#NoEscape (Volume 3) (#MurderTrending)

by Gretchen McNeil

  Mackenzie clicked her tongue. “Careful what you wish for.”

  “Pop culture is amusing,” Shaun said, “for a distraction.” Persey was confident he’d never been amused or distracted in his entire life.

  Wes chortled, his laugh dripping with condescension. “It used to be. Now every hipster with an eBay account can claim some piece of media history.”

  Arlo bristled. “I’m not a hipster. I unironically listen to the Monkees, okay?”

  “How could someone ironically listen to the Monkees?” Persey was genuinely confused.

  Before Arlo could formulate an answer, Neela grabbed her arm, pointing to a framed envelope mounted on the wall. “Arlo, look! It’s a No-Prize!”

  Arlo bolted across the room toward the spot Neela had pointed out. “Holy shit! From 1964. And it’s not even opened.”

  “A what-what?” Kevin asked.

  The question had been addressed to Arlo, but Neela jumped in immediately with a long-winded answer. “It was a system instituted by Stan Lee at Marvel Comics in response to fans who wanted the company to issue rewards for readers who pointed out continuity problems in the comics. The prize is a non-prize—a letter from Stan Lee himself explaining that the letter writer had won exactly nothing.”

  Arlo arched an eyebrow. “So you read my blog?”

  “I…” Neela’s face flushed a bright shade of magenta and, for the first time since they’d met, she seemed to be lost for words. “I’m a member of the Geektacle community.”

  “Really? What’s your screen name?”

  Neela paused before answering. “TaraMehta91.”

  “Ohhhhh,” Kevin said. “You two know each other?”

  Arlo faltered. Just like when she emerged from the ATM booth, her sarcastic, worldly air slipped, the ever-present scowl widened into something more akin to confusion. But it hardly lasted long enough for Persey to notice, before the ballsy, combative Arlo had returned.

  “Nope” was all she said, then stepped away, supposedly to examine the next set of collectibles. “We should spread out. Look for something weird or unusual.”

  “How are we supposed to know?” Shaun asked. “Everything is weird.”

  “Shaun-bot’s right,” Kevin said. “It’s like the contents of two children’s bedrooms were consumed by a goat and we’ve just arrived in its stomach.”

  “I know you’re only here because of Persey,” Arlo said. “But even you should be able to tell if something looks odd or suspicious.” She sounded chipper again, the momentary alarm vanished. She loved being in charge, loved putting Kevin—and everyone else—in their place.

  With a shrug, Kevin followed Mackenzie, Shaun, and Wes, who had fanned out on the ground floor with Arlo, scanning the contents of every book and display case in minute detail, hoping to come across a certain something that might signal the crux of this challenge. And since they were all downstairs, Persey immediately did the opposite. She quietly backed toward the staircase, then tiptoed up to the second floor.

  Despite her proximity to the ceiling, the upper story of the Collectibles room felt less oppressive than downstairs. Even with Riot poking around at the far end, she felt like she could breathe more easily, move more freely. Probably the skylights and their fake-but-almost-kinda-real glow. If she forced herself to, she could pretend she was outdoors, alone, rather than cooped up in the Escape-Capades headquarters.

  I shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t be here.

  She laughed out loud. Shouldn’t have come? Like you had a choice. Ten million dollars…

  Even a fraction of that would make a huge difference in her life. She’d be able to get her own place, pay her own bills. Her future would be limitless instead of her current reality: frothing lattes after school and on weekends for people (assholes) who thought that six dollars for a cup of coffee was totally reasonable, trying to make enough extra cash to get by until she graduated from high school and had to not only find a real job but a real place to live.

  She paused, leaned forward on a low glass case tucked into a corner and let her head hang down, stretching her back. On the other side of the glass, a half dozen or so toys had been arranged in little clumps.

  At first, Persey didn’t know why the case seemed weird. Its contents—toys and action figures—looked identical to every other bookshelf and display case, both downstairs and up on the balcony, so there shouldn’t have been any reason for this one in particular to grab her attention. But as she continued to stare, she realized that this case was different.

