Panic Button

by Frazer Lee

  Gwen took a deep breath. Avoiding Dave’s gloating eyes, she held out her empty champagne glass, dignified as a princess. Looking smug, he refilled it.

  “Yeah, yeah, all right. Go on then,” she said.

  “Question one - having always been fascinated by the world of celebrity, which famous figure have you frequently been compared to by your friends on All2gethr?”

  The question mark icon throbbed over the quiz show version of her profile page, above the rows of glamorous portraits of her in her photo feed. Dave took the opportunity to look Gwen over, his eyes devouring her. She tightened her silk scarf, shifting under the intensity of his tipsy gaze. She had to answer honestly to score points; she knew that from the previous rounds. Gwen thought hard and took a breath before responding.

  “Hmmm... Kylie Minogue?”

  She flashed a prim smile at the others, as though daring them to mock her. They remained silent.

  “Question two - can you identify the young man in this picture?”

  Another progress wheel span, before giving way to a snapshot of a mousey-looking teenage boy wearing school uniform. A class portrait.

  Gwen peered closely at the picture. “No, I don’t think so...”

  “Yeah, yeah...” Dave said.

  “No, I genuinely don’t recognise him.”

  “Question three - who is ‘Guardian_Angel’?”

  Gwen groaned, ran her fingers through her fringe, rattled.

  “What is it?” Jo asked.

  “Gwen?” Alligator prompted.

  “All right, all right... She’s me. It’s just a username I use sometimes.”

  ‘PROCESSING’ appeared on-screen.

  “Score - one out of a possible three.”

  “Boo!” Max said, giving the thumbs down jokingly. Dave chuckled.

  Jo looked a little relieved to hear Gwen’s score. Not so perfect after all, she thought.

  “One - the celebrity you have been most frequently compared to is Katy Brooks, the glamour model...”

  Dave wolf-whistled noisily over Gwen’s groans of embarrassment.

  “...because of the eating disorder you developed when you were fifteen.”

  Gwen looked horrified, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. Alligator’s words were like knives, pricking away at her thin armour of defiance. She wanted to disappear into the layers of her clothing now, shrink away so no one could see her anymore. Gwen had spent most of her teenage years feeling that way, seeing herself looking so disgustingly obese in the mirror each morning and every night, no matter how many times she made herself sick...

  “Two - the boy in the picture is Neil Harris,” Alligator continued, “You joined an All2gethr page dedicated to tormenting him when you were in school.”

  Dave’s jaw dropped. “And I thought you were such a nice girl.”

  “That was a long time ago,” Gwen said, eyes glistening wet now.

  “Three - you answered correctly. ‘Guardian_Angel’ is your moderator username on the All2gethr Helping Hands counselling forum.”

  “You’re a counsellor?” Jo asked, a note of surprise in her voice.

  Gwen nodded uncomfortably, wiping her eyes and toying with her fringe again.

  “Summary - you are a hypocrite, because you should take a little of your own advice before preaching to others,” Alligator concluded.

  “He’s right there...” Dave muttered.

  He had clearly hit a nerve. Mortified, Gwen stared at her lap. So much for showing Dave how the game was played - she felt as though she’d endured a whipping.

  The Alligator’s voice continued, upbeat as ever.

  “That concludes Round One. Remember, some amazing prizes are up for grabs. Thank you all for playing along.”

  Ding ding. The animated grinning green face faded away from their screens.

  But for the steady drone of the jet engines an uncomfortable, leaden silence had descended on the cabin.

  Six

  Max was the first to break the tension that had clouded the cabin.

  “Cheers!” he exclaimed, raising his glass.

  The response from the others was subdued. The party atmosphere had been well and truly depressurised by Alligator’s opening Round.

  “Come on guys, you know it’s just a game,” Max continued, “It’s obviously meant to challenge us.”

  “Not sure I want to play another round like that to be honest,” Jo said, “That was way out of line.”

  Gwen sighed, reclining her seat. “These prizes had better be really bloody good.”

  Max nodded, smiling in agreement. “I guess we have to ‘pay to play’.”

  “I’d like to know where they got that photo from,” Dave grumbled, “I definitely didn’t put that on my profile, I know that much.”

  “Bet you didn’t,” Max teased. Dave tried his best to ignore the comment.

