Chapter 37
“The question isn’t whether love fails. The question is how much pain it takes to get there.”
My head pounds like Ray’s guys are jackhammering inside my skull, and there’s a taste in my mouth like I’ve been licking pennies. I force my eyes open, but all I see is darkness so complete that I’m scared I’ve gone blind. Then I remember.
No.
I tear at the hood over my head, fingers clumsy as I yank it off and throw it on the ground.
I blink hard, trying to focus on the massive space that comes into view around me.
It’s a huge room in another abandoned building, so big I can’t see all the walls through the shadows pooling around me.
The only light comes from a single bulb attached to a wire hanging from the ceiling, casting a faint spotlight over me.
The floors are made of white and gray tiles like those used in hospitals, but many are peeling up or gone, and the remaining ones are covered in rubble.
There’s an electronic crackle, followed by a low hum, before a tinny voice comes over the speakers.
“You’d been watching me, then I began watching you,” the voice says. “Are you ready for your first trial to begin?”
The sound echoes in the huge space, amplified by what sounds like a cheap PA system. My body locks up. My brain unplugs.
“I must say, I’ve been looking forward to this one,” the Game Master continues.
“It’s not every day I get to play with such interesting liars.
I’ve spent years testing the lie you people tell yourselves about love conquering all.
I’ll tell you right now: love does not conquer all.
Given enough pressure, it always breaks. ”
Okay, so not only did this asshole kidnap me, but he’s also going to make me sit through a TED Talk about the futility of human connection? Fuck this guy.
“This is not the typical connection I study, but there’s something far more interesting here that I couldn’t pass up,” the Game Master says. “The psychology of it fascinates me. Can someone like Nicholas ever change? Or will his true nature always win in the end?”
Oh.
No… no… no. NO.
Fabric rustles behind me. I twist around and there he is—Nico slumped in a chair with his back to me, a foot away, with a canvas bag covering his head like he’s waiting for his beheading.
I spring up from my chair and sprint toward the wall because there has to be a door or window.
Some way we can get out of here. I find a door, but the handle doesn’t budge.
I move on to the next one. And another one, but obviously they’re all locked because this psychopath isn’t a moron.
Panic wants to take over, make me scream and pound on the metal until my hands bleed.
“Return to your seat,” the Game Master orders, sounding almost bored, like I’m wasting his time.
I catch a red light blinking in the corner near the ceiling. The Game Master is watching this from some safe room somewhere else in the building, getting his rocks off. He wants me to panic. I need to keep my wits about me.
I return to my chair, perching on the edge so I can run if I need to.
“Nico?” I whisper. “Are you awake?”
He says nothing. I’d think he was asleep if his back weren’t so straight, and his knuckles weren’t white from gripping the armrests.
I want to say something to him, want some reassurance that I’m not alone in this, but the speakers crackle before I can get any words out.
“Let’s get some things out of the way,” the Game Master says. “Your little troupe is not coming to find you. Your phones have been destroyed, your handy-dandy gadgets have been removed from your person, and we have crossed state lines. Participate in my trials, and one of you will leave alive.”
Nico remains perfectly still.
“I killed Donald Dellman to extract you from your house.” With the casual way the Game Master is talking, I can picture him kicking back in his chair, examining his nails. “I never would have guessed the old man could still be hunting me after all these years.”
Nico flinches.
“I never intended to test Donald. He had no one he loved—well, perhaps you, Nicholas, but I didn’t want to dignify him with a chance to go free.
I must say, I was so excited when you, Eden, paid me a visit with that boy.
My next pair delivered to me, can you imagine that?
I was sure you cared for each other, but when I had the chance to observe the two of you, I had it all wrong.
You might think you care for her, Nicholas, but I wonder how long it will take to bring the Boy Next Door right back where he started. ”
“Nico?” I ask again.
He still doesn’t respond, but now his shoulders are rigid, locked in place like every muscle in his body is coiled tight.
“Nicholas will be Subject One,” the Game Master continues. “Eden, you will be Subject Two. Each trial will have a winner and a loser. Do you see this contraption I made?”
I glance around, and my eyes land on a steel pole standing around eight or ten feet tall, welded to a crossbeam at the top and forming a T.
“As punishment, the loser of each trial will be strung up on that pole until the start of the next trial.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Trust me, you don’t want to be the loser.”
I claw through my mind for anything from the Game Master’s case files, but there’s nothing there that will help me now. He’s escalating. He has to, if he wants to feel the same effect.
A digital timer turns on against the back wall, the numbers glowing red in the darkness: 5:00.
“In front of the pole, you’ll find a table with instruments,” the Game Master continues, his voice dripping with anticipation. “You have five minutes to draw as much blood from your opponent as you can. The person who draws more blood from the other wins. You may begin.”
The timer counts down with a tiny beep that sounds way too cheerful for what’s happening.
4:59
4:58
This isn’t real. This can’t be real. Except the timer is ticking down and Nico’s still sitting there with his back to me, and yes, it is real, and it is fucking happening.
I know how these trials go. I need to get up.
“Nico?” I ask again, but he doesn’t answer, just sits there facing away from me with that hood still over his head.
What is he doing? I circle his chair until I’m standing in front of him, not knowing what to do or what to say. What if the Game Master had to do more than smash Nico’s face to subdue him?
Images of what I could find under that hood flood into my head, each one worse than the last. Nico missing teeth. Nico, with unfocused eyes, not remembering where he is because of a head injury.
The longer he’s silent, the more scared I become. “Nico, what happened?”
His hands move to the hood. He pulls it off slowly and drops it beside his chair. Blood mats his black hair together. When he lifts his head, I cup a hand over my mouth.
The gash on his forehead is still bleeding, trailing down his cheek like crimson tears, and it’s one of many small cuts on his face.
His skin is pale, almost gray in the harsh bulb, making the blood stand out like he’s wearing war paint.
But his eyes make my stomach drop straight through the floor.
It’s like every wall he’s ever built between himself and the world got reinforced with steel, and whatever humanity was behind them has been locked away somewhere I can’t reach.
He’s looking at me the way a panther would look at a baby gazelle. The exact same way he looked at me that first dinner at the house, when he reminded me of Stanley Daniels.
He smiles.
“Eden,” he says. “I’ll give you ten seconds to run.”