Game's End

by Natasha Deen

“I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation you were having earlier, on the phone.”

  A flush of red stained her cheeks.

  “Was there something you wanted to tell me?”

  “It was nothing. I was arguing with someone about some debts.”

  “It didn’t sound like that,” I said.

  She stood. “I can’t help what you think you heard—”

  “You were talking about me. Please, Mrs. Sinclair—”

  “It wasn’t you. It was Amber. She lost the only dad she knew—the reverend.” Her face crumpled. “But then again, it’s good he’s gone. He hurt my daughter and I thought he was a good ma—” She reached for more tissues. “That’s who I was talking about.”

  “Mrs. Sinclair—”

  “It was a private conversation. Not everything is about you, Maggie!” She collapsed on the couch. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’ve gone from my life making sense to having everything in shambles.”

  “You said you didn’t sign up for this,” I said. “You said people had been hurt.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Mrs. Sinclair?”

  She glanced sideways. “You can’t tell anyone this.” She pushed up the sleeves of her pink sweater and wiped her palms on her jeans. “I have to think of Amber and the baby. I’m suing the church, the deacons, all of them.”

  “Mrs. Sinclair, you didn’t see the abuse. If you didn’t, then why do you think they did—”

  “I don’t, but in a few months, I’m going to have another mouth to feed. Those people didn’t just abandon Amber and me, they left us with no money. Look what they did to our house. I don’t have money to fix the windows or repaint those walls. They don’t care. One way or another, they need to pay. All those who hurt her need to pay.”

  I couldn’t tell if she was lying or trying to deflect from what she’d really been talking about on the phone, but her words held an essence of truth I couldn’t shake.

  “I need to find Amber,” she said. “She’s always been quiet and secretive, but now it’s worse than ever. It’s almost impossible to get her to put down her phone. She’s addicted to reading what other people are saying about her on social media. I’ve tried to get her to stop, but she can’t. It’s like she has no value except for what other people give her, even if it’s abusive and destructive value. I’m sorry I can’t help you, now.” She hurried out of the room just as Serge materialized.

  “Any luck?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “You?”

  “Sort of. Amber’s part of some online group that’s all about supporting and promoting adults in relationships with young girls.”

  “That’s sick.”

  “But one of the people must be here, in town, because she was texting with them. I didn’t recognize the number, but I know it’s local.”

  “What were they talking about?” I asked.

  “Nothing. Just that she’s the victim of a society that doesn’t understand true love, and her mom’s too controlling, blah, blah, blah. I don’t know who she was talking to—their handle is Pygmalion—”

  “That’s not weird or creepy,” I muttered.

  “—Anyway, they said they’d meet up with her in fifteen minutes.”

  I was already heading for the door. “Where?”

  “All they said was ‘the usual place.’”

  I stopped. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “I wish.”

  “Psychic magnetism,” I said. “You and Amber had a weird connection. I bet if you concentrated, you could locate her.”

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “I’m going to try too, but it’s easier for you to get around town than it is for me. I’ll have traffic lights and dead ends.”

  “This idea is a dead end.”

  “Don’t make me beg,” I said. “Mrs. Sinclair shut me down, but I know she’s hiding something. If I had something on Amber—like maybe her getting into another destructive relationship or plotting to hurt someone—I bet she’d trade my silence for what she knows.”

  Serge watched me.

  “It makes me feel like a slimeball just to say it, okay? I’m doing to her what the reporter did to me. And you staring at me like that just makes it worse, but we need answers and I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  “I wasn’t judging you,” he said. “I was just thinking about what Craig had said one time, about how people thought destiny was this great thing, but it was one of the worst things.” He started for the door. “We have to do all of this—follow Amber, blackmail Mrs. Sinclair—but it sucks.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “It does, but there we are. Come on, let’s go and get this over with.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Between me visualizing Amber and Serge using psychic magnetism, we located her at the high school.

  “This feels like a weird place to meet with someone,” he said.

  “Not if the someone is the principal and an old friend of the guy you’ve been manipulated into believing you loved.” I pulled on the door, but it was locked.

  Serge knelt and peered through the keyhole. “I bet if I concentrated, I could unlock it.”

  “And what will you do when that works?”

  Serena.

  I turned and found her behind me. Her face held faint outlines of eyes and a mouth, though I didn’t need her to have those features to know she was angry and full of contempt for me.

  “You already had your chance to bring him to higher justice and you let him go free,” she said. “What do you think opening the door’s going to do?”

  “You’re talking about the day in his office?” I asked. “When the principal and I got into it?”

  “You’re crazy,” Serge told her. “No way was I going to let him hurt Maggie just so you could find justice.”

  “I would never let him hurt Maggie,” said Serena. “I was there to help her focus her power.”

  “You mean her anger,” objected Serge. “And there’s no good in that.”

  “The red,” I said. “That was you.”

  I sensed her sarcastic response, though she said nothing.

  “Why are you here?” I asked.

  “Him.” She nodded at Serge. “The night on the bridge, you caught my attention.”

