#NoEscape (Volume 3) (#MurderTrending)

by Gretchen McNeil

  “Fuck you!” she yelled, trying to fend him off. She dropped to her knees, gripping the plank with one hand and shielding her face with the other. If he managed to get them off her head, the rest of them were probably dead. Wes wasn’t exactly looking out for anyone but himself.

  “Give them to me!” he roared.

  “Wes, if you hurt her, I swear to God I’ll kill you.” Riot’s anger was sweet but impotent.

  One-two. Three-four. Closer. Right behind them.

  Despite the fact that Wes was a cheat, an asshole, and a selfish douchebag, Persey couldn’t just let him die. She reached back and tugged on his pant leg. “Get down. Now! Or you’re going to get—”

  Persey wasn’t sure exactly what happened first. She felt the denim of Wes’s jeans slip from her fingers, as if he’d yanked his leg away from her. She heard a scream. Felt the air move above her as two dozen metal spikes shot across the room. Felt their impact. But also, another. A juicy thud was the best way to describe it.

  “Persey!” Neela and Riot cried simultaneously. “Are you okay? What’s happening?”

  “I’m okay.” Her voice was breathless. “I’m okay.”

  “What about Wes?” Mackenzie’s voice was significantly calmer than it had been in the last half hour.

  Persey raised her head and looked around. The sight that greeted her made her wish she hadn’t.

  Wes’s body was almost directly beneath the bridge, faceup, eyes still open. Persey could see the spikes impaled through his body: arms and legs, abdomen, throat. He was still twitching.

  She felt the world spin. The green-hued image of Wes’s death throes circling her field of vision as if she was on a carousel set to ludicrous speed. She staggered, unsure of where the bridge was, or the ceiling, or anything else. Just as she thought she was about to pitch forward, she felt an arm around her waist, pulling her upright.

  “I’ve got you,” Kevin said, his lips close to her ear, saving her for the second time that day. “I’ve got you.”

  I’VE GOT TO TALK TO MY DAD.

  Intellectually, Persey knew that the voice inside her head was 100 percent right. It had been years since Persey had had a conversation with her father that hadn’t ended (hell, began) badly. Even innocuous topics like the weather or the traffic coming home from work turned somehow into a scathing commentary.

  Rain in the forecast? Better not use that as an excuse for staying home from school.

  Traffic? Took me an extra hour to get home, so I spent that time on the phone with the headmaster trying to convince him not to kick you out of school.

  Meat loaf for dinner? I should start charging you for these meals. You’re clearly too used to freeloading.

  Persey did actually remember the last kind, loving conversation she had with her dad. She was in the sixth grade and had just experienced the most embarrassing moment of her young life when she managed to get her period for the first time in gym class, bleeding through her gray cotton gym shorts with such ferocity that it looked like she’d just slaughtered a chicken in the locker room.

  The mortification had been enhanced by the fact that one of the boys—a fiendish little prepubescent piece of shit named Cosimo with bad teeth and a monobrow who loved nothing more than to point out everyone else’s weaknesses in some kind of subconscious effort to distract people from his own—was the first person to see her. If it had been one of the girls, there might have been a moment of empathy while they hurried her back into the locker room to find a tampon and a change of clothes, but no. She got Cosimo. Who promptly pointed out the growing spot of red on the back of her pants and yelled as loud as he could that Persey was a vampire who peed blood.

  By the time the driver got Persey home, she was in tears. Her mom had gone to bed with one of her migraines, but her dad was in the kitchen.

  “What happened?” he asked the moment he saw her. She clutched a clear plastic bag with her soiled gym clothes and waddled into the kitchen, the enormous old-fashioned maxipad between her legs making it difficult to walk.

  “I…” She sniffled. Should she tell him? “I just…”

  His eyes drifted to the bag, and she saw understanding wash over his face. “I see.”

  She’d been half hoping he wouldn’t say anything—sympathy and comfort weren’t really her dad’s strong suits—and just let her retreat to her room in silent mortification, but instead, her dad sat down on one of the barstools next to the kitchen counter and folded his hands in his lap.

