“I set up for you over here, Bryce. We’ll take a few minutes to get the lighting right and then you can begin.”
Hogan. Hogan is here. He’s dressed in khaki cargo shorts and tennis shoes, a Seamore Productions baseball cap, and a collared shirt open at the neck. I find myself staring. He does a double-take in my direction, smirks, and winks as he and Bryce walk farther down the beach. If I was ever at a loss for words, it’s now. His calf muscles are tan and defined. The memory of my hands on him creates a warm fluttering desire. He must have arrived early to set up. His lack of presence this morning makes sense. I’m relieved he still has his job and I’m reminded I still have mine.
My head is back in the game.
As we leave the island on the boat, I turn back to gaze at it, attempting to remember every second I spent in paradise. Bryce said we were going back to the beach boardroom. I think I played well, but the dice weren’t always rolling my way. We were instructed to roll and choose which path we wanted to take. Every time you reached a stop point, you had to guess two truths and a lie from the person seated there. If you guessed incorrectly twice, you were out. There was a move-ahead-three-lies space, but I didn’t land on it. It was impossible to see where everyone else was in the process because the board was long with different paths to take. I answered correctly every time, but I think High-Rise got to the end first. It’s just a feeling. I lost track of Brenda, George, and Ervin, so I have no idea if I played as well as I think I did or not. If I lost, I hope they tell me here because I won’t go home. I’ll stay and live under a palm tree for the rest of my life.
Back at the boardroom, The Fabulist thanks us for playing and lets us know we’ll get the results in the morning. He invites us to a luau, and it’s amazing. I pray we’re staying the night, but when we are taken back to the airport it’s pretty clear we aren’t.
It’s late and I’m full from the incredible dinner on the beach. I find a window seat and wait for take-off. I’m a little sunburned on my arms, even though they provided us with sunscreen, and the burn makes me feel cold. I raise my drowsy head to ask the lone flight attendant if she has a blanket when I notice a commotion by the doors in front of the plane. Some of the crew, including the producers, join us on-board. There are no cameras filming, I suppose because it’s dark and most of the players are already leaning back in their seats asleep. I turn to gaze out the window and feel my seat shake slightly.
“Is anyone sitting here?”
My smile is probably too big for my face, but hearing his voice causes me to do dumb things. “It’s all yours.”
As Hogan sits, he looks me over. I don’t know if it’s the fact that I’m hugging myself or if he notices me shiver, but he immediately stands and reaches into an overhead compartment. He hands me a blanket and a pillow. The rest of the crew boards and all seats are accounted for.
“You got some sun, huh? You really need to protect that beautiful skin of yours.”
Movement catches my eye and I notice Herman Matthews has turned in his seat to take a gander behind him. His eyes meet mine before moving to Hogan and back to me. He nods his head as he faces forward again.
I whisper, “I don’t think Herman likes that you’re sitting by me.”
He takes a look around. “He needs to get over it. It’s a full house. This was the only seat available.”
I smirk. “It wasn’t when you sat down in it.”
“Well, it would have been,” he states as he buckles his seatbelt and checks to make sure mine is as well. “I kinda called you.”
“You called me? What does that mean?”
“Rene said she’d sit anywhere but by Brenda because of her laugh. I took advantage of the moment and said, ‘I get Sam.’” I furrow my brows in disbelief. “I had to fight for you. You’re very popular,” he adds with obvious sarcasm.
He unfolds the blanket from my hands and spreads it over me. I watch him move. He’s trying to take care of me and usually, on any other day, at any other time, I’d tell him I could do it myself. But he’s being so sweet and I’m so glad to be with him, I don’t mind.
“Thank you,” he says.
“For what?”
“For letting me do that without freaking out and telling me how you can take care of yourself.” He adjusts his seat and attempts to stretch out his long tan legs.
How does he know me so well in such a short amount of time? “For your information, I didn’t mind, but just this one time.”
