Game of Death

by David Hosp

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  I’m walking down a long corridor with high ceilings, numbered doors on both sides. The second whiskey I ordered while waiting downstairs at the bar warms my extremities and lightens my head, making it feel as though I’m floating toward the door at the end of the hall. I can feel the pounding in my wrists, the blood sounding out a steady beat in my ears. It’s all so familiar, my chest feels tight and I’m breathing hard.

  I reach the end of the hall and I pause at the door, listening for the soft sounds on the other side. They’re there, barely audible, tearing at the sinew of my heart as though to leave me powerless against them. I put my hand and cheek against the door and linger there for a moment, savoring what remains of my innocence, knowing that the last of it is to be sacrificed here, tonight – for what, I’m not yet sure.

  I put the hotel card into the slot, listen for the electronic clicking and push the door open. It’s a simple room, done in white. The furniture has been pushed to the side to give the impression that the only piece in the room is the king-sized canopied bed. There is a gauzy white cotton curtain hanging from the iron rods above the bed frame, rustling in the warm breeze that’s slipping in through the open windows. Candles line a shelf on the nearest wall, the light flickering, casting shadows that dance on the walls.

  I can see her outline through the canopy, lying on the white sheets, just as I’d described to her, just as I’ve seen in my head a thousand times. She is moaning softly, as though some ache is radiating out from the center of her being – as though a longing that can no longer be ignored has broken through the surface.

  I move slowly, drawn by a force as irresistible as gravity. When I’m at the foot of the bed, I pull the curtain and stand there, gazing at her. Her eyes are closed at first, and her body moves as though in slow motion, the muscles flexing against the desire, turning her slowly, her legs rubbing together with a deliberate intensity. She is wearing white stockings over those perfect legs, garters running under lace panties, a ribbed bustier that runs out of fabric just below her small nipples, which are so erect they seem to be straining against the limits of her skin. A satin choker is tight to her throat and her arms are above her head, her wrists slipped through loose leather restraints wrapped around the wrought-iron headboard. She pulls on the straps, as if trying to escape.

  She opens her eyes and looks at me, lets out a deep moan. I’m just standing there, barely breathing for a moment, my ears flooded with the blood coursing through my body. Her lips part, moist with her breath, she leans her back and writhes with greater urgency, the ache growing; the leather straps go taut as she pulls against them. Her legs run together once to the side, and then her knees separate. She groans with an encouraging nod.

  I put my hands out, onto the bed, sliding up so that I am kneeling between her feet. My hands move along the silk sheets, closer and closer, until they are caressing her ankles. With that first touch, she lets out a moan and arches her back. My hands move up her legs, caressing her skin, kneading her muscles.

  My body is responding now. I am breathing again, the air coming in great gulps, my lungs desperate for more. I take off my shirt and let my hands explore her body. She is mine, I realize. There is nothing separating us, and she is helpless before me. It is exactly as I have imagined it so many times.

  I lean down and kiss her neck. She turns her head away with a sigh, to give me better access, and to keep up the charade of feigning resistance. I kiss her ear and work my way down her throat, across the choker, to her breasts.

  She is panting now, and I push myself back up so that I’m kneeling again, and I reach out and slip her panties down. She lifts her hips to facilitate the process. I reach out again and undo the straps on the side of her bustier, pull it off, so that she is fully revealed before me. I caress her sides as I lean forward and kiss her breasts again, running my tongue over her nipples, gently at first, and then with greater pressure and sustained rhythm.

  I kiss my way down her body, taking my time, savoring every inch of her skin. Her moaning is growing in volume, her anticipation becoming desperate. When I reach her hips, she raises them up to meet me, but I pull back, hovering over her, looking down into her eyes. Then I slide down and begin kissing her again, starting at the ankles this time and working my way up. She lets out a frustrated, feral groan, her body straining for my touch and my kisses.

  Eventually I work my way up the inside of her thigh, pausing for just a moment as I listen to her breath coming in storm waves. ‘Please,’ she pleads. It is the first word she has uttered. ‘Please,’ she says again, her voice even more fervent.