  “I’m so sorry this happened while your mom is, um, indisposed, but I just want you to know that this is totally normal and it happens to all girls at some point in their lives, and one day, you’ll be able to look back on this and laugh. I promise.”

  It hadn’t exactly been a hug and a shoulder to cry on, but there had been a gentleness about her dad at that moment, something she’d rarely seen before and never since, and his little speech soothed her. Calmed her. And she never did talk to her mom about it.

  Persey almost wished she could forget that episode, even though it was one of the few nice memories she had of her father. Somehow, recalling that moment was like salt in the wound of their relationship, and every time she thought of it, her entire body would clench up, preparing for the pain she knew was coming.

  Unfortunately, it was this very memory, combined with the conversation she’d had the week before with her brother, that gave her even the smallest bit of hope that she would be able to talk to him. To make him understand that going to college would be a waste of money, and lay out the plan she’d come up with instead: the Peace Corps. She’d be able to help people who needed it, see more of the world than the upper-class community she was raised in, and gain skills that would help her in whatever career came next. See, Dad? I’m not freeloading. I have a plan!

  She just needed her parents’ support for the two years of her service, and then they could be done with her if that’s what they wanted. But by then, Persey planned to have proven to them that she wasn’t useless or lazy or all the other horrible adjectives her dad had used for her over the years. By then, she was going to earn his respect.

  And if not? She still had her West Valley theater crash pad.

  Cold comfort.

  It had taken Persey six whole days to find the right time (and gather enough courage) to talk to her dad. Things had been hectic at work and her parents hadn’t been around much, but when she’d gotten home from rehearsal to find that dinner had already been prepped on the table in covered dishes, Persey had decided to take the opportunity to discuss her plan with her parents.

  The first warning sign Persey should have heeded was her mom’s intoxication level. The heavy clank of a glass bottle going into the recycling bin meant that an entire chardonnay had been poured, another already taking its place in the tabletop cooler sleeve. Considering that the sun wasn’t even down yet, this was a bad sign.

  The second warning came from their housekeeper, in the form of her absence. During family dinner nights, she usually stayed until the meal was cleared, but tonight she was already gone, which meant one of two things: either Persey’s dad had dismissed her early because he was in a mood and didn’t want any witnesses, or he’d already managed to insult her and she’d left in a huff, swearing never (temporarily) to return.

  Either of these two signs should have given Persey pause, but whether from a desperate need to get it over with or the deep-seated knowledge that her plan wasn’t going to work anyway, Persey plowed ahead, entering the dining room for pot roast, arugula salad, and to secure her future happiness.

  “Hi, Mom!” she said with more perk than she thought herself capable of.

  “Dahr-ling!” Her mom reached one hand out to her daughter, the other firmly grasping her wineglass, and grinned like a sleepy infant. “I’ve missed you so.”

  Neither of us has gone anywhere. Persey took the outstretched hand and kissed it and, just for a moment, wondered if her mom thought it was her son who had joined them for din
ner.

  “Dad,” Persey said in a friendly, matter-of-fact way. No superfluous emotion. That’s the kind of greeting he appreciated.

  True to his form over the last year, Persey’s dad ignored her. He held his phone in one hand, tabbing through pages with his thumb while he absently stabbed at a stray potato on his plate. His meal was two-thirds consumed already, despite the fact that Persey was five minutes early for dinner. His timing, she guessed, was intentional.

  “You must be hungry, dahr-ling,” her mom said, gesturing to the poppy-red Le Creuset pot in the middle of the table. “You need to eat, eat, eat!”

  You should take your own advice. Her mom’s plate was spotlessly clean. “You first, Mom.”

  She waved Persey off, whipping her head back and forth with the motion. For a moment, Persey thought she might keel over. “I ate at the office.”

  “When?”

  “Earlier?”

  Persey didn’t miss the inflection at the end. “Are you not sure when you ate last? Mom, I’m worried about you.”

