? And now…Jenna Duvall!
Her two roommates from Cellblock G on the ground, Jenna hurdles both of them.
Look at the energy in that jump! Marion says. Jenna Duvall has come back to life!
As Jenna races to the orange door, the camera lingers on Robin and Victoria. Victoria is scrambling to get up, but Robin won’t let her.
“Who’s the weak-ass bitch now, Victoria?” Robin shrieks as she holds Victoria down. “Who’s the weak one now?”
Jenna dives headfirst through the orange door. Our onscreen graphic hits 12 of 12.
The orange door slams closed behind her. There are eight still-living contestants locked inside the course, incl
uding Robin and Victoria. Laughing, Robin stands up. Victoria sprints to the orange door, which is locked shut. She bangs on it with both fists while Robin laughs.
A swarm of Needlenoses barrels down the straightaway to execute them both.
CHAPTER 26
Hello World, by Kyle Duvall.
Excerpted from A Victim of Circumstance: The Memoir of Jenna Duvall.
Editor’s Note: As explained in the editor’s forward, after Jenna was transferred into the custody of Devlin Enterprises, the New Mexico State Penitentiary gave 150 pages of an unfinished memoir to Kyle Duvall. Kyle’s instructions, from Jenna, were to “fill in the blanks” on the memoir and publish it. Although Kyle died without publishing the work, he did make an attempt to add to it. That attempt is presented below, in full, as it was found on Kyle Duvall’s computer in a single file titled “Hello World.” Revision history on the document file tells us that Kyle began writing a week after receiving the pages, and continued writing up to the last day of his life. The timestamp of his final entry is less than an hour before his estimated time of death.
First Entry – February 19. 9:22pm.
Hello world. This is Kyle. Jenna’s brother. Jenna gave me this memoir and asked me to finish it.
She has no fucking idea what she’s asking me to do.
I’m not doing this.
Second Entry – February 23. 11:00am.
I’ve decided I should write it down and it doesn’t matter if I publish it or not. It’s time to put everything I did on paper and face it.
I should start with Sunny. Yes, my part in this story is about Sunny.
It’s about me and Sunny. The night we met…I was sixteen. Mom was already dead by then and holy crow it all started on that night, didn’t it?
If I’m going to “fill in the blanks” like Jenna asked me to, I should tell you a few things about Mom, because Jenna wrote 150 pages with barely a word about her own damned mother. It’s so typical of Jenna to do this. Jenna was all about Grandma. Grandma’s a hero and Grandma’s a saint and Grandma turned our dumb, miserable lives around.
This little “write a memoir” exercise Jenna has set us on is interesting because you can see what’s important to people based on what they omit. If Jenna was telling the truth about our lives she would have written hundreds of pages about our mother. She would have written that Mom worked her way up from a records clerk to chief administrator at North Presbyterian Hospital. She would have written that Mom worked sixty-hour weeks and made six figures a year, all while she was a fucking cancer patient, that Mom built a warchest of savings in stocks and bonds and left it all to us after she died, that Mom raced against time to make sure the paperwork was in order for me to be emancipated at sixteen so I wouldn’t fall into Dad’s custody after Mom died, so I could live in the house that Mom built, that Mom paid for, that Mom raised us in...
Jenna and Mom didn’t get along. All Jenna’s bloviating in her memoir about Grandma gives a narrow, inaccurate view of how our house worked. Jenna didn’t tell you about Mom because she didn’t want you to know that she and Mom fought like screeching alleycats for the final seven years of Mom’s life. Jenna also knew that, if she told you about Mom, she’d have to tell you about the money, and Jenna would prefer to tell a version of this story where the money wasn’t a part of it.
You notice that Jenna never talks about having a job in this memoir she’s written? You notice that after the adults in our lives died, Jenna and I lived alone in the heights in a house that was paid for? That Jenna went to a private college and never seemed to sweat tuition and books? That we hosted parties every weekend? Jenna wants the world to have this sympathetic picture in their minds of a poor girl who was “a victim of circumstance,” and it’s true, she got a raw deal, but it pisses me off that Mom barely got a mention in the memoir because the money Mom left for us screws up the character Jenna’s trying to create for herself. Jenna HATES that the media zeroed in on her as “privileged.” Believe me, I know. I’ve visited Jenna in prison every week for three years and I can tell you that the privilege angle of her story gets under her skin in a way nothing else does. It’s hard because, for her whole life, Jenna’s had a view of herself that’s totally different than the image the media presented of her.