  “They’ve really done their homework on us, haven’t they?” Jo said.

  “Got to be in it to win it. Let’s have another drink, yeah?” Max rose and strolled over to the bar.

  Popping the cork of another bottle of champagne, he filled fresh glasses and handed them out.

  “Not for me thanks,” Jo said, “Is there any water?”

  “You sure?” Max said.

  “Please.”

  Max found some bottles of mineral water. “Sparkling or still Madam?” he said, emulating Dave’s waiter act.

  “Sparkling,” Jo replied.

  The bottle hissed as Max twisted the cap off. He handed the mineral water to Jo.

  She took it gratefully, and hoped he wasn’t somehow disappointed in her. She remembered how much of a stick-in-the-mud she’d felt when she’d first gone out with her friends while on the wagon. After that she’d started making her excuses and it had only taken a little while for them to stop inviting her out at all. Any pride Jo had about not drinking was tempered by the feeling that sobriety had made a social outcast of her. Watching Max offer more drinks to the others, she hoped the same thing wouldn’t happen here on the flight. He was so determined to get the party started again and she began to think that maybe she was a stick-in-the-mud after all. Perhaps I should take his advice, thought Jo, ‘got to be in it to win it’.

  “Gwen? Go on...”

  Max held out a fresh glass of champagne, beaming. Gwen accepted the glass from him with a flirtatious smile. She took a sip and looked up at Dave, who was standing and stretching his legs by his seat.

  Jo watched Gwen, disapproving of the way she was clearly trying to play the two men off each other. In particular, Jo could not deny the fact that she didn’t like how Gwen was flirting with Max. Despite the revelations of the quiz game, Jo felt Max was a genuine, stand-up kind of guy. Knowing that Gwen was a counsellor meant that she knew how to manipulate people. Given half the chance, she’d surely take advantage of Max’s kind nature. Buck yourself up girl, Jo thought. How many times had her own rehab counsellor warned her that low self-esteem had triggered her drinking problems? Jo had lost count. She vowed to herself not to fall into that trap again.

  A mischievous look crept across Gwen’s face. “So, Dave... tell us about getting... down there pierced?” she ventured.

  Dave tried to hide his surprise at Gwen’s ribald question, but only succeeded in bumping his head on the plane’s curved ceiling. He clutched his bald spot painfully, cursing under his breath. Laughter filled the cabin once more.

  “It was... yeah it was great,” Dave replied, still wincing from the blow to his head, “Until one got infected. Hurt like hell!”

  More riotous laughter rocked the cabin.

  “Nasty,” Max whispered. He was looking delighted that the mood had lifted.

  “So I had one removed,” Dave continued.

  Jo’s eyes widened. “Ball!?”

  “Piercing - Prince Albert.”

  “Oh...”

  Dave approached Gwen, unzipping his jeans, towering over her. “Wanna see?”

  Max laughed
and smacked Dave’s butt playfully, like a jockey lashing a racehorse.

  “Yeah! Let’s see some of the hard stuff!”

  Gwen winced. “No, no I’m all good, thanks.”

  “Well stop going on about it then!” Visibly annoyed, Dave turned and stomped to the bar.

  “Dave?” Gwen’s voiced wavered. She looked shocked by his sudden change in mood.

  He ignored her, opening a bottle of whiskey. He poured a sizeable measure into a glass tumbler.

  “All right mate?” Max said, looking up at him.

  Dave downed his drink in brooding silence and poured another.

  Jo knelt on her seat, head resting against the cool glass of the window. Peering out into the night sky, she watched the wing lights blink amidst cloud vapour like the beam of a lighthouse in thick fog.

  The fizzy water had finally begun to offset the effects of the champagne. Her head had cleared a little and she felt at peace gazing out of her little porthole. Just then, a momentary flash of lightning caught her eye, way off in the distance. Thunder rumbled faintly over the drone of the engines.

  “Atlantic’s meant to be clear.”

  Jo was thinking aloud, her voice barely more than a whisper.

  Slumped back in his reclined seat, another large whiskey in hand, Dave shrugged.

  “So?”

  Jo looked over her shoulder at him. “I checked the weather, you know... before the flight.”

  Gwen looked nervous, swallowing hard. “And?”

  “And it’s meant to be clear.”

