The Broken Trilogy

by Amy Cross

  “It was his successor, Albert Carrington, who adapted some of Edgewood's more unusual thoughts and transformed them into the game we know today,” Bob continues. “Still, I doubt that either of them could possibly have imagined that the game would persist for more than two and a half centuries. Over time, the organization behind the game simply became much stronger, and the search for a winner grew increasingly desperate. Successive generations had their own ideas about how to proceed, about tactics and so on, and about what the prize might be.”

  “But they never found a winner?” I reply, struggling to believe all of this. “In two-hundred-and-fifty years, not one person was able to do it?”

  “Not one,” he replies, heading over to a cabinet on the other side of the chamber. Taking a key from his pocket, he opens the cabinet and removes a small box. “The prize is in here,” he continues. “No-one knows its exact nature. All we can say for certain is that Benjamin Edgewood placed it in here, that Albert Carrington deemed that it should remain a secret, and that the only person who can ever be allowed to open the box is the person who wins the game.” He turns to me. “At the moment, it would seem that you are the most likely candidate.”

  “Why not just end this?” I ask. “No-one's got a gun to your head. Open the damn box, end the game, and -”

  “That would be against the rules.”

  “Who cares about the rules?”

  “Everyone cares about them, Elly. Not just in the game, but in life. Without rules, we have only chaos.”

  “Or other rules,” I reply, stepping over to him and trying to snatch the box from his hands, only for him to pull it away. “I'm Lady Red, right?”

  He nods.

  “Then give me the box.”

  “I can't. Not yet.”

  “What if I make you?”

  “I'd like to see you try.”

  Pausing, I actually consider making a move. After all, despite his hefty size, Bob's not the youngest man in the world, and I like to think that I can handle myself. At the same time, he seems so confident, and I can't shake the feeling that he can defend himself pretty well.

  “Don't,” he says calmly, almost as if he can read my mind.

  “So I have to wait until you decide I've won?”

  He nods.

  “And then, if you decide... I get to open that box?”

  “Precisely.”

  “And whatever's in there, the game will be over?”

  “Can you imagine?” he asks, holding the box out for me to see. “What could be in here, to justify more than two centuries' worth of pain and murder?”

  “Nothing could justify that.”

  “Yet the game persists. Some even believe that -” He pauses, glancing briefly at the ceiling for a moment. “Some even believe that the game is alive, Elly, that it lurks in the shadows beneath London, and that it has been using all the Mr. Blues, all the Mr. Whites, all the Lady Reds and Mr. Ravens, all this time.”

  “That's ridiculous,” I tell him.

  “Is it?”

  “Yes. This whole thing is just a parlor game that got out of hand.”

  “I wish I could agree with you,” he replies, with a hint of sadness in his eyes. “You're wrong, though. You don't see the true nature of the game yet, all its intricate beauty and love. You only see the coldness and pain, but that'll change. You simply need to be properly inducted.”

  “The old Lady Red thought you couldn't be trusted,” I tell him. “From what Mark told me, Alice was starting to think that you actually want the game to continue forever.”

  “In which case,” he replies, “shouldn't I just have had you killed a long time ago?” He pauses. “I want to know what's in this box, Elly. I want to know more than anything in the world, the need to know burns within me, and yet -”

  “And yet you can't open it,” I reply, “even though you're holding it in your hands.”

  “It's not locked,” he says with a faint smile. “This is simply a matter of protocol. According to the book that records the history of the game, if the box is opened by anyone other than Lady Red, its contents will be ruined.”

  “Show me the book.”

  “You don't need to -”

  “Show me the book,” I tell him again.

  Putting the box back into the cabinet and locking the door, he heads across the chamber and takes an old, leather-bound book from the desk.

  “This book,” he starts to explain, “contains every -”

  “Let me see,” I reply, taking it from him and opening the cover. Inside, I find lists of names, along with dates. After a moment, I spot Mark's name, and a few others that I recognize. “Is this a list?” I ask finally. “Is this all the people who've played the game?”

