Chapter 18 Violet
VIOLET
Keeping my hands splayed out in front of my face, I press my back to the wall and scoot to my right, hoping and praying there’s a door waiting for me on the other side of the room.
The question is whether or not I can make it there in one piece.
I wonder if they can see me. If whoever’s in this room with me is as blind as I am.
And if that’s the case, maybe I can make it out of here alive.
Maybe I can lock whoever’s inside if I can only…
if I can only make it across the room. Something tickles my bare skin, falling from the neck of my T-shirt and catching on my bra.
My body tenses again and I bite back my scream.
It’s another cricket. It’s only another cricket.
Don’t freak out, don’t freak out, don’t freak out.
“Oh, little girl,” someone coos. “I know you’re in here.”
It’s coming from behind. The floor creaks, and my body freezes in place. Whoever it is, they’re coming closer.
Shit.
“I can hear you,” the creepy voice adds. “Want to know a secret?”
It’s official. I’m going to pee my pants. My fingers toy with the edge of the sticker, but I don’t rip it off, no matter how much I want to.
I need this money. Don’t give up.
“Do you know what happens if I catch you, little girl?” the voice continues. “I get to keep you for one minute. One. Full. Minute.”
He’s lying. He has to be. Roman said so himself, I can’t get hurt. It’s only a mind game. Then again, he didn’t say I couldn’t be touched. He wouldn’t. None of them would allow this, right?
“Oh, little girl.” He cackles. “A lot can happen in one minute—”
A fresh wave of screaming echoes from the main area, and my head snaps toward it.
It’s so loud, I can’t help but wonder if it’s enough to drown out my erratic breathing.
Maybe there’s hope for me after all. The last round of girls must’ve just met the crickets, which means I have around thirty seconds until the losers are plucked from the crowd and the screaming will end.
Thirty seconds.
I have thirty seconds. Ish.
Taking full advantage, I rush toward the opposite side of the room, praying there’s only one person in here with me and I’m not running into a trap.
A cold sweat breaks out along my hairline, while the cricket in my shirt flutters against my bare skin, leaving me with nothing but the heebie jeebies.
But even then, I refuse to withdraw my hand from the wall.
Hell, at this point, it’s my only guide to safety.
Okay, safety might be a bit of a stretch.
This is brutal. But it’s my only hope. I have to get out of here.
When my fingers finally find the edge of a cold metal door on the opposite side, I push it open with all my might and slam it behind me.
Wait. They can’t follow me out of the room.
Right? Right?! My panic reignites until I catch sight of a dully-lit red button next to the closed door.
This is either a really good idea, or a really really bad one.
Before I can overthink it, I slam the button with my palm and squeeze my eyes shut, praying I didn’t just make a massive mistake.
Scraping metal grates on my eardrums, and a lock clicks into place, barricading whoever was in the room inside.
Leaning against the heavy piece of iron separating me from the person, I clutch at my chest, then rub my back against the door, hoping the cricket that was caught in my shirt is either dead, or at the very least, has fallen out during my race to safety.
One thing is for sure. This is insane. This isn’t just insane, this is…
ludicrous. Absolutely ludicrous. Crickets?
Live crickets? Then a creepy, stalking I-don’t-even-know-what-he-was in a pitch black room?
Yeah, no. Not a fan. When I get home, I’m taking a long, hot shower. That’s for sure.
But first, I need to get through this haunted house.
I look around, grateful for the reprieve no matter how short-lived it might be. It’s not as dark in this hallway. Okay, that’s a lie. It’s still dark, but a red light flickers off the walls in a steady rhythm.
On, off.
On, off.
On, off.
Like a heartbeat. It spills into the hallway through a window on one of the doors, dousing everything in black and stealing whatever little vision I have.
On, off.
On, off.
On, off.
There are two doors. More cackling comes from the one to my left with the red light.
