Scavenger Hunt

by Dani Lamia

  Alistair enters the bar just as I am finishing. His face is gray. He is wearing the official Nylo Family Scavenger Hunt T-shirt that came with the phone in the steel suitcase. He is followed by Gabriella, wearing a pink tube top and fishnets. She looks like she has been out all night carousing. We make eye contact across the bar. What is this? An armistice?

  I check my game phone. It is fifteen minutes until we get the next clue. At least we will all be together this time.

  Alistair approaches me first. But he is interrupted by one of the Midwesterners, who claps me on the back, tears streaming down his beefy face.

  “He was the best,” the huge man gushes. “The best there ever was.”

  “There will never be another like him,” I say.

  “I heard your other brother was tragically and accidentally killed as well,” he says. “Oh my god. How are you holding up? How are you bearing it?”

  “I am not handling it particularly well,” I say. “In fact, I am choosing not to really think about it yet. I am choosing not to process anything at all for the time being. I just want to do right by them the best I can. To do right by their memories.”

  “Hey, did you know that those bottles on the table aren’t vodka? They taste like Coke—Crystal Coke! Isn’t that crazy? Do you think the bar knows? Do you think they got swindled?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know,” I say, smiling.

  Alistair cuts in. He stands awkwardly in front of me for a moment and then hugs me. Gabriella follows behind him, embracing both of us in one of her too-warm, too-sexual hugs.

  “We can’t fight each other anymore,” she says. “We have to all work together now. The stakes are too high. I know I am in the lead right now, but any one of us could be next.”

  “We talked it over,” Alistair says to me. “We’ll do whatever you want. You’re in charge, sis. We are in your hands.”

  My eyes flash and I see a vision of both of their dead bodies, broken and bleeding. Even though Gabriella has two lives left, I know that Alistair is really my last rival here. If I can just beat him, I will win everything.

  I chase the thought out of my head. The only rival I have is the game itself. We all have to work together if the three of us hope to survive and to catch whoever is doing this to us.

  “It’s almost time for the next clue,” says Gabriella. “May I?”

  She points to the bottles of White Coke on the food table. She certainly knows what they are. I nod.

  “For Henley,” I say. “And for Bernard.”

  Gabriella gets a bottle for herself and one for Alistair, and we clink in camaraderie. It feels good to share this with them. Almost as good as it has felt denying it to them all these years.

  34

  Everybody shares their final thoughts about Henley. It is fairly cathartic, and I know that all of these people will be drinking and partying here all day and all night, involving any strangers who wander into the bar in this celebration of my dead brother. But the three of us have other plans.

  At noon, Pez, the detectives, my brother, my sister, and I gather in a quiet corner.

  “It’s time,” says Gabriella.

  “The two of you still have your superpowers,” I say, just remembering.

  “They haven’t helped us out at all,” says Alistair. “I can open any lock. Great.”

  “Yeah, and I am impervious to bullets,” says Gabriella. “I put a gun in my mouth and tried to blow my brains out last night but nothing happened.”

  “Did you really?” I ask, ready to believe anything at this point.

  “No,” says Gabriella, shaking her head. “Not really.”

  The Nylo Corporation theme song starts to play. Here we go. The three of us hold up our phones to get the next clue.

  This time, the Game Master is wearing a mask that looks like a fabricated vinyl reproduction of our father’s face. It is ghoulish.

  “You fucking monster,” I say. “You piece of shit.”

  The detectives look at me knowingly, as if I have revealed too much. They seem pleased that my facade of decorum has been pierced.

  “I am no monster,” says the Game Master in a voice like a strung-out chipmunk. “I am merely in charge here. And it is time for the next clue. There are only three of you left, which means that the stakes are high.”

  “We aren’t going to play your game,” I say. “We are banding together. We are unionizing. We are going on strike. Are you going to kill all three of us at the same time?”

  “I’m sure I don’t have any idea what you are talking about,” says the Game Master. “This is all just good corporate fun. Your next clue is: ‘In a white room with white curtains.’ That’s it. Good luck, all of you!”

  The Game Master’s face disappears from the screen. The three of us look at each other. We all get it immediately. This one is even more obvious than all the others. It’s as if the Game Master isn’t trying to trick us anymore. Instead, they are trying to turn us against each other, to put us in an impossible pressure cooker of panic and resentment.

  The clue swims on our game phones, shimmering over a field of red rain.

  “You all seem like you know the answer to this one,” says Detective Jay.

  “Yeah,” says Gabriella. “We know this one.”

  “It’s down in Ditmas Park,” says Alistair. “Where our mom killed herself. Our old summer house in Brooklyn. We sold it, of course. But the house is still there.”

  “We should have burned it to the ground,” I say. “We should have capped it with concrete like a tomb.”

