Countdown

by Michelle Rowen

  “Is everything going well in here?” he asked blandly, sending a hard look at the men. He barely glanced at me.

  “Is everything going well?” I repeated. “Are you kidding me?”

  He regarded me then with a neutral expression. “I’m sorry this has been difficult for you, Kira. Congratulations on finishing the reward level. I’m sure you’ll be very pleased to enjoy some privacy after four difficult levels.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You lied to me about Rogan. Didn’t you?”

  He didn’t reply. Instead, he nodded at one of the men in white who threw something at me. I couldn’t do anything except catch it. It was a robe, a bathrobe. White.

  Big surprise on the color choice.

  Jonathan nodded at the men. “We’ll give you some privacy, Kira. Leave your clothes in here.”

  “Where’s Rogan?”

  Instead of answering me, he turned and followed the men out of the room. The door closed solidly behind him.

  I stood there, shaking, looking at the terry cloth robe draping off my arm. Then I dropped it and ran to the door, pounding my fists against it.

  “Where’s Rogan?” I yelled. “What have you done with him?”

  I turned around and looked at the small white room, my chest heaving. And I waited.

  For a long time.

  Nothing happened.

  There was no sound. No movement. Nobody came in to force me to take my clothes off. I was alone with nothing to distract me except my racing thoughts.

  I felt the back of my hair, now matted and stringy from being caught in the rain. I touched the incision where the implant was. It wasn’t giving off any warning signal.

  He must be close.

  I needed to talk to him. Why had I let myself trust Jonathan? It was obvious to me now that he was the liar.

  Maybe if I’d had a chance to do a full empath read on Rogan I wouldn’t have doubted him at all. But I found it so difficult to concentrate around him…and that wasn’t only because of this insane situation we’d found ourselves in. No boy had ever confused me as much as he did. As he does.

  Jonathan must have lied to me so the level would contain extra entertaining conf lict for the Subscribers.

  I hated being lied to.

  And now that I thought about it, when I’d accused him of killing my family, Rogan hadn’t looked guilty.

  He’d looked disappointed. Completely, devastatingly disappointed that I would think that of him after saying I believed in his innocence.

  I hugged myself tightly while trying to breathe normally.

  “Hello?” I said out loud. “Announcer guy? What’s going on now?”

  There was no answer.

  It was quite obvious, actually. They were waiting for me to change my clothes, and nothing would happen until I did.

  Make them wait, I thought bitterly.

  And so I waited—another ten minutes.

  Then I couldn’t stand the eerie silence a second longer.

  As quickly as I could, using the robe to cover me, I slipped out of my wet, dirty clothes and let them drop to the shiny white f loor. I kicked off my stolen red running shoes. I tied the sash of the white robe tight around my waist and stood there in bare feet.

  “Now what?” I growled from between clenched teeth.

  There was a whirring sound, and the door to my right opened up, moving from f loor to ceiling. It was dark beyond. I approached it cautiously.

  It appeared to be a luxury hotel room. It was large and grand, with rich fabrics and beautiful artwork. A large fourposter bed was to the right. To the left an archway led into a huge bathroom. A picture window looked out on a red, orange, pink and yellow sunset over a tranquil rippling lake. Trees waved gently in the breeze. Where were we? There was nothing like this in the city.

  I moved closer and touched the window. The image f lickered—it was instantly clear that it wasn’t a window at all, but a display screen—ten times bigger than the one my family used to have. I now saw the slot on the right side where the disc containing the image files went.

  So real. So perfect. It had completely fooled me.

  Spread across a table next to the screen was a feast unlike anything I’d ever seen before. Fruit, breads, roast beef, lobster, shrimp, cheese. A large bottle of wine sat in a silver bucket surrounded by ice. I reached out, noticing that my hand was shaking, and plucked a green grape from the table and brought it to my mouth, crunching down through the skin. The sweetness burst in my mouth. I felt as if I hadn’t eaten in days. And I hadn’t. Not really. Not like this.