  First, the case was drastically (suspiciously) underpopulated. All the other displays were packed with similarly thematic dolls and toys, but this case had only a handful. Second, the figures were compiled from “mixed media”—the other areas of the room were all organized by character or character type, but this case had Legos and superheroes, movie characters and cartoons, all jumbled together.

  “What did you find?” Kevin asked, Mackenzie glued to his side. She hadn’t heard them come up the stairs. “Anything interesting?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?” Kevin smiled, generating the same warm, comforting sensation that had bolstered her in the Hidden Library, and she cursed herself for being susceptible to his charm. “Looks to me like you’ve hit the jackpot.”

  But Mackenzie was more dismissive. “It’s just a bunch of toys like everything else up here.”

  “These are definitely out of place.” Arlo squeezed in between Kevin and Mackenzie. Of course Arlo would want to take control, especially in this room, which was so perfectly tailored to her strengths. But Persey wasn’t interested in the power struggle. She stepped aside, abdicating leadership, just as Shaun and Wes slid in to take her place.

  “Definitely anachronistic.” Shaun’s eyes slowly scanned the contents from character to character.

  Arlo scowled. “I literally just said that.”

  “You literally said ‘out of place,’” Shaun corrected her.

  “Which means the same thing. Literally.”

  Wes groaned. “And I figuratively wish you’d both shut the hell up.”

  The power struggle was in full effect.

  Riot crouched down at the side of the case. “Marvel, Star Wars, Scooby-Doo…And is that a wrestler?”

  Persey stood on her tiptoes to see over his spiky hair. He was right. Shirtless and ripped, the figurine wore the usual black Speedo bottoms, kneepads, and lace-up boots that indicated he was a professional wrestler. He was a redhead, the plastic beard molded onto his face painted a deep auburn, which matched the hair on his head—shaved on both sides and sticking straight up in the middle. A Mohawk.

  “Like you,” she murmured out loud.

  “Huh?” Riot said, looking up at her.

  Kevin hit him on the arm. “She said this dude looks like you. Or maybe she’s just picturing you shirtless in manties.”

  Persey gritted her teeth. She wanted to smack him.

  “Jealous?” Riot asked.

  “As if,” Mackenzie answered for him. She couldn’t fathom why Kevin might be interested in anyone else while she was around.

  “I can see the resemblance in the hair,” Kevin continued, unperturbed. “The rest? I don’t know—you don’t look yoked up under all that tweed.”

  Riot blinked. “I understand the individual words coming out of your mouth, but when you attempt to string them together into a sentence, I’m just completely lost.”

  “If you’re done participating in the hetero mating ritual,” Neela said, sounding somewhat irritated, “I believe this collectible doll is meant to be a representation of Riot.” Then she pointed at a different part of the case. “Because that Lego figure? She’s dressed in Slytherin house robes.”

  Arlo tilted her head. “You’re right. That’s Pansy Parkinson.”

  “Slytherin,” Persey said. “Like Arlo.”

  Neela smiled. “Exactly.”

  “I think…” Persey crouched in front of the case so she could see the f
igures straight on, the similarities coming into focus as she scanned them from left to right. Eight figures…

  “You think what?” Kevin asked, prompting her. As always.

  “I think these are meant to represent each of us.”

  “HUH.” ARLO KNELT DOWN BESIDE HER. “PANSY PARKINSON and the redheaded wrestler, check. Then we have Lando Calrissian. Judging by the rubber cape and unarticulated elbow and knee joints, I’d say that’s from the original 1980 Empire Strikes Back collection, and I’m assuming it’s meant to represent Shaun.”

  “The Lando system?” Kevin said.

  Shaun tilted his head. “What are you talking about?”

  “Dude,” Kevin laughed, “funny.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Kevin’s laughter switched from amused to nervous. “It’s a quote. From Empire Strikes Back. Leia says, ‘Lando system?’ and Han replies, ‘Lando’s not a system; he’s a man.’”

  Only Shaun wasn’t being funny. He was missing that upgrade. “I’ve never seen a Star Wars movie.”