  “So, should we get a squad car there immediately?” asks Detective Rutledge. “That’s where the next terrorist attack will be?”

  “We don’t care what you do,” I say. “Send the police or not. But we are going. And we are going together.” I turn to Gabriella and Alistair. “We can take the train. I can use my pass for all of you.”

  “But it’s such a nice day,” says Gabriella. “And we should give the cops a chance to check the place out.”

  “I don’t have any plans,” says Alistair. I realize that none of us are in any hurry.

  “Then we’ll walk,” I say.

  Alistair, Gabriella, and I each take a somber shot of bourbon before leaving the dark bar behind and venturing out into the sunny June afternoon. Gabriella has sunscreen in her bag and we all slather up as best we can, making sure to get the backs of our ears and the backs of our legs.

  Just as we are about to take off, Angelo Marino steps outside and grabs me by the shoulder, pulling me aside.

  “You’ll meet us over there?” I ask him.

  “I will,” he says.

  “How can any of this be legally binding at this point?” I say. “As a last will and testament?”

  “It isn’t,” he says. “But that’s not why you are doing it now. Is it?”

  “No,” I say. “It’s about something else now. Pride. Not being afraid. Confronting this asshole. And staying alive, obviously.”

  “I need to tell you something,” he says. “Something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a long time. I never could do it before, not while your father was alive. First of all, he wouldn’t let me. And second of all, I was deeply ashamed. I want you to know that everything was fine between your father and I. He hated me once upon a time, it’s true. Hated me for a long time. But in the end, he forgave me. And in the end, the fact that we both had the same love, the same grief: this fact united us. It kept us together. Even when we should have run from each other, we ran toward each other instead.”

  “What are you trying to tell me?” I say, knowing exactly what he is trying to tell me.

  “Your mother and I,” he says. “At the end. We were together. Intimately. It wasn’t good for us. We were going to stop what we were doing. But she was lonely and I was lonely. And I had always loved h
er. It didn’t feel wrong. It was she who started everything. I think she was trying to get revenge, but I don’t know why or what for. But I also think it was more than that. She just wanted to change herself. To become something new. She was tired of her life and she didn’t know what to do about it.”

  “How long?” I ask, not sure I want to know the answer.

  “It was years,” he says. “But it wasn’t like you are thinking. It was sporadic. I loved her, but I don’t think she ever really loved me back. She was just taking from me. Sucking my blood to stay alive. Anyway, I wanted you to know that. I loved her and I loved your father as well. Losing her was the worst thing that ever happened to both of us. I blamed him just as much as he blamed me. But in the end, it was both of us who were wrong. And her role can’t be ignored either. After all these years, the person I blame the most for her suicide is her.”

  I raise an eyebrow at this last bit, which he says with unbelievable venom, but I know he is right.

  “Thank you for telling me,” I say. “It can’t have been easy for you.”

  “No,” he says. “I just wanted you to know. I needed to get it off my chest.”

  “Just in case I’m murdered,” I say. “And you never get a chance to unburden yourself.”

  He nods.

  “You are so much like her,” he says. “Sometimes I forget that you aren’t the same person.”

  He looks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t. He opens his mouth and shuts it and then turns away, back to the door of Ugly American.

  As my siblings and I walk, three security guards follow us and three move in front, clearing the way. We are in a bubble of protection. It is unnerving and feels almost biblical, like Palm Sunday, with Jesus riding into town on an ass for one last week of glory. It feels right to walk. To strut through our city.

  We reminisce as we stroll, talking about the old days, talking about our father and our two dead brothers. Gabriella asks me about Phoebe and the children.

  “I want you guys to promise that you will take care of all of them,” I say. “I know Bernard wasn’t the greatest husband or father, but he really did love them and he would have wanted for us to provide for them all, just as if they were our own kids.”

  “They won’t want for anything,” says Alistair.

  “Nothing but caviar and Harvard for everyone,” says Gabriella. “Truly. We promise.”

  This comes as a relief. I think about Bernard’s indiscretions weighed against our mother’s cheating heart. He was faithless, but was it really his fault? I remember back when he was a boy and he used to cling to her, much more than Alistair, who was enamored with our father. It was only Henley who didn’t seem to need anyone at all.

  We cross the bridge into Brooklyn and then make our way down Coney Island Avenue, past the endless car wash stations and fast food restaurants. This is the part of New York City that feels the most like any other place in the United States: a hollow, bombed-out hellscape where brands meet cars and where freedom shrinks down to what you can buy and where you can drive.

  We are exhausted by the time we make it to Ditmas Park. I am now fully sober. I wish I had brought a hat. I am fairly certain I have managed to burn myself along my scalp, where my hair parts down the middle.

