The Rules

by Nancy Holder

  “Water, water everywhere but not a drop to drink.

  If you ever want to leave here, now’s the time to think.

  On my words now you must dwell.

  For your sins fetch from the well.”

  “What?” Hiro set down his bottle.

  “Sins? Like sins committed against Alexa?” Larson said.

  Robin’s mind went into puzzle mode, watching as if from afar as Kyle seemed to realize he would get sick if he didn’t change and stripped out of his wet clothes, turning away from the group as Larson offered up his hoodie. Mick gave him a pair of sweats, socks, and sneakers from a gear bag at the back of the stage.

  Larson lowered himself into a half crouch, looming over Heather. He swayed, his face a pasty gray. Robin gently touched his shoulder.

  He jumped so hard that she recoiled in fear.

  “Hey,” Kyle said, putting his hand in the pocket of the hoodie. “There’s something…”

  He pulled out his hand to reveal a pair of earbuds.

  And a large hoop studded with sparkly stones—the mate of the one Heather was still wearing.

  “Larson!” Hiro shouted.

  LARSON’S RULE #3: Never admit anything.

  Hiro charged Larson and threw him to the ground. He pulled back a fist and slammed it into Larson’s side as Larson scrabbled out from underneath him. Hiro caught Larson around the thighs and pummeled him, fists smashing into Larson’s rib cage. A sharp pain swallowed Larson up and he gagged, grabbing at his side. More blows rained down on him and he covered his head.

  A second later, powerful arms dragged Hiro off. Larson coughed and heaved. The pain was unbearable. Robin reached out her hands to him, while behind her, Kyle slammed Hiro against the wall.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Kyle shouted.

  “It’s him!” Hiro said. “He’s the killer!”

  Larson coughed again, and a clanging, rolling, throbbing shot through his rib cage. He shut his eyes until he could speak. “I think he broke one of my ribs.”

  “Why do you have her earring?” Robin asked him.

  “I found it,” he managed to say. “On the floor.”

  “Where?” she pressed.

  Larson struggled to remember. Pain fuzzed him out; the whole hideous night was an exhausting, chaotic haze.

  “Back there somewhere,” he said, pointing in what he thought was the right direction. “I was hunting. I saw it.”

  “You mean after you bailed on me?” Praveen accused.

  Beth took the earring from Robin and examined it. She turned it over and then held it up to the light.

  “Why didn’t you say anything? All this time everyone’s been looking for her and you had this?”

  “Yeah, and?” Larson retorted, grunting. “Does it mean anything? Change anything? Girls lose earrings all the time. I figured if I said anything, people would treat me exactly like you guys are doing now. I didn’t know it was definitely Heather’s.”

  “But you didn’t see or hear anything else?” Robin asked.

  “No, Sherlock,” he said, and Robin flinched. He wasn’t sorry. He was hurt and he hadn’t done anything to anyone. Okay, except for running faster up the cliff than Beth. That was the sum total of his crimes.

  “You saw nothing that would have told you that Heather was in trouble?” Kyle chimed in.

  Larson started to shake his head, then stopped. Kyle cocked a brow and Larson decided he might as well share, since keeping silent hadn’t worked out too well.

  “Well,” he said, “I thought someone was watching me.”

  Robin blinked. “Like how?”

  There was no way he was going to tell her what he thought had really happened. It sounded ridiculous, like he was making it up on the spot. He’d rather take his chances with the killer than this overamped mob.

  “People hook up at these parties all the time. You’d know that if you belonged here, Robin. You’d learn not to look too hard in dark corners, you know?” He touched his right side and sucked in air between his teeth.

  “You’re lying,” Hiro said, and everyone looked over at him.

  Larson struggled to sit up and despite his petulant dis of her, Robin helped him. A little ashamed, he glared over at Hiro. “What’s your deal? You took off from Kyle and me. For all we know, you did push Drew and then you killed Heather.”

  He couldn’t tell if Hiro looked more scared or angry.

