Chapter 33
THE HOLLYWOOD HERALD
Louis Augustus Russell Found Dead of Cyanide Poisoning, Determined Suicide by Police
TV personality Louis Augustus Russell died after ingesting potassium cyanide, revealed a report by the Los Angeles Chief Medical Examiner early this morning.
The Chief Medical Examiner’s office confirmed that the police have ruled the death a suicide, citing a letter written to Russell’s wife and co-producer, Ranielle Russell.
Russell has been beloved among fans of The Escape Game since its inception as a YouTube series nearly three years ago.
The show—in which teams of young contestants compete to solve riddles, ciphers, and clues in order to “escape” increasingly complex and highly stylized rooms—grew in popularity largely due to its avid fans, who refer to themselves as Clue Masters.
It briefly earned a prime spot on syndicated television before moving to Hitflix after Russell received an Emmy nominee for his role as co-producer in the Outstanding Reality Competition Program category.
Russell’s death has come as a shock to his friends and fans alike, with an outpouring of appreciation and emotional tributes taking over social media.
A statement on the show’s official media page said, “In the midst of our heartbreak over the sudden passing of our brilliant Game Master, we vow to continue Louis’s legacy—by moving forward with the show, the game, the escape. ”
When asked if Russell’s death might have anything to do with the unsolved murder of season four contestant Alicia Angelos, the show’s representative declined to comment.
Sierra swiped black lipstick across her lips.
She hadn’t worn her armor all weekend. Sure, she also hadn’t left the villas all weekend, but she had no idea when she’d grown comfortable enough with her teammates to let her guard down around them.
She might’ve wondered if finding a dead body was one of those life-changing experiences that bonded people, but then, it hadn’t exactly gone that way with her first team.
She stepped out of the bathroom to find Carter and Beck at the kitchen island, finishing off bowls of cereal. They’d been subdued these last few days. All the contestants had been. Even Jarius hadn’t acted half as obnoxious as usual around the complex.
Sierra had done a lot of baking. Chocolate chip cookies, scones, focaccia, a peach pie.
Adi had escaped into his books—at least when he wasn’t staring at Alicia’s note, trying to figure out the secondary code she’d left behind, hoping it might further implicate Ranielle.
Carter had been glued to her phone ever since news of Louis’s death had gone public, trying to keep up with the outpouring of emotion on the Domain.
In the wake of the report, Carter had done her due diligence as a top influencer by releasing a video highlighting some of the greatest moments from The Escape Game.
Sierra doubted that most viewers would pick up on the fact that she’d only included moments in which Fitzy, with his offbeat energy and goofball charm, made the Game Master look rather dull in comparison.
Of all of them, Beck was the only one who felt compelled to keep rehashing everything that had happened, making it clear to Sierra that he was the sort of person who actually liked to talk about his feelings.
What a foreign concept.
But he didn’t want to just talk about Alicia’s note and the Game Master. He wanted a plan. What were they going to do? When were they going to go to the police about Ranielle?
Sierra’s answer was always the same. She’d go to the police when she had evidence. Solid evidence.
She kept hoping that maybe the police would figure it out on their own.
That maybe this time Ranielle had left behind some trace DNA, fingerprints, something that would pin Louis’s murder on her.
Then Sierra could come forward with Alicia’s note and explain her theories, and finally, finally her sister would have justice.
But she’d been watching the news, and so far the only sightings of Ranielle had been coverage of the grieving widow determined to continue her husband’s legacy . . . with another season of the blockbuster reality show already in preproduction.
Gross.
“Are we ready for today?” Sierra said, grabbing the last scone and slathering it with a heavy dose of butter. “Semifinals.”
“Do you think we’ll still get a clue?” said Carter.
“I’d say everything will be the same, including the dexterity challenge. Speaking of, I’ve nominated Beck as our competitor.”
Beck rubbed his hands together. “I hope it’s something epic, like riding one of those bucking bull machines. I’ve always wanted to do that.”
Sierra smiled faintly, pulling the scone apart bite by bite. “Has anyone seen Adi this morning?”
As soon as she asked, Adi emerged from his bedroom, freshly showered and fully dressed.
“Whoa,” said Beck. “Someone’s getting an early start.”
“Got a meeting.”
“With who?” asked Sierra.
“Ranielle,” Adi said. “That promo thing for Sweetbrier Resort, remember?” He reached for the plate that had once held scones, then made a face. “Who took the last scone?”
Sierra made a big show of cramming it into her mouth.
He rolled his eyes. “I’ll grab something from the dining hall.”
“Don’t forget to get some deets on Sweetbrier!” Beck said.
“You really think Ranielle is going to tell me anything important?”
“She’s got to have information on her laptop. If I ever get a chance to search the property, it would be really helpful to know if there are, like, underground tunnels, or what the security system is like. That sort of thing.”
Adi stepped into his tennis shoes. “So you want me to log on to Ranielle’s laptop, find confidential information, and steal it somehow . . . all while Ranielle’s back is turned?”
“I mean. You know. You could. If it works out.”
“Right,” Adi drawled. “That’ll be a no from me.”
He opened the front door to reveal Lisa on the other side carrying an enormous package. It was flat, about the same size as the top of the coffee table and covered in brown paper.
“Delivery for Team Helsing,” she said.
“Thanks?” said Adi, helping her bring it inside.
They set it on the dining table. “Have y’all been holding up all right?” Lisa asked.
“What’s it to you?” said Sierra.
“That’s Sierra-speak for Yes, we’re doing okay; thanks for asking,” said Beck.
Sierra scowled. “Is not.”
Lisa gave a wan smile, then waved. “Okay, well, good luck on today’s round.”
Carter shut the door behind her as Adi inspected the printed sticker on the package. “It’s addressed to all of us. Team Helsing. Villa #1. Too narrow to be a horse head, at least.”
“Horse head?” said Carter.
“The Godfather? Mario Puzo?”
She stared blankly.
“Never mind.”
Adi tore off the paper, and Sierra’s gut lurched.
Maybe not such a terrible joke after all.
It was a painting. It was one of her paintings. Or at least, a print of one of her paintings, neatly framed and matted. Dance Macabre.
But someone had ruined it.
Her artwork had shown a woman in a black gown waltzing with a hollow-eyed skeleton, while two more skeletons danced across a mirror-image background of roses and thorns.
Someone had taken a picture of Sierra’s face and glued it over the woman’s.
The skulls of the three dancers had been replaced with photos of Beck, Carter, and Adi.
Red paint marred them all. Xs over their eyes. Slashes across their throats.
And written along the bottom in sharp, dripping capitals—
GIVE UP, HELSING
OR YOU’RE NEXT