Horrorscape

by Nenia Campbell

  This startled him enough that he blurted out, “What?” without thinking. “Better than everyone else? Me?”

  “Don't deny it,” Jason said, pointing with the knife. Blake flinched. “You were awfully quick to go against the grandmaster when he announced the new rules for middle game—” Blake's face darkened, but Jason was speaking too quickly to notice “—and you're obviously not the confrontational type.”

  “What's your point?”

  Jason looked irritated. “Obviously, you must have had a reason for doing so.”

  “I did,” Blake said tightly.

  The blond boy made a forwarding gesture with his hands. Blake shoved his hands into his pockets and looked away. Painful memories started to bubble over, like a pot left over the fire for too long. “I don't want to talk about it. Ask me something else.”

  “Oh no,” Jason said, “I'm afraid it doesn't work that way. You don't get to pick which questions you answer. I do. And if you don't answer, you die.”

  “Why do you want to know so badly?”

  “I didn't, until you started kicking up such a fuss about it. Now I'm curious. That's the price for staying alive,” Jason said, so quietly that Blake almost didn't hear him.

  “Fine. My mother—” He paused, choking a little. “My mother died when I was seven.”

  Jason paused, glancing up. “How?” he asked, sounding interested for the first time.

  Oh, Jesus. Blake brushed his eyes with his sleeve. This was hard enough already without a bastard like Jason goading him along, with his goddamn morbid curiosity.

  His lips tightened and he pulled off his glasses to clean them so he wouldn't have to see the other boy's face. “Car accident,” he said finally. “She was hit by a drunk driver on her way home.”

  “Some teenager?” Jason wondered, “Driving around stoned out of his mind?”

  “Close. Some rich big-wig driving around plumb drunk out of his mind. He was going fifty miles an hour, heading into oncoming traffic. She never—” he drew in a breath. “She died before they could get her to a hospital.”

  Jason blinked. “What about the other guy?”

  “He got a fractured collarbone and a sprained wrist. The asshole couldn't have cared less about what he'd done,” Blake said, remembering. “The jury and the judge convicted him like that.” He snapped his fingers. “It should have been an open-shut case. He didn't want to go to AA, didn't want to change his ways, but he didn't even have to because he had rich relatives willing to bail him out of jail.”

  Breathing heavily now, Blake replaced the glasses on his face, where they quickly fogged up again. Jason's expression was unreadable. For a moment, Blake thought he saw a flash of—something—in the other boy's face but it quickly disappeared. “So that's why,” he said.

  “No,” Blake found himself saying, “That's not why. It's because of my dad.”

  Jason sighed in a put-upon way, but his eyes were rapt.

  Blake continued, “My dad didn't take her death well at all. Once someone dies, it's over—for them—but the people left behind continue to grieve. My dad started drinking, started to gain weight. He got fired from his old job because he stopped showing up…and I had to go away for awhile.”

  Blake swallowed.

  “It was awful, living under that shadow. Of grief. Of pain. I could never…make somebody else suffer the way my dad or I did. Not after that. I'm sure even you have someone who must care about you,” he added flatly. “Someone who will miss you when you're gone.”

  Jason's eyes narrowed. “I think that satisfies that question.”

  Blake took a deep breath. He felt curiously lighter, though mentioning Jason's death had been a mistake. It had brought the blonde boy back to this moment and the subject of Blake's own pending death. “O-okay.”

  “What, exactly, is your relationship with Lisa?”

  The loaded question was meant to intimidate but Blake didn't rise to the bait. From what Lisa had implied about Jason, and from what he had inferred, that hardly seemed prudent. It would only lead to a fight, and unlike Jason he was unarmed. “We're acquaintances—good acquaintances—and that's all.”

  “Who do you think you're fooling?” Jason asked heatedly, “I saw you two kiss in the hallway.”

  Blake's face turned a deep shade of red. “You…you did?” he stammered. Okay, that was creepy. Lisa was right, he thought, there was definitely something off about Jason.