  “No way, man. I was just trying to find him and then I saw him fall, so I was on my way back when I heard everyone yelling. Besides, I wouldn’t have hurt Heather,” he said, his voice more aggressive.

  “Who was the last person to see Heather?” Robin asked.

  “She bailed on me after we found our first clue and had to read August’s revised Shakespeare,” Kyle said.

  “We saw.” Robin pointed. “She went down that hall.”

  “Yeah, that’s where we ran into each other,” Hiro said.

  “What were you doing?” Larson asked. “Something that would make her lose her earring? Like knocking her out?”

  “No! She wanted to hook up,” Hiro said. “I went to get a condom and when I came back, she was gone. Whoever grabbed her must have done it then.”

  Larson coughed again, the agony causing him to pound his fist on his thigh.

  “You didn’t puncture a lung, did you?” Beth asked. She was worried but her voice was cold. The love was gone. She was still mad at him for leaving her on the beach.

  “What? No, what?” Larson asked.

  “If Hiro broke your rib, it could have punctured your lung. Are you coughing up blood?”

  “Oh my God,” Hiro blurted. “Hey, man. I don’t know what came over me. I swear it.”

  He ignored Hiro. He didn’t know why Hiro was pretty much getting away with pounding on him.

  “No,” he said to Beth. “How do you know that, anyway?”

  “I watch a lot of TV. A punctured lung can kill you.”

  A jolt of panic zapped him. He wasn’t coughing up blood, right? He didn’t taste blood in his mouth or anything. He wiped his hand across his lips. No blood there. “If you did that to me…,” he said, raising a fist in Hiro’s direction.

  “Newsflash, August. It’s not safer in here,” Beth said.

  “Well, it would be if we booted Hiro,” said Larson. “Push him out the door and lock it.”

  Hiro ran his hands through his black hair. It stood straight up from his skull. Larson still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that the drummer had attacked him. The guy was seriously messed up.

  Beth took the paper from Robin and waved it in the air. “If we don’t play by the killer’s rules and follow the clues, we’re all dead.”

  “That’s bull,” Robin blurted.

  Beth raised a brow. “And you know this because…?”

  Robin opened her mouth, then closed it. She clearly didn’t know.

  “He’s already killed three people. Do you really think he’d hesitate to kill someone else?” Beth asked.

  “If it even is a he,” Larson said pointedly as he stared back at her.

  “I think we should do it,” Thea said, half raising her hand, as if she had to ask for permission to speak. Her face was blotchy and swollen. “We should follow the clues and maybe if we play by his rules long enough, he’ll let us live.”

  “Or we’ll find a way to escape,” Beth replied.

  “What about us?” Mick asked. “We’re just the band.”

  “Drew is dead,” Hiro snapped.

  Mick closed his eyes and lowered his head. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “He’s at large,” Kyle said. “I say we don’t piss him off until we can figure out a way to take him out.”

  “No, we shouldn’t play this psycho’s game. His rules keep him in control,” Robin argued. “If we all stick together, there’s nothing he can do to us.”

  “Hey, guys, my gas can’s gone,” Kyle said suddenly.

  Everyone
turned and looked. Sure enough, no gas can.

  “It was full,” August said. “The killer could have already doused the outside of this place with it and be waiting, watching us, ready to light a match and kill us all right now if we don’t do what he wants.”

  Beth sniffed the air. Thea started to cry again. Praveen hadn’t stopped. Stacy rested her forehead in her hands.

  “That’s assuming the killer isn’t someone in this room,” Kyle said, still pinning Hiro.

  “How could that be?” Hiro insisted. “People have died right in front of us.”

  “Cage was beaten,” Kyle said.

  “Hey, I was here. In this room,” Hiro said.

  “You guys have had breaks,” Kyle said. “Lots of time to wander around. You could have done it. Look what you did to Larson.”

  “Okay, I lost it,” Hiro said. “I’m sorry. We’re all losing it. We’re a rock band. We didn’t sign on for any of this!”

  August looked a little lost without his clipboard and headset. Just one of the pawns, no longer the dungeon master. “I say we play his game. I don’t think we can afford not to. He—or she—is holding all the cards now and we just have to play along, hope for a lucky break.”