“Got it.”
“I thought you were going to stay away from me?”
“It’s a small plane. I couldn’t get away from you if I tried.” A second later he adds, “And I really didn’t want to.” He tips the baseball cap he’s still wearing over his eyes as he closes them and laces his fingers over his chest.
The captain speaks briefly and advises us the flight attendant will lower the lights for takeoff. As the cabin dims, I rest my head against the pillow Hogan gave me, gazing out the window. I whisper, “Goodbye, paradise.” I feel a bit sad to have to leave such a beautiful place.
His hand moves from his chest and slides under the blanket. He intertwines his fingers with mine on the armrest. His cap is still over his eyes, but his lip curls slightly upward.
I’ve never thought holding someone’s hand could feel this way. In my twenty-seven years, it’s probably one of the most romantic moments of my life.
Takeoff is smooth and there’s no talking on the plane. It’s so quiet, I might have slept too, but having Hogan next to me and holding my hand makes that impossible.
Just when I think he might have fallen asleep, he moves and caresses my fingers. Touching him in any way makes my heart pound. He takes a breath and adjusts his grip, moving our entwined fingers onto my lap.
The muscles in my pelvic floor tighten. His pinky stirs and rubs the skin on my leg. He stops moving and I’m disappointed. I unlatch my fingers from his and place his open palm on my upper thigh.
He breathes deeply next to me but never opens his eyes. He squeezes my leg and my body reacts to his touch. His fingers slowly slide up and down, touching my skin. Chills break out all over me. He moves to the inside of my thigh and he stops as if he’s either not sure he should or waiting for permission. I place my hand over his and move it higher. His fingers are near the very edge of my shorts and I’m all but screaming for him to do whatever he wants. If he were to lift his pinky, even just slightly, he’d be between my legs and possibly under my shorts.
He moves his pinky. He moves his pinky.
He strokes slowly over my shorts, but I feel every bit of it. I love his touch. I don’t want him to stop. I want more. Staring out the window, I slide down a bit in my seat. I grip the armrest as he moves to cup me. I almost gasp, but don’t dare make a sound.
It’s an awkward position, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He pulses over my shorts as he slips a finger under the edge and touches my underwear briefly. I bite my lip and swallow hard, turning my head to face him. His cap is still over his eyes but a slow smile crosses his lips as he continues to stroke me. His chest is moving more rapidly and I know he’s as excited as I am.
His middle finger presses firmly against my clit outside my shorts, and he rubs in a rhythmic pattern. I move my hips slightly, and my breathing picks up. He’s making me crazy. How can he touch me this way, outside two layers of material, and turn me on more than other guys have with their head between my legs?
I swallow hard and tighten my grip on the armrests as he continues his pursuit, fingers pulsing, sliding, squeezing as if he knows exactly what I need. I feel myself building. His fingers move with purpose.
I clench my muscles as his touch sends me over the edge. Biting my tongue, I climax in waves and squeeze my thighs together tightly as he slows. My head flips from the window to him and he lifts the cap off his eyes. Our eyes meet and burn with desire. His lips part and his eyes glisten as they stare into mine. He lifts his hand, almost reluctantly from in between my legs and moves i
t back to his chest. I lean toward him and attempt to speak. More than anything right now, I want to feel him and return the pleasure he gave me. He leans, meeting me halfway and whispers first.
“Absolutely not. This moment belongs to me. But next time, I will watch. Stay here. Don’t move.”
He stands and makes his way to the bathroom. He returns after a few minutes and sits back down, buckling his seatbelt once more.
“Hogan, I…”
“It’s done. No reason to make a mess here.” He winks and I can’t help but smile.
“That”—I motion with my head—“belonged to me. And I always get what I want.”
The production crew member in front of us stirs briefly, then settles into a more comfortable position. I glance behind me over the large seats. Tex/George and the passenger next to him are out like a light.
