The Assassin Game

by Kirsty McKay

  Eyes darting, I dig in and sprint. My legs scream with the sudden renewed activity, but I ignore them. I only have seconds to disappear, only seconds. I clear the hedge, make for the woods, run flat-out, and don’t look back. If the nurse is yelling at me, I don’t notice. If the police have spotted me, I’m not aware. I just run and run until I’m covered by trees and jumping over undergrowth and dodging around scrubby bushes.

  But where to?

  The urge to go to the caves now is extreme. But I mustn’t. Vaughan said 6:00 p.m., and he has his reasons. He said we’re going to catch the killer, and I have to trust he has a plan.

  That’s if I trust that the messages were from Vaughan.

  Amid all the happy, I cannot help but have a little bit of doubt, a tiny little nugget of fear that those messages aren’t from Vaughan. Guess what? It’s called self-preservation. I may not be the cleverest kid at Umfraville, but I’m no fool. One thing keeps coming back to me, and that is this: I was numero uno. I was top of the hit list. The killer tried to poison me—not Rick—and he or she did not succeed. What’s to say they’re going to stop trying now?

  I need backup, and I know what I have to do. It’s not going to be a pretty scene. I head for the art studio.

  It’s time to cash in my chips with Mr. Flynn. If these messages are not from Vaughan, I’d be stupid to go to the caves alone. But I believe, strongly, that Vaughan will be there, and if I’m right, we’re still going to need someone to help us convince the rest of the world of his innocence. I think—I hope and pray—that I can persuade Flynny just to give Vaughan a chance before he tells the police he’s alive.

  Breaking from the trees, I see that the lights are on in the art studio. I peep into the window in case there are any other kids in there, but it looks empty. Completely empty, no Mr. Flynn. OK—well, maybe he’s rummaging in the store cupboard. I duck inside the studio, panting. If he’s not here, I’ll rest up for a minute if nothing else.

  Nobody is home. I flop down at my table, dejected. Damn. Where could he be? Anywhere, potentially. Main House? On the mainland, for all I know. There’s only one more place to safely search for him, and that’s his quarters: a cottage on the southern tip of the island. A minute to catch my breath, and then I’ll go.

  I switch on my tablet and log on to Crypt. One skull on the map shows over the studios, me, Clouseau. No messages waiting for me. I’m about to log off when another skull appears hovering over the studios, right by mine. Vaughan! I tap my finger on it, to see the username.

  Skulk

  My chair makes a scraping sound as I jerk back in my seat. Skulk is here. Skulk is online, somewhere near me, right now.

  Skulk’s skull hovers ominously. I look around me, then grab my tablet and hit the floor, hiding under the table. How much do I wish the lights weren’t on? Anyone looking in would have seen me in here, plain as day.

  Skulk

  Hello, Cate.

  Damn! I move my finger over the log-off button, but I can’t. Skulk knows I’m here already. If I log out, I’ll be in the dark.

  Skulk

  Missed you.

  I crawl over to one of the windows and peer outside. OK, think…this Wi-Fi signal originates from the newspaper office and covers the little area that makes up the art studio, photography studio, and the toilet block. He or she could be anywhere out there. Even skulking behind a frigging tree, for all I know.

  Skulk

  Aren’t you going to say hi?

  “No, you moron, I am not,” I mutter as I crawl over to the other window and bob my head up quickly. Nothing out of that one either. No Skulk, no police chasing after me, no Mr. Flynn strolling down to his art studio, and no Vaughan to the rescue. Great. I crawl to the door and stand up, hand on doorknob. Before I open it, I glance down at the tablet again.

  Skulk

  Any final words?

  I slump by the door, terror threatening to drill me to the spot. I press my back against the door and force air into my lungs, eyes scanning the room. There are some clay modeling knives sticking out of a pot on the counter. Get armed and get out of here. I scrabble to the counter, reach up, and snatch the longest, pointiest-looking one from the pot, the rest of them clattering to the ground.

  Ping.

  Skulk

  I’m coming to get you.

  No. No, you are not. I look at the door. Time to move.

  A third little red skull pops up alongside mine.

