The Broken Trilogy

by Amy Cross

  “You make it sound like the game's alive,” I tell him.

  “That's because it is. You're the game, Elly. The next phase of it, anyway. You embody everything that's good and bad about it, and you represent its only chance of surviving. Everything that has happened to you has been part of a plan to manipulate your life and get you to this point. The next stage is up to you, but you are the evolution of the game. You're it's natural next step.”

  “I won't do any of this,” I tell him. “I can't!”

  “Face it,” he continues, stepping past me and heading over to one of the bookshelves. “You were conceived almost twenty-three years ago specifically to master the game, and you were raised by Graham and Margaret Bradshaw for the same reason. Do you even realize the extent to which they psychologically molded you, Elly? They made you who you are.”

  “They can't control who I am now,” I point out.

  “Of course not. That's your responsibility.” He takes another book from one of the shelves. “Join me in taking the game to the next level, Elly. You know it's the only option that makes sense.”

  “And then what?” I ask. “What's the point of keeping it going?”

  “Pleasure. Knowledge. The opportunity to explore your own mind. When he started the game all those years ago, Benjamin Edgewood believed that sex was the primary means by which evolution could be pushed forward. He thought that a sexual game, if it was designed properly, could help humanity to improve faster, and you, Elly, might just be the kind of person Edgewood was dreaming about all those years ago.” Stepping closer, he reaches out and touches the edge of the robe that I've been holding tight around my body. “The game is everything,” he continues, pulling the fabric aside to expose my left breast. “The game is -”

  “Don't touch me,” I reply, stepping back and covering myself.

  “Do you want to see the truth?” he asks. “Do you want to know what's in the box that I showed you earlier?” Heading to one of the desks, he opens a drawer and takes out the box. “It was always said that only the winner of the game could open this, but some traditions need to be thrown to the wind. Catch.”

  With no further warning, he tosses the box at me. I fumble but manage to catch it, and then I stare down at the lid, daring myself to lift it open.

  “Go ahead,” Bob continues. “Take a look. We're reinventing the game now, Elly. We're taking what we like from the old version, but we're giving it a modern twist. No institution can survive unchanged forever. I remember the day when a group of us sat and planned you, when we decided what we'd do to make sure you were able to win the game. Even back then, I felt that the others were misguided, but I went along with their plan because I knew that you might prove useful in other ways.”

  With trembling fingers, I open the clasp on the side of the box and lift the lid. Once I can see inside, I stare for a moment, unable to believe what I'm seeing. I swear to God, I can feel my heart pounding in my chest.

  “What is it?” Bob asks. “Show me.”

  “This can't be real,” I whisper.

  “That box was sealed more than two hundred and fifty years ago,” he replies, coming over to join me. “What's inside? People have speculated for so long.”

  Reaching into the box, I take out a small, fragile slip of torn paper. Written in faded ink, but still legible, there's a name.

  “Elly Bradshaw,” I whisper.

  “Remarkable,” Bob says, reaching out to take the paper from my hand. “May I?” Holding it, he takes a moment to turn it over and examine the back. “Did he really predict this moment?”

  “It's impossible,” I reply, setting the box down but unable to stop staring at the piece of paper. “There's no way a man who lived in the eighteenth century knew my name!”

  “I think this is real, Elly. I'm no expert, but -”

  “You're lying,” I continue, trying not to panic. “You set this up to try to trick me!”

  He shakes his head.

  “You're trying to draw me in deeper,” I tell him. “This is just the latest part of your plan to get me back into the game!”

  “Elly, the box was sealed,” he continues, placing the piece of paper on the desk. “Evidently your role in the game has been known for some time. If you really don't believe me, and if you really think you can run, then leave right now. Go on, run as far and as fast as you can manage.”

  As he heads over to the window, I stay by the desk, staring at the piece of paper. I know it's not possible that this is happening, but at the same time, I feel something stirring in my soul.

  I think I'm starting to believe.

  “Either leave now,” Bob says, staring out the window, “or accept that you want to stay.” He pauses, before turning to me. “That's settled, then. Obviously you're going to take your rightful place at the head of the game. Welcome back, Lady Red.” Opening a cupboard by the window, he takes out a new red robe. “That other one was getting tatty,” he explains, as he comes and stands right behind me. “You know this is the only way.”

  I pause for a moment, staring at my distant reflection in the window, before slowly letting the old gray robe slip from my shoulders. Completely naked, I feel a shiver run through my body as Bob places the new robe on my shoulders, and a moment later he ties the ribbon around my neck.

  “There,” he adds, sounding almost proud. “Don't you look beautiful? You were born for this moment.”

  “So we're not going to end the game?” I ask, still staring at my reflection.

  “We're going to make the game bigger and better than ever,” he replies, stepping around me and stopping to look down at my bare breasts, which are still visible through the robe's open front. A moment later, his gaze drops down to my crotch. “As Raven, it is my duty to serve you and to keen an eye on the rules. Of course, I think perhaps I should be given some additional duties, even after the new Mr. White and Mr. Blue have been chosen.”

  “I'll be Mr. White,” I reply, feeling a strange sense of calm in my chest. Was Bob right? Was I really born for this moment? “I'll be Mr. Blue too.”

