Kill Game

by Francine Pascal

  How many beers did I have? she wondered. Was it really two pitchers for four of us? Jesus.

  “Where is everybody?”

  “They’re here.” Will’s shadow gestured toward the glowing edge of a door, which was the only source of light in the room.

  “Okay.” Gaia stood up gingerly. She was wobbly, but she could walk. Will immediately vaulted over to take her arm. She quickly pulled away. “I’m fine,” she said. “I’m not some fragile southern belle, Will.”

  “I noticed.”

  Gaia had made it over to the door—she was squinting, wincing in advance as she pulled it open, but the blinding light still made her eyes water. Through the glare she could make out a small kitchen. There was a ticking Westclox wall clock hanging over the sink. Kelly was standing at the stove, where a silver kettle was billowing steam.

  “Good morning, star shine,” Kelly said pleasantly. She spoke in a hushed tone. Her smile seemed genuine. “Sit down, sit down. We need to whisper. My Jasmine’s asleep upstairs.”

  “Okay.” Gaia sat down at one of the wooden kitchen chairs, leaning her elbows on the oilcloth that covered the table. “Thanks for bringing me here,” she said.

  Kelly frowned. “That’s the least I can do after what you did,” she said appreciatively. “You knocked down all of Jack’s goons. I still can’t believe it.”

  “He shoved you,” Gaia said, wincing at the pain in her head. “It was nothing personal.”

  The kettle was whistling. Kelly turned off the burner and poured water into a mug. An unfamiliar, spicy fragrance filled the kitchen.

  “This is my patented hangover remedy,” Kelly explained. “Anytime I have a blackout in my place, I whip up one of these. Does the trick.”

  “But I didn’t—” Gaia stopped. She had blacked out, but how could she explain? She couldn’t explain. Fine, she thought, accepting the steaming mug that Kelly put down in front of her. “Thanks,” she said. “Really, thank you. You—re being very nice.”

  “No nicer than Sir Lancelot here,” Kelly said, smiling as she pulled her honey brown hair back behind her head, snapping a rubber band around it. Her face was damp from the steam, Gaia saw. “How long have you been seeing each other?”

  “What—” Gaia nearly dropped the mug. “We’re not—”

  “We’re just friends,” Will said quickly. “I mean, not friends. Colleagues. We work together—we’re training together at the base. You know.”

  “Colleagues,” Gaia repeated. The steam was making her flush, she realized. “We all are, the four of us.”

  “Okay,” Kelly said hesitantly. She was looking back and forth between them.

  “Kim and Cathy are out on the porch,” Will told Gaia, quickly moving toward the kitchen’s narrow door. “I’ll be right back—I want to tell them you’re awake.”

  They could hear Will’s footsteps moving through the house and then a screen door creaking open and closed. Kelly moved behind Gaia, who jumped when she felt a cold ice pack touching the bump on the back of her head.

  “Kelly, you don’t have to—”

  “Shhh. I don’t mind,” Kelly said. “Relax. You’re a jumpy one, Gaia.”

  That’s true—I am. She forced herself to relax. Surprisingly, it wasn’t hard. It was nice having Kelly “mothering” her—even though, Gaia realized, she could only be a few years older chronologically. “That feels nice.”

  “Good.”

  “There’s something I don’t understand, Kelly,” Gaia said, sipping the “blackout remedy.” It tasted like herbal tea, but it seemed to have some kind of broth in it, too. Whatever it was, it was doing the trick. She felt better already.

  “What’s that?”

  “Well—I mean, forgive the question, but … what’s the deal with that guy Jack, anyway? Why do you keep him around?”

  “Because of Dad,” Kelly explained. Her hands kept moving the ice pack against Gaia’s head. “See, they were good friends. Dad knew Jack couldn’t make it on his own—he’s got problems. He’s angry, and he drinks. But they were close, so at the end, when Dad was sick, he made me promise to keep him on.”

  “Oh.” Gaia thought about it. “But he must hate it. I mean, he’s a homophobe to begin with—how can he stand being at that place every Tuesday night?”

  “Don’t even tell me,” Kelly agreed. “It’s awful. He’s also a … what do you call it when you hate women?”