  DeadMcTavish

  Not if I get you first, Skulk.

  Oh, jeez, Vaughan, thank you.

  I open the door to the outside, my tablet under my arm, clutching my knife in my hand, head whipping from side to side. For the millionth time I curse the incessant screams of distant seabirds that make me jump out of my skin.

  I press myself against the outside wall and glance at Crypt. Nobody is online. Everyone’s suddenly logged off except me. Where did they go? I shut it down and get ready to run. As I do, I think I see a shadow move through the trees in the direction of the newspaper office. Every bone in my body is telling me to run in the opposite direction, but I can’t. I can’t leave Vaughan. If that’s him, I have to see him, have to know he’s there, he’s safe. Against all my better judgment, I sneak down the path, sticking to the tree line as much as I can, and toward the Loathsome Toad office.

  The door of the office is open, but the room is empty.

  “Vaughan!” I whisper, looking around outside, gripping my knife. “Are you here?”

  No one answers.

  “Hey!” a voice shouts, and I jump out of my skin. “Cate?”

  Back up the path toward the studios, Alex, Carl, and Cynthia are walking toward me. I meet them halfway.

  “Are you OK, Cate?” Alex looks down at my knife. “Aren’t you supposed to be in sick bay?”

  “Yeah,” I mutter. “Did you see anyone pass you up there?”

  Carl shakes his head. “No. Why?”

  I look at Alex. “What are you doing down here?”

  He frowns at me. “Collecting some of Marcia’s stuff from the office. What, you haven’t been in touch with her? She says she’s not coming back to school.”

  That hurts—the fact that she’s gone for good, and the fact that she didn’t tell me.

  “Hey, were those policemen looking for you?” Cynthia says. “Up by Main House?”

  “Yeah,” I answer. “Probably. Do me a favor. If they ask, tell them you saw me running north, OK?”

  The boys nod. Cynthia looks at me. “Where are you going?”

  I start off up the path, past them. “To Mr. Flynn’s cottage. To get his help. Before someone else gets hurt.”

  I don’t bother looking back, and when I pass the studios, I disappear again into the woods and retrace my steps back toward the sick bay, only this time I keep on running past it, heading to Mr. Flynn’s quarters, one of a cluster of staff cottages at the southeast tip of Skola. It’s a trek on foot. The last few minutes I have to run across a field, out in the open, but I don’t see anyone apart from a few sheep and the ever-present seabirds. When I reach Mr. Flynn’s door, I bash on it with my fist.

  No one comes. Oh, please be here! Please! I shove my modeling knife in my parka pocket hurriedly. Don’t want him to think I’ve come to attack him.

  I think I hear a thump from within, and so I bash the door again. “Mr. Flynn!”

  The door opens a crack, and a disheveled head appears. The face frowns at me.

  “Cate?” Mr. Flynn says. “What on earth—?”

  “Let me in!” I push the door, and it swings open, and I hurry inside, making my way into the small sitting room on the left.

  Ms. Lasillo is standing there. In an oversized, stripy dressing gown. A dressing gown presumably belonging to Mr. Flynn.

  “Oh!” I gasp. “Oh!” I have literally never fe
lt so embarrassed in all my life. My arms go sort of limp, my tablet falls, and the modeling knife tumbles its way out of my pocket and onto the floor in front of Ms. Lasillo, who makes a strangled yelp and jumps backward. “Oh God, oh God!” I say uselessly.

  “Cate, now let’s just be calm here.” Mr. Flynn is coming toward me, hand outstretched. At least he’s fully dressed. No socks, and he’s sporting the messiest of bed heads, but at least he has on jeans and a T-shirt. “I’m sorry you walked in on this. It’s really, very unfortunate.” He’s struggling for words, and at first I think it’s just because he’s embarrassed, but then I realize…he’s scared. Of me.

  “Call the police, James,” Ms. Lasillo says quietly.

  “What? No!” I shake my head. “I’m not here to do anything bad. I’m here for help!”

  “And we’ll help you,” Mr. Flynn says, nodding slowly. “But I’m sure everyone is looking for you, and we should tell them where you are.”