  Level four led to a reward, Jonathan had told me.

  This was my reward. Food and a bit of privacy. I hadn’t even realized how hungry I was until I saw real food.

  My stomach twisted with concern as my thoughts turned toward Rogan again. Was he in a room just like this one?

  After another minute of worry, my hunger won out.

  I started to shovel the food into my mouth. Cheese, crackers, more grapes. Ignoring the wineglasses, I grabbed the bottle and tipped it back, chugging the chilled wine. A couple months ago, I’d done a few shots of some really nasty vodka offered by some acquaintances who’d found a half bottle of it in an abandoned house, but I’d never had wine before. It was much sweeter than the vodka, and it went down as smooth and easy as water.

  After the feast had filled me enough to concentrate on something else, I moved toward the bathroom and gasped. There was a large bubble bath waiting, filled to near overf lowing. A sweet, f loral scent perfumed the steamy air—like roses dipped in honey.

  I looked around, over my shoulder, all around, trying to see where the cameras were, but I couldn’t see any.

  Was Jonathan serious that part of my reward was some privacy? It seemed too good to be true. My suspicions only worked to make my now-full stomach start churning.

  I paced for several more minutes, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for the digicams to burst out of the walls.

  But nothing happened.

  I wondered for the eightieth time where Rogan was. My implant wasn’t giving off any strange beeping signals. Unless they’d disabled our implants, he was less than ninety feet away.

  I slowly became aware of an unpleasant smell and realized with dismay that it was coming from me. I’d been running and sweating hard for two days now. Even after being drenched from the rainfall, I smelled completely disgusting.

  Finally, I dropped the robe to the f loor and eased into the tub, letting out an audible sigh. It had been so long since I’d had a real bath. I’d gotten by on quick showers whenever and wherever I’d gotten the chance. This was pure ecstasy. Still paranoid, I waited for a silver digicam to f ly up and catch me naked, but there was only blissful silence.

  There was a bottle of both shampoo and conditioner on the edge of the tub, and I quickly made use of each one, slipping beneath the surface of the water to rinse my hair clean.

  When I was finished, I got out of the tub, toweled myself dry, and then put the robe back on. I went back out to the main room and tried to organize my thoughts.

  I felt…good.

  Which made no sense.

  There was no time for relaxation or feeling good. I had to use this time to figure out how to get out of this game before it killed me.

  The door whooshed open and Rogan appeared. He stepped inside the room just before the door slammed shut behind him.

  He wore a matching robe. His dark hair was slicked back off his now grime-free face. His eyes stood out like blue-green jewels in the dim lighting.

  Wow, I’d been right. He did clean up really well. Like, really well.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m…I’m fine. Thanks. And you?”

  His gaze moved through the room, ending at the buffet table. “Did you have any of this food or drink?”

  “Well, yeah. Some of it.”

  He hissed out a breath of frustration. “Didn’t it occur to you that it was probably drug
ged?”

  “Oh.” I stared at him. “I didn’t even consider that.”

  “Obviously.” He drew closer, his worried gaze sweeping over me. “You seem okay.”

  My full stomach sank, but it didn’t really bother me. Which only helped clue me in that the food likely had been drugged to help me relax. “Actually, now that you mention it, I am feeling weirdly better than okay right now.”

  “Damn it, Kira.” He glared at me. “It could have been poisoned, not just drugged.”

  “I was starving to death. And I’m fine, just a little buzzed. See?” I turned around slowly, my arms out to my sides. “Not dead yet. Besides, why would they want to kill me when the cameras aren’t even around to capture that special moment? They just wanted us to chill out.”

  “Don’t have any more of it.”

  “Yes, sir.” I saluted.

  Yes, I was definitely drugged, thanks to the feast. I hadn’t felt more detached from my actions in…well, I’d never felt this detached. This relaxed.

  This was a bad thing?