  “If I had skin, it would be crawling,” he said.

  “I meant right now,” I said. “Why are you here, at the school?” But I wasn’t her focus, anymore.

  “Don’t be an idiot,” she said to Serge. “You showed potential. You proved you had what it takes when it comes to a higher form of justice.”

  “Yep, definitely crawling.”

  “But you.” Serena turned my way. “All this hand-wringing. You’re supposed to be a guardian—”

  “Not yet,” I said. “I’m still training.”

  “A guardian,” she repeated like I hadn’t heard her. “A gatekeeper. Life and death, the eternal cycle of souls is on your shoulders, and you’re fretting over police and social services. The bad people are bad people, and there is no helping them. There is only saving their future victims. I tried to show you that with Matty, Zach, and Madison, but you’re as obtuse as ever.”

  “And what you did, killing the man who had Madison, that was better? You took their souls at the lowest point—”

  “They don’t deserve a higher point,” she said. “And you’re naive if you think they’re worth a second or third chance.”

  “Hurting them hurts you—”

  “But it saves the other souls,” she said. “There’s a cost to being a guardian. You do what’s right for others, even if it hurts you. If you can’t do that, then go do something else.”

  “I’d love to keep arguing with a faceless entity,” I said. “But I have to nab a killer.” Great. My irritation
with Serena turned me into a cliché. I turned to Serge. “Get out of the way, I’m going to try to melt the lock.”

  I did my best to ignore the serengti, took a breath, and concentrated. “I feel something—”

  There was a small bang, a blast of fire shot a hole through the door.

  Serena snorted.

  “Close enough,” I muttered. I used the hole to unlock the door. “Stay here,” I told her.

  “Whatever,” she said. “You need me.”

  “No one needs you,” said Serge. “Especially if you’re sending Maggie down the wrong path.”

  “What is she, Little Red Riding Hood?”

  “I’m not the only one noticing your fangs,” he said.

  “I’m pointing out the obvious. The higher-ups interfere when it suits them, and stay quiet when it doesn’t. Interesting, don’t you think, that Hera showed up on the night Serge died?”

  “So?” asked Serge.

  “So, why didn’t she show up with your dad, Maggie? Why didn’t she warn you? Why didn’t she prevent Hank’s murder?” Anger throbbed in her voice. “Did he deserve to die? And why did Hera rein in Craig when all he did was try to help you?”

  I didn’t have the answers, and I didn’t like the questions. And I super didn’t like that I agreed with her.

  “You know I’m right,” she said. “They have an agenda, one they’re not sharing. They don’t care about who dies and who gets hurt.”

  “Don’t listen to her, Mags,” said Serge. “There’s got to be more than that to the story.”

  “Let’s go,” I said. “We’re wasting time.”

  “Where do you think Amber and Pygmalion will be?” Serge pushed himself between me and Serena.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe his office?” In the dark and alone, the school seemed bigger, containing more secret spots than I’d remembered.

  “Why don’t you follow the energy trail?” asked Serena.

  Serge and I glanced at each other.

  “Amateurs. Focus on the principal and Amber—”

  “It’s creepy, isn’t it?” Serge whispered. “To think all this time, she’s been shadowing both of us—” He spun to face her. “You must have known something bad was coming, why didn’t you warn us?”

  “I don’t know everything,” she said. “And I tried to protect everyone the best I could, but multitasking is tearing me apart. I have charges too, and souls that need protecting. I can’t be everywhere at once.” She pointed to the floor. “Look for her energy. Imagine who and what she is, and let it come to you.”

  I thought about Amber, the things I knew of her. A faint pink trail lit the hallway, a wobbly line that led to the principal’s office. “Why do you care about me and Serge? You have access to anyone you want.”

  “I want you,” she said. “And him.”

  I tried to get her to say more, but she refused. Which irritated me. “If you’re going to be here,” I said, as we moved into the main office. “The least you can do is be helpful. Shutting down when I have questions is nothing but you acting like a jerk.”

  “Shut up,” she said. Serena pointed at the principal’s door. Light leaked out from the crack in the doorway. She moved toward it. “Looks like he and Amber are in there. No one can see us but you. Stop talking before everyone starts calling you the undertaker’s crazy daughter.”

  “Thanks for nothing,” I muttered as she moved ahead.

  “Let me go first,” said Serge. “In case there’s something bad or gross going on inside. You don’t need to see it.”

  “And you do?” I asked.

  “I can explode and put myself back together. According to Nell, you can barely dress yourself.”

  “Now is not the time to criticize my fashion choices.”

  He put his finger to his mouth.

  Great. Everyone was telling me to shut up. I stifled a sigh and snuck toward the door.

  “You want me to help you with answers,” said Serena. “Here’s my help. Call the cops.” She moved from the light.

  “Why? What’s going on?” I pushed open the door. Amber and the principal lay in a crumpled pile. The bullet holes in their bodies told me they’d never rise again.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Mrs. Sinclair sat in one of the chairs in the main office, a blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders, with only a hint of her blue sweater peeking through. She rocked, moaning and muttering, tears falling unchecked.

