by Katie French
“Bust outta here, avoid the guards, and make a run for it?” I joke. Anything to fill this awkward silence.
He stalks to the door and jiggles the handle for the millionth time. Then he bangs his shoulder against the door. Finally, he gives up and sits down.
“Thanks for trying.”
He goes quiet again. Finally, he speaks. “What’ll you do when you’re free?”
I shrug, though in the dim light he probably can’t see me. “If we ever get free? Take Bell and keep driving. We need to put as much distance between us and the Breeders as we can.”
He scratches his chin. “I hear it gets real dicey the farther you get from Albuquerque. You think the people around here are bad—the road gangs out there are even worse.”
“I don’t see how anything’s worse than Prentice.”
“Total anarchy is worse. Prentice has rules. Sure, he can break them, but only if it benefits his business. Makes him predictable. Like how I knew he wouldn’t just kill me flat out on his carpet. No, he has to run a game because games mean money. And more money means more power. When there’s total anarchy, like real anarchy, you can’t predict anything. A guy might shoot you in the guts just to see what color you bleed.”
I sniff. “Don’t see why things can’t be how they used to be. I mean, we watch these TV shows and people used to live in nice houses and have neighborhood potlucks. They would help each other. I just can’t believe that’s gone.”
Tommy watches me. I shift a little, squirming under his gaze. When he speaks, his voice is low and soulful. “My dah was an awful man by all accounts, but he wasn’t dumb. He’d sit outside our shack at night when it was too hot to sleep and tell us stories. He’d tell us how things used to be before we messed it all up. He said women were the glue that held our society together. When they disappeared, men got desperate. Then mean. Now we are all just a bunch of toddlers who need mothers, but there aren’t any left.”
“Men don’t need mothers,” I say. “They need wives. They need something to think about other than stupid puzzle games and beating the loser to death.”
Tommy nods. “If there were women to chase, they’d use up some of that energy.”
I smile. It feels false.
When I look up, Tommy’s staring at me. “What?”
He blushes. “You’re really…beautiful. I guess I never noticed.”
“The scars,” I say, touching the bandaged part of my face.
“No.” He reaches for my hand. “Not the scars. I mean, they take some getting used to, but they’re beautiful, too. I mean, they’re a part of you. But I didn’t see you before because I was so…afraid of you.”
“Afraid of me?”
He nods. “You were so…feminine. So different than anything I was used to. The only women I’ve ever been around were the whores in the traveling brothels. And they’re as much like men as anything.”
I’m sure I’m blushing now. “The whores, huh?”
“I never paid for sex. Always felt wrong. They’re forced to.”
I nod, so thankful that he said that.
“And I guess I thought you liked Gabe. He’s the one that most people like right off the bat. I’m too…”
“Stubborn?” I offer. “Pigheaded. Angry.”
“Okay, okay.” He smiles.
But suddenly, a secret is burning inside me that I know I have to share. He’s being so vulnerable that there’s no way I can keep this inside.
“I kissed Gabe.”
Tommy turns to me. “What?”
“In the back of the van.”
“While I was driving?”
I nod.
“Christ!” He stands up, his bucket scraping across the floor. “Did you…do anything else?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know if he even liked it.”
He looks at me. “But you wanted him to?”
I shrug. “Maybe.”
“Oh God.” He tugs at his hair.
The awkward silence lingers as Tommy stares at the locked door, and I stare at my boots.
“You know what? None of this matters,” he says. “I’m gonna die in about five hours.”
And then, before I know what’s happening, the distance between us vanishes. His lips find mine. The smooth skin of his mouth fits around mine like two perfectly formed puzzle pieces. He kisses me deeply, passionately. I fold into him, my body taking over. I’m desperate for his closeness, his peace in this storm. My hands go into his hair. His mouth tastes of coffee, sweetness. And the wanting takes over. All I want is this—his lips, his hands, his breath in my mouth, adding to me until I’m more. More than I had been just a moment ago. How often in my life have people added instead of subtracted? Built up instead of destroyed?