  “Nice try, August,” Beth said. “But it’s over.”

  “I wish to God it was!” August yelled at her. “I am not doing this!”

  “Does anyone even know where we are?” Thea wailed. “I sure didn’t tell my parents.”

  August’s defeated huff was the worst possible response. The clues about the party’s location had been doled out one at a time.

  They were completely on their own.

  From the corner, Stacy whispered, “I’m dying.” A moment later she face-planted onto the floor.

  THE TOWER

  MORGAN’S RULE #2: Keep playing until the game is over.

  Something skittered across her cheek.

  There was a growl.

  I’m alive.

  Morgan’s lids fluttered as she forced them open. Shadows, darkness. She was a ball of pain. She heard another growl, low and menacing, and by some miracle she rolled onto her side; from there, very slowly, she forced herself onto her hands and knees. Something dangled from her chest and she sucked in a shriek as she batted at it. Her fingers closed around what felt like paper and her hand spasmed as she yanked it free.

  The black world spun. Her ears were ringing. Knuckles taut as she clenched the paper, she dropped her hand back to the ground and made herself crawl forward.

  A sharp nip pierced her jeans leg. She sucked in a cry. Something had just bitten her. She scrabbled faster, swaying from side to side, feeling something wet dripping from her head.

  Get out of here. Get away.

  She heard the chuffing of a large animal. The padding and shuffling of large feet through the trash. A glass bottle rolled.

  “Oh God, please help me,” she whispered as her left arm gave way and she tumbled to the floor. Cage, where was he?

  She heard more growling. Mountain lion.

  She crawled on her elbows when her hands gave way, then pushed herself up. Everything hurt. But she was a cheerleader, an athlete, in better shape than most people. She had to save herself. Had to keep going. There was a wild animal after her.

  Faster, faster.

  A faint light glowed up ahead. She saw that she was in a tunnel and she was clutching a white envelope. The light was a lantern on a large cardboard box. There was something draped beside it. She heaved out a sob and struggled toward it, but as she approached, her blood froze.

  It was a long black coat like the one her attacker had worn. She stared hard past the light, wondering if August was lurking in the dark, waiting to finish the job he had started:

  Killing her.

  She crawled to the side of the tunnel, panting, eyes darting everywhere. The world began to dim and she fought back panic.

  On the front of the envelope was printed YOU KILLED THEM, YOU SICK BASTARD. She opened it with badly shaking hands and pulled out a piece of paper.

  “Water, water everywhere but not a drop to drink.

  If you ever want to leave here, now’s the time to think.

  On my words now you must dwell.

  For your sins fetch from the well.”

  A new clue. Or half of one. Cage would have the other half. She choked back a sob. Maybe that meant he wasn’t dead. She closed her eyes and tears spilled. They were going to be okay. They were going to get out of here.

  From the direction she had come, she heard another growl. She flattened her shoes on the ground and pushed backward, sliding slowly up the tunnel wall. On unsteady feet, she lurched forward like Kyle’s imitation of Frankenstein. She staggered and pitched forward onto the cardboard box. The coat fell off, revealing a black plastic clipboard with envelopes and pages attached. She was about to slide it under her arm to read later when she caught sight of a single word written in black marker with a circle around it:

  ROBIN?!

  The word was written over a complicated-looking spreadsheet, and there was another note in marker:

  CAGE WHY NO ENVELOPE?! MOVE MORGAN? HEATHER NEXT!

  She looked fearfully over her shoulder, then examined the other envelopes. On each was printed YOU KILLED THEM, YOU SICK BASTARD. What did “Cage why no envelope” mean?

  The growl became a roar and she dropped the clipboard in a panic. Her hand smacked the tunnel wall as she zigzagged drunkenly, losing her balance, about to go down. Faster, careening completely off balance, falling, getting up, falling.

  Footpads picked up pace. So did she. She had to get out of there, had to move.

  There were stairs, a rotted wooden banister.

  She’d never make it.