  I move my way up, and she calls out when my tongue touches her. ‘Oh, God!’ Her hips rise and churn with my rhythm, her moans becoming screams. I can hear the bed frame creak and she pulls hard against her restraints. I alter my speed to match the natural pace that her hips set. As her body begins to reach a crescendo, I pull away.

  ‘No, please!’ she calls.

  I slip off my pants and move up so that I’m looking straight down at her. My hands touch her sides again, and I can feel myself pressing into her. She spreads her legs and lets out a groan as I move inside her. We rock together for what seems like an eternity, our bodies adjusting to each other, finding the perfect alterations of speed and intensity. My hands explore her entire body.

  At one point I slide my hand up along her arms and then down again, so that my fingers come to rest at the base of her throat. We are still moving together, and our rhythm is gathering speed. Her face is inches from mine.

  ‘Do it,’ she whispers.

  I frown, confused.

  ‘Do it. I want you to.’

  I am frightened – not because she would ask me to do this, but because I want to. I hold her in my hands, her body at my every whim, and there is a part of me that wants to make my will known. I move my hand up onto her throat and squeeze softly.

  She nods, looking at me, and thrusts her hips up into me with determination, her legs wrapping around behind me. ‘Trust yourself,’ she says. ‘I trust you.’

  I squeeze harder, and her face contorts in ecstasy. ‘Yes!’ she chokes out, and both our bodies respond frantically. I watch as her face turns red, her mouth opens in a heavenly smile, her body drawing me in, as though it will never get enough.

  We are reaching the end, and every muscle in both of our bodies strains and flexes. I close my eyes as my hand increases the pressure.

  She climaxes first, her body spasming and bucking, her legs squeezing my torso. The restraints on her wrists are so tight now that the bed frame leans forward toward us, and I’m sure it’s bent for good. My body responds to her orgasm in kind, my own climax building like a tsunami, the ache withdrawing like the recession of the ocean, then crashing forward in a wave that carries everything in its path with it.

  My free hand is behind the small of her back, and I draw her into me as tightly with all my strength, as my body convulses over and over again, each successive wave cleansing me, carrying with it the hurt and the confusion of the past week. Even the obsession I have created around this woman I’m with seems to ebb from my soul. I can feel it leaving my body as I hold her tightly enough to make our two bodies one.

  As the last of the spasms quiet, I am able to breathe again and I lift my head to look at her. I realize to my horror that my fingers are still at her throat, still strangling her. ‘Oh my God!’ I yell, taking my hand away. ‘Kendra, are you okay?’

  Her eyes are open, but she doesn’t move, and I pull away, feeling like I may throw up. ‘Kendra!’ I scream.

  It takes a moment, but she jerks and coughs and takes a labored breath.

  ‘I’m sorry!’ I say. ‘Please, are you okay?’

  The color is returning to her face. She gives me a weak smile. ‘I’m okay,’ she says. ‘That was perfect.’

  Looking at her as her breathing evens out, an expression of satisfaction on her face, I am even more sure I’ll vomit. She reaches up and
slips her wrists out of the restraints, and I realize for the first time that she was fully in control throughout the encounter. She could have released herself at any moment. I’m on my elbow, looking down at her face, my mind stuck in a feedback loop, unable to compute – unable to fully understand what has just happened.

  She looks up at me, and her eyes are different. They aren’t dead, the way they were in the LifeScene, but they lack the sparkle that was always at the heart of my desire. ‘Are you okay?’ she asks.

  It takes a moment for me to answer. ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I’m alright.’

  She smiles again. ‘How was it?’

  I lie back next to her, looking up at the canopy. ‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I’m not sure what to think.’

  ‘You’re not supposed to think,’ she says. ‘That’s the point.’ She puts a hand on my chest and strokes my skin. ‘It’s there in all of us,’ she says. ‘It’s okay to let it out every once in a while. It doesn’t make you a bad person.’

