Shooting a sharp look down both sides of the hallway, she turned her attention to the envelope beneath the watch. He hadn't bothered sealing it and the words written inside were rushed.
Greenhouse, it said, 3 o' clock.
The time on the watch was 2:46.
Chapter Twenty-One
Threat
She took the stairs two at a time, clutching the watch. The letter, she left behind. It wouldn't fit into her pockets and she wanted to leave behind some sort of clue that would tell the others where she was just in case…. Val swallowed and shook her head.
Just in case I don't come back.
Where was the greenhouse? How was she supposed to find it in less than fifteen minutes? Once again, he was skewing the odds, setting her up for a fall. Frustrated, Val looked scanned the hall, searching for clues. She thought her efforts might be in vain until she spied a post-it on one of the doors just outside the parlor. She peeled it off.
It was blank.
But maybe that's the point? Hesitating, she opened the door and stepped through. A blast of cold air hit her like a cannon and Val froze, still on the doorstep. She was outside. She was free.
The door swung shut behind her with a heavy slam, shaking her back to reality with a grim, Not quite. She wasn't too surprised to find it locked. I guess it's one-way.
To her left was a swimming pool. It was lit, and she could see thin curls of steam rising from the jewel-like surface. To her right was a small pond surrounded by exotic plants of both the flowering and nonflowering variety. A fence enclosed the yard, concealing it from view from the street. She could see the greenhouse directly ahead. The glass panes glimmered darkly, reflecting the clouds above.
I should have brought Blake with me.
And…what? Put him in danger, too? It was clear that GM had no qualms about playing them off each other.
There was another post-it on the door of the greenhouse. It said, key under flowerpot.
She picked up the key and opened the door. The first thing she felt was the heat. Hot, oppressive heat that provided a sharp contrast against the chill outside. And it was humid. Moisture clung to her skin, her hair, her clothing. Val pushed her hair back from her face; it was already starting to frizz.
Two ferns were placed on either side of the door and one of the skeletal fronds brushed against her leg, eliciting a scream from the red-haired girl. It echoed brightly off the glass, chilling her straight to the marrow. Nobody had tended these plants in a long time. She glanced down at the watch. Seven minutes now.
Val took a few more steps into the room. Her foot hit something soft and pliant. She looked down. James.
It was James.
And he was dead. She dropped to her knees, reaching out to take his pulse, already knowing what the result would be. His skin was so stiff, so cold. So pale.
And wet.
A gash encircled his throat, gaping open like a screaming mouth. With a cry, she frantically wiped her fingers on her jeans. The blood had congealed and stuck to her fingers. She could detect the thick, cloying smell of old pennies. Gasping, she backed away from his body trying not to breathe in that smell. It clung to the back of her throat like a thin film.
“Oh god,” she choked, “James. Oh, no. Please, God, no.”
A cold space formed in her stomach, as if something vital inside of her had died along with him. She shook her head. How could he be so cold when, two hours ago, he had been warm and breathing?
“What has he done to you?”
But she knew the answer to that, too. Gavin had slashed his throat like some kind of barn animal and now she'd never see his eyes light up again. A line had been crossed with James's murder. Before, Gavin had been merely dangerous. Now, he was a killer.
Tears brimmed in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks. “I'm sorry. I'm, so, so sorry, forgive me—”
“It was all your fault. Why should he forgive you?”
Val jerked around to see Charlie leaning against the door, watching her. There was a strange half-smile on her face, and she felt her stomach lurch that someone could be so cruelly indifferent in the face of death.
“Shut up!” Val sobbed, “You have no idea what you—”
She froze, suddenly dry mouthed, as Charlie held up a fire poker. Holy hell. “That's right. Come any closer and you'll be reunited with your boyfriend sooner than you think.”
“What are you going to do with that?”
The brunette shook the makeshift weapon in Val's direction, causing the other girl to take a wary step back. “What do you think? Surely you aren't that stupid.”
