GM glanced at Val. “And now…I believe you have something you wanted to share, Valerian?”
Her fingers dug into the flower convulsively at the way he pronounced her name.
“What is he talking about?” Blake asked.
“Yeah, Val,” James said. “What is he talking about?”
For a moment, she had no idea, either. And then she remembered. She remembered, and nearly drowned in the undertow of her own relief: the letter. She tore open the envelope, scanning the letter impatiently. “The game you have elected to play is a very dangerous one—”
She broke off, staring at Gavin with horror she didn't bother to hide. Smiling, he nodded for her to keep going. She continued, hands shaking slightly as she read, “—One king, one queen, six pawns; winner takes all. There is no time limit…except for the one on your lives.”
“What are we supposed to do?” James said, rising from his chair.
“Why, say hello, of course,” GM said.
“Hello?” The word rippled across the room, reflecting their unease.
The corners of GM's lips tilted up. “And goodbye …”
Goodbye?
He glanced up at the ceiling, innocently. The lights flickered on and off, before going out with an audible hum that plunged the room into darkness. Someone screamed. Somebody else yelled. Feet echoed on the floor boards as they rushed around like disoriented cockroaches.
In the imminent chaos, only Val had noticed the kiss he had blown at her.
Only he could make the gesture look threatening.
The blackout—if it had been a blackout—didn't last for more than a few minutes. The lights came back on, with a buzz, leaving Val feeling even more dazed and confused than before. A succession of gasps made her turn her attention towards the front, where GM had been standing only moments before. He had disappeared, leaving fresh paint glittering in his place like a spectral reminder:
RUN.
Chapter Sixteen
Trap
“Run,” Charlie read.
When her eyes met Val's, Val could have sworn that Charlie sneered. But the blackout had weakened the lights and the lingering shadows made it difficult to interpret something as dynamic as facial expressions.
In any case, Val was far more concerned with the menacing word dripping slowly down the wall like blood.
Run.
Did that mean Gavin was the hunter for this round? It seemed likely. Part of her rebelled at the idea and part of her, a much smaller part but no less present for all that, wondered what he would do to her if he caught her this time.
(I only want to play with you a little)
A little thrill shot through her at the thought, and the memories that accompanied it, and her breasts prickled with gooseflesh. Val squirmed in her chair. Her stalker had threatened to hurt her friends if she tried to out him or leave and she was treating his cruelty like a fetish.
Blake blinked at the ruined wall. The paint was already beginning to soak into the wallpaper. “Shit. That paint isn't water-soluble. Look at the way it's dripping—it's going to leave a permanent stain.”
Val got up from her chair and approached the wall, reaching out to touch the paint out of some vestigial sense of morbid curiosity. It gave her something else to focus on besides the letters themselves, and the sum of their parts, and the dangerous man who had inscribed them.
The texture was different from the water colors she was more familiar with. It had a strange smell and was slightly sticky, seeping into the grooves of her fingerprints. She remembered this smell, yes, accompanied by pungent sawdust and the voice of a man who wanted to ruin her.
To hunt her.
“Well, that's disgusting,” Lisa said.
“I think that's the effect he was going for,” said Jason.
Val couldn't believe she had sold Lisa out to this creep. She swiped her hands on her jeans but the color wouldn't come off. It had gotten under her nails, too. Oil-based. She was making mistake after mistake tonight.
“What a warped sense of humor,” Lisa said, staring at Val's hands. “I mean, seriously. Rip off horror movies, much?”
“If this was a horror movie, wouldn't the airhead blonde be dead by now?” Charlie snapped, folding her arms.
“No, see, usually it's the slut who dies first.”
“In that case, maybe Val had better watch out.”
What? Val looked at her, startled. “I don't—”
“Excuse me,” James roused himself from his pout, “just what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like.” Charlie nodded in her direction. “Go on, ask her.”
She knows.
“You bitch.”
James grabbed Lisa's wrist before she could finish her crushing retort. “Lisa. Let it go.”
Lisa jerked her arm out of his grip, raising her hand in a defiant gesture, but it was only so that she could comb her fingers through her hair and flip the golden strands in a practiced, indifferent manner.
“You're right,” she said. “She's not worth it. I might catch something.”
“Fuck you,” Charlie snarled. “Fuck all of you—but you, especially, Val. No, wait, you'd like that, wouldn't you?”
There was a slam, followed by a series of angry-sounding footsteps storming down the hall. Val looked up. The door, which GM had left open, was now firmly closed.
(Slut)
“Not again,” Jason grumbled, shooting an annoyed look at the door and Brent, in turn, who was nearest. The heavier boy flushed a dark, unhappy pink and for a moment, Val almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
She felt sorrier for herself. Charlie must have seen her with Gavin. Another sharp pain sliced through her stomach and she sucked in her gut like she was trying to physically wrestle the ache into submission. How much had she seen, and what did she plan to do with the information? A girl like Charlie could come up with something much more harmful than blackmail, she was sure.