  “And all the victims,” he continues, “on the next page.”

  Turning, I find a list filled with female names.

  “Sophia Marchant,” I whisper, reading a few out loud at random. “Elizabeth Cavendish, Clarice Williams.” Leafing through the pages, I'm shocked by the sheer number of people who've been entered into the book. “There are thousands of people here. You can't seriously be telling me that all these people died because of the game.”

  “If it's any consolation,” he continues, “they were all just... wastes...”

  “Wastes?”

  “Unimportant people, in the grand scheme of things. Human flotsam. Don't bother to argue with that idea, Elly. If any of those people mattered, their bones would not have been able to fill the Thames for so long without anyone noticing. They were finally pulled out a few years ago, but they were notable only for the sheer quantity of bodies, not for their individual qualities.” Taking the book from me, he looks down at the list of names for a moment. “Elizabeth Cavendish, for example. Who was she? What was she like? Does it even matter? The only part of her life that was worthwhile was her involvement in the game. She should have been grateful when she died. If her name wasn't in this book, there would be no record whatsoever that she ever lived.”

  “If you really believe that,” I reply, feeling a shiver pass through my body, “then you must be -”

  “I'm right,” he says firmly, closing the book. “About everything. I'm not going to try to make myself seem like a good person by pretending to care about these people.” After setting the book back onto the desk, he turns and heads to the door. “You've seen the prize, Elly. Now follow me and try to win it.”

  “I still don't know how,” I point out, hurrying after him.

  As soon as we reach the main hall, I stop and stare in shock as I see that the masked figures have begun to engage in some kind of mass orgy. Naked bodies, covered only by the masks on their faces, are writhing together. Everywhere I look, I see people having sex, sometimes in groups of three, four or even more. It's hard to pick out any particular individuals, since there are hundreds of participants and they seem to be forming a vast sea of sweaty, heaving bodies.

  “Am I supposed to join them?” I ask, horrified by the idea.

  “Dear God, no,” Bob replies. “Behind those masks, Elly, are some of the most influential and important people in the modern world. Political leaders, religious figureheads, businessmen, celebrities... All drawn here tonight by the promise of the greatest sexual extravaganza that has ever taken place. It's like the debauchery at the end of the Roman empire, except that it's a thousand times worse. There are prime ministers, presidents, generals... I dare say there has never in modern history been such a vast and important gathering.”

  “What does this have to do with the game?”

  “It took me a long, long time to work out why no-one had won the game yet,” he continues, with a faint smile, “but finally I understood that Benjamin Edgewood was simply ahead of his time. He knew that sex could be used to control people, and it's true. Ask a man to break the rules and he'll probably turn you down, but offer him the chance to sleep with you, he'll most likely do anything he can for you. Even the so-called good men, the ones who think they ca
n't be bought like that, have their limits.”

  Shaking my head, I take a step back.

  “Sex is at the heart of evolution,” he adds. “Sex is reproduction, and reproduction is the method by which new life is brought into the world. The whole idea of the game is to streamline sex, to use it in order to advance the species. That was Edgewood's original idea, at least. Some of his thinking was a little woolly, but over the years other players began to refine those ideas, discarding the ones that made no sense and adding some of their own. By the beginning of the twentieth century, the game had become more focused, more streamlined, but there were still too many failures. The ideas behind the game were good, but the application was shoddy. By rights, the game should have died off at that point, but it lingered, almost as if it was waiting for the right players.”

  “There are no right players,” I tell him. “This whole thing has to stop!”

  “And now the vast majesty of the game has been distilled to its purest essence,” he continues. “You, Elly.”

  I shake my head.

  “You're all of it. The game resides in your soul. The second phase can begin.”

  “I'm not doing this,” I reply, taking a step back. “This is insane, it's too much!”