When the door cracks open, we jump apart. Prentice, backed by two giant bodyguards, fills the doorway.
“Your presence is requested.” He smirks. “Let’s go.”
Tommy steps up. “Don’t make her do this.”
Prentice regards me. “She’s the one they came to see. But I’m not talking about her. I want you.” He nods at Tommy. “Alone.”
I stand up. “Why?”
“Did I ever suggest that I would answer your questions?” He gazes down at me. “Because if I did, I apologize.”
As I stare at Prentice, I realize I cannot hate him more. I thought I hated Houghtson, but Prentice is a special kind of evil.
“Why don’t you play this game?” I ask Prentice. My anger pushes the words out of my mouth. “Since you’re the master puzzler, why don’t you play me?”
Prentice smiles dryly. “Wouldn’t you like that? Save your little boyfriend and have the chance to take me on? You’d lose.”
“Play against me then,” Tommy says, stepping up.
Prentice chuckles. “I’m far too important to waste time in a silly game. Besides, watching one of you be brutally beaten to death is high on my bucket list.” He nods his guards in. “Take him.”
The guards walk in and drag Tommy out. I reach for him, but they hold me back. His eyes stay locked on me until they shut the door, leaving me alone.
Alone to mourn everyone I’ve lost. Everyone I stand to lose.
A few hours drag by. How long I’m left alone in that closet, I don’t know. When Prentice finally comes for me, it’s almost welcome. Until I hear the drone of the crowd.
The throbbing thrum of bodies awaiting entertainment is louder than ever. Prentice notices me frowning and taps his cane on the floor.
“It’s a packed house. You’ve really helped, my dear, but it’s tonight’s puzzle that brought them in droves. All the way from Albuquerque and beyond. My men really got the word out. A packed house and the best game we’ve ever created. I can’t wait to see it in action.” The joy on his face—like that of an artist displaying his masterpiece—is sick. He made this puzzle to end our lives.
“What’s the puzzle?” I ask.
Prentice smiles knowingly. “I wouldn’t dream of ruining the surprise.”
The main doors are open when I get to them. Inside, it’s standing-room only. Bodies are everywhere—lining the walls, standing on platforms, and forming a giant scrum across the floor. The heat and smell in the room hit me all at once. A tsunami of body odor rolls over us. And their voices make it impossible to hear anything, not Prentice, not the awful thudding of my heart.
My eyes draw up to the platform in the center, spotlighted once again. The contraption from yesterday is gone. In its place, two giant glass boxes the size of small cars take up the entirety of the platform. When we get closer, I can see they’re half-filled with grimy water. There are no other puzzles or contraptions. I look for Tommy, but I don’t see him.
They move me into the center. The lights are blinding. I try to stay calm, but it’s nearly impossible. The noises, smells, and seething crowd are just too much. And where is Tommy? Do I try to save myself or let him win? What about the baby I carry inside me? What do I do?
The guar
d grips my shoulders and rotates me around. Coming up the aisle is Tommy with Tarrish, Prentice’s announcer. Tommy looks bewildered and red-faced. His cap is crammed down over his hair. Did they rough him up? I try to catch his eye, but someone else is coming up behind them. Nobel and Abel walk up. One of the brothers is pushing someone in a rusty wheelchair. The other drags a hobbling figure forward by the arm.
Someone with long, gray hair.
“Bell!” I shout, though no one can hear me over the noise. I turn to Tommy, but his face is white. He sees.
Gabe is in the wheelchair. They brought our loved ones to watch one of us die.
I should’ve stayed with Houghtson, I think. I should have let him have me and said thank you.
Bell lashes against Abel, but when her eyes find me, she stops. Her look of sorrow is enough to sink me. I’m sorry, I sign to her. To Tommy. To my baby.
Gabe, pale and shrunken in the wheelchair, stares out, dazed. He looks drugged. When he sees Tommy, tears form in his eyes. He cries for his brother.
But I don’t cry. I will not cry.
When Gabe and Bell are placed up front near Prentice’s chair, Tarrish holds up his hands until the crowd quiets. He pulls out a megaphone that he must’ve procured for this big crowd.
