(You have to kill the person on your paper)
She wasn't sure her hands would ever be clean again.
▪▫▪▫▪▫▪
How could Lisa play into the grandmaster's hands like that? It made him so angry that he couldn't see straight. For a second, just for a second, she'd shown herself to be more than one of James' giggling, popular acquaintances and then she'd just…
“Lisa?” he whispered. Then, in a louder voice, “Lisa?”
Something heavy slammed downstairs.
He paused uncertainly, his hand on the ornately carved banister. It could be a trap, but the members of the white team had mostly proven unexceptional so far—except for Jason, Blake thought, remembering how he had roughly shoved him into the linen closet before he could recover his senses. He's a bad one.
Blake took another cautious step. “Lisa?”
The pounding grew louder. Probably not the white team then; it was too risky, making that much noise without knowing who was coming down the hall first.
Unless it's some kind of distraction.
There was a loud crunch. He looked under his sneakers. Broken glass. Behind the wire frames of his glasses, his hazel eyes widened in alarm. It was all over the place. His eyes lingered on an empty lampshade lying on the floor, beside an old, mahogany end table. Was there a struggle?
“Oh my god,” he breathed, “Val.”
The red-haired girl was leaning against the wall, on the fringe of the mess. She was conscious, but bound, gagged, and slightly dazed. Blake dropped to his knees and reached around her. Metal. It felt like a bike chain.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, “I'm no good at knots—can you lean forward at all?”
Val did and said something incomprehensible. He stared at her, flushing with comprehension when her eyes went pointedly to the tape covering her mouth.
“Oh, right. Sorry.” He ripped off the tape and Val let out a hoarse scream that made both of them jump.
“Sorry! Sorry!”
She smacked her lips together several times. “It's…oh God, that hurt. It's okay. Th-thanks. The chain isn't knotted. It's a necklace—there's a clasp.”
“I see it.” Blake forward, sliding the clasp back. Being so close to her, he could feel her shaking, and see the sweat beading on her skin, magnifying her freckles. “Who did this to you?”
“Gavin.”
“Who?”
“GM. His real name is Gavin, and there's not one game there's two,” she babbled, “he's trying to kill you all and I'm supposed to save you. That's why he tied me up. So I couldn't…he thinks I…Oh god, James. I think he might have done something terrible to James.”
“We'll find him.” The necklace hit the floor with a clatter and he kicked it aside, giving her an awkward pat on the back. “Come on, it'll be all right.”
“He blames me,” she said. “It's all my fault—”
“We'll talk about that later. Let's go. Now.”
And that was when they heard the scream.
Chapter Twenty
Counterplay
Silence burned her ears. Only the goosebumps on her arms and Blake's bleached face made her sure that the scream had actually happened. Val shivered, unable to tear her eyes away from the darkened landing. She could still hear it reverberating shrilly in her ears, like a track on loop.
Her hand tightened on the banister. “Did you hear that? Blake?”
He nodded mutely, looking up at the staircase. “It sounded like…Lisa. Come on.”
Val saw him move forward in her periphery—a slight, black-clad figure—and felt the talons of fear sink deep into her heart. “Wait a second!” He just looked at her, with the glare of the bulb reflecting off his glasses. That expression on his face chilled her; he looked too jaded, too wise. She grabbed his shoulder, adding, in a hushed voice, “You have no idea what's up there!”
“Actually,” Blake said, in an unsteady voice, “I do.”
( it sounded like Lisa )
And she had sounded like she was in pain.
The saliva in her throat dried up. Val's hand slipped from Blake's shoulder but she didn't notice. Would he dare? Yes, came the answer, he would. That look in his eyes had been so empty, so unstable.
“No,” Blake stated, “A trap wouldn't make sense—why risk it, after all? It would only work if they were one-hundred percent positive that the right person was nearby and even then; if the wrong person comes running, too, they could die.”
