Horrorscape

by Nenia Campbell

  When the hallway split, James gave her a hard shove to the left as he veered sharply to the right, and Val had been forced to continue on her own.

  Val stumbled through one of the open doors, struggling to catch her breath. She had done track and field, but it had been years since her last meet and her body could scarcely remember how to conserve energy. She was wearing down.

  She let out the breath she had been holding and looked around. She appeared to be in a games room. A ping pong table sat dejectedly in the corner, cover with years' worth of dust, and she could make out a newer, but similarly dusty game of air hockey in the center of the room.

  “So,” a slow, drawling voice said from behind her, “Where's the fire?”

  Val wheeled around and came close to crashing into an old jukebox. Jason was rested against the back wall with his long legs stretched out in front of him.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Playing some pinball.”

  She looked at the pinball machine, then back at him. The machine did look a little less dusty than some of the other surrounding games, but still.

  “Whatever. If you're thinking about pumping me for more information about Lisa, it isn't going to work.” She glanced at the doorway, rubbing at the goosebumps on her arms. “I'm not going to let you threaten me.”

  GM did not appear. Had he lost the trail?

  Jason got to his feet, stumbling a little in his haste. “It's nothing like that.”

  “Oh really.”

  “Really. I hate to say it, but I'm impressed,” he said. “You were the only one who managed to put two and two together. Congratulations.”

  Val eyed him warily. “I don't believe you.”

  “Do you really think I'd say something like that unless it were true? I'm not that charitable.”

  That was slightly more convincing. But she was still cautious. Jason had already proved on multiple occasions that he was taking this game far too seriously, that he was possibly in cahoots with Gavin. Her expression hardened. “You never answered my question. What do you want?”

  Jason looked truly frustrated. Was he that good an actor? “I found a clue. I want you to help me figure it out.”

  “You expect me to help you after you just finished blackmailing me? You can't be serious.”

  “I know how it sounds, but think about it,” Jason said reasonably, “This is a solution that benefits both sides. I come out ahead, you come out ahead—and all you have to do is just…well, decipher. I'm sure you're curious about what GM's master plan is.”

  Yes. And no. Val took a deep breath. And then another. “If this is a trick …”

  “No trick.”

  “We'll see.”

  “Just follow me.” Jason stepped out of the doorway. Val hesitated. To her relief, the hallway was empty. “Coming?”

  I can't believe I'm doing this. “Where is this clue?”

  “It's rather difficult to describe,” Jason said, chuckling. “You need to experience for yourself but trust me, you'll know it when you see it. Ah.” He had stopped outside of a seemingly random door. “Here we are. Ladies, first.”

  Val peered into the room, but only pitch-blackness met her gaze. That was an easy no. She responded likewise. “Can't you turn on a light or something?”

  “And have the others see and steal our advantage? What's the matter, Val? Afraid of the dark?”

  “You first, then,” she said, “Unless you're afraid I'm going to club you from behind.”

  The smile disappeared from his face as she tossed his words from earlier at him. “Just get in the room, Val.”

  “I'm not going in there!”

  “Sorry, Val—but it's for your own good.” She started when she felt his hands on her shoulders. He was trying to push her into the room! Val's arms shot out to grip the door frame. Hopeless. She could feel her feet sliding. He was too strong. Gritting her teeth, she dug the heels of her sneakers into the carpet for better traction.

  “James! James! Help—”

  Jason rammed into her with his shoulder. Val had to let go of the door so she could throw out her arms to break her fall. A burning sensation jagged up her forearms as she slid across the carpet. The door slammed shut and she heard the unmistakable click of the lock.

  “Have fun.”

  Val pushed herself up, grimacing, and fell upon the door. “Let me out of here right now!”

  She thought she caught the faint sound of his laughter as he retreated down the corridor. “You'll thank me later.”

  The hell she would. Val leaned against the door, so that she was facing towards the room, waiting for her eyes to adjust as she tried to ignore the pain crawling up her arms. She could only make out dark shadows and the faintest outline of glass.

  Hadn't she been in this room before? Yes. Back in the beginning of the game. The creepy menagerie she had bypassed in favor of better hiding places. The one where she had first encountered Charlie.

  A long, oak table was the obvious focal point of the room. About seven or eight glass tanks were carelessly arranged on the varnished surface, shimmering with water. Val looked around the room. Seemed ordinary enough. It was a study. Not a bedroom, as she previously suspected. The furniture was modern—mostly white and black, with steel accents—and there wasn't much of it.

  A soft blue light flickered on as she approached, dim enough that it caused no discomfort. The light was coming from the tanks. Must be on a timer or something.

  They were standard size, filled with brightly colored gravel in blue, pink, and purple. They were also empty. Why on Earth had Jason brought her here? And where had he gotten the key to this room?

  Something slid beneath her shoe, nearly tripping her. A piece of paper.

  The piece of paper was scarcely visible; she had crushed it in her fright. Val held the paper up to one of the blue lights with shaking fingers. Her sweaty palms had blurred the ink in a few spots but the message was still legible.

  And she inhaled sharply, for written in fresh, red ink were the words: Turn around, Val.

