With one exception.
There was a light on in her father’s closet.
Now that she was inside the suite, she could hear rustling noises: someone was going through drawers, rummaging quickly, then moving on. They were the sounds you’d expect from a cat burglar, but as she crept across the plush carpeting toward the open door, she knew she wasn’t going to find a stranger dressed head-to-toe in black with a ski mask pulled over his face.
Her brother stood in front of a wall of built-in drawers, quickly but methodically searching through each before moving to the next one. Beside him on the floor lay an open suitcase into which he’d just dropped a pair of gold cuff links. She could see the glitter of a gemstone, the gleam of other jewelry, as well as a healthy stack of cash—Dad’s emergency supply—piled haphazardly inside.
“Hey,” she said, trying to sound casual and normal, like she hadn’t just walked in on her brother stealing from their parents.
“Hey.” He didn’t jump or start. He knew I was here. “How was school?”
The question was so ludicrous, given the circumstances, that Persey actually laughed out loud. Second time that day.
“That good, huh?”
“I didn’t know you were coming home this week,” Persey said, refusing to be sidetracked.
“I wasn’t.”
“So…”
He finally turned to face her. Despite the happy-go-lucky smile, there were deep creases around his mouth and his eyes, which were sunken and ringed with a purplish hue. An ugly gash on his right cheekbone had been cinched together with butterfly bandages.
“Holy shit!” she cried. He looked as if he’d gotten into a bar fight with the entire Columbia crew team.
His smile never faltered. “I’m going away for a while.”
“Away? You mean like back to Columbia?”
“Away like out of the country.”
“Why?”
He waved her off. “Nothing big. Just a little bit of trouble at school.” His smile deepened as a dreamy, faraway look swept over his face. It was the same smile she’d seen at his graduation, when he and his buddies were discussing their party plans, and it was the same smile that had been on his face when he was taking photos of the mutilated remains of a half dozen rodents in the family guesthouse.
Her voice hardened. “What did you do?”
“Nothing. Big,” he repeated. “I’ll be fine.”
He wasn’t the one she was worried about.
Her brother bent down and zipped up the suitcase. “Tell Mom I’ll call her this weekend,” he said. “When I’m settled.”
“They won’t believe me,” Persey said. “When I tell them what happened here.”
“They will eventually.” He dragged the suitcase toward her and placed a hand on her shoulder. It was a paternal gesture, but one that made her whole body tense up. “I’ll tell them the truth. You won’t get blamed.”
Don’t be so sure about that.
“But look…” He leaned closer, and Persey fought the urge to back away. “If anyone comes looking for me, you didn’t see any of this, okay? As far as you know, I’m still in New York.”
What did you do?
He squeezed her shoulder when she didn’t respond. It wasn’t gentle. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
“You good?” His grip lessened, but his hand remained.
“I’m good.”
Then he smiled and stepped around her. “Take care, little sis. Don’t let Dad get to you. He’ll leave you alone. Someday.”
THE BRIGHTNESS OF THE COLLECTIBLES ROOM DISAPPEARED above her head as Persey slid down into the abyss. She dropped for what felt like an eternity, and when she finally landed (crashed), she felt the floor beneath her feet give slightly with the force of her impact. Balancing against the pole, Persey wondered if she’d slid far enough to make it underground. Because this room—if you could even call it that—was more like a cave than a man-made structure.
The walls and ceiling were made of rock, dark and textured, and if Persey didn’t know better, she’d have thought this room had been hewed into the side of a mountain. The orange glow she’d seen from upstairs came from a dozen torches mounted on wall sconces, their comforting light dancing off the textured walls. It almost looked as if the walls themselves were rippling, like a flag in a strong wind, and it made the room feel alive. Sentient. Intelligent.
The rock walls curved toward each other, creating an egg-like oval with the fire pole at one end and a massive marble structure at the other. It looked like a tall kitchen island made from gleaming white stone, like something on a home improvement show. An altar. Persey had only been to church once—for a funeral—but she had been entranced by the heavy, ornate table the priest spent most of his time standing behind. As if to hammer the church-like point home, a large wooden cross hung behind the altar, so dark it blended in with the granite walls, yet big enough that you couldn’t miss it.
“Persey, be careful!” Riot waved at her from the front of the room, where he was examining the altar top. “Someone might land on you.”
“Right. Thanks.” She hobbled away from the base of the pole. The floor wiggled with each movement, and the soles of her Toms buckled against an uneven surface.
Once clear of the pole, Persey crouched down, examining the floor. The unevenness was the result of a composite surface made of what appeared at first glance to be large slabs of stone, irregular in shape, with thick gaps between pieces like oversize cobblestones. Persey grazed her fingers against floor, expecting to feel smooth, textured stone. Instead, she found that the floor was made of customized pieces of wood, porous and flimsy, painted to look like stone.
It was bizarre that someone would make a floor like this—the wooden slabs were huge, two feet wide at least, and the seams between them were deep, as if the faux stones themselves were pushing upward through mesh with no discernible material holding them in place. And Persey had no idea why the entire floor structure felt bouncy. Was it intended to absorb the shock from rocketing down that long fire pole? Or was the floor meant to give for some other purpose?