He's really thought this out. Val nodded absently, but inside she knew differently. Because there was one person in this house that the rules didn't apply to; one person who had already proved himself to be quite ruthless—
“Are you all right?” he asked, so carefully that she almost flinched. “You looked…disturbed.”
Val wrung her hands nervously. “It's the game,” she said, “This stupid game, and I can't—” she shook her head. “I guess I'm starting to let it get to me. I can't think of anything else.”
Liar.
Blake seemed to think this over. “Is Gavin that boy? The one from your freshman year? The one you're so afraid of?”
“What are you talking about?” She winced. Ouch. That sounded weak and defensive to her own ears.
“Lisa told me. She told me everything.”
She wanted self-righteous anger but could only manage to say, in a hurt, snippy tone, “And when were you having this discussion?”
“Right before middle game.”
So, in other words, seconds before she had found them in the hallway, when she had been terrified that Gavin would say some small phrase intended to provoke her in front of her friends. They had known.
We could have run.
“But even if she hadn't,” Blake hurried on to say, “I could have guessed. The way you looked at him, at the very start—you were so afraid. Why didn't you say anything?”
“He told me he'd hurt you all if I did,” she sobbed.
“Shit, Val.”
“I'm sorry, I'm so, so, so sorry. I thought you would hate me. Just like everyone else. You, and James, and Lisa—you guys are all I have, and I couldn't bear it if something ha—” Val froze, and several emotions passed over her face in quick succession, like clicking slides. “Oh my god,” she said in a low voice, “that bastard.”
Blake had halted at the top of the stairs. He looked alarmed. “Val?”
“This way.” She pulled his sleeve in the aforementioned direction. “I think I know where Lisa is.” She drew in an unsteady breath, still wracked with the sobs it took so much strength to suppress. “I think Jason has her.”
▪▫▪▫▪▫▪
It took several minutes for the water to go from icy to scalding. It took a few more minutes for her body to register this change in temperature Lisa knew she was acting ridiculous but every time she tried to rationalize, an image of James and his slashed throat and inanimate face flickered before her eyes and she thought she might vomit again.
Finally Lisa shut off the tap, gripping the marbled counter with white-knuckled hands. He was killing them one by one, like clay pigeons in a shooting range. She was so terrified that next time it would be Blake's or Val's or, worse, her own corpse that was found.
She didn't want to die. Who was Blake to hold that against her? Who was he to judge?
Slowly, wiping away the thin string of saliva that dangled from her lip, her eyes rose to the gilded mirror and her conviction immediately began to dwindle as she glimpsed the face in the glass. She drew in a quick breath, taking an unintentional step back. Jason moved quickly, catching her wrist in one hand and clapping the other over her mouth, abruptly cutting off her scream.
“I didn't have you down as the obsessive compulsive type,” he said casually, ignoring her muffled, outraged cries, “But then again, I suppose you can't be too careful when it comes to blood. You could catch something.”
Lisa froze. How did he—
Of course. He'd been following her.
Jason manhandled her out of the bathroom, into the labyrinthine hallway, pausing to shoot a meaningful glance towards the room where James had been killed. In her panic, she had left the door wide open, like a gaping mouth.
It was closed now.
Somebody else had come along—somebody else who had seen what she had seen—and they had chosen to reseal the evidence; to hide it away from prying eyes instead of raising the alarm. Who else would do that, but the killer?
The killer—Jason.
And he was going to take her into that room.
She kicked against the banister—it was thick oak—and slammed against him. Jason crashed into the wall, effectively pummeling the air from his own lungs. With a growl, he grabbed her arm and yanked it behind her back, at an angle that didn't normally occur in nature. Lisa screamed.
And this time, it was perfectly audible.
Jason cursed. He transferred her wrists to one hand, so that he could cover her mouth. “Be quiet.” Lisa shook her head furiously, indicating that she would do no such thing. “I'm not going to kill you, you stupid bitch,” he hissed, with so much resentment she had difficultly believing him. “If I was, I could have done it while you were hunched over the sink like a drunken sorority girl.”
