29. Jael
Antagonist - Nova Twins
T he foyer of Hurst Manor is like a crime scene. The grandeur that once defined it—the gleaming marble floors, the towering pillars, the sweeping staircase—has been smeared with the evidence of the night’s brutality. Blood streaks the checkerboard tiles in erratic, desperate patterns. The heavy double doors that once guarded the entrance now stand open, a cold draft blowing in. At the threshold lays the crumpled body of a player that didn’t survive.
Screams echo from the hedge maze as the last few players either fight back or are picked off.
My focus is on my singular goal of the night.
Locating Imani Makune and making sure that if she does escape the hedge maze, I’m the person that’ll greet her.
She’d been thrown into the Midnight Games last minute by the Hostess. It was some kind of cruel, demented joke on her part, forcing Imani to join the players in the hedge maze. I’d been serving the society members, still posing as one of the nameless, faceless help, but every moment that Imani was in the ballroom, I was watching her out of the corner of my eye.
Bront? has scolded me for what I’ve been doing. He’s said it’s risky taunting her the way I have, making her believe she’s seeing things.
I’ve relished doing so. Some petty, small part of me has enjoyed making the girl who thinks she’s my sister’s best friend suffer. If I can’t have my sister, who does she think she is trying to take my place?
I lurk in the lobby, waiting for the first sign of her. I’ll get rid of her myself once I’ve confirmed she doesn’t have any info Bront? and I don’t already know.
She can’t reach my sister first. I’ll dispose of her before she ever comes close.
I move from behind a collection of tall plants, craning my neck for a better look at who’s approaching the glass doors.
It could finally be Imani rushing inside. She won’t expect me to reveal myself and take her down.
Something lunges at me before I can make out the person approaching. I hit the floor hard, my shoulder cracking as it takes the brunt of the fall. The knife I’d swiped from the kitchens slips out of my hand and skids across the blood-streaked tiles.
A weight presses down on me, suffocating, pinning me in place. Hot breath—sour with alcohol—floods my nose.
Hands clamp around my wrists as the man on top of me comes into focus. It’s the same man who had stopped me weeks ago at the Winchester. He’d told me I looked familiar and had eyed me as if he’d seen my face somewhere.
“Well, look who we have here.” His laugh is wet, like it’s coated in the phlegm of his throat. His eyes are bloodshot and wild. His mask from the masquerade has slipped off like mine has, revealing skin that’s clammy from exertion and too much alcohol. “You’ve been a very bad girl tonight. What were you planning on doing with that knife? I knew I recognized you!”
I snarl, twisting beneath him, but his pudgy weight is a crushing force. His knee digs into my ribs, pressing me down, his hands tight enough to leave bruises on my wrists.
“Get the fuck off me!”
“You dirty little sneak,” he spits in another phlegmy laugh. “You thought no one would remember your face? What you did to Klein Fairchild?”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!”
A third voice enters the screaming match. One sharp and shrill that comes from somewhere to the side.
“Harold!” his wife screeches. “Harold, now is not the time!”
“Now is exactly the time!”
“We need to find a way off this island. We don’t have time to hunt down the help.”
“Off this island? We’re just getting started! The night is young!”
“I said get off me!” I yell again.
Mr. Vanderson throws his head back in laughter and reaches for the knife that I’d dropped.
I jerk beneath him, twisting my body, trying to throw him off, but he’s heavier. The blade comes down in a swift stabbing motion, missing my throat by inches as I shift my head to the side.
His grin spreads as he raises the knife again. “Don’t think you can escape. Scream for me.”
Rage surges through me.
I grit my teeth and slam my head forward, cracking my forehead against his nose. The sickening crunch is satisfying.
Mr. Vanderson rears back and lets out a startled, slurred howl of pain. I take advantage of the opening and trap his legs inside mine, using the muscles in my core to flip us over. We roll onto opposite sides, with him now on the bottom and me on top.
I wrest the knife back from him and don’t hesitate driving it straight into his gut. The blade sinks in with little resistance, tearing through the fabric of his shirt, through his flabby flesh.
He gasps, his body arching against mine as his gaze drops to the knife sticking out of his stomach. His hands shake as he goes to pull it out, but I’m quicker than he is. I do him the favor of wrenching it out for him.
And then ramming it in a second time. I go for a third and fourth time as his mouth opens and he produces a wet, gurgling sound.