  He gave me a wary look, then sat down on the edge of the bed. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “Ditto. So maybe a reward level is simply that. A reward. No poison. And apparently no digicams, either.”

  “Forgive me if I’m suspicious of anything that happens to us.”

  And I thought I was tense. Rogan was the very definition of the word.

  I eyed his white robe. “They gave you a bath, too?” He shrugged. “It was more like a thorough hosing down.”

  “You smell good.” I couldn’t keep myself from saying it. I mean, it was the truth. He smelled good. He looked good. Really deliciously good.

  Oh, boy. I was so buzzed. Even with the shots of vodka, which had actually made me sick to my stomach, I’d never felt this drunk before in my life.

  “Gee, thanks.” He looked at me, his gaze moving slowly up my body to my face. “So do you.” Then he frowned deeply at me. “They didn’t hurt you?”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” His expression softened, but then he stood up from the bed suddenly as if he’d just realized where he’d been seated and how intensely he’d been looking at me. He glanced to the side, toward the plasma display.

  My face felt warm. I crossed my arms over my chest. “About what happened on the platform—”

  Rogan turned his gaze from the fake view to me. “I guess you have some questions for me, don’t you?”

  I nodded.

  He started to pace the room, his expression darkening, and he raked a hand through his damp hair. “I didn’t kill your family, Kira.”

  “I believe you.” I tried to meet his eyes, but he looked away again.

  “I don’t want there to be any doubt.”

  I bit my lip. “Actually, believe it or not, there might be a way for me to know for sure.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s just…I can do this thing. I’ve been able to for some time, but I didn’t know what it was.” I told him what Jonathan had talked to me about, my low-level empathic ability that wasn’t good enough to get me into the Colony and a school for Psi girls but was enough to show up like a strobe light in my file. The girl who felt other people’s feelings, if only a little—that was me.

  Jonathan thought it might help me. So far it had only made things more difficult.

  I told Rogan all of this.

  “If it hurts you, you shouldn’t do it at all,” he said.

  “Sometimes it’s worth it. Like now. I mean, if you’re willing.”

  “I’m willing. But what about the drugged food? Won’t that make it harder for you?”

  “Crazily enough, I think it might make it easier. I won’t try to fight it. I can just let it happen all relaxed and calm.”

  “That makes one of us,” he mumbled under his breath. He studied me for what felt like a very long time before he nodded. “Okay…let’s try.”

  “You sure?” He was so guarded about everything, was it really going to be this easy?”

  “I’m sure.” He took a seat on the edge of the bed again. “What do you need to do?”

  “Um, I need to…touch you. That’s how it works. Don’t move.”

  I sat next to him. He watched me warily as I reached forward and placed my hand on his left shoulder, slipping just under the edge of his bathrobe. His skin was warm and still damp from his shower. I slid my hand down over his chest and felt his heartbeat quicken under my touch.

  He didn’t say anything to stop me. He’d gone very still.

  “Okay,” I whispered. “I need to concentrate now.”

  And I did. I closed my eyes and focused my mind, building on what I’d done with Jonathan, what I’d done by accident in the past. It took a moment to clear my thoughts, to get to that place where this could work. But then it did.

  The sensations, the emotions, f looded over me one after another.

  He was alone, so alone. Tired. Angry, driven by a need for revenge. Despair poured from him, disappointment and so much betrayal. Again, just as I had with Jonathan, I felt that sense of guilt—very strongly. And such sadness it made me want to cry.

  It didn’t hurt yet—maybe I was right and the lightly drugged food was helping me. There was something else there, deeper in that pool of water, that beckoned to me.

  I focused and tried to slide further into his mind to discover Rogan’s secrets—to find out just what he believed he was so guilty of that he thought it would make me hate him.

  If it wasn’t killing my family, I didn’t know what it could possibly be.

  Before I could sense anything further, the pain knifed through my brain. I let go of him and slid off the edge of the bed to fall to the f loor, holding my head and moaning.