Lisa inhaled through her runny nose. He had a point.
To her surprise—and relief—he went through another door. In fact, it was the door she'd stubbornly tried to open during the scavenger hunt. It had been locked then but the handle opened easily in Jason's grasp. Another bad feeling hit her bloodstream hard, like a drug.
It was a bedroom. A boy's bedroom, judging from the dark wood and steel accents. In the corner of the room was a wooden chess set that appeared fairly old. The pieces were scattered, as if someone had swept their arm across the board in a fit of anger. GM?
Gavin, she corrected herself. Gavin. It has to be.
Lisa spun around, turning to face the tall boy. “Did you kill James?” she demanded icily.
“I don't have a death wish,” Jason said, shaking his head, “Though I can't say I'm sorry he's gone.”
“He's not on your list,” Lisa said dumbly. She wasn't sure whether this news brought more relief or more terror. Even if he hadn't killed James—and he could have been lying about that, although Lisa didn't think he was—he was still dangerous. Her eyes flicked to the closed door.
“You're not, either,” he said calmly, “I'll be honest with you. One of my teammates has your name on your paper and, if I remember the rules correctly, that means they have to kill you.”
“Who…who's going to kill me? And how the hell do you know?”
“I cheat,” he said silkily, and it took her a moment to realize that he'd just answered her question.
Half of it, anyway.
“Sounds like you do have a death wish. I don't think GM is going to appreciate that.”
“GM is the one who made it all possible. I did him a couple of small favors.”
“What kind of favors?”
“The rules have changed, Lisa,” he said, “I can do things pawns can't do, go places pawns can't go—like this room, for instance. You may have noticed that it was locked earlier.”
This time, she wasn't so subtle about backing away. “Why would he help a scumbag like you?”
Jason grinned. “You mean you haven't figured it out yet? Really? Your friend did.”
“No, I haven't,” she snapped, “So why don't you spell it out for me, before I break your face?”
He chuckled, seeming positively delighted with himself. “The next time you see Val, ask her.”
The anger rose up in a torrential flare, eclipsing her fear for a brief moment. “Ask her what—”
Too late, she realized that the question was intended to distract her. Jason lunged.
He was not particularly strong but he was big and the force of his charge sent them both to the floor. Her shoulder the base of the chess table, sending a shock of pain down her arm. She gasped and hitched up her dress just as Jason's fingers grazed her ankle. She lashed out with her foot, heart in her throat, and managed to pull herself to her feet just as Jason was getting up.
“Stay the hell away from me, you freak,” she said warningly. “Or I'll scream.”
“Go ahead,” Jason said, “And then your hunter might hear you and kill you straight off.”
She flinched. Oh, god. He was right—she'd forgotten all about that in light of this new problem.
He grabbed her arms, keeping her in place against the wall. She glared at him. “Despite the details, it is a game.” His breathing was heavy from their tousle on the floor and stirred the wispy hairs around her face. “Like any game, it has rules. There's a pattern here, Lisa, and I've figured it out. All this—the players, the pieces, you, me—come down to one central factor.”
“Which is?”
“Revenge.”
That makes sense.
His sharp blue eyes rested on her face. “It's still not too late for you. I can help you.”
“Out of the kindness of your heart, I'm sure,” she said, in cracking sarcasm.
“I don't understand why you dislike me so much,” he mused, “If my teammate found you, she'd just kill you, straight off, no questions asked.”
“So my options are, join you or be sold out.”
“Something like that.”
When Jason leaned in again—in anticipation of her agreeing to his horrendous deal, no doubt—she shoved against him. Hard.
“I'd rather take my chances with the killer.”