“Gentlemen, and those not so gentle,” he repeats, though the crowd doesn’t seem to think it’s funny anymore. “Welcome to this colossus event. A matchup between Tommy Meemick, hometown hero, and the puzzle girrrrl.”
The crowd roars. It takes Tarrish several minutes to get them quiet again.
“Bets have been placed, wagers made. Men will be vaulted into kingly status tonight, boys.” He stops to point to a few men sitting near the front in clean clothing. They’re the ones with polished shoes or gems flashing from their ears. Gems mean nothing in this world, but they want others to know they’ve won. They’ve grown rich off games like this.
Tarrish nods at the winners and waves his hand over the rest of the crowd. “Others will go home a little lighter.” He points to his nearly toothless mouth and laughs. Others wave hands missing fingers.
“But we all have the same chance to win! Your bet is as good as McKeeman’s over here.” Tarrish grips one of the wealthy men’s shoulders and shakes it good-naturedly. I glance at the unwashed masses and wonder if they really believe this. They must, or why would they be here?
Tarrish sweeps a hand our way, and the spotlights seem to intensify. “You know our contestants. Most of you have seen what they can do. So you know it will be a night to remember!”
A loud roar from the crowd shakes the building. I don’t know how I will remember to keep breathing, let alone puzzle.
Prentice grabs the megaphone from Tarrish and presses it to his mouth. When his voice comes out, it sounds electronic and calculating. “This game has been constructed just for you.” He points at the crowd. “It’s the most exciting puzzle we’ve ever created. It’s guaranteed to be an event you’ll talk about for years to come.”
When he looks at us, I can barely stand it. I turn my eyes away and look at Bell instead. Why does she have to see this? Why does Gabe? He can barely keep his head up, he’s so weak.
But I have no time to contemplate. The guards push us forward. Panic locks my limbs and I stumble, nearly falling.
“Please, I’m not ready!” I say, but no one seems to hear. “Can I talk to my aunt? Can I just have a minute?” I turn and tug on my guard’s shirt, but he pulls my hands away and pushes me forward.
Up the stairs. Toward the tanks of murky water.
My gut clenches.
The platform thunders under our feet, and the water sloshes inside the tanks. Something dark and rectangular lurks at the bottom of the tank. So, we’ll have to dive down and work a puzzle while we hold our breath? Lucky for me, the pool at the hospital has trained me to deal with water, but what about Tommy? I doubt he’s ever seen this much water in one place before.
There has to be another way.
Tommy and I line up in front of the pools with a stepladder each. I expect them to push us up, but the guards grab my wrists instead. Something cold pinches my skin.
Handcuffs. They’ve locked my wrists together with handcuffs.
But they aren’t done. A chain runs from my cuffed wrists to anklets that they strap above my feet. Once they’re done, I can only shuffle forward and I can’t raise my hands up past my waist.
The panic builds and builds. Why cuffs? Isn’t the pool enough? But Prentice wants a show. He promised them a show, and that’s why they’re all here. He wants this to be nearly impossible so that the crowd gets what they came for. To watch me struggle. To watch me die.
Tommy locks me with a look. “Don’t worry about me,” he shouts as they lead him up the stepladder. “Win, Janine.”
His eyes are so blue and his face is so sad. I want to draw him to me. I want to feel his hands in my hair again. I want so much.
“You win, too.” I reach for him, but a guard yanks me back.
They pull me up the steps. With no hands to guide myself, I fall over the lip of the pool and plunge into the water.
Struggling and splashing against my bonds, I bob down in the water. I’ll drown before the game even starts. But soon my knees hit the bottom. The water’s only chest deep. Forcing myself to calm down, I push down with my legs. My head breaks the surface.
Gasping, I blow water out of my face and shake away wet hair. The water smells foul, like a drainage ditch gone rancid. It’s surprisingly cold, too. I blink and peer through the murky glass at Prentice and Tarrish. They haven’t even explained what we’re to do yet.