Val walked right into one of the metal tables holding a tray of potted plants. She stepped around it trying to put any barrier between her and Charlie that she could. “I'm not on your list.”
“I know. I've got your bitchy friend.” She smiled, taking a leisurely step forward. “And I'm going to take care of her as soon as I've finished with you.”
Val took another step back, jumping when one of the pots shattered on the ground with a crash that echoed through the greenhouse. “You can't do that,” she said shakily, “GM said—”
The other girl shrieked, swinging the poker out in a wild arc, sending several plants crashing to the floor. “Don't you dare talk to me about him, you bitch. Don't even say his name. That's right,” she added, sneering at the shocked girl's face, “I saw you kiss him. If you hadn't been leading him on, he never would have killed James. So you see, it's all. Your. Fault.”
“He told me he didn't,” Val said hoarsely. It occurred to her, too late, that she should have denied everything. Charlie growled and lashed out again. Val had to drop to her knees.
“He told me he didn't,” Charlie mocked, “Oh, Val. You're so precious. I thought it was just an act, but you really are sweet as fucking pie, aren't you?
“I tried to bide my time. But no, GM decided he was going to go through with his stupid middle game. I'm nobody's pawn, not his—and not yours. The only reason he made you queen is because he wants to fuck you. But of course, that idea probably never even occurred to you, did it? No, not you. Not sweet little Val. Everything's just fucking Disney with you.”
Val clapped her hands over her mouth. The smell of earth filled her nostrils. It made her feel sick. She focused on crawling, keeping low, avoiding shards of smashed terra cotta pottery. I have to get out of here. I have to warn Lisa.
“But he made a mistake. He thought he could get rid of me—that I'd just take this lying down and be a good little pawn. And that's why I'm going to kill you,” Charlie finished savagely, “Because I'm not. With you out of the picture, he'll see that and realize we're perfect together.”
She could barely hear the girl's words. Her heart was pounding too loud.
“My grandfather was a hunter—did you know that? He used to track frightened little animals in the forest, in the jungle, in the tundra—and that's precisely what you are, isn't it? A frightened little animal. There's no use hiding, Val…I'm going to find you. And when I do, I'm going to—”
Suddenly, the table flipped over. Val instinctively raised her arms to cover her face as pottery smashed and wood splintered around them. “Well.”
“Charlie, please don't do this—”
“Shut up,” the other girl growled. “Shut the fuck up, you stupid little whore.” She pressed the sharp end against Val's chest, driving her backwards. “You have no right—none—to tell me what to do.”
“I didn't…I didn't mean to…” Val thought quickly. “Couldn't we...talk about this?”
“Sure. What do you want to talk about? What a scheming little bitch you are for trying to worm your way out of what you deserve? Or do you want to talk to me about how I'll never get away with this?” She laughed deprecatingly. “Do you think he's going to come save you?”
Good lord. She was absolutely insane. “No! Jesus Christ, you can have him already!”
“Val, Val, Val.” Her voice sounded so much like the grandmaster's t
hat, for a moment, she almost forgot who she was talking to. “Don't you get it? That doesn't matter.”
“It…doesn't?”
“No,” Charlie added, shaking her head. “He's not yours to give. See, as long as you're alive, he won't give up. I know, believe me. Because I'm the same way.”
Val's back hit a shelf full of gardening supplies. Seed packets fluttered to the floor. “Oh god.” She was right, only she had no way of knowing how right.
“And now, I'm going to jab this thing straight through your weak, pathetic heart.”
The watch fell out of Val's hand with a soft clatter. The time was 2:59. And then, with a soft click, the hour hand moved to the three. Val closed her eyes when she felt the heavy point press against her left breast.
“On second thought…maybe I'll do a number on your pretty face first.”
“Don't even think about it.”
Val's eyes opened. She knew that voice; there was no other in the world quite like it. Gavin was standing in the doorway. From the floor, he seemed impossibly tall.