I return my eyes to his and he’s smiling from ear to ear as he pulls his cap over his eyes. “Best plane ride I ever had,” he adds before closing his eyes once more.
TWO MORE DAYS, two challenges, and two results later, it’s down to Tex—or George, I should say, now that I know his name—High-Rise, and me. Brenda lost the Hawaii challenge and High-Rise won a chance to meet The Fabulist, just like I did, but I never found out what happened. He wouldn’t speak of it at all.
Ervin lost the next challenge. Chef Nowar had a reason for telling us about his meals. The stories about his client who liked certain things and not others contained clues that showed up in a test. If we paid attention, we knew what was true and what was not. George made it through by the skin of his teeth. I hope both he and Ervin learned a lesson about not being rude when someone is speaking.
I’ve only seen Hogan in passing since our night on the plane. Herman has kept him busy and, I sense, away from me. It’s a gut feeling, but I trust it completely.
We’ve gathered in the boardroom for our last group challenge. After Bryce’s introduction, The Fabulist speaks.
“And then there were three. The mind of a liar is a fascinating thing. Science shows we are shaped from conception and genetics affects the development of personality. The things we experience even as a fetus can contribute to the person we become. Society also impacts how we react to the world. Some people are faced with challenges in life and learn to rise above them. For others, these challenges create problems. This, combined with genetics, can alter the mind.
“Today we will explore a different side of lying. Most people know when they’re twisting the truth but are compelled by emotion or fear to fabricate something. They may struggle with the lie, either internally or externally, but there is always an underlying reason for it. Some lie for sport, hiding the truth better than others and still functioning as respected members of society. Other minds grow more and more twisted until a lie becomes their truth.
“In business you will find many types of people, but the most dangerous of all is he who lies and believes he is telling the truth. These individuals are sociopaths or psychopaths. Today you will have a chance to meet both. Psychopaths are thought to be born a certain way, with a genetic predisposition, while sociopaths are shaped and formed. You will be meeting five people. Two of them are highly functioning members of society who lie with ease and three of them are serving life sentences for crimes they have committed. They may or may not be sociopaths. Your job will be to tell me which is which.”
Holy shit. This sounds dangerous.
“We are nearing the end of our time together. One of you three will win the game. This is a difficult challenge but one that will give me insight like no other. Bryce will explain more when we arrive. Now I’d ask that you follow him to the roof, where my helicopter awaits. You’ll be whisked away to yet another island, only this one was used as a prison. Enjoy your stay on Alcatraz.”
I’m a bit intimidated by this challenge and admittedly pretty damn scared. Psychopaths who committed crimes? Professional liars? I try to remember what I’d read before we left for Los Angeles as George and I stand and make our way to the elevators. High-Rise stays behind. Bryce joins us and advises us High-Rise will be just a moment. My guard is up with him. He’s been disappearing more and more frequently lately and the fact that Bryce is covering for him makes it even more disturbing.
Alcatraz was more fascinating and less frightening than I anticipated. We never had to meet the alleged sociopaths face to face. We were placed in rooms with one-way mirrors. They sat in chairs facing us, dressed in orange and chained to iron rings in the floor.
We were each allowed to ask them two questions and when it was my turn, George and High-Rise left the room so they could not hear my questions or their answers. I repeated the process when it was their turn.
Hogan and the crew arrived before us to set up the cameras. Hogan was with us, filming, but only an armed guard was allowed in the room with the prisoners. Our questions were written on a piece of paper and the guard read them.
Now that we’re back, I wait for my turn in the diary room. My thoughts are everywhere. This challenge was insanely difficult. I chuckle at the irony of the word insane. High-Rise exits and it’s my turn. We are responsible for turning the cameras on and off ourselves this time.
I flip the switch and take my place on the couch’s X, then begin. “I’m not sure what to make of your choice for today’s challenge. Until today, I’d never considered the idea that some people could wholeheartedly and beyond a doubt believe their lies. I imagine in your world, they’re everywhere.
