The Players

by Darren O’Sullivan

  She empathised with what he was doing, and why he was doing it, she agreed with his message, understood the costs. He had confided in her what had happened to him, and how those who’d saved him from the car were labelled heroes, despite their actions ensuring his mother drowned. She understood his grief, his pain, and how isolated he now was in a world that hid from the truth. She had even agreed to pose as The Host to show that she was a believer in his message. He had doubted her, said she would eventually go to the police if he let her in, he had called her weak. And although she’d failed to execute as he’d instructed, she’d still worn the helmet, walked onto that bridge and tried to make them play his Game. She’d still done it, and because she had, she’d proved she was committed to his cause.

  But there was nothing about this latest Game she was watching that she understood. It didn’t show evil but sacrifice for love. She felt her faith waver.

  ‘I’m gonna go home,’ she said quietly, and he replied by waving at her with the back of his hand. Hurt by the dismissal, she turned to leave. Just then, the shelf with the pipe-cleaner people caught her eye, so she approached and reached out to pick one up.

  ‘Don’t touch them,’ The Host snapped.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You never touch them. Understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘OK, I’m sorry, I won’t.’

  The Host looked at her and couldn’t hide his disappointment. She said she understood, but really, she never would. She looked at the pipe-cleaners as if they were little toys, models crafted for fun or distraction. She would never understand who they really were. She would never understand why they were so important. As she left the room, apologising again, he turned and picked up his motorbike helmet. The girl watched through the crack in the door as he pressed record on the webcam and began to speak.

  ‘What you are about to see is unedited footage of a game I played on the night of the 7th of February…’

  Day 6

  8 February 2019

  MAN PLUNGED FROM BRIDGE TO SAVE BOY’S LIFE

  Patricia Blakemore, BBC correspondent

  A local Peterborough man has been hailed a hero after plunging from a bridge rather than killing a teenage boy.

  The man, who has been named as Jim Weston, forty-six, is thought to have been ordered by serial killer The Host to fight to the death with the unnamed fifteen-year-old on a footbridge north of the city centre.

  Instead, Mr Weston jumped from the bridge and suffered serious injuries as a result. His condition at Peterborough District Hospital is not yet known.

  A police spokesperson said that the investigation is ongoing, but warned social media users, ‘Those who share the video posted online may face criminal charges.’

  To date, the video has been streamed and viewed over three million times, a number that is expected to rise.

  DI Rawlinson, who is in charge of the investigation, urged the public not to interfere with inquiries and to report suspicious activities rather than act directly.

  ‘We ask you to let us do our work,’ he said. ‘Acts of vigilantism have occurred across the city, and dealing with these incidents is taking focus away from what we need to do, which is to stop the instigator of these horrific crimes.’

  Police have been inundated with calls since the first incident which occurred in a Chinese takeaway on 3 February and which saw manager Michelle Reed being forced to kill Timothy Smart.

  The apparently random targeting of individuals who are forced to ‘play’ The Games has also affected local businesses as many employees have been too frightened to go to work.

  Police have refused to comment on The Host’s latest threat to play his last Game on the evening of 7 February. However, several police cars and two ambulances were seen racing through the city, in the direction of Ferry Meadows last night.

  When asked if the police thought there would be another attack, DI Rawlinson stated: ‘I have no further comment about an ongoing investigation,’ but later stressed, ‘Our advice remains the same – to stay vigilant and stay indoors.’

  Police are urging anyone with any information to contact 111.

  If you live in the Peterborough area, and have been affected by this, get in touch here.

  Emily Curtis > Peterborough Free Discussion

  Is anyone watching BBC breakfast? They are talking about The Host. Can’t believe it’s now on national TV!

  587 Comments

  Johnny Ormo

  I’ve just switched it on. This is surreal. I can’t think about anything else. I’m scared to go outside in case I’m next.

  Emily Curtis

  I know what you mean, I have been up all night, I felt sick at 9 p.m. thinking about The Game he was playing somewhere.

  Johnny Ormo

  Me too. Have you seen anything online about it?

  Emily Curtis

  Only what was on the news. Reports of police and ambulance near Ferry Meadows.

  Amanda Belkin

  Did you all see the video? What Jim Weston had to do?

  Emily Curtis

  Yes.

  Amanda Belkin

  It’s insane. The man jumped off the bridge, so he didn’t have to fight.

  Emily Curtis

  Michaela was right. He was involved.

  Johnny Ormo

  It’s so sad. I really hope he is OK.

  Emily Curtis

  He’s a hero.

  Claire Turner

  Hi, guys. Sorry I’ve been quiet; it’s been a bit tough.

  Emily Curtis

  It’s totally understandable, are you all right?

  Claire Turner

  I’ve been struggling. This thing is scaring me so much, I’m barely sleeping, and when I do, I’m having terrible dreams. I still can’t get over that Roberta was killed. She was such a lovely lady.

  Johnny Ormo

  I’m so sorry for your loss.

  Claire Turner

  I feel like a hypocrite, I barely knew her really, we just exchanged pleasantries when I went in with my kids. But still…

  Michaela Balfour

  Hi, Claire. I understand how you feel. I’m sorry for your loss too.