Jenna thinks of herself as a survivor who overcame tremendous adversity. The shit that went down in our house when we were young, with a mentally ill and sometimes violently unpredictable father, a man who had a massive fall from grace that culminated with his wife throwing him out of the house and then hiring the most cutthroat lawyers in town to destroy him in court…this is where Jenna thinks she comes from. Adversity, hardship, discord—in Jenna’s mind, this is the origin story, and before the media decided to tell their own version of Jenna’s story, never once had Jenna considered that “privileged” might be a word that could describe her. Jenna resents that when Mom died she left us enough money to disrupt Jenna’s survivor narrative, and I resent Jenna for resenting that! Our mother built an amazing career as a hospital exec even as she fought a twelve-year battle with cancer, a battle that eventually killed her. She deserves our respect, Jenna! If Grandma gets a glowing chapter in your memoir, Mom should get one too! The way Jenna just trucked ahead with her life after Mom died, the way Jenna just cleaned out the house, moved into the master bedroom, and assumed the leadership role in our house. The way she enrolled in the most prestigious college in town without accumulating a penny of debt and STILL acted put out that circumstance conspired to keep her in Albuquerque to take care of her baby brother who (God forbid!) didn’t want to up and move to another state and sell the house he grew up in less than a year after his mom died! Jesus, Jenna! You went all steely-spined after Mom died because you thought that’s what a survivor does, but I just couldn’t be that way. How many times do I have to tell you that I couldn’t be that way?
That after Mom died, I fell into a depression I’ve never really escaped.
The closest I’ve come to escaping were the times I was with Sunny.
Third Entry – February 24. 10:18am.
The night I met Sunny, Jenna was a freshman in college and I was a junior in high school.
A cynical, disaffected, horny-as-hell junior in high school. I couldn’t have been more vulnerable to Sunny’s charms.
We were having a party. A small party with all of Jenna’s cool new friends from college. Sunny was the first to arrive. By some bit of cosmic luck (or doom) I was the one who greeted her at the door.
I felt the pull of attraction the instant I saw her. Sunny’s shoulder-length hair, thick and messy with curl, her bronze-colored skin, her big blue eyes.
You don’t need me to tell you how hot she is. You’ve seen the pictures. If you haven’t, go look them up on the conspiracy theory web sites. You’ll see how a horny sixteen-year-old could easily become smitten. It was the eyes more than anything else—the stunning, almost glowing blue of her eyes. Good teeth, but that one incisor that’s jagged in a way that surprises you. That incisor made for a working-class vibe about her, I think. To me, she was that kid, you know that kid, the one who’s blazing smart but grew up in a house without any money or expectations so she uses her genius in unconventional ways. And no, I don’t know anything about her past. Not anything I can trust. Everything Sunny told us about who she was and where she came from turned out to be a lie.
She had a scar on her forehead, but I couldn’t see it yet. I wouldn’t know about it until later. She wore her hair so her bangs covered it. In all the pictures the world has seen of her, her scar is hidden. She was deliberate about that. Here’s a girl with this big gash on her forehead and she’s so good about covering it up that only those of us who were close to her even knew she had it.
I’ve got a picture of Sunny where you can see the scar. Two pictures, actually. Bet I’m the only person in the world who does.
“Kyle!”
That night when I greeted her at the door she said my name like we were old fri
ends, like the word was charged with years of memories that we shared.
“I’m Sunny!”
And now her arms were open, and before I knew what was happening, we were hugging.
Let me tell you. It was a fantastic hug. She pressed her whole body into mine. I liked it a lot.
“It’s so good to meet you,” she said, then, squeezing me a little tighter, creating many points of contact between our bodies, “so, so good to finally meet you.”
After our hug was done she moved her hands from my shoulders to my face, one on each cheek, and said, “God, you Duvalls are so beautiful.”
Can you tell that moment had an impact on me?
She wasn’t hot in a traditional way, she wasn’t college hot, or sorority hot.
It was more youthful bohemian hot. Activist-culture-strong-of-purpose hot. And, to me at least, beautiful confident seductress hot. I swear, that moment at the front door was less like I was meeting my sister’s friend, and more like I was getting hit on by the voluptuous schoolteacher.
Have I mentioned the glaze of red lipstick she was wearing? I don’t think I have.
Anyway, my sister called for Sunny to come upstairs. Before she left, Sunny reached out and touched the tip of my nose with her finger, and said, “See you soon, Bugaboo.”
Bugaboo, or Bug, sometimes Buggy—names she gave me over the next year—they were a system of control, one of many that Sunny used to great effect without me realizing it. Pet names, perfectly timed compliments, dresses that hugged her hips and activated mindless, short-sighted urges of my body. Sunny was an animal trainer tossing treats and I, so eager to gobble them up, did whatever she wanted.
While Jenna and Sunny were upstairs, doing their makeup and whatever, people arrived for the party. Blue Brigaders, some of Jenna’s friends from band, Seth.
About Seth. You’re learning the whole truth about Seth’s awfulness the same way I did, in the pages Jenna wrote. I don’t know why Jenna never told me. Well, I guess I shouldn’t say that. People have their reasons. Lord knows I have a lot I never told Jenna.
But now that I know the whole truth about Seth…man. I think back on that party, think on the way Seth seems to lurk on the edges of it in my memory. So much is happening in the world around you that you don’t notice.