Do you think he's going to come save you?
Charlie jerked upon sighting him, tearing the lace of Val's blouse, drawing blood. Val gasped, clutching at her chest, but Charlie didn't appear to notice what she'd done.
“GM,” she breathed, as if in a trance, letting go of the metal rod. The poker hit the floor with a clang. Val grabbed it, quickly, before the girl could think to reclaim her weapon.
“What the fuck do you think you're doing?” he snarled, in a tone she'd never heard him use. “She isn't on your list.”
Clearly, this wasn't the warm welcome she'd expected. Charlie suddenly looked lost. “I—I wanted—”
“I know what you wanted,” he said. “The only thing more transparent than that…ridiculous getup is your futile attempt at lying. This is not what we agreed upon.”
A long, terrible silence ensued broken only by Charlie's sobbing.
Charlie couldn't possibly believe that GM would buy this act. But GM said nothing not even when she leaned into his chest, though Val thought she saw him stiffen. “Don't hate me. Please...please don't hate me—I did it all for us. For you.”
“For me,” he repeated. “You thought that was what I wanted?”
Still crying, Charlie nodded.
“Oh, Charlene.” Slowly, almost mechanically, he placed his hand on the small of her back—but somehow, the gesture didn't seem particularly comforting. No, Val thought, It looks like he's holding her in place.
In fact, that looked exactly like what he was doing. Val's eyes widened. “Wait,” she screamed, “Gavin! Don't!”
Gasping, Charlie stumbled away from him. A red stain was visible on the front of the girl's pristine white shirt, spreading around the splayed fingers of the girl's right hand. Her eyes went to the hole in her stomach, and she choked, “Gavin?”
He shook his head. She collapsed in an ungraceful heap.
“You killed her,” Val said sickly, turning away from Charlie's crumpled form. There was something so sad and vulnerable about her in death. So used.
“She would have killed you.” GM looked down, frowning. Charlie's blood had left a slick trail on the front of his shirt. He started undoing the buttons. “That wasn't part of the game.”
“But you killed her.”
He glanced up, pinning her with that icy gaze. “She's expendable.”
She couldn't believe he could be so blasé. “And what about James? Was he?”
GM tossed his stained shirt aside, revealing a white wife beater. “Yes, he was.”
This was more than she could bear to hear. An agonized wail escaped her mouth. “I can't…I won't play this game anymore—not when people are dying!”
“So Lisa and Blake…I suppose they mean nothing to you?”
Val froze, her features twisted with panic. She pointed the poker—which, until now, she had forgotten about—at his chest. “Stay away from them you monster or…or I'll make you stay away from them.”
GM took a step closer and touched the end of her makeshift weapon. “Are you threatening me?” He didn't sound angry, only amused. And she realized, with a lurch, that his body wasn't quite as slight as she'd initially thought. He could easily overpower her—and he knew it.
Her grip on the poker tightened. “Stay back.”
“Could you do it?” he said. “Kill me in cold blood?”
Yes. Do it. Kill him.
“Let go of the poker, Val. You're not a killer. You never will be. Give it to me.”
She drew in a shuddering breath and except for her shaking, which she could not control, Val did not move. With a single pull, the metal rod slid easily from her hands.
“I hate you so goddamn much,” she whispered.
“I know.”
Tears continued to roll down her face. She swiped at them angrily. “Why are you doing this to me?”
GM looked down at the poker and then back at her tear-streaked face. “You have something inside of you—something the others are lacking—that makes you a formidable adversary,” he drew back, searching her eyes for something she wasn't even sure she had, “It also makes you more vulnerable.
“That's why I made you a queen.” GM waved the poker loosely in her direction. “I can't always predict what you're going to do and your conscience won't let you desert your friends, despite all the things you do to further the danger they are in.” He paused. “I can make things very unpleasant for them if you choose not to participate.”
She saw him glance at her clenched hands.
