Chapter 38
“I gave them two minutes to run. Long enough for them to think they had a chance. It was more fun if they thought they had a chance.”
I back away from him. “What are you doing?”
“What do you think I’m doing?” Nico asks, standing up.
My mind stumbles over his words. He races past me to the table, snatching a scalpel and turning on me.
“What? Did you think I’d be above this?” Nico says.
I step back from him, the heel of my boot snagging on a piece of broken tile. He drags his right leg with each step.
“I fucking told you,” he sneers. “I’ve done nothing but think about this for weeks.”
I shake my head.
He laughs, too loudly, like a robot trying to imitate laughter even though they’ve never heard it before.
“Come on, Eden,” he says. “Do you really think you have a chance here?”
He lunges toward me. I scramble backward so fast I trip over my own feet, catching myself on all fours and pushing away from him.
He gives chase. I run until I reach the wall, then risk a glance over my shoulder.
The brightness of the lightbulb has left me nearly blind, and it shines behind Nico, making him look like a shadow limping toward me.
This has to be the most boring chase the Game Master has ever seen.
Will he get bored enough to come finish this himself?
I let Nico get close before darting away.
Nico charges forward, arm outstretched to catch me, but I change direction so suddenly that he overshoots. His hand swipes through empty air where I was a second ago.
He growls in frustration, going at me again. I lean back, arching my spine until his fingers brush my jacket without getting purchase.
“Eden.” He scrubs a hand down his face and smears more blood across his cheek. It looks black in the darkness. “Stop running and let this happen.”
Is his plan for him to catch me? Am I supposed to fight back? I don’t know what Nico’s plan could be beyond limping after me.
There’s no escaping the trial. There are only two minutes left. So, we need to fake our way through and come up with a plan to escape afterward.
I wish Nico could tell me what he’s planning without the Game Master hearing. I’m just going to have to trust him.
I wait until he’s almost on me before jumping in the direction of his injured leg. His knee buckles, and I slip past him.
I run for the table, my boots crushing debris. I stumble around to the other side of the table, putting it between us, and risk a glance up at the timer.
1:28
Nico stops himself on the table, gripping the edge of the flimsy plastic thing as he moves around it, forcing me to circle with him. The table is small. One of those folding ones you get at the hardware store, and it’s clear except for one more scalpel with a pointed tip.
“You have no idea how long I’ve been dreaming about this,” Nico says. “And how much of a relief it’s going to be.”
He feints left. When I dodge, he shoves the entire table forward at me.
I leap backward, but not fast enough. The table slams into my legs and sends me falling onto the ground.
Pain explodes up my arm. I have no time to recover before his weight crashes down on me, one knee slamming into my chest and the other pinning my arm to the ground. I cry out from the crushing pressure. The tile is so hard under me that it feels like my bones might crack.
I hold my breath, waiting for him to try to get close and tell me his plan, but he digs his knee in hard, grinding it into my sternum until black spots dance at the edges of my vision.
The grey rings in Nico’s eyes shine like halos in the spotlight.
“Did you really think you’d get the better of me?
” Nico pins my free arm over my head. “I had to hold it together for Donny.” He adjusts his weight.
“Then for the others, but it’s just you and me in here.
I get to have you how I want you. What better opportunity than this?
I can kill you and blame it on the Game Master. ”
“Is this part of your plan?” I whisper, keeping my voice so low I’m barely moving my mouth.
Nico jams the scalpel under my jaw. The blade dimples my skin, and a cry snags in the back of my throat.
“My only plan is to play with you until I get tired, then cut your throat,” he says.
He undulates his head from side to side. I suck in a breath when I realize who I’ve seen do that before.
I examine the corners of his eyes, searching for any telltale clear ooze that could suggest Morrow somehow busted Billy out of containment, but there’s nothing. Nico stares back at me with pure hatred.
He presses the blade hard enough that it stings. My thoughts scatter, leaving nothing but animal panic.
I thrust my free leg up and brace my foot against his shoulder, shoving him back with everything I have as I twist my upper body away from the blade.