  “I thought you might say that,” he continues, “so I prepared a little demonstration.” Turning, he claps his hands and two naked men step out of the crowd, along with a masked, naked woman. As the woman gets closer, I realize that I recognize her body.

  “Jess!” I shout.

  “Hey,” she replies, smiling as she slips the mask off, “can you believe this? I never thought I'd be invited to take part!” She hurries toward me.

  “Stop!” I shout, stepping back. “I don't want anything to do with you!”

  “Why not embrace this?” she asks. “That could be the choice you make, Elly. Join in, let it wash over you. Now I know more about what's going on, I figure I can help you!”

  “Victoria, or Jess as you used to know her, has been very useful,” Bob says, stepping up behind her. “Honestly, I'm not sure if we could have achieved all of this without her.”

  “It was fun the other night,” Jess continues, reaching out and putting a hand on my shoulder, while reaching down with the other hand and touching her crotch. “Why don't we get some guys involved this time and -”

  “No,” I reply, shaking my head. “We have to get out of here!”

  “Oh please,” she replies, stepping even closer and trying to kiss me before I pull away, “just give in to it, Elly. You're so close to winning the game, all you need to do now is -”

  Before she can finish, Bob grabs her by the shoulder and pulls her back. Holding up a large, serrated knife, he drives the blade into her neck, behind her windpipe, before ripping it out through the front and then pushing her toward me. I fall back against the wall and Jess falls on me, gasping for air as warm blood bursts from her neck. Shocked, all I can manage is to stare into her horrified eyes as she grabs my shoulders and tries to hold herself up, and then finally she starts to slip down. Blood is erupting from the gaping hole in her neck in regular jolts, as if it's being forced out by the last, dying beats of her heart.

  “No,” I stammer, finally grabbing her by the waist and trying to hold her up, before slowly lowering her to the floor. “Jess, please, stay with me...”

  She lets out a faint gasp, but she's already lost so much blood, it's clear that she can't get any words out.

  “Another name for the book,” Bob says, holding the knife as he stands over us. “Another casualty of the game. It's tragic, but tragedy is a necessary part of life. It gives us perspective, although I suppose one shouldn't get too sentimental.”

  “Go to hell!” I shout at him, with tears in my eyes, before I look back down at Jess. “I'm going to get help,” I tell her, even though I know there's nothing I can do. I have blood all over my hands and arms, and as I try to pick her up, I realize that her body is starting to feel limp. “Stay with me, Jess,” I continue, “you have to stay conscious. Don't fall asleep!”

  She gasps again, but her eyes are starting to close and the flow of blood from her neck is easing, as if there's not much left to come out.

  “Please,” I continue, leaning down and putting my arms around her. “Please, don't die...”

  I wait for a moment, but I can already tell that all the life has left her body. I don't want to admit that she's dead, so I cradle her for a moment longer before finally letting her down onto the floor. Her eyes are open, so I close them with a trembling hand. I know Bob is standing just a few inches away, and I know he still has the knife in his hands. I want to run and find a way out of here, but at the same time I want to make him pay for Jess's death. Despite everything she did to me, she was my friend once.

  “Get her out of here,” Bob says suddenly.

  Before I can look up, I'm grabbed from behind and pulled away from Jess.

  “No!” I shout, terrified that the knife is coming for me next.

  “You obviously need a little time to think things through,” Bob tells me. “That's okay, you can have all the time in the world. As the guardian of the game's rules, I'm perfectly entitled to change those rules if I feel that they need to be adapted to the modern age. After all, one of the reasons the game has thrived is the fact that successive people in my position have made the necessary adjustments. Make the right decision, Elly, and come to your senses. You know it's inevitable, so try not to delay things for too long.”

  “Go to hell!” I shout as I pull away from the guards and rush at Bob, only to be grabbed at the last moment and dragged back. I try again to get to him, but the guards are holding me too tight and no matter how much I struggle, they're still managing to pull me back. For perhaps the first time in my life, I lose control completely, lashing out in every direction with my fists and feet, desperate to make these monsters pay for everything they've done.