“Okay, the facts. Number one and number four were the functioning members of society. The other three were your convicts. There were very minor details that led me to this conclusion. I couldn’t use my regular bag of tricks for these liars. A normal liar’s voice either speeds up or slows down when they’re lying. None of them exhibited that. Sometimes liars use third person pronouns, like he or she rather than I, to avoid ownership. Again, none, zip, zero. There was no defensiveness employed by the guilty and no offensiveness used by the innocent. All in all, the only clues I found were during the times I could ask questions. My first question was for them to detail their crimes in reverse. I read a lot before I came here about how to trip up a liar, and this was the one thing that I felt might work with this group. It’s hard to tell the truth in reverse and even harder to tell a lie. They were extremely talented. But small discrepancies became apparent.”
I shift in my seat. I want to stand and pace, but I know I can’t. Instead, I rock as I think.
“My second question was to describe their favorite childhood toy. I asked this because I knew it was unexpected and would hopefully stir actual memories. They might have lied about their toys, but it was the change in behavior that fascinated me the most—the attempt to use their hands, the movement of their eyes as they spoke. Their responses led me to my conclusion. I hope this is enough for you. I don’t want to bore you with minor details, since we both know you’re a man of few words. Thank you for this opportunity. Hopefully ‘I’ll live to see another day.’”
After making air quotes with my hands for his words, I stand and turn off the camera. George enters as I leave. I take a deep breath and return to my seat. When George exits the diary room, Bryce returns to the boardroom.
“We’re going to take a break for dinner and then we’ll have our results. There will be no voting tonight and no challenge winner. This will be the last results show. The final test will take place tomorrow, and the winner will not be revealed until after the show airs in two months. Best of luck to all three of you.”
I sit by myself at dinner. I’m too anxious to talk to anyone. If I made a mistake, I hope my explanation or thought process will still pull me through. It’s my last night here. Either I’ll be leaving in a few minutes, or sleeping in my hotel bed one last time. I want this so badly I can taste it. I wish I could speak to Carmen. Hearing her reassuring voice would be medicine for my soul right now. I’m tired, on edge, and in need of sunshine, literally.
I wonder how George an
swered. I could ask him, but I don’t think I want to know at this point. One more quest and I’ll be home—back to my life and Carmen’s couch.
The thought causes my shoulders to slump forward. I’d forgotten about my messed up life outside of here. I’m still out of a job. What if I lose? Can I go home, knowing I may be sleeping on Carmen’s couch indefinitely? How am I going to explain all of this to my family? Will they be proud or embarrassed when they see the show? Will they even watch it?
I scratch my head and push my plate away, losing what little appetite I had. High-Rise catches my attention as he stands and trudges out, his camera operator trailing behind him. He’s been absent from things a lot lately. Pushing up from my seat, I decide to follow him, filmed as usual.
He strolls back to the boardroom and runs his fingers along the carvings in the table before moving to the front of the room. He pauses as he stares at something on the wall, then pushes it. The wall moves, revealing an entry or exit of some kind. He enters, and closes behind him.
Oh my God! What the hell? I immediately rush into the room and run my hands over the same area, finding the small inconsistency in the wall. When the door moves, I enter a smaller room with monitors, alone—with High-Rise.
“Sam!” he shrieks, placing his hand over his heart. “You frightened me.”
“I bet I did. How did you know about this place?”
“I didn’t know until just now. I was inspecting the architecture and happened upon it.”
I can’t get a handle on my feelings. What does my gut tell me? “You’re lying!”
“Oh, tosh, Sam. Don’t be silly.”
“Tosh? What the fuck does that mean?”
“Maybe I should ask how you knew about this room.”
“Don’t try to put this on me. I followed you, remember?”
Herman Matthews enters, shocked to find us there with both our camera operators. It’s a tight fit.
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