  Kevin teetered backward as if he’d been kicked in the chest. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Lando Calrissian, as originally portrayed by American actor Billy Dee Williams,” Neela explained rapidly, “is an old friend of Han Solo’s, who at the time of Episode Five is serving as the baron administrator at the mining colony on the planet Bespin.”

  “So he’s middle management from the seventies?” Shaun asked.

  “Eighties,” Kevin said.

  “Well, technically the character is from a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away,” Neela said, laughing at her own joke, “but by way of 1980, yes.”

  “Could be worse,” Mackenzie said, nodding to the other end of the case. “You could have been Velma.”

  The big-headed Funko POP! doll of Velma from Scooby-Doo had massively exaggerated square-rimmed glasses that reminded Persey of…

  “Is that me?” Neela squeaked.

  Mackenzie wrinkled her mouth in fake sympathy. “’Fraid so.”

  “But…but isn’t she the frumpy one?”

  “Well, she’s not the hot one,” Wes said, “that’s for sure.”

  Neela’s fuchsia blush was back, deeper and more intense than before. “I don’t think…I mean, I know I’m not…”

  Poor Neela. She should have known better than to put her insecurities on display in front of this bunch of jackals, just waiting for the smell of a rotting corpse to pounce on their dinner. But Persey wasn’t going to let Neela fall prey to the likes of Wes and Mackenzie.

  “She’s the smart one,” Persey said. “The one who solves every mystery.”

  “Yeah.” Neela looked crestfallen. “Smart and frumpy.”

  “Which one am I?” Mackenzie said, angling past Neela. “Oooh, that retro-looking Barbie doll in the corner. Her hair is so on point.”

  Everyone’s eyes shifted to the Barbie in question. Unlike the blond fashion doll that Persey’s mom had bought her when she was younger, this version had darker hair—more honey than platinum—and instead of cutting-edge fashion or a runway-ready gown, she wore retro dark blue bell-bottom pants and a light blue blouse that had a strange tear through the left upper arm. She was posed in the corner of the case, alone, and though her plastic, painted-on smile was happy and demure, her body was crouched down as if she’d collapsed in exhaustion, face leaning against the glass, and beneath the tear on her blouse it looked as if someone had drawn a line on the doll’s skin with a red marker.

  The outfit and the pose were vaguely familiar; Persey couldn’t quite put her finger on why. Until she noticed who was standing behind this Barbie. A tall male figure, dressed in a blue jumpsuit with a featureless white mask on his face and a long knife grasped in his hands.

  Suddenly Persey knew exactly who the Barbie was supposed to be. “Laurie Strode.”

  “Was that one of Barbie’s sisters?” Kevin asked.

  She shot him a withering glance, weary of his sarcasm. “She’s the final girl from Halloween.”

  “The heroine!” Mackenzie squealed. “See? I knew it was supposed to be me.”

  “Actually…” Arlo tapped on the glass, talking to Mackenzie. “I think you’re Sue Storm here, making out with…” She paused, mouth scrunched up to the side. “With the cigarette in his mouth, I think that’s supposed to be Sanji from One Piece. But his hair is usually blond.”

  Persey pried herself away from the serial killer at her end of the case to look at the duo in question. The characters—the Fantastic Four’s invisible woman and her smoking friend—were clearly in the throes of a make-out session. Though their sizes and genres didn’t match, she was bent backward at the waist, supported by his arm, as he leaned down and kissed her.

  “Oh, look!” Arlo cried. “You can see the yellow of his hair poking through. Someone’s colored this in black with a Sharpie or something.”

  “Black like Wes’s hair,” Neela said. “Who is also a known smoker.”

  “Seriously?” Mackenzie said, turning pale. “Is someone suggesting that Wes and I are a thing?”

  “Are or were?” Arlo asked quickly. “You two seem like you know each other.”

  Mackenzie folded her arms across her chest. “The. Fuck.”

  “You did know that he went to boarding school,” Persey said quietly. “But Leah never mentioned that in her intro.”

