“What if I told you that Gucci used the exact same item to carve that heart as Monica’s killer?”
Nyles’s eyes arched up toward the sky as he tried to remember. “Which was…”
“A pair of needle-nose tweezers,” Dee said, filling in the blank. “Hot pink with white polka dots.”
“See?” Griselda said, pushing herself back up to her feet. “I told you this was her fault.”
“So The Postman wants to tie Blair’s death to Cinderella Survivor,” Nyles mused, “by using an element from your murder trial. He does that sometimes with new—”
“No,” Dee said, cutting him off. “It wasn’t a part of my trial. The tweezers were never found.”
“Then how do you know they were the item used?”
Dee paused. The answer to his question was not exactly going to strengthen her case for innocence. “Because I found a pair of polka-dot tweezers stashed in my bedroom. Her blood was still on them.”
Nyles’s brow wrinkled. “And then?”
“And then I flushed them down the toilet.”
Griselda threw up her arms. “How convenient!”
“Don’t you see?” Dee pleaded. “I never told anyone about those tweezers. I was scared. I thought someone was trying to frame me for her murder. Only two people know about that factoid: me and the real killer. So how did it end up on The Postman?”
Nyles’s blue eyes grew wide. “You think Gucci killed your stepsister.”
“Or knows who did,” Dee said.
“If we can prove it…” he began.
“We?” Griselda interjected.
“Then we can prove you’re innocent,” Nyles finished.
He was getting it. Phew. “And if we can overturn my conviction…” Dee shifted her gaze from Nyles to the scowling Griselda to the utterly confused Ethan. She wasn’t actually convinced that any of them were innocent, but if they felt like they had something to gain from this endeavor, they’d be more likely to help her, right? Right. “If we can prove I didn’t do it, then maybe we can prove that none of you are killers either.”
“WHERE THE HELL ARE they?” The Postman said out loud, even though there was no one around to hear. That was intentional, of course. The Postman worked alone, assuming total and complete control over Alcatraz 2.0.
It was the only way it would work. There were secrets about the island that only The Postman could know, and so no strangers had been allowed into the inner workings. The Postman controlled it all from a simple computer interface, a monarch ruling the kingdom below, in charge of every aspect of its existence.
The guards at the station? They took orders directly from The Postman via e-mail and messaging. They were notified of incoming prisoners and killers alike, as well as shipments of supplies.
The Postman was even in charge of the electronic security system at the station, only releasing the lock on the weapons cabinet when needed. Like when that idiot tried to make a break for it through the water. It was The Postman who’d been alerted to the escape attempt, The Postman who’d deployed the guards and the drones, and The Postman who’d timed it all perfectly for live coverage of Jeremy’s death.
The Postman controlled which of the killers would be on the island at any given time, coordinated their arrivals and departures personally, and even chose the victims. There had been heated debate on the fan forums about whether the victims were picked at random, or if the killers had personal agendas in mind when they went after a prisoner. But no one had ever suspected that The Postman directed who would be executed, and when, and by whom.
It had to be that way. For the ratings. Bad ratings meant bad profits, which meant an unhappy president of the United States. Profit was all he cared about, and as long as The Postman kept delivering, there was carte blanche on Alcatraz 2.0. Which was why certain tweaks had been made in the obtaining of prisoners.
It had been fine at first—the novelty of live-streamed executions ensured an insanely high viewership among all relevant demographics. But after a while, it became clear that watching grizzled criminals meet their bloody ends had become…boring.
Nancy Wu had changed all that. The martial-arts expert who’d killed a bouncer after a heated bar fight was young, attractive, exciting. The Postman had played up those aspects by controlling her wardrobe, only allowing her to wear tight leather pants and strapless corsets. Views on her camera feeds had gone through the roof, and after she killed the Caped Capuchin—who was in desperate need of being replaced anyway—Nancy Wu became a cash cow. Merchandise, ad revenue…the app hadn’t been that profitable since its debut.