  “Yes, and do you know why? She wanted me to see.”

  Blake blinked, startled. The possibility hadn't occurred to him. At the expression on his face, Jason snorted.

  “Yeah, you were used, pal. Did you really think someone like you had a chance with someone like her?”

  He had been asking himself a similar question all along—it really did seem too good to be true, Lisa falling for a nerd like him, especially with death looming over both their heads like a constant shadow. Despite all efforts not to, Blake kept wondering if Lisa stuck with him for convenience's sake.

  Aloud he said, “And I suppose you think you do? Have a chance, I mean.”

  For one horrible instant, he thought Jason was going to deck him one. Then he laughed. “GM is right. You are more than you look. Perhaps you think you're noble, indirectly avenging your mother's death. But honestly? She was just a statistic,” he took a menacing step forward, wielding the knife, “And now you're about to join the ranks.”

  If he looked the other boy in the eyes for much longer, he doubted that he would be able to control himself. Blake averted his gaze. That was why he saw Lisa holding one of the candy-colored vases from the hall. He hadn't even heard her enter the room.

  Did she overhear us?

  She motioned with a sharp jerk of her chin for him to look away, to not draw attention to her. Quickly, Blake focused his gaze on some other point. “Any other questions?”

  “No.” Jason's expression was hard. “I'm actually getting really sick of your voice.”

  He raised the knife as Lisa brought down the vase.

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  Lisa wasn't quite fast enough.

  She realized that when she heard Blake cry out in, animal pain and saw his hand clap over his right side to instinctively stave off the bleeding and prevent further injury. Luckily, Jason wasn't able to drive the knife in very far because seconds later, the vase smashed over his head, sending pieces of colored glass tumbling to the Oriental rug, and Jason collapsed in an ungraceful heap at her feet.

  “Thanks,” Blake said weakly. His face was pale. “I was starting to get really worried.”

  “Blake! Are you all right? You're bleeding!”

  “At least, I'm alive.” He tried to laugh but laughing hurt too much, so he settled for a wavering smile she hesitantly returned.

  “Let me see the wound.”

  He lifted the hem of his shirt and Lisa couldn't hold back her moan of disgust. There was so much blood, she suspected that it looked worse than it actually was, but still…. “Oh god,” Lisa muttered, shifting her eyes away. Then, in an unconvincing voice, “Maybe it's not so bad.”

  “It definitely hurts.” Blake took a deep breath, bracing himself, and knelt down beside the fallen boy.

  “What are you doing?” Lisa asked, “He just tried to kill you and now you're taking his pulse?”

  “He wasn't on our paper,” Blake reminded her grimly, digging his finger's into the Jason's thick neck, “Remember the rules? If you kill the wrong person, you die.”

  “Oh,” she said in a small, chastened voice.

  “It's all right, he's still alive. And so are we…for the moment.” He tried to get to his feet. His legs buckled when the muscles in his side moved. Lisa could only imagine what kind of pain he was in. She rushed to support his good side.

  He gasped, barely managing a taut, “Thanks.”

  “If Jason had your name on his paper, does that mean you're safe?”

  Blake shook his head. “From Jason, maybe.”


  “You think we're still in danger?”

  “There's no way Gavin's going to let us live. Not willingly. Not if he's as violent as you told me he is.”

  That possibility hadn't occurred to her. “He is very distinctive looking, isn't he?”

  “Yes, he is.” Blake shot a nervous glance down the hallway and then nodded at the stairs. “Let's get out of here. Did you find Val?” She felt her face tightened. “Lisa? Did you—”

  “I did,” she said in a tight voice that betrayed her fear, “She's with GM.”

  “What?” he fairly exploded. “And you left her there?”

  “No,” Lisa said, “I mean, she's with GM.”

  “Actually, she's not,” came a dry voice that sounded as if it were right behind them. The two teens whirled around to see GM leaning against the wall, with his arms crossed. The white shirt was gone; he was wearing a wife beater now, and his posture emphasized the muscles in his arms.