  Val froze, turning around slowly. She saw nothing; only shadows. She was alone.

  A sudden scratching sound to her left made her jump, every nerve tingling in anticipation as adrenaline kick-started her body's natural flight-or-fight response. There was a deafening silence. Then Val heard the sound again—softer this time…almost playful.

  “Who's the—” She broke off, the inflection in her voice shifting from anger to fear when she felt a finger tap her shoulder. She whirled in that direction and found herself facing the tanks again. Nobody was there. The silence was absolute, except for the steady pounding of her own heart.

  “Gavin?”

  And then she heard a voice, level with her ear, say, “Maybe.” Her eyes snapped open, but it was already too late. Strong, warm arms encircled her waist, pulling her closer, as that same familiar voice whispered, “Checkmate.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Domination

  Checkmate.

  “No—” She slammed against him, and the two of them stumbled backwards. He hit the table and one of the tanks toppled over, landing on the floor with a loud crash.

  “The door's locked, Val,” he said. “Nowhere to run.”

  “Where's the key?”

  “Not on me. You're welcome to take a look, though. Tell me, how are you enjoying the game so far? I noticed you managed to solve my puzzle rather quickly.”

  Val twisted around, searching for his necklace. Her finger coursed over bare skin, and she felt the low thrum of amusement vibrate through his throat like a purr.

  He wasn't wearing his necklace.

  “That isn't going to work again.”

  Or his shirt.

  She lifted her knee, intent on driving it into his stomach or groin, and he kicked her other foot out from under her. There was a thud as they hit the ground.

  “You know better than this,” he said. “I could almost believe you're deliberately tr
ying to provoke me.”

  “You did something to the phones. You did, didn't you? Why did you really invite us here?” At his silence, she said, “Please. Please. Whatever you've got planned, don't do it.”

  “Hush.”

  “Don't do it,” she repeated. “Don't do this.”

  “We both know that's not what you really want.” She knocked her own head back against the floor in shock when she felt his tongue flick out to taste the sweat beading on her throat. “Is it?”

  She made a small, pitiful sound more animal than human.

  “I didn't think so.”

  “Gavin—”

  “A bit early for begging, isn't it? I haven't even done anything to you, yet.”

  Yet.

  The room was different, but the feeling was the same—trapped, with no escape. She twisted away from his mouth, acutely aware of her pulse racing in her ears. “W-what are you going to do to me?”

  “That depends on you.” His hot breath tickled her ear. “Valentine.”

  “You were watching us—?”

  “It was such a touching display.” He knotted his fingers in her hair. “I could only assume it was for my benefit.”

  “That's insane,” she stammered, even as she wondered. Had she known it was him, on some subconscious level?

  “Well, I suppose you would be the authority on that.”

  The casual insult made her eyes sting. “I'm not crazy. You made everyone think I was crazy.”

  “Actually, that was the lawyer who did that. I merely sat there like a good boy, repentant”—he nuzzled her neck—“brilliant, misunderstood, tortured,” he hissed the last in her ear, making her flinch. “Seduced and then vilified by the neurotic Lolita, and her wild claims of persecution.”

  “You don't really believe that. You can't.”

  “No, I don't.” He trailed kisses down her collarbone. “But does that matter?” When he got to fabric he took the lace between his teeth and worked the button through the hole expertly with his tongue. “It's all about control.”

  Part of her relished it, relished the fact that he was so strong, that she wouldn't be able to fight him if she tried. Relished his fierce sexuality, and unapologetic cruelty. The erotic thrill of his bare skin against hers. The deceptive power of his long, slender fingers. The fingers that were slipping beneath the waistband of her jeans.

  She bolted upright.

  He covered her mouth with his hand, pushing her back down. Her chest rose and fell in panicked successions as she tried to draw in enough air to scream. What is he doing oh no no no no—

  “Think, Val. Do you really want James to see this?”

  She tried to glare at him over his fingers, even as her lower body began to burn and melt. She inhaled sharply, and he lifted his hand off her mouth to let her breathe.

  “No,” she whimpered. This isn't what I want…

  “I thought as much.” His teeth brushed the shell of her ear. His other hand was on her breast, and her fingers were around his wrist, digging in so tightly that she suspected she had drawn blood. “How can you live, when you're so repressed?” He flicked his fingers. She shuddered.

  But maybe it's what I need.

  He squeezed, then, and her head fell back against the floor with a thunk. A strangled, wretched sound filled the air, and she realized, with an ill start, that it was from her.

  “I think you find me impossible to resist.” He pressed against her cheek, tilting her face back towards his. Unlike her, his breathing was quite slow, composed. She could feel his pulse in his fingertips, as steady as a clock. “Because you know I'm the only one who can make you feel this way.”

  Maybe they were made for each other.

  Maybe he was what she deserved.

  “Isn't that right?”

  Softly, she cried.

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  The seven minutes were up. A hushed click cut through the silence, and Gavin pulled away. “Time to go,” he said. Dismissing her as if she were a whore.

  Aren't you? Just look at yourself, at what you're doing!