  Oh, God. The agony! Squeezing and squeezing until I was certain my brain would be crushed.

  But then it finally began to ease. Sweet relief.

  Maybe this was a side effect of being a low-level empath. Maybe it would never get better than this for me if I wanted to use this Psi ability. Or had I simply gone too deep this time?

  I had gone deep. It felt as if I’d been only a second away from seeing everything—from actually reading Rogan’s thoughts. But that was crazy. I couldn’t do something like that. Nobody could. Could they?

  Rogan had dropped to the f loor beside me and gathered me into his arms. He stroked my still-damp dark hair back from my face. “Are you okay?”

  “I will be in a minute.”

  “You scared me for a second there. But it worked. I felt you in my mind.”

  Without saying anything else—I’m not sure I could have if I tried—I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him tight against me. I hadn’t been exaggerating before. He smelled good, so very good—like soap and something else, something both sweet and spicy. I let his scent fill my senses, and it helped to chase the pain away until I could think straight again.

  Finally, I moved back, but he held my face in his hands, staring at me intently.

  “You’re a Psi,” he said.

  “I guess so.”

  “It’s amazing.”

  “Low-level only.”

  That earned me a grin. “Still amazing. Seriously. Do you have any idea how rare this is? It’s incredible.”

  I met his gaze directly. “I felt your feelings, your emotions. There were a lot of them.”

  “Yeah. That must have been an unpleasant journey for you.” His smile fell away. “So, now what?”

  While Rogan Ellis might be a screwed-up kid who had some serious angst to deal with, he wasn’t evil. I’d never been more positive of anything in my entire life. But I needed more. If only I was better, stronger, I knew I could have read his mind. I’d been so close.

  If I couldn’t read his mind, there was only one way for me to learn the truth.

  “Now,” I said evenly, “I want you to tell me what you really think you’re guilty of.”

  He tensed. “What?�
�

  “You said before that you’re guilty as hell of something I’d probably hate you for. I felt that guilt just now. It’s eating you alive. And if it isn’t the mass murder of innocent college girls, and if it isn’t killing my family, then what else could it be?”

  “Just forget it.” He tried to move away from me, but I grabbed the collar of his robe.

  “No, I can’t forget it. Tell me,” I said more firmly. The effects of the drugged food were quickly wearing off, but it still helped me feel braver than I might normally be. “We’re not going anywhere until you do. And I don’t want to use my empath ability on you again because my head just might blow up next time.”

  He gave me a careful look. “Honestly? You don’t sound like a low-level Psi to me.”

  “My file said low. If it didn’t, I’d probably be living in the Colony.” It was a painful thought.

  “Maybe.”

  “Don’t try to change the subject.” I stood up and moved toward the spread of food again, trying to focus my slightly cloudy thoughts. “You know a lot about stuff—stuff I wouldn’t think some former teenage addict who was thrown into St. Augustine’s should know. I didn’t know about Psis. I didn’t know for sure about the Colony, or about this horrible Network, or about Countdown itself. But you did. You know plenty. Why is that?”

  His jaw tensed. “Kira…just forget it.”

  “No, I’m not forgetting it.” I hesitated. “Just who are you, Rogan?”

  His expression turned bleak. “Trust me, you don’t want to know the answer to that question.”

  I knew this much—that he was in Jonathan’s program for addicted teens. And Jonathan had and has a strong connection with Countdown. With the producer himself. But how did the two things connect?

  “Do you know somebody named Gareth?” I asked.

  As if I’d f licked a switch, his expression turned to stone. “How do you know that name?”

  A chill went down my spine. “Jonathan told me that he’s the producer of Countdown.” I inhaled shakily. “Jonathan told me a lot of things, and even though I know he’s a liar, it doesn’t mean he lied about everything. Are you somehow connected to this game? To this Gareth guy? Why did they pick you? Why did they try to injure you at the very beginning so you wouldn’t last long? And…why were you were framed for a horrible crime you didn’t even commit?”