She ran out the door, skating past him. His heavy footfalls were right behind her, like thunder in her ears. Gasping from fear and exertion, she selected a door at random and shut it as securely as she dared, nearly sobbing in relief when he rushed right past her. She let out the breath she'd been holding in—
—and ended up sucking it all back up when a hand clamped over her mouth. Had Jason found a short cut or, worse; had he been acting as an accomplice to her true killer? She made a strangled noise in the back of her throat as she clawed at the hand, trying to get free.
“Ouch,” said the owner of the hand, in a strikingly familiar voice. “Lisa! Cut it out!”
No, no, no.
“Lisa! Lisa, stop.” The hand fell away. “It's us. It's me.”
“Blake?” Lisa opened her eyes. “Val?”
“We saw that guy chasing you,” Blake said. “Jason—wasn't it? I didn't want you to scream and alert him. I think he's gone, but I don't want to stay here and find out.” He hissed through his teeth, staring down at his hand. “Ouch,” he repeated, staring at the three lines of blood she had drawn.
The apology was on the tip of her tongue when
(blood)
she remembered how Jason had managed to catch her in the first place—James's inanimate face, the blood, the terror. Everything started to grow black around the edges as the walls fell away with a dreadful roaring noise…and then Blake's worried face was blocking her field of view.
“I…I think you just fainted, Lisa.”
“Oh god.” She squeezed her eyes shut, gripping her temples. “The white team…they killed James.”
She heard Val stiffen. “What?”
“Are you sure?” Blake asked, sounding shaken. Lisa nodded stolidly. “Where?”
Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and pointed out the door. Blake turned in that direction. No, she didn't want him to go; didn't want to be left alone. She wanted to cry out the words that would make him stay without making her sound utterly pathetic but, lucky her, Val saved her from making that choice.
“I'll go.”
Blake was shaking his head. “That's a really bad idea, Val. What if Gavin— ”
“I said I'll go.” She cleared her throat. “I'll meet you guys in the parlor, okay?”
“No. Not until we watch you go in. To make sure you're safe.”
Safe, Lisa thought. What a strange word.
▪▫▪▫▪▫▪
Val stared at the door, willing herself to open it. She could feel her friends watching her.
Go on.
The taunt, spoken at her ear, was not her own voice. Val whirled around, heart pounding.
It was in my head. There's nobody there. He's not really there.
Slowly, with a shaking hand, she turned the handle and gasped—it was the room with the aquariums.
Val swallowed thickly and forced herself to study the room. The luminescent outlines of the tanks provided just enough light for a cursory inspection.
Val bit her lip, searching the darkness. The only sign of disturbance was an upturned chair that she didn't remember from before. Frowning, she stepped closer, righting it. As she did so, her hand brushed against something course and rough—like frayed rope.
“There's no one in here,” she said, feeling like her head might float away with relief. “It's empty.”
Maybe Lisa had imagined it—maybe the fear had caused her to hallucinate. She'd fainted, hadn't she?
But the chair bothered her enough that she scanned the room a second time. Then she heard something. A soft, pattering sound like somebody trying not to be heard.
She raced to the door, only to have it shut in her face. “What the—”
She tried the handle. Locked.
“Open the door, GM,” she said, “I know it's you.”
She could almost imagine the mocking reply. Do you?
Val rammed her shoulder against the door, “And I know what you did.”
There was no response. Of course. She wasn't really expecting one, but it still annoyed her. But she thought it sounded like a curious silence, if emotions could be ascribed to a lack of sound.
“Did you really think I'd let you get away with torturing my friends?” She gave the doorknob a harsh yank, with each word, “In case you were wondering, I won't. I think it's really sick. I think you're really sick. You can't toy with people like this, you sa—”
The door creaked open and Val, not expecting this, fell into the hallway.
She took an unsteady step forwards and nearly crushed the gold pocket watch lying on the floor. Frowning, she picked it up examining the face. The face was crystal clear and polished, the painted roman numerals glistening like mica, but the watch itself looked quite old.
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