  “A misogynist.”

  “Yeah. One of those. It just gets worse and worse—and I hate those damn army buddies of his. I wish I could just fire him.”

  “But you could,” Gaia said.

  “Maybe you could,” Kelly replied. She was looking away through the torn screen in the kitchen window. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s possible—maybe I could be strong, like you were tonight. Honestly, that’s what I was thinking, watching you kick their butts like that. I’m so glad someone finally stood up to them. Maybe I could do it.”

  “You probably could,” Gaia agreed. “But be careful. He’s dangerous. I’ll bet all those men are.”

  “I’d have to talk to Gus,” Kelly said. “Gus is the constable. I’d have to tell him to keep an eye on things—make sure I’m all right. Just in case Jack got angry.”

  The kitchen was cooling off as the night wind moved through the house. “You’re sure that man’s not your boyfriend? The good-looking one?” Kelly said, smiling. “Because you sure do fight like a couple. I was watching you at the bar.”

  “We’re just friends. I mean, um—”

  “Colleagues.”

  “Right.” Gaia could hear the floorboards creaking again. “Colleagues.”

  “Hey,” Kim whispered, poking his head through the kitchen doorway. “You all right?”

  “Yeah.” Gaia smiled at him. “Yeah, I’m fine, Kim. Thanks.”

  “We should go,” Kim said. “Catherine’s anxious to get moving. We’ve got to make curfew.”

  “Okay.” Gaia stood up. She felt much stronger now. “Thanks, Kelly,” she said.

  “Anytime, Gaia,” Kelly said, squeezing Gaia’s arm.

  “Best ‘gay night’ I’ve ever seen,” Kim said, waving at Kelly. They both laughed.

  Then Kim and Gaia were moving through the dark corridor toward the screen door that led to the porch. Gaia could hear a car engine starting, and she saw the headlights of Catherine’s Altima flare up, shining in through the screen door and casting its crazy graph-paper shadows on the wall.

  “Tomorrow morning,” Kim said quietly, “when the game starts, we’ve got to move fast.”

  “Right.”

  “Remember, Cathy just got that phone call when the game froze. So the instant that bell rings, we want to be moving—we want to be on our way to the scene of the second murder.”

  “Right,” Gaia whispered. “Right.”

  they just see the blood and

  they come unglued

  ALL BEING WATCHED

  “Now hear this—now hear this.”

  Sergeant Conroy’s voice. Catherine recognized it instantly from two days before. It was unmistakable; he must have learned that commanding tone for addressing subordinates somewhere in the armed forces. Its effect was immediate: she was wide awake.

  “Please report to Administration Wing A and await instructions,” the sergeant barked out. Catherine’s eyes were still shut, but she could feel the searing morning sunlight coming in through the dorm room window. She had a headache: nothing spectacular, but it was definitely going to slow her down.

  “Now hear this,” Conroy continued over the loudspeaker. There had to be speakers in every corridor all through the FBI trainee dorm floors. With her eyes still shut, Catherine could hear the sergeant’s rough voice echoing down the cement corridors. “Now hear this. The following trainees will report to Administration Wing A immediately and await instructions.”

  What are they throwing at us now? Catherine thought, forcing her eyes open and sitting up. The room was spinning justa bit. In the
opposite bed Gaia was sitting up, too, her hair twisted crazily around her squinting face like a wild blond tumbleweed.

  “Roll call?” Gaia groaned. “That’s a new one.”

  Catherine looked at her watch. Six ten A.M. Give me a break, she thought resignedly. The game wasn’t supposed to restart for three hours. Can’t we get some rest?

  “Lau, Kim,” Sergeant Conroy recited.

  “Are they going to make us listen to every name?” Catherine complained. She stood up, leaning on the bed’s white steel frame. “That’s no fair. You want the first shower?”

  “Moore, Gaia. Sanders, Catherine. Taylor, Will.”

  “They must be going by team,” Gaia said. She had stood up, too, stretching and brushing her wild hair back from her face. “I don’t think we’ve got time to shower.”

  “Repeat, repeat,” the relentless drill sergeant continued. “Trainees Lau, Moore, Sanders, Taylor report immediately to Administration Wing A and await further instructions.”