  “You've been given every chance,” he says with a smile. “It would seem that our current Lady Red has lost her mind.” He turns to the guards. “As guardian of the rules, I am entitled to have any other member of the game incarcerated if I see fit. Take her to one of the cells and leave her there until she sees the light. Unless I decide to just let her rot, which is a distinct possibility. After all, I rather think I shall be busy in here for a while.”

  “No!” I shout, still trying to get free as I'm dragged out of the hall and along a corridor. “Leave me alone! You have to let me get to him!”

  Within just a few seconds, I'm pulled through a dark door and then thrown to the floor, and the door is slammed shut behind me before I even have a chance to get to my feet. Hurrying over to the door, I try to force it open, but I can hear footsteps heading away, and with Jess's blood still all over my hands, I start banging as loud as possible.

  “Let me out of here!” I shout. “You can't do this! You have to let me out!” Feeling completely powerless, I take a step back, filled with impotent fury, before – with no other options – I start banging on the door again. “Somebody get me out of here!”

  Mark

  Today

  Slipping my key into the hole, I pause for a moment, praying that no-one thought to change the lock. I'm still not certain that the penthouse suite will be empty, so I turn the key slowly and carefully, and a moment later I hear the tumblers engage.

  A few seconds after that, I'm in.

  This could be a trap, of course, but I've got no choice.

  The new Mr. Blue has certainly made changes, but I'm not here to be nostalgic. Making my way across the main room, I head to the desk. Stopping for a moment, I look around, listening for any hint that someone might be here. Glancing into the bedroom, I see that the bed has been tidied, which means the maid has been, but I still need to be careful. If there's one thing I've learned during my time playing the game, it's that relaxing – even for a fraction of a second – can be a fatal mistake.

  “Hello?” I call out.

  S
ilence.

  Kneeling next to the desk, I reach under and feel for the hidden panel. During my time as Mr. Blue, I was never entirely certain whether or not the others knew about the panel, but I was constantly squirreling away documents that might prove useful if I ever had to run. There was no time to retrieve those documents before, but now they're hugely important. As I pull the panel away, I feel a set of papers fall down, and sure enough all the documents are exactly where I left them. It's hard to believe that such a simple plan worked, but I guess everyone deserves a stroke of luck occasionally.

  Checking my watch and seeing that I don't have much time, I start to scoop the documents up.

  “Well that's interesting,” says a voice suddenly.

  Before I can react, I feel a sharp pain in my lower back and I fall forward. Turning, I lash out, just missing the figure standing above me. As he grins down at me, I reach behind and fumble for a moment before finding the handle of a switchblade. As soon as I pull the blade out, I feel warm blood running down my back, and I can tell that something's seriously wrong: I'm already weak, and when I try to get up, I can barely summon the strength to turn around.

  “A hidden panel, huh?” the figure continues, reaching down and snatching the knife, before taking the documents. “As one Mr. Blue to another, I'd like to thank you for your work. Perhaps some day I'll have need of these. I performed a cursory search of the apartment when I moved in, but clearly I don't poke around enough. God, I'm really kicking myself for not finding these sooner.”

  “You have to listen to me,” I gasp, trying to get up but feeling a sickening pain in my back, “the game isn't what it seems, it has to -”

  “I know all about the game,” he replies, rolling his eyes. “You're Mark Douglas, aren't you? You were the twenty-eighth Mr. Blue?” He reaches out a hand. “I'm number twenty-nine, Luke Sharpe, but I suppose it's easier if you just call me Mr. Blue. I'm the new you.”

  “I'll give you money,” I tell him, still trying to recover enough strength to get to my feet. “I know this isn't ideological with you, it's just about getting ahead, so let's make a deal. I'll give you anything you want.”