29. Carey
Carey
“Dinnertime!” April called out in a sing-song voice, appearing next to me with a bowl of food.
I fixed her with a stony stare, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in the side of my head. “How am I supposed to eat?” I asked. “I’m tied to a fucking chair.”
Her eyes skated over the bindings around my legs and arms. “I’ll have to feed you. But that’s okay,” she said breezily. “I made this stew, by the way. Took a French cooking class last summer break.”
“So you’ve been the one catering for us all along?” I said, skeptically eyeing the steaming bowl.
“No, we all took turns preparing the meals,” she said, gesturing toward her mother and father. They were sitting by the computer on the other side of the control room, deep in conversation. “It was really rough sometimes, you know. I had to wake up at four A.M. most days to help get breakfast ready.”
“Wow, yeah, that sounds really rough,” I said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Too bad I can’t relate. Things have been a total cakewalk for me in this place.”
April sniffed. “I know you’re being sarcastic, but things really have been easier for you here. Like I said earlier, you were never in any real danger.”
“But I didn’t know that when I was going through it, did I?” I said, still glowering at her. “And what about the others? They’ve always been in danger. You’re planning to kill all of them!”
“They deserve it,” she said, voice silky-smooth. “You know that.”
I sighed and lowered my eyes to my lap. In the several hours since I woke up tied to this chair, I’d tried to reason with April and her parents multiple times, but there was really no point. They were all obsessed with the idea that Abby’s death wasn’t truly accidental, but a form of murder instead. They genuinely believed that anyone who had ever negatively impacted her life had helped to kill her and thus deserved a death sentence in return.
“Chin up and open wide.” April held out a spoon in front of me, filled with deliciously scented chicken stew. “Let me know how it tastes.”
I accepted the spoonful and chewed slowly. “It’s good,” I muttered after swallowing.
“Awesome,” she said, beaming. “I’ve been experimenting with the herbs a lot, and I think I finally got the right ratio of thyme to rosemary.”
I frowned as something occurred to me. “How did you get all the meals into the drawing room without any of us seeing?” I asked. “We thought there was a secret door in there somewhere, like the one I found in your room, but there was nothing.”
“Are you sure about that?” April asked, lifting a brow. “I watched you through the cameras, and I saw you guys checking everywhere on the walls and floor. But you forgot one angle.”
She jabbed a finger upward, and understanding finally dawned on me. “The entryway was in the ceiling?”
“Yup. This control room isn’t the only space we have on the third level,” she said. “We installed a kitchen in the room next door, and we put a trapdoor in the floor that looks exactly like one of the big wooden ceiling panels in the drawing room below. So we’d send one person down with a rope ladder, and then we’d slowly lower the food down to them on trays to set out on the table. Easy.”
It didn’t sound particularly easy at all, but I wasn’t about to start an argument with her over such an inane subject.
“So what’s happening with the plan to set me up as the fall girl?” I asked, glancing over at her parents again. “Are the three of you finally starting to realize it won’t work?”
“It will. You keep forgetting about all the connections we have. We’ve already started with the paper trail to make it seem like Maverick was funding you.” April lifted the spoon again. “Open up.”
I chewed fast and swallowed. “Tell me one more thing. Was I right about the games being rigged?”
“Sort of. Some of them weren’t, but others were. Like the one that got Courteney, for example. She didn’t push that button on her collar. We triggered it remotely.”
I frowned. “Why would you set things up that way?” I asked. “Why not make all the games real?”
“Because we didn’t have endless game ideas,” she replied, dipping the spoon back in the bowl. “And we needed to make sure that everyone was dead by the end of the twelfth game. Everyone except you, that is.”
“So the next few games will all be rigged, then?” I asked, stomach churning at the thought of anything happening to Maverick and the others. “Seeing as there’s still so many people left.”
“Yes. By the way, tomorrow’s game is going to be so fun.” April slid another spoonful of stew into my mouth. “Remember the snake pit from the Seven Minutes in Hell game?”
“Mm-hm,” I mumbled through the mouthful.
“We’ve repurposed the snakes for our own version of Snakes and Ladders. It’s going to be so fun to watch.” She cocked her head. “It’s Zach’s turn to die tomorrow. We figured we’ve made him suffer enough by making him watch his little girlfriend die right in front of him, so it’s his time to go.”
“What about Maverick?” I asked in a hollow voice. “When is it his turn to die?”
She sighed. “Well, we actually hoped it would happen earlier today. We had a game of Spin the Bottle crossed with Russian roulette, and we assumed everyone would turn on Mav after some secret prompting we gave to Hudson. But they ended up turning on Hudson instead. In hindsight, that’s not too surprising, because Hudson was a colossal piece of shit, but it is annoying. It was a quick and easy death, and we had something really terrible planned for him in the twelfth game. Now it’ll have to happen to Maverick instead.”
“Please don’t do it,” I said, tears springing to my eyes. I knew there was no point begging, but I had to do it anyway. I couldn’t just stay silent while they plotted to murder my boyfriend. “Please. It’s not too late to change the plan. You can let us all go free, and in return, I promise I’ll never say a single word to the cops. I swear, April. I won’t.”
April rolled her eyes. “Oh, sure. That old chestnut,” she said. She jabbed the spoon toward me again. “Shut up and eat.”
With that, the conversation was over. April fed me the rest of my dinner in silence, face remaining impassive as she watched the tears roll down my cheeks.
Her mother Ruth approached us a few minutes later to ask if I needed to use the bathroom. When I nodded, the two of them untied me and led me into the bathroom next door. “Don’t bother screaming,” April said as she watched me step into the toilet cubicle. “Every single room up here is soundproofed. Not just the control room.”