  I have to try.

  Sucking in her breath, she grabbed with both hands and began to pull herself up the first step. Her legs weighed a ton each.

  Got to the first step.

  The second.

  “Oh God, oh God,” she whispered.

  The third.

  Something pushed her from behind, hard. She fell onto her hands with a deep grunt.

  Excruciating pain. Her upper thigh.

  She kicked and tried to yell, but her voice was gone. Kept kicking. Tried to get up another step. She didn’t know if she was moving. Didn’t know if she was climbing.

  More pain. More growling. Something tugged hard at her legs and then her hand came down on flat ground. She was all the way up the stairs. She had made it!

  She scooted forward, sobbing with relief.

  And a hundred tiny skittering things rushed over her face.

  ROBIN’S RULE #8: It’s always better to take action than to sit and worry.

  All the yelling around Robin collapsed into the pinpricks of Stacy’s glassy eyes. Kyle was doing chest compressions but there was no use. Stacy was dead. She had said she was dying. How had she known? Had she overdosed? She’d been throwing up for what seemed like the entire night.

  Kyle stood up, shook his head. Others swooped down on the body with a cloth as he moved toward Robin.

  “We’re going to do some quick exploring,” Kyle said, taking Robin’s hand.

  “Wait,” August said.

  Together they bulleted into action, rushing outside to look for clues, or help; it had dawned on Robin that the killer might have a working car that they could take away from him.

  On the side of the warehouse facing the parking lot, a rusted fire escape dangled about six feet above the ground and Kyle gave her a leg up to reach it. Her weight stressed the strip of salt-encrusted stairs and it squealed and shuddered as he hoisted up onto it like a trapeze artist. It groaned and swayed, and Robin gritted her teeth and kept following, bracing herself every step of the way for a violent tumble onto the brittle fragments of shells.

  They kept going until they reached the bell tower. A circle of fluted wrought iron protected a brick enclosure from which hung an old encrusted brass bell on a rusted iron chain. AZUL CANNERY w
as tamped on the rim, but the clapper was missing. They stood panting for a moment, instinctively holding hands as they gazed into the fog. It was like floating in a hot air balloon far above the horizon, and Robin felt weightless. She heard the crash of the surf and her own breathing. The glow from Kyle’s flashlight sank into the swirling white upon white. They couldn’t see anything except the shapes of a few of the buildings and a sprawl of darkness in the parking lot, where the cars sat as motionless as toads on the alert, and just as useless. She tried to imagine how someone could steal their batteries without getting caught. How they could hide Cage under a tarp in the busy party room and push Heather.

  Did someone poison Stacy? Or did she simply OD? What is simple about overdosing on drugs?

  She squeezed her eyes shut for a second. Then her boots hit something uneven in the floor and she bent down to feel it.

  It was a trapdoor.

  She squatted down and together she and Kyle opened it to reveal, by flashlight, a drop of about ten feet into what looked like an attic. Kyle insisted on going in first, and after he made a circle with the cone of light, he lifted his arms to Robin and she snaked down his front. Heat kindled in her tummy and roared to furnace levels by the time her feet touched the dusty, cobwebby floor. They crushed each other, rocking from side to side. She wanted, needed to stay close to him until her shaking stopped. Until forever.

  “I feel like I’m going to jitter apart,” she whispered.

  “Me too,” he said.

  They held hands as he passed the flashlight over the piles of items, mostly barrels and crates stenciled with AZUL CANNERY, MANTILLA, CALIFORNIA. Everything was coated with thick layers of grime. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed, but it would have been possible for the killer to move a few barrels and boxes to squeeze through and sneak down a set of stairs they had yet to find, then reposition everything to conceal the route.

  Still, they tried to clear out enough space to investigate, but the attic was so crammed it proved an impossible task. Robin wiped her sweaty face, then breathed in slowly as Kyle came up behind her, placing his arms around her waist. He kissed her earlobe. He smelled of cinnamon and seawater. Tingles went through her cheeks and lips and even her eyelids. Kyle was here, so alive. Everything else was dying.