  Emily Curtis

  Michaela, are you OK? Any news?

  Michaela Balfour

  None yet.

  Claire Turner

  Has there been another video released?

  Emily Curtis

  No.

  Johnny Ormo

  It’s coming though. The Jim Weston one broke my heart. He is so brave to do what he did, but we are all so powerless in this thing.

  Emily Curtis

  I hate saying this, but I don’t think the police will be able to stop this guy. I’m terrified.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  6.15 a.m.

  I was back by the rowing lake, but it was different today. In the warmth of the early morning sun I could hear birds chirping. In my hands was a camcorder, a large and heavy one from the mid-1990s, the tape rolling, the grainy image capturing Sam stood beside Howard. ‘Smile, you two,’ I said. Sam waved. Howard said I didn’t have to record it, as it was boring, but I insisted. ‘It will be great to look back on in years to come.’ He shook his head dismissively, but the hint of a smile crept onto his face.

  ‘Shall I do it now?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Ready? Annnnnnd – action.’

  Sam waded into the water, and Howard followed. I moved too, close to the edge. Sam pushed Howard under the water, held him there, smiling to the camera throughout, talking about how easy it was to hold him. She lifted one hand and waved at the camera again. Howard waved too, his head fully submerged in the murky lake. Then he stopped waving, his arms falling limp. Sam let go, and he drifted away. I cheered as she joined me on the edge of the water. She took a mock bow towards the camera before stepping out of shot. I zoomed in on Howard, his body floating face up and lifeless. As I closed in on his face, it wasn’t his face I saw. I
t was the dark eyes and high cheekbones of Grayson James.

  It jolted me awake and I opened my eyes. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat up, my elbows resting on my knees. Sam stirred beside me.

  ‘Whassup?’ Sam asked sleepily.

  ‘Just a weird dream. Go back to sleep, babe.’

  Sam stretched, yawned and rolled onto her side.

  ‘No, I’ve got to get up soon.’ She waited for a response, but I said nothing. ‘Are you sure you’re all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

  I turned and faced her, smiled, but knew I wasn’t fooling anyone. ‘Yeah, I’m fine.’

  ‘Karen…’ Sam started, but stopped as I got up and walked out of the bedroom, heading downstairs. In the kitchen I turned on the light to Bob’s tank, and the fish seemed to eye me, annoyed, until I removed the lid to the small tub of food and pinched a few flakes.

  ‘Easily pleased, aren’t you, Bob?’

  I switched on the kettle, then grabbed my phone that I’d left in the kitchen junk drawer in an attempt to have a restful night. I checked to see if Howard had messaged, but nothing new had come in. I thought Howard might have updated me or at least asked if I’d got home safely. On the news, however, The Host and his Game was everywhere. Twitter, Facebook and the national press were dominated by what was happening. There was a new alert on the BBC News app, posted four hours ago, about the police being at Peterborough rowing lake in connection with an ongoing investigation. So far, the details of the latest Game hadn’t been revealed but I knew it was only a matter of time. As the kettle clicked off, I heard Sam walking around upstairs, then a minute later she came into the kitchen wearing her dressing gown.

  ‘Made you a coffee,’ I said, handing over her mug.

  ‘Thanks. So what are your plans for the day?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve been asked to go in for a meeting this morning at nine. The gaffer wants to see me.’

  ‘About the IOPC report?’

  ‘Maybe, or probably just to assign me a list of places in the community to visit.’

  ‘Well, that’s something,’ she said. She didn’t ask about the latest video posted; she didn’t ask if I knew anything. Sam was far too good for me.

  ‘How do you think school will be today?’ I asked, redirecting the conversation.

  ‘Bloody hard,’ Sam replied, taking a sip of her coffee.

  ‘I bet there are lots of scared kids at the moment.’

  ‘Most of them, yes.’

  ‘But not all?’ I queried.

  ‘Some were riled up yesterday after the new video, ready for a fight. We had four separate scraps, three of them in the middle of a lesson.’

  ‘Jesus. They should just close the school.’

  ‘But a lot of parents work, so if we close the kids have nowhere to go. We have a duty of care.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right.’

  ‘A few of my most vulnerable students really concern me. These kids are on the edge as it is, without this. Yesterday, I tried to find them all, to talk to them, tell them that we teachers are there to help, but really, what can we do after 3.15 p.m. when they go home? I gave a few of them my mobile number so if—’

  ‘Is that a good idea? Students having your personal number?’

  ‘No, it’s not, but what else is there? Some of those kids are pretty much fending for themselves. They don’t have anyone to comfort them. I figured I rarely use my mobile, anyway, so it wouldn’t matter if it became a designated phone for work.’

  ‘Kids might ring you in the middle of the night.’

  ‘They might, but I want to help, especially those who don’t have anyone to help them through all this. I just hope none of them need to pick up the phone.’

  ‘I guess them knowing someone is there might be enough.’

  Sam smiled. ‘That’s what I’m hoping.’

  Sam regularly told me about a few of the kids she was most worried about. If I was their teacher, I probably would have given my number too. Even though our jobs were so different, they were both about helping people.