“What is this room supposed to be?” Persey asked, more to herself than to the others.
“It’s like a cave and a cathedral,” Riot said, circling around to the backside of the altar. He was antsy, fingers drumming against his thigh.
“A Cavethedral?” Persey suggested, reciting the name from the whiteboard in Office Drones.
Riot chuckled. “Right! I guess I didn’t think that would be literal.”
Mackenzie wrinkled her upper lip. “I think it’s creepy.”
“It poses an interesting challenge,” Shaun-bot said, without elaborating on how it seemed any more or less interesting than the last four.
“This altar is fascinating,” Riot said, hauling himself onto the large tabletop. “These engravings. Intricate and yet they don’t seem to be connected in any way.”
“Clear a path!” Kevin called from above just before sliding into the Cavethedral. “Whoa, this place is badass.”
“Right?” Mackenzie said. “The design. The attention to detail.” A complete 180 from ten seconds ago. She’ll say or do anything to get what she wants.
“Son of a Shatner!” Neela cried, en route down the pole. She collapsed into a puddle of limbs and hair on the faux stones, unable to slow her momentum. The floor of the entire room rebounded from the impact. “That was the single scariest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life and I’ve been to a Taylor Swift concert, and can someone tell me why the floor is shaking and also, is that the seal of the Inquisition?” She pointed at the cross behind the altar.
“The what what?” Mackenzie asked.
Kevin wagged an index finger at her. “And don’t you badmouth Tay Tay.”
“The Tribunal of the Holy Office of the Inquisition,” Shaun said, his voice a flat drone as he answered Mackenzie’s question, “established in 1478 by Ferdinand II and Isabella I of Spain to maintain Catho
lic orthodoxy, believed to be a response to the multi-religious nature of Spanish society at the time, and the spread of both anti-Semitism and anti-Muslim sentiments across Europe.”
“Thank you, Siri,” Mackenzie said. “You can stop now.”
“Where?” Riot asked, still focused on the altar. “I don’t see anything.”
Neela hurried across the uneven floor toward him, stumbling every few steps. “On the cross. Look at the center.”
“First point to Neela,” Persey joked, impressed by her sharp eyes.
“I might have noticed it earlier,” Mackenzie said, folding her hands across her chest, peeved. “If I hadn’t had to go first down the pole. I was slightly more worried about not dying. Or worse.”
“What, exactly, is worse?” Persey asked.
“Shit,” Riot said. “A Spanish Inquisition–themed room sounds ominous.”
“If you’re scared,” Mackenzie said, “you can always give up. Just tell Leah you’re out and they’ll extract you, I’m sure.”
“Right,” Persey said. “Because help was so quick to arrive when someone murdered B.J.”
“Just one more sign that your ‘dead body’”—Mackenzie used air quotes to emphasize what she thought of Persey’s theory—“was all part of the game.”
“I’m going to check out the back wall,” Neela said, scurrying from the altar and picking her way carefully across the uneven floor. “Maybe there are some other engravings.”
“I’m coming down!” Arlo cried. “Wes will be right behind me.”
Persey looked up at the roof of the Cavethedral, rather surprised that Wes would agree to be the last one out of the room. She could just see Arlo leaning onto the pole, her body blocking out the bright blue-white glare of the halogen bulbs from the Collectibles room.
“All clear!” Riot called back.
Persey had just shifted her gaze back to the darkened interior of the Cavethedral, when she heard a loud snap and the dim glow from the roof was extinguished.
She knew the sound immediately—the trapdoor that surrounded the fire pole clamping shut—and her first thought was that Wes had somehow been cut off from the rest of them, perhaps ending his participation in the competition. Which wouldn’t be such a bad thing at all. She was officially over his shit.
There was a squishy thud, something heavy and wet crashed onto the floor, and then Persey heard a scream. When she turned toward the fire pole, she saw Neela holding her hands out in front of her face. Both them and the rest of her were splattered with blood.
In reality, it only took a split second for Persey to realize what she was looking at, but it felt like forever. Like she lived an entire lifetime in that moment. Like the life she had known before died in a single heartbeat.
Flickering torch flames danced across a wet stain that was rapidly settling into the cracks between wooden slabs, and on the ground next to Neela was a crumpled heap of arms and legs. The “It’s Not a Party Till I Slytherin” T-shirt faced Persey, but she could barely discern the lettering across the torso because the shirt was soaked in blood below the neck.
Or at least Persey thought it was her neck.
Arlo’s head was gone.
IF B.J.’S DEAD BODY HAD (NOT) BEEN A FIGMENT OF PERSEY’S imagination, Arlo’s decapitated corpse was a mass hallucination. Or at least Persey wanted it to be. Because if it was real, if that truly was Arlo’s lifeless body with blood still spurting from its gaping neck, it meant the Escape-Capades All-Star Competition now had two deaths on its head.
Er, bad choice of words, Persey.
Neela had been the closest person to the body when it fell, confirmed by the Jackson Pollock–esque splattering of blood on her face, hands, and clothes, manifesting as a wet sheen across the black fabric of her shirt. She stood with arms outstretched, frozen in time at the moment she’d tried to break Arlo’s fall, trembling.