  I put my hand on hers. ‘I know.’

  She leans up on her elbow now, so that she’s looking down at me. ‘Do you?’

  I don’t answer. The truth is, I don’t know.

  It’s four in the morning, and I’m in the shower in the room at the Liberty Hotel. Like everything else in the place, it has a prison theme, with high-end steel sink and toilet made to be reminiscent of the accommodation afforded to the former residents. The shower water comes straight from the ceiling, hitting the top of my head, running down my entire body. I stand there, feeling numb even against the scalding water.

  I get out and dry myself off, put my clothes on. I turn off the bathroom light before I open the door, trying not to wake Kendra. As I make my way quietly to the hotel room door, I hear her voice.

  ‘You’re leaving.’

  I’m caught off-guard. ‘I have something I need to do at the office, and I need to check in with my mother first. She’s been sick.’

  ‘There’s nothing for you at the office,’ she says. She knows the truth. I suppose that kind of wisdom is an unavoidable by-product of professional experience.

  ‘It’s just something I need to take care of,’ I say. ‘I’ll call you later today. Maybe we can do something tonight.’

  I hear her shift under the covers. ‘You won’t call,’ she says. ‘It’s okay. I’ll be fine. I’m resourceful.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  She sighs. ‘Because men who leave quietly at four in the morning don’t call. It’s something every girl knows in her heart, even when she doesn’t want to believe it.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  I don’t go home. Ma is the last person I want to see at the moment. In truth, the only person I want to see is Yvette. I’m not even sure why, but it’s a need that I can’t ignore. I consider going over to her house, knocking on the door, waking her up, but even I’m not that stupid. First of all, I have no idea what I would say to her. I’m not going to lie, I know that, but I have no idea how to tell the truth. The truth seems like an enemy, and I haven’t figured out how to wrestle it to the ground yet.

  There’s only one place I can go at the moment: the NextLife offices in Cambridge. I feel a little like a traitor as I enter the place, like an informer stopping by to see the slaughter his betrayal has wrought.

  It’s not as bad as I thought it would be when I arrive, though. It’s five o’clock in the morning, one of the quieter times in the office. There are fewer than forty GhostWalkers in their chairs, mining the darkness of our customers’ imaginations for useful information that the company can turn into profit centers. I think I see one or two of them look up and glare at me, but I can’t tell whether it’s my paranoia. By this point everyone at the company has read something about Michael François and Dr Gunta in the papers, but it’s had a lower profile than one might expect, thanks to the fact that Killkenny has kept his word and tamped down the sensationalism. As a result, it’s still not clear what ultimate impact the whole episode will have on the company.

  No matter what the impact, though, I’ve decided that I won’t be around to see it. I cannot bring myself to stay after all that has happened. I’ll never be able to troll our customers’ fantasies again, and the thought of working for someone like Josh Pinkerton is too much to bear, no matter what the cost. I’ll lose some of my shares if I quit before the company goes public, so I’ll take a hit, but if the IPO goes forward, I’ll still walk away with several million dollars. That’s more than I’ll ever need.

  I’m at the office now for two reasons. First, I want to clean it out before anyone else has the chance to do it for me. There’s not much there; like I said, I never turned my office into a personal homage to the person I wanted others to think I was. There are some correspondences and personal financial information in my desk, as well as a few personal items – pictures and postcards.

  I take a moment to flip through a packet of images from a trip Yvette and I took a couple of years ago. We went down to Hyannis Port on the Cape. We spent the day walking around the shops, then caught a ferry over to the Nantucket, had dinner by the water. We stayed over in a little hotel – separate rooms – and spent the next day on the beach before returning. It was a good time. We’re comfortable around each other, and there’s always been the hint of possibility that neither of us has pushed. I’m not sure why; maybe it’s just that our timing has always been wrong.