  “And you accused Persey and me of colluding,” Kevin said, faking offense. “Hilarious, since we just met at the Hidden Library escape room. But you two…you wanna share your history?”

  “Back in high school,” Mackenzie said. “We hardly knew each other.”

  Persey seriously doubted that.

  “We’ve got twenty minutes to figure out what these stupid toys mean,” Mackenzie said. She was definitely trying to change the subject. “So why don’t we focus on that, huh?”

  “Fine,” Arlo said. “But don’t think we’re going to forget about this.” She turned back to the case. “That leaves Persey and Kevin, who by process of elimination must be Halloween Barbie and Michael Myers there.” She narrowed her eyes at Kevin. “Do I even want to know why you’re the serial killer?”

  Riot snorted. “The designer must have misplaced his Big Lebowski doll.”

  “Har-har.” Kevin pointedly turned his back on the librarian. “Okay, we’re each represented here, so what?”

  Arlo pinched her chin between her thumb and forefinger. It looked like a well-rehearsed “thinking” pose. “Let’s see if we can find where these figures all came from.”

  She led the way back downstairs, pontificating about the steps they should take to solve this challenge, while the rest of the competitors reluctantly followed. Persey lagged behind.

  She leaned over the balcony, hoping for a better view of the collection below, but her eyes bounced from superheroes to My Little Ponies—seeing without seeing. There was so much crap in here, she could barely process it all. Even the floors were decorated; from upstairs, she could clearly discern a set of footprints painted on the tile below like one of those learn-to-dance mats only with significantly less feet.

  Persey stood up, eyes glued to the footprints. Was that a clue?

  She hurried downstairs to the footprints, and as she crouched down to get a better look, she saw that they had, in fact, been painted onto the white tile—matte paint on the glossy surface. Glancing up, she found a giant cage propped up on a counter above.

  Not just a cage, a cage filled with muscly, half-naked wrestlers. A steel-cage wrestling match.

  The costumed performers were from a variety of different eras—” minimalist seventies, Technicolor eighties, dark and Goth nineties—who were posed in a frenetic mix of wrestling moves, including one guy in a flying nelson, hung suspended from the roof of the cage by near-invisible wires.

  She wasn’t even sure what she was looking for, other than that a redheaded Mohawked wrestler had appeared in the case upstairs, and supposedly represented Riot. Maybe th
ere would be another version of that wrestler down here that would clue them into the figure’s purpose?

  But as Persey stepped closer to the toy set, she realized that there was something out of place. Literally. The floor of the case was coated in a thin layer of dust, and right in the middle, there were two prints. Foot-shaped prints.

  Was that where Mr. Mohawk had been before he was moved?

  She shifted her focus to the floor: the painted footprints matched the configuration of the smaller version perfectly.

  “Riot,” she said, eyes still fixed on the wrestling cage.

  He appeared at her shoulder immediately. “You rang?”

  “What’s happening?” Arlo said, close on his heels. God forbid anything transpire that she wasn’t a part of. “What did you find?”

  “N-nothing,” Persey said, flustered. Why did she let Arlo get to her? She shook her head, pushing aside her momentary (permanent) self-doubt. “Riot, can you stand here, in front of the case?”

  “Of course.” Riot took up a position in front of the wrestling cage. “Now what?”

  “I…I don’t know.” Persey wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting. A door to swing open? A light to go on?

  “Fifteen minutes.”

  “Fifteen minutes,” Mackenzie repeated, as helpful as ever. “Do we need to start searching for some other puzzle to solve?”

  “Maybe you just need better wrestling flair,” Kevin joked. Then he struck a pose, reminiscent of the one in the display case upstairs. He flexed his right bicep toward his head, and rotated his left arm so it twisted away from his hip, looking very much like Pee-wee Herman doing the “Tequila” dance.

  Riot rolled his eyes. “The figure upstairs was posed like this.” Then he re-created the pose, but with more teeth gritting and neck vein popping. Like a real wrestler. “How do I look?”

  But nobody answered. Their eyes were all fixed on the wall behind Riot, where one of the red lightbulbs that surrounded the countdown clock had just flickered to life.