  “No! Please. Just hear me out…” I think for a couple seconds, then roll my eyes. “OK, so I’m guessing that they’re looking for me because I said I had some information about the killer.” I grimace. “In retrospect, it might have sounded a little like I was going to make some major confession, but I didn’t mean it that way. I just had to get rid of the stupid policeman who was watching me in the sick bay.”

  “I see,” Mr. Flynn says, nodding sympathetically. “And why did you have to do that?”

  “Because.” I bend down slowly, to pick up the tablet, and Mr. Flynn makes a dash for the knife, snatching it up from the floor. “James, chill.” I give him a look. “I am not going to stab you or your girlfriend.” I glance at Ms. Lasillo.

  “Cate!” Mr. Flynn barks at me.

  “Well, I’m not. Just crouching down, getting my tablet.” I wave it at him. “Anyway, to answer your question, I had to escape the sick bay because I got a message from Vaughan.”

  Suddenly, they’re listening.

  “Explain,” Mr. Flynn says.

  “An instant message,” I say. “And I came to you because I think I’m still in danger, and I was hoping that you can help us without instantly freaking out and calling the police on Vaughan.”

  Mr. Flynn nods. “Fair enough. Of course I’ll help you, Cate.” He puts the knife on a sideboard in some kind of show of trust. Well, out of my reach though, I note.

  “And if it’s anything to do with technology, I can help too,” Ms. Lasillo says.

  “Sure,” I say evenly. “You can help me. Get your clothes on and make me a cup of tea.”

  “Cate!” Mr. Flynn roars.

  “Sorry, I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist. It’s been a long day.” I move to sit at the dining table, and they both follow slowly. I set up my tablet. “I took screenshots, because I knew no one would believe me. Vaughan is alive, and he’s messaging me.”

  “What is this?” Mr. Flynn sits down beside me, looking at the screen.

  “Crypt,” says Ms. Lasillo, looking over my shoulder. “It is, isn’t it? The social network connected to your assassin game? I’ve been looking for this for the last two days.” She bends down to examine the screenshots more closely. It’s slightly embarrassing, because of the whole “I love you” thing from Vaughan, but considering what I’ve just caught these two up to, I can live with them seeing my sappy messages. Ms. Lasillo frowns. “But the time stamp is from today. That’s impossible.”

  I shake my head. “Yeah, that’s the point. I can still log in. Let me show you.”

  Mr. Flynn gives me his Wi-Fi password, and I connect to the school intranet. I hover over the school crest, press the right buttons, and the prompt box comes up.

  “Every player gave me their username and password, and none of them worked,” Ms. Lasillo says. “We couldn’t get any further than this.”

  “Vaughan left the door open for me.” I type my password. Crypt springs up. I take them for a tour.

  “This is incredible, the clever little toad.” Ms. Lasillo shakes her head. “Excuse me!” she says, catching herself. “Totally inappropriate, especially given the fact Vaughan has, er, passed.”

  “Vaughan is a clever little toad, and guess what? He didn’t croak,” I say firmly. “I believe he blocked everyone from Crypt after he went missing, at least everyone apart from me, and another user called Skulk. Skulk has been making threats against me all through the Game.” I rub my face. “Even twenty minutes ago. I was down at the art studio, looking for you”—I nod at Mr. Flynn—“and Skulk started messaging me, threatening me. At the last minute, Vaughan came online, and then they both disappeared.”

  “May I?” Ms. Lasillo gestures to the tablet.

  “Kill it.” I lean back and push it her way.

  She gives me a look. “I’ll be very careful.”

  I laugh. “No, k1ll1t is my password. All one word, lowercase, ones instead of Is. You’ll need it. Crypt logs you out every sixty seconds if you’re inactive.”

  Mr. Flynn puts his hand on my shoulder.

  “Come into the kitchen. Let’s have that cup of tea.”

  I nod and follow him. He fills a black kettle and flicks a switch on the side.

  “Thing is, Cate.” He gets three mugs out of the cupboard, and places a teabag in each. “The police seem very convinced of Vaughan’s guilt. They discovered parts consistent with the construction of the spider robot in his study, hidden in the back of a piece of computer hardware, I believe.”