  Shit.

  “How long have you been standing there?” Blake asked.

  “Oh, not long.” His eyes flickered over them. “I didn't realize you two were together.”

  Blake looked as if he were about to deny it. Lisa stepped forward and answered readily, “I didn't realize you and Val were together.”

  GM straightened from his casual slouch, letting his hands fall to his hips. “You appear to have a penchant for situations that don't involve you.”

  Her unease did not go unnoticed by Blake. When he spoke again, his voice was cold and bore no trace of the grudging respect he typically used to address people he didn't like. “Did you need something, Gavin? Or did you just come here to threaten us?”

  Lisa kicked at him to tell him to shut up but he sidestepped her foot. GM—Gavin's—face underwent a strange transformation upon hearing his name from Blake's lips, before settling on a grudging smile.

  “As for you,” GM continued, turning towards Blake, “I underestimated you. That doesn't happen very often, by the way, and it certainly will not happen again. That's a compliment, by the way.”

  And a threat? Lisa couldn't help noticing the obvious size different between the two, given their proximity. Blake was a good four inches shorter than their tall host who probably had fifty pounds on them both, most of it muscle.

  As if reading her thoughts, Blake turned and gave her a carefully composed smile, but there was a tightness in his face and a weariness around his eyes that reassured her.

  GM cleared his throat. “Anyway, I merely wanted to congratulate you, just in case I didn't get the chance later. Oh, and to give you this, of course.” Blake flinched when GM reached out and seized his wrist, slipping a small square of paper in his palm. “Good luck,” he said, in a soft voice.

  Then he released Blake and walked off, with both pairs of eyes on him, leaving that thinly-veiled threat hanging in the air. “At least that wasn't weird.”

  “What did he give you?” Lisa asked, eying the doorway warily.

  Since her gaze was directed elsewhere, she didn't see the subsequent blanching of Blake's face as he scanned the paper scrap. “Nothing,” he said quietly, shoving the white square into his back pocket, “Just…trash.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Passive

  Jason got to his feet rubbing at his head, which was throbbing painfully. What happened? He looked around, wincing at the pressure behind behind his eyes. Shattered pieces of pottery surrounded him, a few tainted by the red of his own blood. The last thing he remembered was Blake—then the sound of footsteps—and then pain—

  Somebody had attacked him from behind.

  He had failed. He had been so close to killing that little fuckwad with the glasses and getting the five million dollars—and he had failed. But if he hurried, there was a chance he might be able to catch him whoever had decided to get creative with the décor.

  Jason started for the staircase, only to find that exit blocked by his so-called host. Probably wants something, he thought. That's the only reason he ever shows up.

  “Going somewhere?”

  “Trying to,” replied Jason, injecting just enough annoyance into his voice to show he meant business.

  GM's eyes landed on the broken remnants of the vase. “Well. What happened here?”

  “Someone attacked me from behind,” Jason said flatly. “I think it was that bitch Lisa.”

  “I see.”

  “Aren't you going to do something about it?”

  “Do?” GM repeated with a slight laugh. “You mean, you wish me to kill for you. But you are still alive, so I'm afraid there is nothing I can do. No rules were broken.”

  “Somebody hit me over the head with a vase!” Jason shouted. “What do you mean no rules were broken?”

  The amused look faded from GM's face. “Let me put it simply. There is a chess term, j'adoube, which allows someone to 'touch' a piece and not move it. It means to adjust. Let's just say, for lack of a better word, that you've been adjusted.”

  Jason swore. “Then let's make another deal. You get me Blake, and I'll get you Val.”

  “I've already got Val precisely where I want her. I appreciate the gesture, Jason, but unless you have something better to offer I'm afraid we don't have a deal.”

  “Okay—how about this?”

  “I'm listening.”

  “If you don't bring me Blake, I'll kill Val.”

  GM tilted his head. “I really don't think you want to do that.”

  Jason folded his arms and put on his fiercest scowl. “That's my offer. No Blake, No Val.”

