The beginning of the end? How sinister.
“Do you still have your papers from the last round?”
There were some hesitant nods and yeses as the players checked their pockets and purses to recover the crumpled slips.
“I wasn't,” Jason snapped, quickly passing the paper along to Charlie, who rolled her eyes and dropped the papers in GM's upturned palm.
Val was sitting on the end of the row, so she ended up with the slips for her team. They were about the size and shape of Chinese fortunes, except more crudely formed, and she found herself turning over one of the slips for a quick look. Really, since she hadn't even gotten to draw a paper, it shouldn't even count as cheating…
She turned the paper over, and a hand seized her wrist, with just a bit more force than friendly contact allowed for. Val looked up, mouth dropping open, as she met GM's eyes. “That will be all,” he said, letting his eyes drop to her parted lips as he took the slips. “Val.”
She jerked her now-sweaty hand out of his hold, shooting a nervous look at Blake and Lisa to see if they had noticed. They hadn't. But Charlie had. Her expression was thunderous. She looked down at her lap, and wiped her palm on her jeans.
(Say my name)
“Is this all of them?” GM asked, redirecting their attention to the front of the room. Without waiting for an answer he said, “Good.” And, to their shock, he ripped the papers, allowing the shreds to fall to the floor.
“What did you do that for?” Jason asked, staring at the remains of his paper.
“Having them around will only make your next task more difficult. You have until dawn,” GM continued. He rolled up his sleeve, revealing a black watch, “It's a little past midnight now, so that leaves you with a six hour deadline. The rules are simple. No one is allowed to find out what was on your paper except, of course, for the person you gave your one clue to…” He studied his rapt audience with approval, “If you fail to meet these terms or forfeit, the game is drawn and you hit checkmate.”
“What do we need six hours for?”
“It's quite simple. You have to kill the person on your paper.”
Chapter Nineteen
Trebuchet
Similar words sprang to mind, a passing threat from years ago that had taken root and was now blooming into vines with venomous barbs. She recalled them as if Gavin had spoken them to her yesterday.
(What if instead of going after you I went after someone you hold dear? Would you resist me then? Or would you play my way in exchange for their well-being?)
Val sucked in a breath. The pain seared as though fresh.
No.
(You would, wouldn't you?)
His eyes locked with hers. She wondered if he, too, was remembering. From the satisfied smile playing about his lips, like a cat that had devoured cream and canary both, she had trouble believing the answer to be anything but yes.
She had made her move all those years ago. And now, four years later, he was making his. Playing her as if she were one of his chessmen. It's all my fault, she thought. Everything—it's all my fault. It's all because of me.
They will all die because of me.
“You're joking,” Lisa said. Her voice sounded small.
“I don't think he is,” Val whispered back. The lump in her throat had returned with a vengeance as she watched his gesturing hands and remembered what those same hands had done to her body in the dark.
Her breathing constricted, her throat tightened, and the lump seemed to weigh down the back of her tongue. You are a monster. Even now, his every glance sent an attentive thrum shooting down her spinal cord which teased her every nerve. You may not be the one holding the knife at their throats, but you are the one who signed the warrant.
She wished she would choke on that lump—choke on it and die. The thought that Gavin should, perhaps, be the one who ought to die failed to cross her mind, because at this moment, with his self-appointed power over life and death, he had taken on nearly godlike proportions.
What am I going to do?
“The game you have elected to play is a very dangerous one. One king, one queen, six pawns; winner takes all. There is no time limit—except for the one on your lives.”
The players stared at him in horror, recognizing some of their clues from the previous round. Lisa twitched, as if readying to bolt, and Gavin said, “I wouldn't, Lisa. You know what they say about running from a predator—it tends to trigger the instinct to chase.”
Lisa went white.
Gavin cleared his throat. “As I was saying. You must figure out who is who before the allotted time runs out.”
“And die,” Jason said flatly.
“Yes.”
Val jumped at the shriek of a chair scooting back. “I don't want to play,” said Blake. “This is horrible—barbaric. You're talking about killing people—hunting them for sport like that book, The Most Dangerous Game.”
Blake looked at Gavin, as if giving him a chance to refute his instructions. To laugh it all off as one big, terrible joke. But he was silent, serious—dead serious, Val thought a bit hysterically—and Blake went on in a halting voice threaded with a tremulous sort of bravery, “I won't kill anyone—I refuse.”
“Then you forfeit?” Gavin took a step in Blake's direction. “Is that what you are telling me?”
Blake stumbled back. “I—I guess. I won't do it; I don't care what you call it. It's murder, and I won't—”
“How very chivalrous of you.” GM swiftly cut him off. “However, if you do choose to forfeit, you will die. Instantly. I suppose I forgot to mention that,” he said absently, as Blake stared on in horror. “The way I see it, you have two choices. Choice one; sit down and play the game, or choice two; die where you stand. Which will it be?”
Blake sat down looking dazed.
“I thought so. Any other questions?”
There were many questions, weighing down on the air like toxic fumes, but nobody said a word. They were too afraid of the answer, and too afraid to waste the time it would take to receive it. This time, GM didn't have to tell them to run; they were the hunter and hunted, both.