Tarrish raises the megaphone to his lips again. A piercing wail lets loose. The crowd groans.
“Sorry ‘bout that there.” He grins toothlessly. “Blasted modern technology.”
Some of the crowd chuckles. That device was modern a hundred years ago.
“Now that both our contestants are properly doused,” he winks at me through the glass, “we will begin. No clock this time, gents. But don’t worry. We’ll be putting the pressure on ‘em in another way.”
My eyes search the platform for what he means. Several men carry a glass rectangle about the length of my tank. It’s a lid. They fit it over my box.
“What’s going on?” I yell, but the men begin closing clamps and sealing me in. I slosh through the water to the wall and bang on the glass with my cuffed fists. Prentice and Tarrish watch me like I’m a zoo creature.
“What’s going on?” I yell, my voice muffled by the enclosed space. “Prentice!”
The panic in my voice is unmistakable. I must look like a crazy person. I feel like a crazy person. There’s still at least five feet of air above the water line in my prison, but how long until that air becomes stale? My eyes search the box for holes and find a small one near the top. Thank God. Fresh air.
But a dark object is being snaked through. A hose. All at once, my brain seizes up. A hose?
I bang the glass. “Stop this! Prentice, please!”
The hose begins pouring water into my tank.
They’re going to drown me.
My eyes jump around, searching for help, for some solution that can save me. I can hear Tommy banging on his glass coffin. I can hear the beat of my heart. How many beats are left? They’re going to drown us in front of a crowd. They’re going to watch our last desperate struggles and then collect their winnings.
What will that last gulp of murky water feel like? Will it hurt to drown?
My breath huffs out in awful gasps. The panic is drowning me. Through the glass, the crowd is a sea of blurred faces. I think I spot Bell. The wheelchair sits beside her. Gabe. Maybe if Tommy and I both solve the puzzle, they’ll let us go.
The water laps at my collarbones.
Think, I tell myself. Calm down. You did it before.
I breathe in slowly a few times through my nose. The air is foul, but I manage to stop panicking. The submerged chest shimmers at the bottom of the churni
ng water. Scooting over, I tap it with my toes. It’s about the size of a shoebox, wooden and probably hollow. It holds something I need. A key? I try lifting the chest with my feet, but it’s stuck to the bottom. And with my hands chained to my ankles, this is going to be awful. But I have no choice.
I suck in a deep breath and go under.
When the shock of cold water fades, being below the surface is actually calming. It’s quieter here. The water calms my nerves. I reach down to the box and fumble with my fingers. No latches or hooks, just smooth sides. I crouch down further, wrap my hands around it, and pull my face closer.
Even through the water I can see that the box is beautiful—a rectangular wooden puzzle box with a mountain scene burned into the top and brown Chevron patterns scoured into the sides. But if it’s a puzzle, there should be seams, something to slide or something to flip. I pull myself through the water, batting my hair out of the way with my chained hands, and try to examine it. My lungs begin to burn, but I push away the need to breathe.
Every side appears seamless, especially in this murky water. None of the Chevron patterns are out of sync. I push on the box’s top, slide my fingers along the corners, and try to dig my nails in. Nothing. My lungs really burn now. I have no idea how much air might be left above. Still, every time I surface to breathe, I waste precious seconds. The panic creeps back, a storm cloud around my thoughts.
Then I see it—a small, thin line running along the top right corner.
I pull down to the box and use my finger to slide the section back. It moves! Now there’s a gap, something to work with. But the need to breathe is taking up too much of my brain. I plant my feet on the floor and push up.
I break the surface, gasping. The hose is spilling water into my box too fast. The water laps at my chin. How much air do I have left? Ten minutes? Less? I can’t focus on that. With a few more deep breaths, I plunge back under.
The box is there waiting for me as I swim down. With the slider pushed back, something else will move. But what? I push and prod. The right side slides up, ever so slightly. I tug on it, but the panel feels locked in place. What now? I look for more seams, more cracks, and find nothing. My hair keeps floating in my vision and my fingers are pruning.