His body sags against the tiles like he can no longer bring himself to flop about. He only has energy for one last gasp for air and then he goes still.
My breathing is erratic. My heartbeat a painful thud against my ribcage.
I glance up at Mrs. Vanderson with a knife clenched in my hand and a dark look of bloodlust on my face.
She staggers back, mouth agape and eyes wide with terror. “H-Harold…”
I push myself up slowly, moving like an animal in the wild stalking its prey seconds before it strikes.
“D-Don’t you dare!” she commands. “Don’t you dare come at me, you little psycho!”
When I fake a leap toward her, she squeals like a pig.
I grin and tilt my head to the side. “If I were you, I’d run.”
June lets out a strangled noise—half a sob, half a whimper—before she turns and flees, her heels clicking wildly against the checkered tiles as she crosses the huge foyer.
I give her a head start, rolling my shoulders and taking in a breath. Mr. Vanderson’s blood drips from the edge of the knife and splatters onto the floor, adding to what was already a gruesome scene.
As she’s reaching the grand staircase that leads up to the other floors, I’m on her, closing the gap. My strides are quick and smooth as I come up the rear, the knife clenched in my hand. She’s barely made it up the first few steps by the time I’m reaching the bottom one. Her long ballgown sweeps along the steps with her as I lunge forward and grab the thick brocade fabric and give a hard yank.
Mrs. Vanderson’s wrenched off her feet. She slams into the stairs with a high-pitched shriek. Her arms stretch out in front of her as if she hopes she’ll still be able to crawl her way up. But she’s sorely mistaken as I shove her squirming body over onto her back. Any color has seeped from her complexion, a pale, slack-jawed woman peering up at me as if I’m the grim reaper she’s always feared.
I hold the knife within view, making sure she sees the way the blood gleams on the blade. “Do you want me to let you in on a little secret?”
She tries to shake her head to the side, but the rest of her body trembles instead.
“It wasn’t me who your asshole of a husband recognized,” I say. I lean closer ’til my face hovers inches away from hers. “It was my sister. And something tells me you two weren’t very nice to her.”
Her breath hitches. A flicker of recognition passes through her expression before disdain masks it.
She knows exactly who my sister is.
Her lips curl in a sneer, then, without warning, she spits at me. A warm glob of saliva hits my cheek. “Of course we weren’t! We don’t associate with degenerate little Black bitches like you!”
I plunge the knife into her chest and shut her up for good.
She gasps, a sharp, icy breath shuddering out of her. Her body goes rigid as if she can’t bring herself to react more than the shocked stare she gives me. Her eyes lock with mine and she holds it as long as she can before closing them.
My pulse pounds with triumphant. The adrenaline rush is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. It’s as if I’ve taken revenge on behalf of my sister, even if she might not be aware that I have.
The Vandersons spent weeks betting on the lives of the people playing this game. They laughed and drank champagne as blood was spilled and lives were lost. They treated them like nothing more than horses in a horse race, and I know with certainty they couldn’t have been any better to my sister.
Nobody under this roof deserves mercy.
None of them should be spared. If they made my sister suffer, then I’ll make them suffer. I’ll take them down myself.
The high lingers like some exhilarating drug, making me feel electric. I wrestle the knife from the deep gash on Mrs. Vanderson’s chest and start plotting on where I can go next to find Imani.
The clack of footsteps stops me.
Someone’s in the foyer, probably the person I had seen approaching earlier. His steps are measured and unhurried, one after the other in calm and controlled fashion.
I turn my head for a glimpse over my shoulder and my insides clench at who I find.
Dr. Wolford climbs the staircase toward me, his round glasses paired with the smug expression on his face. He stops a stair away from me and stares down at me like he’d done so many times in his office.
Pityingly. Condescendingly.
With amusement.
As if he’s in on some joke that I’ll never get. I’m too stupid or silly or crazy to understand.
“Jael,” he says in his usual admonishing tone. “You’ve been misbehaving.”
The next breath I go to inhale comes up short. A chill has blown through me and left me paralyzed and breathless. Almost numb as I blink and suddenly find the fierce rage that I’d felt has vanished. The knife slips from between my fingers and bounces down a couple of the steps.
His head tilts as he studies me. “Tell me. Do you remember what happens when you’re bad?”