  She stumbled to her feet, heart in her throat. Her clothing felt too rough, her knees too weak. She could feel the sting of saliva like a cold brand burning deep into her skin, and where his fingers had brushed she felt a slow burn.

  Jason shot a curious, sidelong look at her. He closed the door—but didn't lock it, she couldn't help noticing—and nodded at her disheveled clothing. “Did you have fun?”

  And then, suddenly, Val knew. It was only the briefest glimpse of insight, but she knew. And she lunged. Jason's hands were still in his pockets, though he instinctively tried to pull them out to defend himself, but her palm still struck his face with a sickening crack that echoed through the empty corridor. Breathing hard, she pulled her arm hand back. It was tingling.

  The shock only lasted for the span of a few seconds before it was replaced by anger. “Bitch.”

  The urge to run came again, stronger still, and she tried to heed it but he was too fast. Val slammed against the wall, rattling the frame of a picture of a pine forest hanging over her head. She cringed.

  “Oh, I'm not going to hit you. I don't hit girls.”

  She wondered if he could hear her heart hammering. “Easy to say when you have Gavin doing your dirty work.”

  “Gavin?” Jason repeated. “Oh, is that his real name?”

  Val sucked in a breath. Shit.

  “I thought you two knew each other. Hmm. I wonder what James would have to say about this.”

  “He's not going to believe you.”

  “I think he will. He's the jealous type.”

  “If you tell James, I'll tell Lisa. I'll tell her everything.”

  “And then she'll know you were the rat who sold her out, and I'll still tell James you let Gavin finger-fuck you upstairs,” he said. “Face it, Val—you lose.”

  Val felt the sting of tears in her eyes. Angrily, she blinked them back. “What do you want from me?”

  Jason blinked, as if startled by the question. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Nothing,” Jason agreed, and paused a heartbeat before adding, “From you.”

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  James retraced his steps from the staircase, trying to locate that adjoining room where he and Val had separated. The hallway was silent and he frowned—it was a large house, but he still should have run into somebody by now. But he hadn't. The spacious rooms and narrow hallways were as silent as a grave. He made an aggravated sound in the back of his throat. What a waste of time.

  He ascended the staircase, studying the pictures lining the walls without really seeing them. None of the pictures were family photos, giving the atmosphere a cold, impersonal feel. A lot of the furniture was in disrepair, looking as though it hadn't been used for a long time...

  One picture caught his eye. It depicted a king and a queen, both robed in immaculate white. Most of the colors were cold—lots of blues, whites, and grays. The only spot of color was the woman's fiery red hair. He frowned. Her posture indicated helplessness, perhaps induced by injury. By contrast, the man's posture was aggressive. In his fingers was a wicked, slightly curved blade. James shivered. The perspective was slightly off, stilted like the chase scenes in a slasher film. He felt like he'd seen this painting somewhere before—but where? Without really meaning to, he stopped walking and stared.

  A door slammed behind him. James pivoted around, but there were so many doors—open and closed—that it was impossible to tell which one the sound had come from. “Who's there?”

  Silenced mocked his query.

  “This isn't funny,” he added in a warning voice, just as another slam—closer this time—resounded from behind one of the closed doors. “I said, Who's there?”

  Slam.

  This time, the sound came from just behind him. James automatically turned in that direction, disconcerted to find himself facing an empty hallway once more—with one small differenc
e. A little piece of paper, a post-it, was attached to one of the now-silent doors. He walked over, turning his head to scan both sides of the hallway, before closing the distance completely and removing the note.

  He didn't recognize the handwriting. The letters had been inscribed so crudely that, in some places, large gaps separated the separate strokes while others were clotted with ink.

  CHECKMATE.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Vacating Sacrifice

  James fell back a step. The paper fluttered from his hands and hit the floor without a sound. He barely noticed. Checkmate? He didn't know much about chess—like most things outside of computers and grades, he found it pointless and a waste of time—but didn't checkmate signify a losing move? The end of the game?

  And then he heard the words, “Hello, James,” spoken effortlessly from behind him.

  What?

  The blow was so unexpected, it took a moment for his nerves to respond. The pain came as suddenly and violently as an explosion. He saw stars; hot, white flashes of light in his periphery. Something hard slammed against his knees and he realized that it was the floor. The last thing he heard was a faint ringing sound, and then everything went black.

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  The boards squeaked noisily beneath her feet. Val barely noticed or cared.

  She looked down at her feet in frustration, surprised to see a post-it note stuck to the bottom of her shoe. Where did this come from?

  Frowning, she peeled the paper from her sole and smoothed it out. A single word (“CHECKMATE”), printed in ugly block capitals, marched across the page in glittering blood red ink. The unevenness of the letters, and the smeared blots of ink, suggested a hand made unsteady by some powerful emotion. But for whom? And why?

  Val couldn't come up with an answer. She wasn't sure she wanted to. But oh, she could guess.

  That was when she heard the voices. They were still faint, but growing closer, and she recognized Jason's annoying bray straight off. Charlie's voice was similarly easy to place. Val shoved the note in her jeans and rounded the corner, one hand on a doorknob in case they came closer.