And so things had changed on Alcatraz 2.0. Arrest reports throughout the country had been scoured, searching for the young, the attractive, the interesting. A little bit of money went a long way when you already controlled part of the criminal-justice system, and even a flimsy amount of evidence against a defendant could result in a conviction. Once they were on the island, The Postman chose roles for the new arrivals, setting up relationships and dramas that would keep viewers hooked.
Now The Postman was slowly getting rid of the old, the ugly, and the uninteresting, to pave the way for a population of inmates straight out of central casting. The app was going to hit new highs in popularity. Guaranteed.
But at the moment, all of that was secondary. The master plan would have to wait, because The Postman had bigger things to deal with.
Cinderella Survivor had somehow managed to slip off the camera grid. With Blair dead, it should have taken Griselda, Ethan, and the Brit longer to trust the new girl, but clearly they’d already introduced her to the dark end of the island. Of course, The Postman could just send a drone to sweep the area.
No. Let them think they’re safe.
That was when people made mistakes. Like Blair. She’d thought she was safe, what with Jeremy’s death and the cold-blooded murder of Prince Slycer.
But you were never safe on Alcatraz 2.0.
Never.
“OH, I TOTALLY KILLED someone.” Ethan leaned back on his elbows, crossing his legs at the ankles.
“You did?” Dee was so used to inmates professing their innocence, she was shocked to hear Ethan easily cop to his crime.
“I snapped that dude’s neck.” Ethan was utterly nonchalant, like he was describing what he’d eaten for breakfast. “Just twisted it and—” He stuck two fingers in his mouth, jabbing them into the fleshy part of his cheek, then flicked them out, producing a loud popping noise. “Dead.”
“Ew?”
“Better him than me,” Ethan said with a shrug. “Dude came after me with a freaking switchblade.”
Dee couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to kill Ethan. “Why?”
“He was one of my training clients at the gym. Kept trying to get me to go out with him, but I don’t mix business and pleasure, you know? And then he totally lost it when he saw me on a date with this guy Kristoph.”
“So it was self-defense.”
“Yep,” Ethan said with a grin. “But the judge disallowed the argument, and now, boom, here I am.”
Dee wished she could have Ethan’s carefree attitude about his current situation. But she didn’t. “I shouldn’t be here,” she began. “And neither should you. Neither should any of you.”
“Are you so sure we’re all innocent, Princess?” Griselda half smiled. “Are you so sure I didn’t slit Julie’s and Jasper’s throats in cold blood?”
“Your boyfriend’s name was Jasper,” Ethan said with a snort. “That always cracks my shit up.”
Griselda gritted her teeth. “He wasn’t my boyfriend.” She pointed at Dee. “Are you so sure that Nyles didn’t poison his parents with cyanide?”
Dee’s eyes grew wide. “They were poisoned?”
Nyles nodded. “I found their bodies coiled up on the floor of their hotel room when they came to visit me at Stanford. They must have died in agony.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Would you two get a room?” Griselda
said.
“Cut it out, Gris,” Nyles said. “You told me yourself that you were innocent, and I certainly didn’t murder my own parents.”
“I’m guessing you all had fast trials like I did?” Dee asked. “Railroaded through without much of a chance?”
“Due process was a bloody joke.” Nyles ran his hand through his hair. “This is starting to stink of a conspiracy.”
“What kind of conspiracy could there possibly be?” Griselda asked. “There are plenty of capital crimes every year to keep this place packed to the gills.”
“Yet it’s not, is it?” Nyles said. “The Barracks could easily hold five or six times as many as we have now.”
“And isn’t it kinda weird,” Ethan added, “that so many of us are on the young and hot side?” He winked at Griselda, who rolled her eyes and pushed herself to her feet.
“So what?” she said. “You realize it doesn’t fucking matter, right? Even if she’s right, there’s nothing we can do about it from here.”
“You’re willing to just give up?” Dee asked. “And die? Don’t you want to fight back?”