  He frowns.

  “That's my decision,” I tell him.

  “I don't think one person can assume all three roles,” he continues, clearly a little surprised. “You need others, even if they're -”

  “You said we need to modernize the game,” I reply, “so I'm modernizing it. The old rules have been broken. I'm blue, I'm white, and I'm red.”

  “Fascinating. Of course, I'll give you all the assistance I can, but how do you expect to function?” He pauses, before looking down at my crotch again. “Your mind is torn, but your body reveals the truth.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  Reaching down, he places two fingers on my crotch, on either side of my labia, before gently parting them.

  “You're wet,” he says calmly, dipping a finger inside and then holding it up for me to see the glistening moisture. “You're excited by all of this. You're so wet, it's almost running down your thigh.”

  “I shouldn't be,” I whisper.

  “Of course you should. You're not like other people. The game excites you.”

  “I'm the game,” I reply. “Elly Bradshaw is the game now.”

  “I'm glad you understand,” he says, turning and heading to the desk. “We must work on the new rules. A living, breathing game is an exciting thing, but we must study you and work out how you are to be played.”

  Glancing over at one of the desks, I see a knife resting next to some papers.

  “I knew you'd come around eventually,” Bob continues. “I must admit, it took a little longer than I anticipated, but here you are, and I'm certain we'll be able to set the game on the right course for many years to come. I had faith in you, even when the others started to have doubts. They worried that you hadn't been raised properly, that you wouldn't be able to take your rightful place, but I knew that you had the necessary determination in your soul. I could see it in your eyes when we first met, at the tr
ain station a few years ago. From that moment, I knew that you'd end up here, just as I know that we're going to go on and achieve great things.”

  Stepping over to the desk, I pick the knife up and examine the blade, spotting my own reflection in the metal. I look tired and scared, but there's also a hint of determination in my eyes.

  “I'm just glad I was finally able to shepherd you to your rightful place,” Bob adds. “I know a lot of bad things had to happen in the process, and I know lives were lost that perhaps could have been spared, but we're not the type of people who cry crocodile tears over right and wrong, are we? Why shouldn't strong people use the weak and then dispose of them? The game is more important than anything else. It's through the game that we're going to advance, Elly. You're living, breathing proof of that. I can't wait to see what you become.”

  Turning to him, I see that he has his back to me as he looks through one of the books. I can't help imagining what it would be like to drive this blade into him, not only as revenge for all the people he's killed but also because I feel as if I need to push him away, or... Deep down, I think there's a part of me that simply wants him out of the way so I can control the game myself. I never believed I'd feel that way, but I think he was right when he said that I'm drawn to the game. This is my destiny.

  Feeling a sense of calm determination, I step toward him.

  “Elly!” a voice shouts suddenly. “No!”

  Turning, I see to my horror that Mark is standing in the doorway. For a moment, I can barely even process the fact that he's here, as if his appearance is somehow a reminder of the outside world I'd begun to forget, and of the old me, the Elly Bradshaw who was terrified every time the game was even mentioned.

  “Elly, don't kill him,” Mark continues, hurrying toward me. “Trust me, if you do something like that, you can never go back. It's a line in your soul and I don't want to see you make the same mistakes I made!”

  “Were you -” Bob looks down at the knife in my hand, and for a moment he seems shocked. “I see. Maybe I underestimated you, Elly.”

  “We're getting out of here,” Mark tells me, reaching out to take the knife from my hand. “Elly -”

  “No,” I reply, pulling away, and keeping hold of the knife in the process. “I'm the game now. I'm everything.”

  “You can't be serious!” He stares at me for a moment, before turning to Bob. “What have you done to her?”

  “I've shown her the truth,” he replies. “I've made her see the potential she's been carrying for so long. The old rules have been abandoned and we're working on new ones now, to ensure that the game prospers for generations to come. The prophecies of Benjamin Edgewood have been confirmed.”

  “You're insane,” Mark tells him, before turning back to me. “Elly, you know this man's a lunatic, right? You can't take anything he says seriously! He's a murderer! He even killed Chrissie, as a warning to try to get me to play by his rules, the man's a psychopath!” He pauses, as if he's waiting for me to say something, but there's a growing sense of horror in his eyes. “Elly, please...”

  “You don't understand,” I tell him, and it's true. He doesn't. He sees the game as a bad thing, as an enemy, whereas I'm starting to see it for what it really is: something wonderful, something beautiful, and something huge. “I am the game,” I continue, stepping toward him. “People always said it was alive, but it wasn't, not then, no matter how much they wanted it to be true. Now, though... Now it lives in me and I can decide how it grows.”

  “You have to come with me,” he replies, “and we'll get you the help you need.”

  “She's not going anywhere,” Bob says, clearly confident that he's getting what he wants. “The game is everything. It controls us, it commands us to act. Even if we wanted to get away, we wouldn't have a chance.”

  “I can't run,” I continue, stepping toward Mark with the knife still in my hand. “No-one can run from who they are, and this is who I am. He was right, the game is wrapped up inside my soul.”