  Oh my God, Catherine thought. Suddenly she was wide awake—a bolt of fear shot through her. It was like someone had thrown a glass of ice water in her face. She and Gaia looked at each other.

  “It’s just us,” Catherine said. “Uh-oh.”

  “Come on.” Gaia had snapped into action, yanking open her bottom dresser drawer with a screech of wood and pulling out a folded pair of jeans. “Let’s go—we have to get over there.” She quickly dressed and tied her shoes. “Ready?”

  No, Catherine thought. Not even slightly.

  “Yeah, I guess,” she told Gaia. She only hoped she looked better than her roommate—Gaia’s eyes were rimmed with red, her hair was still tangled, and her face was pale. There was a red band across her face from the wrinkled bedsheets. “You look awful, girl.”

  “I’m not the only one.” Gaia smiled weakly as she scooped her keys off the dresser. “Let’s go.”

  The Quantico campus was still shrouded in morning mist. At 6 A.M., the sun had barely crept over the horizon, and the sky was a weak, pale color. Groundsmen were out, mowing the grass between the buildings, and in the far distance a clump of male and female trainees were jogging along the dirt path. The air was filled with birdsong.

  “Where’s Admin A?” Catherine asked Gaia. They were shivering in the morning air as they walked out of the dorm building. It was amazing the way that pure fear worked as a hangover cure.

  “I don’t know,” Gaia said. A glass door opened behind them with its unmistakable kerchunk sound, and Will and Kim came out to join them. They looked as bad as Catherine felt. Nobody said anything.

  “Admin A’s over there,” Kim said, pointing. The others followed mutely. Up in the dorm building’s windows, faces looked out at them.

  Enjoy the show, Catherine thought despairingly. Their third day of training, and they were being hauled in for a reprimand in front of all their fellow trainees. A great way to start a career in the FBI.

  “Lau, Moore, Sanders, and Taylor reporting as ordered,” Will told the guard in the Admin A lobby. He was a severe-looking young man with a brush cut in a marine uniform; he nodded and gestured them toward a nearby elevator.

  “Top floor,” the marine told them. “Turn left and follow the signs until you get to Special Agent Malloy’s office.”

  Catherine’s heart sank. Malloy—the man himself. It didn’t seem like this could get any more awful, but the day was young.

  The elevator door closed and the four of them stood in its harsh fluorescent light. Waiting. “Anyone know what this is about?” Will asked quietly.

  “You mean, are we in trouble?” Gaia stared straight ahead. “No. We have to assume we’re all being watched—whatever we did wrong, they saw it.”

  Ding! The elevator doors opened. They were in a wide, featureless, carpeted corridor. Catherine felt like she’d been sent to the principal’s office—which had happened to her at least once during her stormy high school career—but the feeling was ten times as bad.

  Malloy, Brian, A71, the nameplate on the door read. Will took a deep breath and then rapped his knuckles on the black metal surface.

  “Come,” Malloy’s voice barked out. Will opened the door, gesturing to the others ahead. Always the gentleman, Catherine thought bitterly, remembering Will cheerfully refilling their beer glasses over and over again the night before. Good for you.

  The office wasn’t as big as Catherine expected. It seemed very utilitarian. There was a fairly advanced-looking Dell workstation, she saw, with its screen displaying some kind of proprietary windowing system. There were diplomas and badges on the wall and a few pictures of Malloy standing stiffly with several public figures: Robert Mueller, John Ashcroft, Rudolph Giuliani.

  The man himself sat behind a bare oak desk, his hands clasped in front of him, reading from a thick sheaf of papers, dressed in his regulation charcoal gray suit. Catherine couldn’t have felt more intimidated. She had imagined this office—fantasized about being called in here to meet with the boss, perhaps even with her team. But not like this. Now she wished she could be anywhere else.

  With a pang of despair, Catherine could just make out a Quantico Police Department shield imprinted on the pages Malloy was reading. The four of them glanced nervously at each other and then lined up, facing the desk.