  She’s the second reason I’m at the office. I assume she’ll be here at work eventually, and it’s a more natural way to see her than just appearing at her house. I still haven’t figured out what I’m going to say to her, but I know I’ll find my way through it. She’s my friend, above all else, and she’ll understand what I’ve been through. She may not like it, but she’ll be there for me.

  I’m sitting at my desk, keeping an eye out on the floor to see her when she comes in. She doesn’t keep anything approaching regular hours, but it’s not unusual for her to show up around ten o’clock for a few hours of GhostWalking before lunch. By ten-thirty, though, there’s no sign of her. I’ve run out of things to clean in my office, and I’m starting to think about leaving – biting the bullet and going over to see her at her house. I’ve just about made up my mind to get out of there, when the external door at the far end of the floor opens and I see NetMaster walk through it. I feel a wince in my ribs at the memory of my last encounter with him. They’ve been bothering me less and less, but I’m not anxious for another round with him. I figure it’s unlikely that he’ll do anything here in public, particularly now that François has been caught and the investigation is closed. Still, I decide to stay in my office and wait to see if he leaves.

  He comes down the steps from the door and walks around the floor. Halfway across, he looks at the window to my office and sees me. I’m looking back at him, and our eyes meet. A thin, evil smile forms on his face. It gives me a sick feeling in my stomach, and I have little doubt that he is here to throw me out of the building in as humiliating a manner as possible. I don’t really care; I’m beyond worrying about what those at the company think about me. But if he gets physical, I resolve not to back down. No matter how big he is, I know that if it’s a fair fight, I’ve got a reasonable chance to take him out. I sit there, waiting for him to approach me.

  He doesn’t head to my office, though. He stands there for a moment, smiling his sick grin at me, like there’s something he knows that I don’t. Then he turns and heads back out the exterior door. His behavior is unsettling, and I’m curious about what he has planned, though I’m not willing to stay here just to find out. I stand and start heading for the door.

  Before I can leave my office, though, the exterior door opens again and NetMaster walks back in. This time he’s not alone. I’m relieved to see Paul Killkenny behind him, as well as two other officers. I know NetMaster is not going to try anything as long as they are here. I sit back at my desk and wait for Killkenny to enter. He does, and Net Master follows him in.

  ‘P
aul,’ I say. ‘How’s the investigation going?’

  ‘It’s complicated,’ he says. He looks at the box that I’ve packed with my belongings. ‘You going somewhere?’

  ‘Anywhere but here,’ I say. ‘I think I’ve stayed long enough.’

  ‘You have stayed too long,’ NetMaster says.

  I look at him and give a derisive laugh. To Killkenny I say, ‘I may be stopping by the station house to file an assault claim against this guy. Two, in fact.’

  ‘He is a liar,’ NetMaster says. ‘We already know that. We know much about him now, don’t we?’

  ‘Shut up,’ Killkenny says.

  I’m starting to get a queasy feeling. ‘What’s going on, Paul?’ I ask.

  ‘I’ve just got to ask you a couple of questions.’

  I assume he’s going to ask about some aspect of the investigation into François. ‘Fire away.’

  ‘Where were you last night?’

  I frown at him. ‘Last night? Why do you want to know?’

  He ignores my question. ‘Someone fitting your description was seen at the Liberty Hotel last night around ten. You know anything about that?’

  ‘Yeah, that was me. Why?’

  ‘What were you doing there?’

  ‘None of your business.’

  ‘Yes, it is our business!’ NetMaster yells. ‘You tell!’

  Killkenny wheels on him. ‘Shut the fuck up!’ He stares at NetMaster until the huge man lowers his head in submission. Paul turns back to me. ‘Sorry about that. I do need to know what you were doing there. It’s important to our investigation.’

  I frown. I really don’t want my liaison with Kendra to become public knowledge, particularly if it means that Yvette will find out from anyone other than me. Still, I suppose there’s nothing I can do. ‘I was there to see Kendra Madison,’ I admit.

  ‘Did you stay the night?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘What’s this about?’

  ‘You need to come down to the station house with me to answer some more questions,’ he says.