I have to stop him.
▪▫▪▫▪▫▪
9-1-1.
'No service.'
She redialed, fumbling in her haste. The same two words blinked out at her, taunting her. 'No service.'
“No. No, no, no. Goddammit, no.”
“I could punish you for that, you know.”
Val jumped, her grip on the phone slackening with her surprise. It was pulled out of her hand and she heard a loud crunch, flinching when the pieces dropped to the floor a few seconds later. Slowly, she raised her head to meet the stolid gray stare of the grandmaster. GM.
Gavin.
“You.”
His mouth opened, but Val launched herself at him before he could speak. There was nothing more to say, and even if there was, she had no interest in hearing it. The two hit the floorboards with a heavy thud. He grunted, and a dark pleasure uncoiled in her that she could do that, make him feel pain.
It reminded her he was mortal, visceral, and, as such, could die. “You sick creep,” she snarled, grabbing him by the collar. The knuckles of her hand were pressed against his throat and she could feel his pulse. “You fucking psychopath.” Every beat was a taunt, every breath was a mocking laugh. “I'll—I'll kill you!”
“I'll gladly suffer a little death at your hands.”
“Don't talk to me!” she screamed, digging her nails hard into his shoulder. Hard enough to make him wince. Because each honeyed word that poured from his lips was corrosive, and gnawed away at her resolve. “You bastard!” She clawed at his face. He caught her wrist before her nails could graze his skin. “Let me go!”
She drove her knee downwards. He twisted his hips, and the momentum of it sent her rolling onto her back. “So eager to have me back on top of you. Val, you're insatiable.”
Val let out a frightened wail. She couldn't kick. She couldn't p
unch. She could barely move; she was trapped. The knowledge of this resounded in her body with a deeply satisfied yes. “Let me go.”
“You've had your fun. Now I suggest you quit while you're ahead.” He flicked out a knife; the blade was coated in blood. He waved it at her, watching her eyes track the movement. “I don't want to have to use this on you.”
She froze, and after a long moment he folded the knife back into the unseen pocket from whence it came. She shuddered, wondering whose blood it was that was on the blade. James? Did he do something to James? “You're—you really are going to kill us.”
“Not personally.”
He was splicing hairs now, for no reason other than the fact that he could. She set her teeth and demanded, “Why?”
“You put me through a lot of trouble with that nasty court case. I almost went to jail because of you. I lost time, money, business, my art,” he said silkily. “All because you were unable to come to the terms with the fact that you are mine. By all rights, you still are.”
She bucked. “What about the others?”
“Hmm?”
“Jason. Charlie. Brent.”
“Oh,” he said, “them.”
“What about them? They have no part in this. You think they're just going to go along?”
“I made sure they had ample motivation. Five million dollars' worth, to be exact. If they win.”
Where did he get that kind of money? She shook her head, trying to clear it. That wasn't the important issue here. “So it's revenge you want,” she said.
“No, Val. It's so simple, I'm surprised you haven't figured it out already. I want you.”
“Why?” she asked again, harder this time.
“Because, my dear, you have something that I want.” He tapped her breast, over her pounding heart. “In here.”
Stall him. “There's a major loophole in your game.”
“Which is?”
“You're assuming the others are actually going to kill the people on their papers.”
“And you don't think they will? Why not?”
“Because my friends are good people.”
“Ah, but my players are motivated by something much stronger.” He released her hands, reaching up to unfasten his necklace. “Mere greed. It binds them to me.”
The cold, steel necklace slithered over and around her wrists, drawing them tightly together. “Just as this binds you to me.” Her eyes widened in understanding.
He bound her ankles with the cord of the broken lamp, tight enough to make her wince. “I must say, you do look very toothsome.” He produced a roll of tape. “If I didn't have so many errands to run, I'd be very tempted…to stick around—” he tore off a length of tape “—and play.”
Val backed up, and a shard of glass pierced her palm.
“You're going to hurt yourself.” He smoothed the tape over her mouth, letting his fingers trail down her jaw. She jerked against her restraints, hatred and fear coursing through her in equal measure. His eyes fell to her clenched fist, leaking blood. “Oh dear. You already have.”
She cursed at him through the tape.
“Let me see.” He opened her hand and prized the shard free by touch alone. “There.” He let the glass fall to the floor with a tinkle. “Isn't that better?”
Val shuddered in revulsion.
“When you struggle like that, I don't know what I'll do.” He licked his bloodied fingers. “You make me feel things I didn't think possible. I could have appealed to your romantic sensibilities, you know. You were so innocent. So naïve. I could have lured you to me with empty lies and you would have come to me willingly.”
Val allowed her expression to say what she thought of that. He wiped his dampened fingers on her jeans and patted her cheek. She flinched.
“I didn't, though. And do you know why? Because I want you to know exactly what I am. So that when you make your choice, there will be no doubt to you, or to anyone else—” he leaned in closer “—that Valerian Marie Kimble knew exactly what she was getting into when she allowed me into her bed. Which of us will be the monster then, hmm? Beauty, or the poor beguiled beast? You won the battle last time, my dear, but ultimately you lost the war. This time, you win nothing. I'll make sure of it.”