The pressure lifts enough for me to get out from under him. I fling myself on top of him before he can recover, raking my nails across his forehead to reopen the gash from the windshield. It’s terrifying how much it bleeds.
“I’m sorry,” I sob.
I scrabble to my feet and put as much distance between us as possible. Behind me, he curses, and I hear the scrape of his boots as he struggles to his feet.
0:19
Nico’s limp has worsened, and he uses one hand to wipe blood from his mouth while he grabs the scalpel from the ground.
0:14
He charges at me but stumbles and catches himself against a column.
0:09
He pushes off the column, his gaze flicking to the timer counting down its final moments.
0:05
He’s limping too much to reach me now. Every step falters, and his leg drags him down.
The timer beeps. Red digital zeroes flash on the screen.
I stand there, unable to do anything but watch blood drip from Nico’s chin onto the broken tiles. My hand goes to my throat. My fingers come away red.
“Trial one is complete,” the Game Master announces, elated. “Subject Two is the winner.”
I haven’t won anything. I wipe the tears spilling down my cheeks with the heel of my hand, then reach for Dad’s dog tags.
I really thought… As much as I wish this were all an act, I’m struggling to find even traces of the Nico I thought I knew in the person in front of me.
Good Nico could have always been an act. Even in the kitchen, he pulled away once things got really heated. Was that because he didn’t want Donny to find me in the morning with a knife buried in my skull?
I didn’t want to believe he was capable of hurting me. Blood trickles slowly from my neck.
One of Benji’s case studies that I read a couple of days ago slams into my head. He monitored a host in the year after his seven-month possession. The host seemed stable until his anger hit a certain threshold. It was like flipping a switch. The host reverted to a state similar to his possession.
Could the beating from Morrow have flipped a switch inside Nico?
“Subject Two, you will now secure Subject One to the tower,” the Game Master instructs. “Put down your scalpels.”
I march back into the middle of the room, righting the overturned table and slamming the scalpel back onto it. Nico drops his onto the floor where he stands.
Of course winning means I have to be the one to string Nico up. God forbid Alan Morrow get off his lazy ass and do it himself.
“Well?” Nico wrenches his hood out from under his leather jacket, pulling it over his head and zipping the jacket all the way up to his chin. His eyes are ablaze with intense rage. “Get it over with.”
I swallow the bile building in my throat. He walks to the pole with measured steps, even moving like Billy, and, when he reaches the base, he faces me.
The cuff is not a police-issue one, but something thicker with more weight.
I take Nico’s wrist. My brain decides this is the perfect time to replay the memory of his hands tangled in my hair, to remember these hands cupping my face, and the way they’d felt both strong and careful at the same time.
His thumb had brushed my cheekbone like I meant something to him.
“Do it already,” he snaps.
I cinch the cuff closed until it clicks. I close the second cuff and grab the chain, pulling until both of his arms are stretched out and level with his head like a scarecrow.
There are about a thousand things I want to say to him right now, so many I don’t even know where to start, but they’re all stuck behind this big pathetic lump in my throat. But I need to say something.
I glance up at the camera, stepping close to him and dropping my voice. “Why are you doing this?”
“Jesus fucking Christ, talking to you is like talking to the damn Energizer Bunny,” he grumbles. “How many times do I have to say it?”
“I know you’re lying,” I whisper against the inch of space between us. “You wanted me in the kitchen.”
“Oh, come on, Eden.” He leans in toward me, the chains creaking as he strains against them. He gives me a pitying look. “Why would I want you?”
I pull on the chain.
The links dig into my palms as his body weight sags against them, but I’m grateful for the pain.
It gives me something real to focus on that isn’t the expression on his face, or his words ripping into my heart.
His long arms stretch over his head. I hoist him up until the toes of his boots are the only things touching the ground.
The position forces his shoulders back too far, but he doesn’t make a sound and just hangs there.
I hook the end of the chain around the cleat and angle myself away from him, covering my mouth with my hands so he doesn’t see me trying not to cry.
“Well done,” the Game Master says over the speakers. “I suggest you make yourselves comfortable. I have big things planned for you.”