“Look, Blair showed us this place to give us a chance to survive as long as possible,” Griselda said, her pale skin flushed pink. “That does not mean taking on the whole Postman Enterprises system. We’ll just die faster.”
“You know as well as I do,” Nyles said, “that Blair would have been the first one to fight back if she’d had the opportunity.”
Ethan nodded. “She told Gucci to fuck off. So baller.”
“Yeah, and now she’s fucking dead.” Griselda squared her shoulders, staring Dee right in the eye. “You got Blair killed, and now you want to do the same for us. No thanks.”
“Aren’t you dead anyway?” Dee asked. She felt enough guilt over Blair’s death without Griselda constantly rubbing it in her face. Besides, for all her tough talk, Griselda was showing a cowardly side. “I don’t know about you, but I’d rather go out swinging.”
“Dude.” Ethan patted Dee on the back. “I like your style.”
His approval just inflamed Griselda’s rage. “You don’t know anything about me, Princess.”
“I know that you’re a bitch.”
Nyles threw up his hands. “Will you two cut it out? This isn’t getting us anywhere.” He pointed at Ethan. “What’s our time?”
Ethan glanced at the massive electronic watch on his left wrist. “It’s been twelve minutes since we crossed the fence.”
Nyles nodded. “We need to wrap this up.”
“Why?”
“Cameras tracked us as far as the old water-treatment plant,” Nyles explained. “It takes twenty minutes to jog the length of the island and back, so if we’re not within camera range by then, someone might notice and send the drones.”
“Oh.”
“So, let’s get down to it. I appreciate the fact that you’re innocent, and that you think that by proving your innocence you might be able to get us out of here too, but what, exactly, do you propose to do about it?”
Right. Dee probably should have spent her day at I Scream coming up with a plan instead of trying to make small talk with Griselda.
“I can ask to talk to my dad,” she said, sharing the first idea that popped into her head. “Tell him about the tweezers.”
“Sure,” Griselda said. “I’m sure he’ll totally believe you.”
“I know he’d listen to me.” Do you really? Dee pictured the look on her dad’s face during Dr. Farooq’s testimony. Would he even believe her?
Griselda shook her head. “There’s no way to get a message off the island, Princess. You can’t just request a meeting while you’re on Alcatraz two-point-oh. We’re completely cut off. No phones, no computer access, nothing.”
They had no means whatsoever to contact the outside world? That sounded incredibly dangerous. “What if there’s an earthquake or something?”
“We have the guards up at the station,” Ethan said. “I guess they’re supposed to help in an emergency.”
“An emergency,” said Griselda. “Good one.”
“The guards!” Dee was surprised Nyles hadn’t thought of them. “Maybe one of them would take a message to my dad.”
“Oh, sure,” Griselda said. “We’ll just waltz up the hill and ring the doorbell.”
“It’s impossible to get near the station,” Nyles explained, “and the sentries won’t even talk to us. They have a strict no-fraternization policy.”
“They’re not allowed to make beer?” Ethan asked.
Nyles tiled his head, confused. “Erm, no.”
“Good,” Ethan said, letting out a sigh of relief. “That would be weird.”
“What about food deliveries?” Dee asked, picturing the tubs of ice cream packed away in the freezer at I Scream. “Who makes those?”
“The guards,” Griselda said. “They come at night in an armored personnel carrier, but you can’t get close enough to spit at them, let alone talk to them.”
Dee wouldn’t have been surprised if Griselda knew that from experience.
“Besides,” Griselda continued, “they’re not on our side, so even if you could get to them, I seriously doubt they’d be willing to take a message to your daddy or your lawyer or anyone else.”
“Nyles talks to his lawyers.” Ethan was staring off into the tall grass as if contemplating the meaning of life itself.
Dee turned to Nyles. “And you were going to mention that when?”
“I’m only allowed access to my solicitors due to my—”
This time Dee joined in with Griselda and Ethan. “Diplomatic immunity.”
Nyles pursed his lips. “But only on the second Wednesday of the month.”
“Dude!” Ethan said, snapping out of his deep thoughts. “That’s in, like, two days.”