Lisa breathed deeply, counting under her breath. “Thanks,” she said at last, “I think.”
“It's not worth it,” James said, leaving little doubt in Val's mind as to whom he was really referring to.
“What on earth was that all about?” Lisa asked her.
Val looked down at her shoes. “I…I don't know.”
Another hot flash of guilt flushed through her.
The letter, she thought quickly. The one Gavin gave me. Did it say anything about running?
She fumbled for her pocket, smearing red on the edges of the creamy paper from the paint streaked on her fingers. One of her clues fluttered to the Oriental rug and Val stared at the spiky handwriting on it without really seeing it.
Dangerous, her mind whispered. It had been her first clue. Where have I seen that before?
There was too much happening at once. She couldn't focus. But she knew that she had seen that exact same word somewhere else recently inside the house. The paper in her hand crinkled in warning.
She smoothed out the note over her knee, combing through the various words until she found what she was looking for. Her other hand was reaching for the small squares of paper, though she was only confirming what she already knew to be true—the clues were all in there.
In the note.
Val began arranging the white squares on the carpet. Yes, yes, this one too, they're all here.
“Give me your clues,” she said to James. Giving her a very strange look, he handed them over and she placed them with her own. She looked up. The other players had moved on from the shock of the writing on the wall and Lisa and Charlie's near-confrontation, and were now discussing other, more trivial things in their segregated groups.
“Give me your clues,” she said, through numb lips. “Everyone—give me your clues now.”
“Why?” Jason inquired, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants, “Why in the world should we give up our advantage for you?”
Brent had been in the proce
ss of reaching into his pockets but immediately dropped his hand. “Yeah,” he echoed dully. As if the stupid little squares held any real value.
Lisa and Blake stepped over, setting their clues in the spaces Val indicated while the white players looked on.
“Read the letter again,” Jason commanded, frowning down at the jumble of words.
Grudgingly, Val picked up the sheet of paper and did as he asked, watching the skepticism fade from his face as his clues were called out, one by one.
“Some are missing,” Jason pointed out.
“Those must be Charlie's,” James said, as he got to his feet. He looked around the room. “But it's obvious. The clues definitely form the same message as Val's note.”
Jason, it seemed, wasn't to be deterred. “What special significance is that supposed to have?”
In a hollow voice, Val said, “That we run.”
▪▫▪▫▪▫▪
“—Perhaps it's written in a code of some kind. He mentioned lives and a time limit, though, so the letter could be alluding to a computer game—”
Why did she keep getting paired with Blake?
Blake was nice enough, and certainly a good deal nicer than most of James's loser friends, who consisted of boys who thought that a girl enjoyed being touched like a football.
So maybe she was a little sore. She'd been hoping to get Val alone, to find out what had transpired between her and GM to make her look at her like that. What had made Charlie shout at her like that. Why she had been acting stranger than usual since the very beginning.
Honestly, she was surprised that James had managed to miss it—Charlie certainly hadn't. And it was totally eating at her. Lisa could tell; she would have given a lot to know why.
Then there was that creepy encounter with Jason.
“—And the king and the queen are most likely referring to chess pieces—”
“Maybe,” Lisa said, sounding more irritated than she had intended to, “The note was just a ruse. Did you think about that?”
Blake blinked at her from behind the thick lenses of his glasses. “What do you mean?”
“A trick,” Lisa said, continuing ahead alone, “A red herring, a false—”
She heard him stumble as he tried to catch up with her. “I know what a ruse is,” Blake explained, “You just surprised me, that's all. I stopped talking about the note five minutes ago.”
“Oh,” Lisa paused. How awkward. “Then what were you talking about?”
He took off his glasses to polish them on his shirt. “I asked you what kind of music you liked.”
“Anything that has a good beat,” Lisa said noncommittally, “Except for metal and country. Why?”
“Just curious.”
“Why, what music do you like?” she sighed.
“Classic rock.” He replaced the glasses, squinting myopically at the ceiling. “Do you like—”
Blake's words were pushed through her ears, and into her temporal lobes, but the meaning of them didn't fully register. What did, in a completely different part of her brain, was Jason was heading for the stairs, not twenty feet away. The sight of him filled her with a deep revulsion.
And fear.
Jason hadn't seen them yet, but he would soon. He was on the prowl. She turned towards Blake, who was still talking about various artists that sounded only vaguely familiar and took a step closer to him. Blake barely noticed.
She let her head loll to the side and regarded him in appraisal. He actually wasn't that bad-looking without the glasses. Nice eyes. His skin was pretty clear, though a bit pasty-looking—probably from spending too much time in front of a computer monitor. And he had nice lips. She found herself wondering if he'd ever kissed a girl before. If not, today was his lucky day.
“—the eighties were seriously overrated. I think the seventies had the best—mpphh?”
His hazel eyes grew wide behind the thick rims of his lenses as Lisa grabbed the collar of his shirt and crushed her lips against his. Blake blinked slowly and then carefully pulled off his glasses, which were beginning to fog up, slipping them into his shirt pocket. Slowly, he began to respond, lifting a hesitant hand to cup the blond's cheek in an effort to correct the awkward angle between them.