  “No, Elly -”

  “You should leave,” I add. “I don't think you belong here.”

  He stares at me for a moment. “He's brainwashed you,” he says finally. “Elly, you have to see that! He's managed to get into your mind and he's twisted everything around!”

  “I saw the piece of paper,” I continue. “It was predicted hundreds of years ago that I'd be in the game. Benjamin Edgewood himself wrote my name on -”

  “Everyone saw that piece of paper,” Mark replies, “the box was opened years ago. It's just another way to trick you. You were given the name Elly Bradshaw specifically because it was the name recorded in the game's history, but it's just a name. It's not even your real name, your real name is -”

  “I don't care about my real name,” I tell him.

  “Elly Bradshaw is a creation of the game,” he continues, stepping toward me. “Sophie Longdale, the real you, is a girl who was born twenty-two years ago to people who thought they could stop this madness.”

  “The matter has been decided,” Bob says, stepping up behind me. “Elly, this man isn't going to leave quietly. He can't be trusted to keep his mouth shut, either. You know what the game commands.”

  “I do,” I whisper, looking down at the knife.

  “Elly,” Mark says, “whatever you're thinking about doing -”

  “She's going to do the right thing,” Bob continues, interrupting him. “She's going to breathe new life into the game. The rules have become stale and archaic, the game itself has outlived its original lifespan and it needs fresh blood. Elly can be that fresh blood, she can push it forward and make sure that the game achieves its original goals.”

  As they argue, I pick up the box and remove the piece of paper. It's hard to believe that two centuries ago, someone sat down and scribbled Elly Bradshaw on this scrap and then hid it away, and now here I am. Making my way over to one of the tables, I pick up a burning candle and carry it over to the window.

  “Elly,” Bob says, stepping toward me, “we need to get rid of anyone who can damage the game. We need to protect it at all costs.”

  “No,” I whisper, watching the flame for a moment. “We need to end it.”

  “Elly -”

  “We need to stop playing,” I add, holding the candle out until the flame touches one of the large red curtains hanging by the window. The fabric starts burning, and as I turn to Bob I see a horrified look in his eyes. “Everything you said was right,” I continue. “I am the game now, but that doesn't mean I think it has to go on. The only way to end it is to stop playing, so that's what I'm doing. The game ends with me, right here and now.”

  “You're an idiot,” he replies, stepping toward me. “I thought you'd seen sense, but -”

  Before he can finish, he stops and lets out a shocked gasp. A moment later, he drops to his knees and I see that Mark is standing right behind him with a bloodied knife in his hand. He pushes Bob, sending him crumpling onto his side, and then he turns to me.

  “This is my fault,” he says, stepping over Bob's gasping body.

  “It's the fault of everyone who ever played the game,” I reply. “They didn't need to wait for me to stop it, they could have walked away at any moment.” Looking up at the curtain, I see that the flames have really caught now. “We have to burn it down,” I add. “Every part of it, we have to make sure there's no chance it can ever come back.” I turn to him. “Can you do something for me? We need petrol, and we need a lot of it. This whole building has to be incinerated. I don't just want the game to be destroyed, I want it to be erased completely. If anything gets left behind, there's a chance someone else might decide to start it up again.”

  “We won't let that happen,” he replies. “Come with me, we'll go and fetch -”

  “You go,” I tell him. “And hurry, we don't have much time. Every second we wait, there's a chance that the game might survive.”

  As he heads off to find something we can use to burn the place, I step over Bob's body, ign
oring his faint gasps for help. Making my way to the bookshelf, I take out a title at random and find that it's part of a history of the game. I start flicking through the pages, finding pages filled with great detail about events that took place hundreds of years ago. Taking several more books, I carry them over to the burning curtain and threw them to the floor, before grabbing hold of a piece of fabric and tearing the curtain down. Heading back to the bookshelf, I gather more books, and soon I've started building a growing fire in the room.

  “You can't destroy the game,” Bob whispers.

  Turning, I see that his eyes are barely open. There's blood all over the floor, and he's already slipping away.

  “The game is your destiny,” he continues, as he closes his eyes. “Without it, you're nothing. You can't... change... who you...” He gasps, as if the pain is becoming too much. “Admit it. Admit that you liked it. Admit that you enjoyed every second of the game...” His voice trails off, and finally he falls silent and still.

  “You're wrong,” I whisper, staring at his dead face. “I can change who I am. Just because I was born to play the game, that doesn't mean I have to do it. Trying to win the game is just a way of prolonging it. It all stops with me. If I stop playing, if I just walk away, it's over.” I pause for a moment, listening to the sound of the growing fire. “I admit it,” I add finally. “I liked it.”

  By the time Mark gets back, I'm ready to burn the entire place down. Hell, I'm ready to destroy all the proof that the game ever existed. Me included.

  ***

  We watch from a distance as the building burns. A great orange glow is lighting the late-night London skyline, but there are also blue flashes from the various emergency vehicles heading to the scene. I doubt there'll be much left for them to find, but the few scraps that survive the blaze will probably tell an incoherent, scrappy story that they'll never be able to piece together.

  It's over.

  The game, everything.

  No more.

  The only part of the game that's left, is in my soul.