“Oh my Gorn!” she cried. “Get it off. Get it off me!”
Persey wasn’t sure if she meant the blood or the specter of death, but there was only one of those that she could solve. She raced to Neela’s side, stripping off her top layer of T-shirts en route, and deftly began to wipe the blood from Neela’s face and hands.
“Is she dead?” Tears streamed down Neela’s face. “Do you think she’s dead?”
“Her head is missing,” Shaun said, stating the obvious. “The probability of surviving a complete decapitation is zero.” Even through his robotic intonation, Persey could hear the flutter of emotion in his voice. Fear.
“It was an accident, right?” Mackenzie crouched down on the ground, arms wrapped around her body, and began to rock gently back and forth. “It was just an accident.”
Not claiming it’s fake now, huh?
“Leah!” Riot spun around, searching the Cavethedral for the camera they all knew was there. “You need to call an ambulance. Stat!”
It’s a bit late for that.
Light suddenly flooded the space, illuminating Arlo’s body like the spotlights Persey used to operate in the West Valley theater as the trapdoor in the ceiling flew open. A shadow leaned into view; then Wes’s voice drifted down. “Holy shit, you guys. Arlo’s dead!”
“We know,” Kevin replied, sounding way too calm.
“Her head…” Wes’s voice trailed off. “It…it rolled across the floor and then got wedged between Captain America’s shield and a collectible Space: 1999 Eagle. Her eyes are still open. She’s…she’s staring at me.”
“What the hell happened up there?” Persey called out.
“I…I don’t know. She insisted on going before me. And…and then the door just snapped shut and…”
“And then her head just snapped off,” Shaun said, completing the thought.
“I can’t stay up here with those eyes looking at me.” Wes’s voice shook. “I’m…I’m coming down.”
“Dude!” Riot said, waving his arms to get Wes’s attention. “Do not slide down that thing! Just stay put and wait for the cops to show—”
“Too late,” Kevin said. Wes had already swung himself onto the pole and released his grip.
He fell like a stone, not slowing himself at all as he passed through the murderous trapdoor. Probably thought that the faster he moved, the safer he might be, which was smart, but as he rocketed down toward Arlo’s corpse, Persey immediately identified a new problem.
“Watch out!” she cried as Wes’s Tevas skidded on the uneven floor made slick by a heavy coating of Arlo’s blood. He clawed at the pole, desperately trying not to lose his balance. Kevin and Persey grabbed each of his arms and heaved Wes away from the gore, tripping on the awkward floor gaps as they went.
“It must have been a malfunction,” Shaun said, gazing up at the circle of light in the ceiling. “Software glitch or a structural weakness in the trapdoor mechanism.”
“Did you hear anything?” Persey asked. “See anything?”
“Just Arlo’s head rolling across the floor like a bowling ball,” Wes said as he regained his footing, shaking her off. You’re welcome.
“But it was an accident, right?” Mackenzie repeated.
Silence. Persey couldn’t stop thinking about how upset Arlo was after she escaped her ATM booth. What had she yelled at the camera? Something about a password.
“This doesn’t mean you’re right.” Mackenzie spat the words at Persey, her diction so vehement that Persey could practically feel their percussive force rippling through the empty space between them.
“Right about what?”
“That singer.” Mackenzie scowled. “Arlo’s death doesn’t mean that you were right about him. This was an accident. That was part of the game.”
There was zero point in arguing (talking) with her. “Whatever you say.”
Persey hadn’t exactly meant to piss Mackenzie off, but her response was like striking a match near a fuse. Mackenzie’s anger ignited.
“Don’t you ‘whatever’ me.” She stomped across the uneven floor, which bounced unnerv
ingly with every step. “I’m right and you know it.”
“Why does it matter who’s right?” Persey said. She’d only known this girl for a couple of hours and she was already exhausted by her. “Arlo is still going to be dead either way.”
Mackenzie threw up her hands. “It matters because I’m tired of you looking down on me.”
“What?”
“On all of us. You think you’re so special because you solved the Hidden Library. Well, you know what? I don’t believe you really did, and I haven’t seen anything so far from you that would make me believe it’s true.”
Persey laughed out loud. Actual hysterical laughter. She couldn’t help it. Of all the contestants in the Escape-Capades All-Star Competition, Persey was the least likely to believe that she was better than anyone else. She’d spent almost her entire life being told she was less than worthless, and here was this high-achieving, internationally educated chick who was smart and beautiful and not at all awkward with people, and who had probably spent her entire life getting exactly what she wanted, and yet somehow she was jealous of Persey. It was utterly ridiculous.
“The. Fuck?”
“Sorry,” Persey said, trying to contain herself. And she meant it. “I’ve just never had anyone jealous of me before.”
Mackenzie’s eyes grew wide, fists clenched. “You think I’m jealous? Of you?”
Aren’t you?
“Okay, okay.” Kevin stepped between them. “No one’s jealous of anyone. Except me. I’m the one who isn’t supposed to be here, right? So I’m jealous of all of you.”
#NoEscape (Volume 3) (#MurderTrending) Page 15