Nerd-boy has been kissed before. Lisa wasn't prepared for the wave jealousy that accompanied the thought.
A heavy thud echoed from the hall. Blake started to turn towards the source, but she quickly grabbed his shoulders. He didn't bother resisting.
One brown eye cracked open, slipping towards the staircase just in time to see a white-clad figure heading up the steps two at a time. A bitter smile tilted the corner of her lips as her eyes slipped closed again.
Good.
▪▫▪▫▪▫▪
“Hello…Jason, isn't it?”
Jason turned to see their host leaning against the wall beneath a large photograph. It had been taken at a high altitude—probably the Sierras, or the Appalachians—and made him look as if he were standing on the edge of an improbably high precipice, surrounded by redwoods.
How ironic GM barely even knew his name. “Yeah, what?”
GM didn't move from his casual slouch against the wall as he raised his eyes to glance at the photograph hanging above his head. “Beautiful, isn't it?”
“What?” It took him a moment to realize what GM was talking about. “Oh. Yeah. I'm not really a big fan of nature.”
“Hmm.” GM nodded absently, without taking his eyes off the granite and the pines. “Pity.”
“Did you need something?” Jason asked, feeling himself becoming irritated. GM had disappeared for the last three consecutive rounds and when he finally did show up it was only to talk about trees and mountains? If he wasn't so invested in this stupid competition, he would have left hours ago. “I'm kind of busy. You know. Playing the game.”
“Actually,” GM said, straightening a little and meeting Jason's eye for the first time. “I am in need of a small favor.”
Jason set his teeth. “Another one?”
“I'll make it worth your while.”
To which he said, “I'm listening.”
▪▫▪▫▪▫▪
Val yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “James, what time is it?”
He rolled up his shirtsleeves obligingly. “Eleven.”
“Really?” Val frowned, letting her hand fall to her side. It felt so much later than that. “Are we still leaving? I thought we were leaving. Shouldn't we get Blake and Lisa?”
“Oh. Yeah.” James looked around. “I thought they were right behind us. Where'd they go?”
“Call Blake on your cell phone. I'll call Lisa.”
She waited until James had gotten his cell phone out before she punched in the familiar sequence of numbers. An image of a satellite dish appeared on the screen. The same message from earlier, 'looking for service,' flickered beneath it. Nothing.
Val tapped her foot impatiently as the satellite continued to rotate. Then it vanished and the screen went white. 'No service.' And she started to get the bad feeling that maybe the problem didn't lie with her service provider.
“It says there's no service.”
“Yeah, me, too. Try walking around.”
Val moved towards the staircase, waving the phone in a slow arc. “No service.” The words mocked her. Without technology, they were marooned here. The old Victorian might as well have been a deserted island. “James?”
“Still not working.”
“I'm not surprised.”
The voice came from somewhere below. GM. It took Val a moment to spot him. He was leaning against the staircase she was currently on, with his arm casually looped through the ornately carved posts. There was a faint smile on his face, which grew as she stared down at him in mute horror.
How much of their conversation had he overheard?
The thought troubled her. If she truly believed Gavin wasn't responsible for the phones not working, it wouldn't have mattered whether
he knew, would it?
It's still a weakness, whether or not he caused it.
“Why won't our phones work?” James demanded.
“This house dates back to the nineteenth century. It wasn't built to accommodate modern electronics.”
“That's a load of crap considering the goddamn plasma you have downstairs. Why won't they really work? What's blocking the signal?”
“A fault in the infrastructure, I'm sure.”
“Can we use yours, then? The landline, I mean.”
“There isn't one.”
“James, let's go,” Val said nervously. She didn't like that look in his eyes. She'd seen it before, in the art room four years ago, and then again in his bedroom. “Please—”
“What the hell are we supposed to do? Send a goddamn carrier pigeon? Do you really mean to tell me you have no communication out here?”
“I apologize for any inconvenience.”
“You're the host. What do you suggest we do?”
“What I suggest is that the two of you start running.”
“Very funny,” said James.
“He's not joking.”
“She's right, James. I'm not. I'll give you a five second head-start. One—”
“He's joking,” James said.
“Two.”
Val was already running.
“Three.”
“Val? Val—wait up!”
“Four.”
“Whatever you do, don't let him catch you.”
“Jesus, Val. What—”
“Just listen to me.”
“Five.”
She swallowed down the scream that was building in her throat when he started to chase them. Run. Just run.
GM was surprisingly agile for a man of his height, but she was faster—a fact that hadn't escaped James, who insisted that two would be easier to track than one. “Besides,” he added, in a careful voice, “He's after you.”
She understood that he was probably still feeling angry and guilty, but that didn't mean he could act like a self-sacrificing idiot, and she said as much. “I meant what I said,” she gasped. “Don't let him catch you. Please.”
“It's just a game,” he said.
“No,” she replied. “It's not. Not anymore.”
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