Only silence is on the right. I turn my head toward the silence and peek through the small window, hoping to glimpse what’s inside.
A nightlight is on the opposite wall. Otherwise?
Only shadows. Tiptoeing toward the opposite door, I peek through the second window.
Thanks to its placement, all I see is half the room and the corner of a chain link fence.
Other than that, it appears to be empty.
But is it really?
Another cackle makes me jump away from the window, and I look behind me, confirming I’m still alone in the hallway. Yup. Not a soul but me. Why doesn’t the thought make me feel better?
Focus, I remind myself.
Both doors seem to be locked from the outside.
Each with a matching button I assume opens their respective doors just like the one locking in the creepy—whatever the guy was supposed to be—inside the first room.
I simply have to choose which button to push.
Which path to take. My body itches to go toward the quieter room.
The one with the nightlight. The one missing the cackling and red flashing light and chain link fence.
I raise my hand toward the button, when Jagger’s warning echoes through my thoughts.
Hug the right, but always go left.
The same familiar click of the lock sounds behind me, reminding me I’m not the only person playing this game.
If I don’t hurry, I could lose, and after everything I’ve already been through, I’d really appreciate the payout at the end for surviving.
Clinging to Jagger’s words of caution, I push forward and take a left while fighting my fight or flight response as if my life depends on it.
“Come on. You can do this,” I whisper to myself.
Fingers trembling, I press the button next to the door with the red light.
The scraping of metal grates on me like before.
It also confirms my earlier assumption of its purpose.
As I step inside the room, the door locks behind me, and my body jerks in surprise.
It must be spring-loaded. Which means there’s no going back.
Not anymore. I peek over my shoulder, second-guessing my decision to trust Jagger’s words of wisdom.
If he steered me wrong, I’m seriously going to lose it.
Scratch that. I’m already losing it. Keep going.
The room is pitch black. For now. The red light hasn’t come on again yet, and boy, am I missing that light.
I blink quickly in hopes of speeding up the time it takes for my eyes to adjust to the contrasting lights.
On.
Chain link splits the already small, rectangular room in two.
It runs parallel to the wall on my right, acting as a runway toward my exit, but the gap of space is barely big enough for me to squeeze between.
It’s not like I have a choice, though. Not if I want to make it to the opposite side of the room.
Off.
I reach for the chain link, grabbing the cold metal.
On.
On the opposite side of the chain link fence are six men. Or maybe they’re mannequins. Honestly, the red, pulsing light messes with my vision, and it’s hard to tell whether or not they’re real.
Off.
Maybe this is all about claustrophobia? And if I can just squeeze along the wall and chain link, I can make it to the other side?
On.
They’re each so frozen. But their faces. Shit, they’re faces are painted in creepy clown makeup. As the red light flashes off, the same cackle I heard earlier echoes through the room, and my body jolts.
Off.
It could be a recording. Maybe. Honestly, I’m not sure. I glance over my shoulder, but the door is still locked behind me, leaving me nowhere to go but forward.
On.
Scanning the six clowns along the opposite wall, I take a step forward until the light cuts out again. When it turns on, the clowns have moved. Each is one step closer to the chain link fence, and subsequently, me.
My breath catches, and I blink quickly again, hoping it’ll help my eyesight work properly because there’s no way.
On, off.
On, off.
On–They moved again–off. On. They’re closer. I can see it. Off. I’m not crazy. Am I crazy? I’m. Not. Crazy.
Pressing my back to the wall, I face the chain link completely, keeping my movements slow and controlled as I shuffle through the skinny gap leading to the opposite door while refusing to give the creepy clowns my back. Not for one freaking second.
On, off.
On, off.
On, off.
They’re definitely getting closer. It’s not a problem for the clowns I’ve already passed, but for the last three?
The ones closest to my destination? This is going to be a huge problem if I can’t make it to the opposite side of the room before they reach the fence and can reach through it or even worse, use their weight to pin me against the wall.