She heard him get to his feet. Then he was gone.
▪▫▪▫▪▫▪
The skin of her shoulder prickled, eliciting a hushed screech from Lisa. With infinite patience, Blake reached over and brushed something off her back. “What—what was it?”
“A spider.”
“Ugh!” She reached around, clawing at her skin. She could still feel its little legs crawling…
“Lisa, it's just a spider. We've got bigger problems.”
“I know. I'm just…scared, okay?”
Blake sighed. “We have to stay calm—”
“Oh, right. Calm!”
“GM wants us to be scared. Fear narrows concentration and overrides logic. He's probably counting on that to make us stupid and slow. We can't give him what he wants.”
“Aren't you scared?”
“Of course I'm scared.”
“How can you be rational at a time like this?”
“I'm trying to think of it like a puzzle.” Was that a crack in his voice? “That's what it is, isn't it? The clues? The chess pieces? The message on the wall? It's a game and he's not going to make it easy to escape — not with all the effort he's put into this.”
“Blake? Who's on your paper?”
A line creased his brow. “I'm not supposed to tell you that. Remember?”
“Screw GM,” Lisa said, “And his little rules, too—they're going to get us killed anyway.” She thought he might have smiled, but it was too dark and too brief to tell. “Blake?” she said, after a long moment, “who was on your paper?”
“Charlie's on my paper.”
Lisa exhaled in relief. No one on their team. Not that she wanted to kill anyone, but—but she didn't want to die. She'd just finished writing her personal statements. She'd just gotten the confirmation from UW. She didn't want to die! She couldn't die.
“Out of curiosity, why do you ask?”
Lisa faltered. “I was just…wondering if you were going to…you know.”
“No.” Lisa flinched. “No,” he repeated, in a slightly calmer voice, “No. I'm not killing anyone. I thought I made that quite clear in the parlor.”
“And I thought GM made it quite clear that your chivalry doesn't matter to him. This isn't one of your computer games. There are no extra lives. No bonus points for bravery. He'll kill you. Do you not see that?”
“I do.” His voice was flat: emotionless.
“Then why are you doing this?”
“I refuse to sink to his level.”
“Blake.”
“Lisa, trust me. It's personal. I have my reasons.”
Tears stabbed at her eyes. She brushed them away impatiently. “Yes, and they're going to get you killed.”
Who cares? He's just a geek. Save yourself. Run.
This nightmare was bringing out a side of her she hadn't known she possessed; it was a side of herself that Lisa didn't feel comfortable with. “Blake?” Run. “Blake?” she hissed, louder, trying to drown out the panicked siren in her head. “Blake are you there?”
He wasn't. She was alone. Again.
How had Blake disappeared? And when? She'd been talking to him seconds ago. Lisa considered doubling back to look for him, but there was no guarantee that she wouldn't run into a prowling member of the white team instead—and there were so many doors. But Blake couldn't have gone too far and if he wandered the halls alone, he might be killed.
“Blake,” she groaned, “What am I going to do with you?”
Swallowing heavily, Lisa reached for the knob of the door in front of her. Unlike the front doors, it turned easily in her hand, and she jerked it open, exposing the room that lay beyond. Lisa could make out a dim, blue glow, but couldn't identify its source.
�
��Is there anyone in here?” she ventured timidly, gripping the doorknob so hard that her fingers began to ache. “Hello?”
Yes. There, in the shadows, she could make out the silhouette of someone sitting in the darkness. It was James. She nearly laughed—James. Oh, thank God. All this time they had been worried sick, and he had been hiding out here all along. Silly, dependable James, she thought, who'd have ever guessed that he was such a coward?
“James, come on, we have to get you out of here.”
Silence.
“James? You're scaring me. Please, say something. Anything.” Lisa released the doorknob and took a series of steps forward, until she was standing just inches away from the chair. She smelled something strange, unpleasantly familiar, but couldn't put a name to it.
“James. Listen to me—” She grabbed hold of his shirt, “I know it's a lot to deal with. Believe me, I do. I'm freaking out. But we can't—”
Her fingers slid against something wet and slick against his collar. Slowly, she raised her hands. In the dim light, her fingertips looked almost black. Blood?
“Oh my god,” Lisa gasped, “Oh my god, no. Please…no.”
But she knew. Even as she pressed her shaking fingers to his cooling skin, she knew. James hadn't answered because James was dead. She had been talking to a corpse.
And she recognized the smell now. Piss. He had soiled himself, before or after he had been killed. She retched as she stepped into the hallway numbly, resisting the urge to wipe her hands on the folds of her dress. There had to be a bathroom around here somewhere so she could wash away the memory of his stiff, unyielding flesh…the congealing blood….
James.
She bent over, and emptied the contents of her stomach on the floor with such violence that she began to think that she might never stop. But she did, eventually, and then she found an old bathroom at the end of the hall.
Oh god oh god oh god.
Sniffling, she scrubbed at her hands until her knuckles were red and every last trace of red had been eradicated from her nails and skin. There was a soap dispenser beside the sink but it looked ancient, practically an antique, judging from the congealing crust sticking to the pump.
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