  ‘Maybe today will be a little better,’ I said.

  ‘We both know it will be worse.’

  ‘Do you want me to drop by in an official capacity?’ I asked, hoping when I received my bollocking from Bradshaw I could appease him by suggesting I could help. I couldn’t tell Sam I’d intended to the other day, but a panic attack stopped me.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Sure. I think I’m going to be asked to be out and about anyway.’

  ‘It’s worth a try. Thank you, love.’

  I kissed Sam and took my coffee upstairs to shower and get ready for my meeting.

  ‘It’s weird seeing you in that uniform again,’ Sam said when she came up to join me.

  ‘It feels weird wearing it.’

  ‘Want a lift to work? I can drop you on my way in.’

  ‘No thanks, love, I’ll walk.’ As a farewell gesture before I left the house, I kissed her and said, ‘If I’m coming in to the school, I’ll message before.’

  As I stepped onto the pavement, I saw a woman leaning on Sam’s car. I hesitated for a moment, but then, my police head firmly switched on, I approached.

  ‘Can I help you?’ I asked, my voice steady. I recognised her face, but for a moment couldn’t place it – by the time I did, it was too late to react. The woman spat at me, hitting me on the chest.

  ‘You’re a disgrace. You shouldn’t be in a uniform, you should be in jail. Murderer.’

  I tried to respond as a police officer should, trying to defuse the situation, assert the power the uniform gave, but I faltered.

  ‘It’s been two weeks since you killed my son. And you get to carry on like nothing happened. I hope you burn in hell, you bitch!’ She spat again, this time hitting my chin. I knew I should have responded, arrested her even, but the woman shoved me hard, and I stumbled back into the bush outside my house. I corrected myself, tried to speak, say something, but the words wouldn’t come. She shoved me again, called me a bitch again, and once more, I was powerless.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Sam shouted from the doorstep, alerted to what was going on. She stormed protectively outside in her dressing gown. ‘Fuck off, before she arrests you.’

  The woman, unprepared for conflict with another, stared at me one last time. ‘You’ll pay for what you did to my boy. You’ll rot in jail one day, you mark my words.’ Again, I knew I should say something, but still the words wouldn’t come. Maybe she was right, maybe I should be punished?

  ‘Piss off,’ Sam said, drawing level with me, and Grayson’s mum laughed a bitter laugh before stuffing her hands into her pockets and walking away. Only then did I breathe. Neither Sam or I spoke until the woman turned off our road and disappeared.

  ‘Was that Grayson James’s mother?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, pulling a tissue out of my pocket to wipe the spit from my face.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  I shrugged. ‘Yeah, I’m going to have to be. I better go.’

  ‘Karen, wait. Maybe you shouldn’t go in today. Can’t you ask to rearrange the meeting?’

  I shrugged again, catching myself and stopping mid raise. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  Chapter Forty-Four

  8.27 a.m.

  I stepped into the office amid a sea of tired eyes glued to warm computer screens and sleepy voices talking to persons unknown on telephones. An array of takeaway containers, pizza boxes and coffee cups littered the desks. Paperwork was scattered around, piles of notes and photos and statements from the public. There was the smell of stale air and the hint of body odour from a room full of people who hadn’t been able to have their morning shower. It looked like they had been here all night and hadn’t slept. I should have been here, too, following up any potential leads. I’d failed, and that was compounded by the shame of not having dealt with Grayson’s mother as I should have done. Her words looped in my head – I wasn’t sure I would ever be able
to pause her voice.

  ‘You’re a disgrace. You shouldn’t be in a uniform, you should be in jail. Murderer.’

  Bradshaw wasn’t in his office, but I didn’t doubt he was in the building somewhere, so I waited outside his door. From across the incident room, Howard caught my eye. I nodded, which he acknowledged before walking away towards the bathrooms. Checking my watch, I still had ten minutes, so I followed. As I walked past Rawlinson’s desk he looked up from his phone.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he barked.

  ‘Superintendent Bradshaw invited me in,’ I replied confidently, pleased that after the incident on my doorstep I could still act as if I had a cool head.

  ‘Well, his office is the other way. You shouldn’t be walking around here, you’re technically suspended, you know.’

  ‘I’m on restricted duty.’

  He offered a thin smile. ‘After your little stunt last night, I wouldn’t be so sure.’

  ‘Stunt? I was trying to help, you…’

  ‘You what? Go on, finish what you were saying.’

  I bit my tongue, there was a time and place for the words I wanted to say to him, but now wasn’t it.

  ‘This is a murder investigation,’ he hissed, as if I didn’t know. ‘I suggest you turn around.’

  ‘I’m actually going to the ladies; do you feel the need to escort me?’ I asked, unblinking.

  ‘Just be quick. I don’t want you lurking around where you’re not welcome.’

  ‘Can’t promise I’ll be speedy,’ I said, and he looked away. ‘You know how slow us women are. And I can’t find anyone to come with me either. I’m not sure how I’ll cope.’

  I couldn’t call him an egotistical prick, like I wanted to, so calling him out on his sexism was the next best thing.