  “If that's how you want to play it.”

  That's more like it.

  “Oh—one more thing,” GM said casually, as he stepped aside to let Jason pass on the stairs.

  Suddenly, he felt a quick bite of cold metal and a painfully contrasting warm, tearing sensation in his chest. He looked up at the grandmaster, mouth opening wordlessly, as GM said, softly, “You lose.”

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  As Val moved further down the hall that led back to the parlor, she heard her friends' voices. Her heart surged with relief. They're still alive. Then she remembered Gavin's words from the greenhouse and doubt curled around her like a noose. They're still alive for now.

  Lisa was the first to spot her. She tapped Blake, who was holding tightly onto his side. His hand was stained with blood. Both of them stared at her as if she were a ghost.

  Maybe I am, she thought, Maybe part of me is already dead.

  “Val,” said Blake. “You're all right.”

  There was a question in it, half-buried.

  Lisa was more blunt. “Where is Gavin?”

  “I don't know.” Val closed her eyes. “But Charlie's dead.”

  “She is?” Lisa tightened her grip on Blake's arm. “There, you see? She's dead. You don't have to kill her.”

  “Charlie was on your paper?” Val bleated.

  “That doesn't matter. We still have a problem,” Blake said. He sounded beaten.

  The tone of his voice alerted Val. “Blake? What is it? What's wrong?”

  Slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. The edges were dog-eared and the charcoal was slightly smeared but that didn't keep her from being able to read Lisa's own name neatly printed in the center.

  “Oh no,” Val heard herself say. “Where did you get that?” But she knew, she knew; she recognized the handwriting.

  “GM,” Lisa answered for them both as he folded the square of paper back up into his pocket. “You just missed him, actually. I'm surprised you didn't have a run-in.”

  That's his plan.

  If Blake didn't kill Lisa, he would be killed by GM. But if he killed Lisa, then, well, Lisa would be dead—and so too would Blake, on the inside, at least.

  There's a chess term for this, she thought, forced mate. “Which way did he go?” Val said, dry-mouthed.

  Wordlessly, Lisa pointed. She didn't seem surprised Val had asked, and neither of them questioned her
intent. She remembered the way they had looked at her, the way that Blake had flinched back from her approach.

  They think you're a traitor.

  That couldn't be true—she had suffered as much as any of them. He had designed this game specifically to hurt her.

  They blame you.

  It wasn't her fault.

  Isn't it, though? She inwardly mocked herself. Consorting with the enemy. Letting him catch you alone. Just what, exactly, do you think you're doing right now?

  What she had to, ending this the only way she knew how. On her way down the hall, her flats crunched on pieces of broken glass. Jason was dead, his white shirt stained through the chest. She sucked in a breath and picked up one of the larger pieces of glass, the only shard that didn't have blood. Carefully, she tucked it into her jeans.

  It sliced at her with every step, just like her conscience.

  She found GM pacing the hallways like a wraith, or a leopard. There was a strange smell here, almost like gasoline. He turned before she could open her mouth, and she wondered when he had sensed her approach, what had given her away. She wondered if he had known she would come. “You win,” she said. “I give up. I surrender. You win.”

  “I always win.”

  His smile broke her heart. It was like freshman year all over again, listening to him denounce her at his trial. He only won because he had no qualms over who got hurt in the process. “You promise you'll let them go?”

  “Of course, darling.” He twined his fingers with hers, and dusted a kiss across her knuckles. “When have you ever known me to break a promise?”

  Val looked away. “I don't know.” She tried to pull her hand back, but Gavin squeezed her fingers more tightly.

  “I don't think so.”

  It was a warning; it was a threat.

  Lisa and Blake were still huddling where she had left them. Her stomach cramped at the condemning looks on their faces.

  “You're in luck,” Gavin said. “There's been a slight change of plans.”

  Blake blinked, noncomprehending. “What?”

  “You can leave.”

  “Just like that?” Lisa asked tremulously.