This was perfect. “You can get a message out,” Dee said. “Through your lawyers to my dad.”
Nyles bit his lip. “I suppose. It won’t be easy, though. My meetings are in one of those prisoner communication rooms through a wall of glass.”
“It’ll work.” Dee wasn’t sure how, but she was desperate. Finally there was a beacon of hope on Alcatraz 2.0.
“Now we only have one more challenge,” Nyles said as they turned to jog back toward the fence.
“What’s that?” asked Dee.
“We have to keep you alive until then.”
They returned to the gym to change before beginning the trek back to the Barracks. Dee was happy to have company, as now more than ever she felt the need to be surrounded by people. Which would do her no good when they were all forced to sleep in their own houses at night, but that meant only eight hours out of twenty-four that she had to fend for herself. The rest of the time, she’d have backup.
As they headed up Main Street, they stopped in at the bodega, Alcatraz 2.0’s convenience/grocery store, which was essentially a 24/7 automated vending machine, where you dipped your card into a slot and were debited the amount of the door you opened. Like a high-tech version of the old Depression-era cafeterias Dee had seen in black-and-white movies. There were two employees—the bleached blonde Dee had seen walking to work that morning was taking inventory on a clipboard, and a greasy-haired guy sat behind the counter and flipped through an outdated sports magazine.
Dee recognized him right away. It was Rodrigo, the perv who’d tried to assault her that morning.
She froze just inside the door, revulsion washing over her. She remembered the stench of his breath, the fierce grip with which he’d held her wrist, and the disturbing desire she’d seen in his eyes. She didn’t want to be anywhere near this creeper, and yet the bodega was the only place to buy prepackaged food for dinner.
“Rodrigo,” Nyles said, sweeping up behind Dee. He draped his arm around her shoulders. “You remember Dee, yes? I believe you met her this morning.”
Rodrigo glanced up from his newspaper, and his face slowly turned a sickly shade of yellow.
“She’s our
Cinderella Survivor, you know,” Nyles continued, his voice as cheerful as ever. “Quite the rage over on the fan forums, I bet. So glad you two are great chums already.”
Rodrigo swallowed as if forcing down a bit of vomit that had crawled up the back of his throat, then mumbled something about deliveries and hurried through a door into the back room.
Nyles glanced down at Dee and smiled. “There. He shouldn’t bother you anymore, I dare say.”
Nyles had inspired irritation, confusion, and fury since Dee had met him, but at that moment all she felt was gratitude. “Thanks.”
“Come on.” He guided her toward the refrigerated units. “Let’s get you some food.”
She pulled her debit card from the pocket of her jacket. “Do you think there’s anything on it? I’ve only been at I Scream for a day.”
“There’ll be something,” Nyles assured her. “Enough to buy dinner and breakfast.”
“If you can find anything decent to eat,” Ethan added. “What the fuck, Rod?” he shouted toward the back room. “This place is practically empty!”
The bleached-blond woman taking inventory shrugged. “We were supposed to get a shipment today, but it didn’t come.”
Ethan frowned. “I’m going to complain.”
“Right,” Griselda said, elbowing past him. “I’m sure The Postman totally gives a shit that you don’t care for his selection of frozen meals.”
Ethan was right—most of the little doors in the cafeteria were empty—and she wondered how often food supplies ran low on Alcatraz 2.0. Was that just another ploy by The Postman to make their lives more miserable? Were sanctioned murders not getting good enough ratings anymore, so he was manufacturing a real-life Hunger Games on the island?
Dee hoped not. She wasn’t exactly Katniss, and she doubted she’d survive very long if she had to fight for food.
For now she just needed to eat, and since she didn’t know how much money was on her card, she decided to start small—a two-pack of frozen bean-and-cheese burritos, which Ethan referred to as a “fart attack,” two frozen lasagnas, bottled water, a banana, and a package of instant-coffee granules. Not the double no-foam lattes she loved back home, but it was better than nothing.
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