  “Imfine.” All one word, slurred together.

  “But—”

  “Your mother said she’s fine,” her dad said, sharp but not a yell. “Let it go.”

  Persey took a deep, silent breath. He’d spoken to her. Broken the seal. It was practically an invitation to have a conversation.

  “Okay,” she said, trying to sound cheerful in the face of her mom’s raging alcoholism. “I’m glad we’re having a family dinner tonight because there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.”

  “We already changed the will.” Her dad didn’t even look at her. “So don’t bother begging.”

  His coldness was a slap in the face. She was used to his temper, his ability to hold a grudge, the lightning-quick flashes of anger and rage, but this disgust? This total detachment? This was new.

  “I’m not asking you to change your mind,” she said. “Because I know you won’t.”

  “Good.”

  “But I wanted you to know that I do have a plan for after I graduate.”

  “Gra-du-ate,” her mom said, languid and slow. “Columbia.”

  Ugh. “No, Mom. That’s my brother. I’m still in high school.”

  “And not going to college,” her dad said.

  This was not going the way she’d hoped. “No, but honestly, Dad, it would be a waste of your money if I did, and besides, I have a plan that—”

  “Don’t care.”

  “That I think will be good for all of us. It will allow me to find my purpose and—”

  “Don’t care.”

  “And help those in need—”

  “Still don’t care.”

  “And…and give back all that I’ve been given.”

  “Are you done?”

  Persey started, flustered. She hadn’t even told them what the plan was. “No, I mean…”

  “Because this is me not caring.”

  “Dad, the Peace Corps—”

  “DON’T CARE.”

  And that was it. Years of being beaten down, denigrated, ignored, and yelled at finally boiled over. Persey’s well-practiced calm vanished, replaced by the one thing she’d apparently inherited from her father: a white-hot temper.

  “Oh yeah?” she said, rocketing to her feet. “You don’t care about me? Really? I didn’t hear you the first three million times you told me that.”

  Her dad flushed. “How dare you speak—”

  “No, how dare you, Dad.” It was the first time she’d ever interrupted him, which left her dad momentarily speechless and allowed Persey’s semi of rage to keep on trucking. “I’ve spent my entire life trying to earn your respect. I know you think I’m lazy and useless, but I’m not. I’ve tried so hard at school. Twice as hard as my brother. But everything came easily for him and hard for me. And now he’s off burning through your money while he runs away from a missing-persons investigation, and I’m just asking you to let me join the Peace Corps for two years. Which will cost you like a fraction of what you’re paying for him right now.”

  “My poor baby.” Her mom was crying now, drowning her tears in more wine, but Persey wasn’t sure who the tears were for—her or her brother.

  “Don’t talk about your brother like that,” her dad barked. “He’s worth more than you’ll ever be.”

  Persey snorted. “Yeah, more in legal fees.”

  Her dad kicked the chair out from behind him as he rose to his feet. “Say another word and you’ll—”

  “Regret it? Please. I’m already out of this family, and unless you want the press crawling all over you for turning your sixteen-year-old daughter out in the cold, you can’t actually make my life any more of a hell than it already is. So you can hero-worship your son all you want, but don’t pretend like we don’t know the truth.”

  “Which is?”

  “I saw him that day. I caught him stealing. And he told me last week that you’re cutting him off.”

  “WHAT?” Only, the wailing question didn’t come from her father; it came from her mom.

  “He just needs to come home,” her dad said, placating his wife. “I’m just trying to force him to go back to school.”

  Persey laughed. “He’s not coming back to you, Daddy. He’s running from the law, remember? Or don’t you know why you had to pay for all those lawyers?”

  Her dad clenched his teeth. “Shut. Up.”

  “Lawyers?” Persey’s mom said, her voice breathless. “Is our son in trouble?”

  You have no idea, Mom.

  “He’ll be fine,” her dad said, though the words lacked his characteristic conviction. “He’ll be home soon.”