  Malloy finally looked up. He stared fixedly at each of them in turn. The distaste on his face was impossible to miss. Up close, he looked even more weather hardened and severe, like a man who had returned from a polar expedition or an Everest climb. He looked tough—there was no other way to put it.

  “I have here a police report,” Malloy began, “from Sheriff Gus Parker at Quantico Central Precinct. It’s a required formality—he has to submit a report to me personally in the case of an incident like this. Needless to say, it hasn’t happened very often. We try to keep our relations with the town and the local police as stress-free as possible.”

  This is bad, Catherine thought desperately. For the first time it occurred to her that they might be expelled from the program. She stared straight ahead and tried to return Malloy’s steel-hard stare whenever it rested on her.

  “I also have eyewitness reports from agents Reno and Segretti, who were in this ‘Johnny Ray’s’ last night. Dancing, in case any of you were wondering where we’d put them. I won’t insult your intelligence by reminding you of what you know very well, which is the fact that the FBI is observing your conduct at all times. It’s a fact that you’ve been explicitly reminded of on more than one occasion.”

  Malloy leaned back in his chair. He looked extraordinarily angry, as if it was only by force of will that he was maintaining a civil tone.

  “As I’m sure you can understand, this is precisely the sort of incident that we take the greatest pains to avoid. The conduct of FBI personnel and trainees, both on and off the campus, is a matter of grave importance—not just for the legal and physical safety of all concerned, but also because of the trust our society will soon be placing in you to act as unswerving upholders and defenders of the law. It’s a responsibility that I carry all the way to Washington. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” they all said in unison.

  “The Field Behavior Directives lay out specific rules governing precisely this sort of incident, in which agents or trainees feel that civilians’ safety is in jeopardy—rules that you saw fit to utterly disregard last night,” Malloy continued in his harsh voice. “Ordinarily an incident like this is grounds for immediate dismissal.”

  Ordinarily, Catherine thought. A ray of hope had burst into view. She furiously tried to keep her expression from changing. He said “ordinarily.” That means not every time. It means not this time—you’re getting a break.

  “However, there are mitigating circumstances I’ve got to consider. First, the establishment in question”—Malloy was flipping pages, and from her vantage point Catherine could see that he even had photographs of Johnny Ray’s—“has become increasingly problematic for several reasons. Acc
ording to Gus Parker, who is a very competent police officer, the place is something of a powder keg, especially on Tuesday nights.” He was looking right at Kim now. “Issues of prejudice and intolerance can be deeply entrenched in small rural communities, as I’m sure you’re aware, and any kind of ‘pride’ event can have the unintended effect of polarizing a community. So emotions can easily become overheated, and provocative situations are correspondingly difficult to avoid.”

  “Yes, sir,” Kim said. Catherine didn’t look, but Kim sounded almost surprised—as if he hadn’t expected that kind of perception or sensitivity on Malloy’s part.

  “The other mitigating circumstance,” Malloy said, and now he was glaring straight at Gaia, “is Sheriff Parker’s report, which makes quite clear that responsibility for what happened is not evenly borne. For that reason I’ve decided to dispense with standard procedures and forgo any punishment for trainees Lau, Sanders, and Taylor. There will be no notation in your permanent records and no official reprimand.”

  Thank you, Catherine thought in a rush. Oh my God, thank you—I’ll never do anything wrong again, I promise.

  But then in the next second she thought, What’s he going to do to Gaia?

  Catherine’s thoughts moved so quickly that she was immediately picturing another roommate moving in and another trainee joining their team. And she realized, with a kind of surprise, how much she didn’t want that to happen.

  “But I want the three of you to remember what I’ve told you,” Malloy rasped. The morning sunlight out his window had grown stronger; it shone in his graying hair. “You’ve done a good job with our fictional sheriff; let’s hope you don’t have any more problems with the real one. Dismissed.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  Will, Kim, and Catherine turned away, moving toward the office door. Malloy didn’t move—he was clearly waiting for them to leave. Catherine had one glimpse of Gaia, in her rumpled jeans and the T-shirt she’d slept in, standing at attention before Malloy’s desk, before Kim pulled the door shut.

  The three of them looked at each other. None of them were smiling. Kim pointed down the corridor, and they got the idea—Let’s get out of earshot.