  Dave shrugged again, bullish. “Bloody weather men, always get it wrong.” He got up, groaning and stretching, and headed to the bar. Glasses and bottles clinked as he rummaged around, looking for something.

  “What are you doing?” Gwen asked. His rummaging was putting her nerves even more on edge.

  “Looking for something to eat. You’d think there would at least be some bloody bar snacks on this plane. Bet the business travellers don’t have to ask twice, know what I mean?”

  No-one answered. Dave gave up his search with a grunt of frustration and poured himself yet more whiskey.

  “Probably left food out of the equation deliberately,” Max said, watching Dave commit further crimes against his liver.

  “How’s that?” Dave asked, his speech slightly slurred.

  “Get us into the games more quickly,” Max replied, “Lots of booze, empty stomachs...”

  “You seem to know quite a bit about it.”

  Dave’s statement sounded like an accusation. The whiskey was evidently making the big man surly. Max fell quiet.

  Hearing another distant rumble of thunder, Jo turned her attention back to the window. She arched her hands over her forehead to block out the glare of the interior lights. Squinting out into the blackness, another flash of lightning revealed the swirling shapes of storm clouds gathering.

  Huge dark forms, like black ships rolling in toward their fragile little island in the sky.

  Seven

  “Please take your seats. It is time for Round Two.” Alligator’s voice echoed around the jet.

  “Any fucking food on this boat?” Dave said, stomach gurgling in concert with his needs, hunger churning the lake of champagne and spirits in his tummy.

  The monitor screens flickered to life once more, the Alligator regarding them with his black-slitted eyes.

  “Dinner, and desserts, will be served upon arrival at your destination,” Alligator said.

  “What about a bag of peanuts while we’re waiting, eh? I’m bloody starving.”

  Dave rubbed his ample beer belly and licked his lips.

  “I’m famished too mate,” Max said.

  “Me too,” Jo said, “I skipped breakfast I was so excited about the flight.”

  Dave looked over at Gwen, who clearly did not want to discuss food.

  “What about some pretzels then?” Dave ventured.

  Only the throb of the jet engines replied.

  “Tight bastards.”

  The Alligator’s face faded from view, replaced by ‘ROUND 2: KISS AND TELL’ displayed in large pink letters against a lurid backdrop of cascading love hearts.

  Dave grinned at Jo, licking his lips. “That’s more like it! Kiss and tell. Nice.”

  “I guess we aren’t getting off the hook that easily,” Jo said, frowning.

  The display dissolved to a rapid montage of webcam video clips. Dozens of faces appeared one after the other on the screens.

  “Millions of All2gethr users are online twenty-four-seven,” Alligator continued, “They share their interests, their passions, their ambitions and dreams...”

  People of all ages, races and sexes were shown on-screen, peering into their webcams in offices, bedrooms and lounges the world over.

  “For some, it is a place to wear disguises, for others it is the only place they can truly reveal themselves...”

  The montage drew to a close, holding on the image of a pretty teenage girl. She stared sullenly into her webcam, teenage Emo band idols on the bedroom wall behind her. Tears had made her black kohl eyeliner run in dark rivers down her cheeks.

  Jo peered closer at her screen. The image seemed familiar somehow, but she couldn’t quite place it. Where had she seen that girl before? Jo got the feeling it had been in a music video somewhere. Then the image cut off abruptly, replaced by the Alligator’s rictus grin.

  “In this round we are going to find out what you are all like - behind closed doors,” he said.

  Dave returned his seat to its upright position. He looked worse for wear, still slugging whiskey from the tumbler. Something resembling apprehension moved across his face. Gwen stretched her arms and ruffled her hair, listening intently to the Alligator’s voice.

  A pop-up video window replaced their host’s grinning green face. Grainy hand-held footage was now playing out along with a distorted, echoing audio track.

  A figure in torn dirty clothes was on his knees in a dingy cell. A plastic sandbag had been pulled over his head, obscuring his face completely. The terrible whimpering, pleading sounds coming from within the bag were testament to just how terrified he was. The camera tilted and moved, revealing a group of men standing around him, dressed in combat fatigues and balaclavas. They were taking turns to brutally punch and kick the man, some of them gesturing into the camera lens with devil horns and gang signs. As the men goaded their terrified captor, another of their number approached carrying a large gun. Cocking the weapon, he pushed the barrel against the hostage’s forehead.