  Nancy went up to her and held out a paper cup. “You want some coffee, May?”

  She stared at the cup for a long moment. “Yeah, I guess. Is Amber okay?”

  Nancy glanced at me. “Amber’s body is safe,” she said gently. “The team is with her now, collecting as much evidence as they can.” Nancy sat and took May’s hand. “We’ll get whoever did this.”

  “She was shot. So was Larry. Is it the same guy who killed Hank Johnson?”

  “It’s too early to say.” Nancy shifted. “You went in and saw Amber?”

  “When—” She licked her lips. “When I got the call, I couldn’t believe, I couldn’t—I had to see for myself.”

  “The deputy said you took some of her things home with you?”

  Mrs. Sinclair nodded. “The scarf, her phone and earbuds. She’s always misplacing them. Her wallet and keys. She wouldn’t like to lose those.”

  “I know,” Nancy said gently. “But right now, we need those things. Someone hurt Amber and Larry, and we need all the help we can get. There might be a clue in Amber’s phone or in her car. We need the keys.”

  May nodded, the movement chopped and painful. “I’m sorry. I should’ve—”

  “It’s okay,” soothed Nancy, taking the items May held out. “Drink your coffee. I’ll be back in a minute.” She stood and, noticing me, came over.

  “How much tragedy can one woman take?” Nancy asked.

  “I hope this is it,” I said. “Mrs. Sinclair’s been through enough, I’d hate to think of the gossip getting worse now that Amber and Principal Larry were victims of a double murder.” Nice one, hypocrite. An hour ago, I was hoping for something juicy so I could exchange my silence for May’s knowledge.

  “Death has a way of shutting people up,” said Nancy. “They’ll focus on Amber’s good qualities and forget about the other stuff.”

  “I hope so.”

  “You want to go through it with me, one more time. Why were you here?”

  I hedged the truth. “I wanted to talk to Amber. I had a feeling there was stuff going on.”

  “Stuff?”

  I shrugged. “Truth? I was hoping to find something that could connect her with my dad, or at least help me figure out what was going on.” If Dad had been here, I would’ve confessed fully, but he was gone, and I was alone in the dark with my conscience.

  Nancy gave me a hard look. “Maybe you were hoping to find something you could flip into a clue or an answer? Looking to blackmail her for information?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Because I know you. It’s okay, kid.”

  I shook my head. “This whole thing is…it’s either turning me into a terrible person or it’s revealing that I was terrible to begin with.”

  “Flipping information is a common investigative tactic,” she said. “Don’t beat yourself up over it.” Nancy squeezed my hand. “In fact, stop beating yourself up over everything.”

  “I miss him,” I whispered. “I wish Dad was here.”

  “Me too,” she said. “So bad it hurts.” She put her arm around my shoulder. “Let’s make a deal. We’ll hurt together. Okay?”

  I nodded.

  “Don’t shut yourself off and don’t start keeping secrets. You have people to talk to. If not me, then Craig, Nell, and—” She glanced up to see if anyone was listening. “—Serge. Where is he, anyway?”


  “In the room with the bodies. I tried to get a reading, but I almost set fire to the desk and papers. There’re some marks—”

  “That’ll mess with forensics.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay, I’ll take care of it.”

  Which reminded me of Carl. I told her about his threat.

  “We’ll be fine,” she told me.

  “But he knows things—”

  “We’ll be fine,” she repeated. “I’ll take care of it. He doesn’t know anything you can’t find in an Internet search, and he’s testing you to see if you’ll cough up information. It’s Basic Interrogation 101. When Serge’s done, I want you to go home. The media’s starting to gather outside, and I don’t want you around. Especially if Carl’s in the mix. He’s not a threat, but he’s a nuisance and neither of us needs that right now.”

  “I can go now, if you want.”

  “I’d rather have Serge with you,” she said. “In case one of the reporters gets handsy. He can step in and upset their electrical systems.”

  “For the record, I know how to take care of myself.”

  “If you do it, it’s assault. If Serge does it, then there’s no paperwork.” She gave me a tired smile. “Give a girl a break, would you?”

  She left to take care of the investigation and Serge found me a couple minutes later.

  Did you find anything?

  He made a face. “Sort of. There’s a weird liquid in the blood. I want to ask Craig about it.”

  Let’s go. Nancy wants us out of here.

  He started for the door, then stopped and stared at me.

  What?

  “I’m an idiot.” He looked back at the office.

  They say admission is the first step to recovery.

  He shot me a dirty look. “I was standing there like a chump, listening to the cops talk, but I’m energy. Why am I listening when I could hack Amber’s phone? Give me a second, let me see what I can find out.”

  My presence was going to be noticed, but I made my way over to the crime scene. The door was wide open. Frank and a female deputy were there. I took a spot by the frame, did my best imitation of a potted plant, and listened.