Do they have one minute, too? Just like the creepy guy from the first room?
A shot of terror races down my spine as another cackle ricochets off the walls. The closest clown lifts his hand, smearing his makeup on the side of his face until the white, crimson, and black streak together. Then, he reaches toward me.
On, off.
On, off.
On, off.
I’ve always hated clowns. To be fair, I don’t know anyone who actually likes them, but still. It makes the crickets and the last creeper feel like a walk in the park. Or maybe not. At least there’s a fence separating me from them, right? What’s the worst they can do?
I take another step, and the clowns do the same, mirroring my movements as the light goes dark before casting the eerie red spotlight on just how much progress they’ve made as it turns back on.
On, off.
On, off.
On, off.
The light matches my racing heart’s rhythm. With every added second I spend in this room, it slowly picks up its pace, making me feel like I’m going crazy.
Get. Moving, I silently remind myself.
On—I freeze—off. Bolting toward the door, I make it three quarters of the way when the lights go on again.
A blood curdling scream claws its way up my throat as the clown rams into the fence, smashing me against the wall behind me.
Their fingers slip through the gaps in the chain link, clawing at my clothes and hair.
Clearly, they don’t give a shit about the lights anymore.
I drag myself through the small space, wincing as the suffocating weight of the clowns’ bodies press into me.
A hand finds my T-shirt. It grips onto the dark fabric, twisting it into its fist until the possibility of me actually getting the hell out of here feels slim to none.
I slap at the hand, hoping they’ll release me, but the clown only cackles louder.
They can’t hurt me. They can’t. It would be against the rules.
Or would it? I wasn’t paying enough attention when they were describing the dos and don’ts to actually confirm whether or not my safety was a requirement.
And why would it be? This is an underground betting ring, for shit’s sake.
Sure, Roman made a comment about the whole thing, but why the hell should I trust anything that Drift traitor says?
My fingers find the edge of the sticker again, and the clown’s eyes light up as they zero in on the movement.
“That’s right, number thirteen,” the clown cackles. “Take it off. Take it off, and all of this goes away.”
My eyes thin, and he twists the fabric even more while a second clown drags his hands along the side of my face. Their weight is too much. Their bodies pin me in place. Leaving me barely any room to breathe, let alone make it out of here alive. This is bad. This is very, very bad.
“See how pretty she looks with my makeup?” the second one says. “Bet I could paint you all over.”
Stomach rolling, I drop my hand from the sticker and shove into the chain link fence instead of away from it, using my weight to knock them off balance in hopes of breaking free.
By some miracle, it kind of works. The hand on my T-shirt pulls back, and someone curses as I strain to reach the button on the opposite wall.
When my fingers brush against the bold red circle, the clowns immediately retreat back to their original places.
I don’t miss the way one of them cradles his wrist to his chest. It must’ve been pinned at an odd angle when I threw my body weight at the fence.
Good.
As the door opens, I rush through it and into the next hallway before it slides closed behind me.
Holy. Freaking. Shit. Another two doors wait for me with a flickering white light overhead.
Windows are missing this time, blocking any hints as to what might be waiting on either side.
Leaning against the closed door I just passed through, I try to steady my breathing while wiping the second-hand clown paint from my cheek.
But even then, it doesn’t erase the feel of their fingers clawing at my skin. My clothes. Everything.
If that was what Jagger considered the lesser of two evils, I can only imagine what was in the quiet room.
Or maybe it’s what he wanted. To take me through the gambit and make me miserable.
He wouldn’t do that, would he? What am I thinking?
Of course, he would. He doesn’t like me. He isn’t looking out for me.
No one is.
My upper lip curls in disgust as I realize just how much of a fool I was to listen to Jagger the first time. Looking up at the blinking red light in the upper corner of the hallway, I flip off whoever’s watching and slam my hand against the door on my right.
Are you watching, Jagger?
Because if you are?
Fuck. You.