  “No, he won’t.” For the first time in her life, Persey had the upper hand in a conversation with her father, and she let the power go to her head. “He’s found someone. A girl. They’re planning to get married.”

  The next wail her mom let out sounded like a wounded animal. “Nooo! My baby. He can’t!”

  “Look what you’ve done.” Her dad turned on Persey viciously, spitting the words through clenched teeth. “Get out of here. Out of this house.”

  But Persey stood her ground. “No. I’m going to my room.”

  “My baby, my baby, he’s leaving me,” her mom sobbed.

  “You’re going to regret this,” her dad said. His voice shook with rage. “You’re no longer my daughter.”

  Fine with me. Persey turned toward the door.

  “Don’t you walk away from me without a word!”

  Persey spun around, eyes narrowed. Usually her father wanted her to stay quiet, and now he wanted her to talk? “How about this? I FUCKING HATE YOU AND I WISH YOU WERE DEAD!”

  Finally. The words she’d spoken silently in her head a thousand times. They exploded from her, taking all the rage and anger and resentment with them. She didn’t wait for him to respond, but stomped out of the kitchen, ignoring her father’s face, red with rage, and her mother’s painful wailing from the sofa.

  By the time she got to her room, Persey was pale and trembling, the bravado gone, and she was left with the cold, barren realization of what her life would now be.

  What have I done?

  THE LIGHTS WERE ALREADY ON INSIDE THE NEW ROOM BY the time Persey followed Kevin inside, and she had to yank the night-vision goggles off her head to keep from blinding herself. The pain that shot through her eyes from front to back momentarily wiped away the image of Wes’s impaled body. But as she dropped the goggles to the ground from her trembling hand, Wes’s death and all the emotions that came with it flooded through her—the horror, the fear, and the guilt.

  “I…I don’t know what happened,” Persey began. Even though no one had asked, she felt the need to explain. “He was trying to get the goggles from me and I told him to get down and then…then…I don’t know. I guess he fell?”

  “It’s not your fault,” Kevin said.

  “Isn’t it?” B.J., Arlo, Shaun—those deaths might not have directly been her fau
lt, but Wes? That one was on her. She’d been in charge, she’d been the leader, and yes, he’d attacked her, but she’d let him die.

  The cost of this stupid competition was getting steeper every moment.

  Total (hopeless) silence had fallen among the Escape-Capades All-Star competitors. No one commented on the iron maiden. No one pointed fingers or took jabs at one another. Neela crouched on the floor, back against the wall, head in her hands. Riot kept obsessively running his hand over the top of his flat hair, Mohawk long collapsed, and Kevin paced back and forth, head bowed in thought. Even Mackenzie had forgotten her relentless pursuit of Kevin: she stood with her back to them, arms wrapped around her waist as if giving herself a hug.

  Wes hadn’t exactly been universally (at all) liked, but his was the first death that had occurred since they all realized their connections to Escape-Capades, the first death since they understood that they were being hunted. Persey knew what they were all thinking: If we couldn’t prevent his death when we knew it was coming, what chance do any of us have?

  I wish I knew.

  Kevin was the first to break the silence, his voice so jarring, Persey actually jumped.

  “We have to assume that one of us is meant to die in each room.”

  “If that’s supposed to make us feel better,” Riot said, “I think you’re doing it wrong.”

  “No one’s after you,” Mackenzie said, back still to them. Persey couldn’t see the look on her face, but the bitterness in her voice said it all. “You have no connection to this awful place.”

  “I’m a witness,” Kevin said. “Persey and me both. I doubt we’re supposed to get out of here alive. So if we all work together, maybe we can—”

  “Work together?” Mackenzie spun around, index finger pointed at Persey. “This is her fault. She was supposed to be leading us through that challenge, and now Wes is dead. I’m not working with her at all.”

  “I didn’t kill him,” Persey said, fighting back her very real sense of guilt over Wes’s death.

  “It’s not your fault,” Kevin said.

  Isn’t it?

  Kevin inhaled deeply. “We can’t all turn on each other, okay?”