  “No!” I say. “We found those spider pieces together—after you stomped on it!”

  “All right, you can certainly tell the police that.” Flynn nods. “But you should know, Cate, there was also the poison; they found some kind of container in his study that had traces of belladonna in it.”

  “Belladonna?”

  “‘Beautiful woman,’ quite literally.” He adds sugar to his mug. “Heard of deadly nightshade? The plant?”

  I nod. “But I thought it was made up, like a triffid.”

  Mr. Flynn puts sugar in Ms. Lasillo’s mug; he obviously knows her well enough. He holds the sugar bowl up and looks at me. I shake my head. Hate that he never remembers that.

  “Deadly nightshade is real and relatively common. Even grows here on the island. Every part of it is poisonous, apparently. A couple berries is enough to kill an adult. And they found some in Vaughan’s room.”

  He waits until the water is boiled and pours it into each mug. “Milk?”

  I nod and try to put poison out of my mind. The tea feels good—reassuringly hot in my hands and warming to drink.

  “Vaughan wouldn’t hurt anyone. Someone must have planted that evidence,” I say. “The police told me he’d had some trouble at Cambridge, but there’ll be a reason behind it, and it doesn’t make him a killer.”

  “James!” Ms. Lasillo calls from the sitting room. “There’s something here!”

  Mr. Flynn puts his cup down and shoots me a look.

  “Told you,” I say, smiling. “He’s out there.”

  Chapter 26

  We go through to the living room. Ms. Lasillo is sitting in front of a laptop, my tablet beside her.

  “I grabbed my machine from my bag,” she says. “And now I’m inside the site I can unbutton a little of the code. Just a little—he’s got it sewn up pretty tight. It’s extremely early days, but I’d hazard a guess that Crypt has some kind of automatic system that drops messages when you log in.”

  I frown at her. “Meaning?”

  “Sit down.” She sighs. “Cate, my guess is that Vaughan planned all of this well in advance. I think that what you read as responses to your messages are actually things that he wrote some time ago.” When I don’t speak, she continues. “Vaughan isn’t talking to you. Crypt is. He programmed it to respond to anything you say.” She shakes her head, looking through lines of code on her laptop. “It’s hard to specif
y at this point, but it’s possible that he programmed Crypt to pick up certain key words in your messages and ‘answer’ you with prescripted responses.” She scrolls through some of my screenshots on the tablet. “Most of these responses he’s written are terribly vague. They would have to be, to make them fit a number of possible conversations.”

  I swallow. “When I was at the art studio, it wasn’t just Vaughan who was online. Like I said, it was Skulk too. And Vaughan responded to Skulk. By name.”

  Ms. Lasillo purses her lips. “Cate, ever think that Skulk might be Vaughan?”

  Mr. Flynn sits down beside me. “The police asked Sophia—er, I mean Ms. Lasillo—to go through a list of Guild members and try all of their passwords in the prompt box to see if anything would work. Most of the Guild members mentioned this whole Skulk business, and no one would come forward to admit to being Skulk. So perhaps Vaughan created Skulk to juice things up a little? To scare everyone. And now he’s trying to carry that on—posthumously, I suppose, as crazy as it seems—to continue the deception.”

  I grip my fingers into my hands and say what I really never wanted to say out loud. “Daniel.”

  Mr. Flynn leans toward me. “What about him?”

  “Daniel is Skulk. I think I’ve known it all along at the back of my mind, but I kept trying to deny it because he’s supposed to be my friend. This morning I realized. I realized just how screwed up he is, and I ripped that big sticker he has on his precious violin case, the one with the red cat, and I realized for the first time that it’s a fox, not a cat, and what’s the—what do you call it again?—the collective noun, for a group of foxes?”

  “A skulk,” Ms. Lasillo says.

  “Exactly.” I slap the table. “It’s him, I’m sure of it. The things he said…there were notes too. Creepy. And some other stuff.” I look at Mr. Flynn. “I hate it, but it just makes sense.”