I didn’t bother responding. What was the point?
After I’d relieved myself, April and Ruth put me back in the chair in the control room and fastened the ropes around my legs and arms. “You should try to get some sleep, honey,” Ruth said, offering me a ghost of a smile. “You look exhausted.”
“I wonder why,” I muttered.
“I need to sleep too,” April said. She glanced over at her father. “Dad, it’s our turn to rest. Mom will keep watch over Carey and the cameras.”
Her father stood and headed over to one of the beds, smothering a yawn with one hand. I watched him through narrowed eyes, mind whirling. It was so weird and unsettling to see him like this, taking part in a series of revenge killings, when I was so used to seeing him at the front of our English class discussing literary conventions and analytical responses. Even though I recognized his tall frame and bespectacled face, it felt like I was looking at a different person entirely.
I bowed my head and closed my eyes, but I couldn’t sleep. The chair was too uncomfortable, my mind was racing like mad, and my stomach wouldn’t stop churning with despair at the thought of Maverick’s impending demise. My heart broke for Zach and Brooke, too. Hell, even the idea of Jasmine’s upcoming death made me feel like shit. She was a bitch, but she didn’t deserve to die for it.
By three o’clock in the morning, I was still awake. Mr. Garrick had been snoring loudly for hours, and April was sleeping peacefully on the couch, where she’d decided to curl up for the evening. Her mother was sitting at the desk, reading a book and occasionally glancing up at the live surveillance feeds on the computer monitors to make sure no one was breaking the curfew.
I sighed and looked back down at the floor, tears welling in my eyes as I pictured Maverick lying dead in front of me, skin pale and eyes unseeing. I winced and tried to shut out the terrible mental images, but they kept on pouring in. Maverick’s limbs twisted and broken. Maverick’s blood spattered over every surface. Maverick’s head removed from his body.
A slight movement on my left snapped me out of my morose reverie, and my eyes shot to the screens on the desk. I couldn’t see much from where I was sitting, but I could make out a few shapes here and there, and I was certain something had just moved on one of them.
Ruth didn’t seem to have noticed, though. Her eyes were glued to her book. It seemed she was quite confident that nothing was going to happen at this time of night, which in turn made her slack at her duties.
I craned my neck and squinted at the screens as another flash of movement caught my attention. I still couldn’t make out what it was, but I figured it had to be one or more of the four remaining players out in the hall. Nothing else could possibly show up on the monitors.
Ruth still wasn’t paying attention to any of the screens, and I silently prayed for her eyes to remain fixed on the pages of her book. She must have felt my gaze on her, though, because she twisted in her seat to frown at me. “You’re still awake?”
“I can’t sleep,” I said, heart thundering in my chest as I caught yet another flash of movement on one of the monitors. Something was happening on the floor below us, and I instinctively knew I had to keep Ruth distracted for as long as possible while it went on. “I really need to use the bathroom again. Any chance you could take me?”
She pursed her lips and stared at me for several seconds, presumably assessing my threat level. “Fine. Give me a minute,” she finally said, turning to set her book down on the desk. She suddenly sat up straight, peering directly at the security feed. “Oh, shit.”
Dammit.She’d spotted the other players on the screen.
“David!” she shrieked, jumping to her feet. “April! Wake up. Now!”
April sat up, rubbing her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“They’re coming!” Ruth said, shaking a finger at the monitors. “They found the door in your room!”
“What the fuck?” April’s eyes bulged, and she jumped up. “Dad, wake up!”
Her father sat up on one elbow, finally awoken from his deep slumber by all the panicked shouting. “What’s happening?”
“They’re coming up here! Right now!” Ruth shrieked. “Get the gun!”
He rolled over to fumble on a low table next to his bed. “Try to block them!” he called out as he picked up the pistol and flicked off the safety with a loud click.
April hurried over to the hole in the floor, but she was too late. Maverick and Brooke had already hauled themselves up and out, fury and ferocity burning in their eyes as they faced her.
“Stay back!” she shouted, scrambling backward. “We have a gun!”
Brooke screamed and tackled April, knocking her flat on her back with a loud thump. At the same time, Maverick lunged at Mr. Garrick, who was now pointing his pistol directly at the hole. The two of them collided with a forceful impact, crashing into a nearby table and sending papers flying.
“Careful, Maverick!” I shouted, heart in my throat as I watched his hand close around Mr. Garrick’s wrist. “The safety’s not on!”
As the fight went on, Zach hauled himself out of the hole and made a beeline for Ruth. He wrestled her to the ground, pinning her with his bodyweight and resisting her attempts at scratching and biting until he managed to drag her arms up over her head.
Jasmine emerged from the hole last. Her wide-eyed gaze briefly scanned the chaotic scenes unfolding in the room before landing on me. She hurried over. “I never thought I’d be so glad to see you!” she shouted over the commotion. Her eyes dropped to the ropes around my legs. “Is there a knife anywhere?”
“Try the desk!”
She ran over to the desk and quickly rummaged through the drawers. “Here!” she said triumphantly, rushing back over to me with a pair of scissors. “Even better!”
While she snipped at the ropes, rapidly freeing my limbs one by one, I watched Maverick and Mr. Garrick, who were still twisting and grappling in their desperate battle for control of the gun. Every time it wavered, barrel pointing in a different direction, I felt as if my heart was going to leap right out of my chest.
Maverick’s jaw clenched with determination as he tried once more to wrench the gun from Mr. Garrick’s grip. The barrel swiveled wildly, and then the two men twisted around so I could no longer see who had the upper hand.
A split-second later, a deafening gunshot shattered the air.