“But that is not what I wanted to see you about. No, I've decided to let you ask me one question—any question—as a token of my good faith.”
“You'll cheat.”
“And if I give you my word?”
Val took a deep breath. Her eyes went to Charlie's body and she had to look away, quickly, as her stomach contracted. “What's the catch?”
“Nothing Faustian, my dear. Only that I get to ask one question of my own.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Overloaded
As Lisa and Blake relocated to the parlor to wait for Val, Blake couldn't help noticing how utterly quiet the large house was, devoid of the usual house sounds, such as the whir of an electrical appliance or a ticking clock. Hazel eyes shifted to his left, focusing on the blond girl walking beside him. She had been uncharacteristically reticent and stiff ever since their unpleasant encounter in the hallway.
“We're going to die here,” she said tonelessly, startling him.
“No, we're not.” He put his hand on her shoulder, careful in his restraint. “We have to be rational—”
“Rational!” A clotted laugh escaped the blond. “No offense, Blake, but I think rationality stepped out of here, oh, about five hours ago!” She shook her head and took a series of quick steps forward, causing his hand to fall away. “This is a game created by a killer who's already shown that he has no regard for his own rules. If there is a method to his madness, I certainly don't see it!”
In a way, Lisa was right: GM didn't play by his own rules. He threatened some players, harassed others, and kept disappearing during the most crucial moments of the game—and that filled him with despair. However, in spite of his erratic behavior patterns, there was a pattern to his games: a common theme that each one revolved around. Chess, in some cases. Predation, in others.
Blake pulled out a straight-backed chair and Lisa collapsed into it, burying her face in her hands. “I'm sorry Blake. I'm just…so goddamn tired,” she whispered. “I want to sleep.” Her voice increased in volume. “I just want to fucking sleep! Is that too much to ask from that bastard?”
“Lisa. Please.”
“Everything is wrong. Everything! Jason keeps bothering me”—he frowned deeply at this but Lisa kept going—“Val keeps disappearing, and now James shows up dead. I didn't think GM was serious. I mean, he scared me, but I didn't think he actually meant to kill us. I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe
I wasn't thinking.”
None of us were. We all fell for his trap, not just you. But he kept quiet and allowed her to speak.
“I wish I had never come to this stupid party. If I get out of this, I swear I'll—I'll never break curfew again. Back by four, each day, from school and back.” Lisa glanced down at her hands and then up at his face. Her eyes were red. “Jason made one mistake,” she said, “He told me who my killer was.”
Without speaking, he pulled up a second chair and sat across from her. “Tell me,” he said gently.
“Charlie.” Lisa made a face. “Can you believe it? Of all the people I could have gotten—”
“Did he actually say it was Charlie?” Blake asked, leaning forward. “Did he say her name?”
“No.” She frowned. “All he said was, 'if my buddy found you, she'd just kill you straight off—no questions asked.' I almost didn't catch it, he was so subtle. But he definitely said she.”
Blake exhaled deeply. “Okay. Let's assume you're right and she is your killer. That just leaves Brent and Jason for me.” If it truly is white versus black.
He still wasn't quite sure how far GM intended to run with his little chess theme.
“It's Jason, obviously,” Lisa said, sounding annoyed that he'd even questioned it.
“You're only saying that because you don't like him.” Her eyes flashed dangerously and she opened her mouth to protest. Blake quickly pressed on, “There's a fifty-fifty chance, which drops to thirty-three and a third if we're wrong—or if Jason was lying—and Charlie isn't your killer after all.”
Her eyes were still too bright. “And if we're both wrong, and it's neither?”
“Twenty-five percent chance,” Blake said grimly, “Or…less.”
Not terribly good odds. Especially with their lives on the line.
They exchanged a look.
“I don't think Jason was lying,” Lisa said, adjusting the bodice of her dress. “When he said she, I'm pretty sure it was inadvertent. I don't think he realized what he was saying.” She shuddered. “Plus, he's a total creeper.”
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