  We weave through the blocks to our old summer house by muscle memory. I remember these streets well, like creases in my own brain, cut deep by paranoia and obsession. The security guards fan out to protect us, joining the security staff who are already there. They sweep around the perimeter of the house, jogging into the backyard.

  “The cops came and went, but they only barely checked the place,” Mel informs me.

  “Let us go in first,” says Ed. “I don’t trust the cops.”

  I give the okay and our security detail checks the doors, both front and back. Then they pour into the house like an enema.

  I don’t know how many times this property has changed hands over the years and I don’t know where the deed has ended up. I expect that Angelo Marino will be able to tell us once he arrives, but he isn’t here yet.

  The White Room in the front will just be a normal living room now. The bloodstains won’t be on the walls and on the carpet and on the curtains. It will just be an empty front room, like any other room in the world. I still can’t quite imagine what it will be like to step foot in there again, to test myself against the worst memory that I have.

  Angelo Marino pulls up in an Uber. He steps out of the car, looking contrite and embarrassed. I’m sure he is wondering if I have told Alistair and Gabriella about his dalliances with our mother.

  “Just in time,” I say as he morosely walks up to us. “We need to know who owns this house.”

  “Actually, you own it,” says Angelo Marino. “Or rather, the Nylo Corporation does. It was purchased by a shell corporation two years ago. I had nothing to do with it. It was something that your father did on his own.”

  “So he sold it and vowed never to return, and then he bought it again just so he could send us on this sick quest?” I ask.

  “Seems so,” says Angelo Marino.

  While the security guards scour the inside, we wait on the front lawn, smoking cigarettes and trying to find shade among the big trees of the neighborhood. Eventually, they come back out, shaking their heads.

  “There’s no one in there,” says Ed. “It’s completely empty. It looks like there hasn’t been anybody inside in a long time. There’s dust on the walls, on the staircase, on the doorknobs.”

  “Whoever set this up might have done it months ago,” points out Alistair.

  From the lawn, we can see the front room, surely where we are supposed to go.

  “How should we do this?” asks Alistair. Gabriella can still afford to lose a life, whereas neither Alistair nor I can. We both look at her.

  “I don’t want to go in there,” says Gabriella.

  “We’ll take your phone in for you,” I say. “You can just wait here on the lawn.”

  I tell the security guards to expect anything. They make a wall around us as Alistair and I step toward the house, blocking us from all sides.

  “The Game Master is probably watching somehow,” I say. “Like they were watching Bernard fall out of the sky. They must be here somewhere. Well, let them watch.”

  Alistair and I enter our old house. I breathe deeply, shuddering as I cross over the threshold. He puts his hand on my shoulder and I nod, letting him know I am okay. We move into the White Room, just off the foyer. Against all odds, it’s still white. The carpet, the curtains, the walls. All white. A shiver runs down my spine.

  We walk all the way in, but nothing happens. We move together around the sides of the room, our hands grazing the walls, but it isn’t until we reach the big front windows that the Nylo theme starts to play. Alistair wins. I come in second.

  “I’ll go get Gabriella’s phone,” he says to me. “Are you okay in here?”

  I am having a hard time being in this room again, but I don’t want to leave until I can handle it. My brain is screaming and I feel like running in thirty directions at once. Instead of exploding into a flesh-colored mist, I smile at Alistair and nod.

  I watch him jog outside and retrieve Gabriella’s phone. She waves to me where I stand in front of the big White Room windows. I wave back. Alistair comes back in and presses it to the wall beneath the window where the box must be hidden behind the baseboard. The Nylo theme begins to play on Gabriella’s phone.

  The theme is still playing when we hear a screech of tires from down the street. Two black vans come speeding around the corner. Security guards pour into the house. I am tossed to the ground as Mel and Ed cover me. My face presses into the White Room carpet just as the gunfire starts.

  All around me I hear screaming. I try to fight Mel and Ed to see what is going on, but I only manage to turn my head to the sid
e. The noise of gunfire is deafening.

  I hear the vans speeding away, tires squealing.

  “Somebody follow those vans!” shouts Ed.

  “I’m already on it,” says Mel, leaping to his feet and running to the cars parked in front of the house.

  I sprint outside to the lawn, expecting the worst. Alistair is right behind me. Gabriella is sitting cross-legged on the lawn. Her eyes are wide.

  “They shot right at me,” says Gabriella. “Doors opened up on the side of the vans and they unloaded at me. They were wearing masks. My ears are ringing. I can’t hear my own voice.”

  She puts her hand to the side of her jaw and opens her mouth wide, as if trying to pop her ears.

  “Impervious to bullets,” she says, almost to herself.

  “Is anybody hurt?” I shout. Nobody on the lawn says anything. One of the security guards who didn’t chase after the vans answers his phone when it starts to ring.

  “Mel caught them,” he reports. “They weren’t even really trying to run away. He caught them on the next block over.”

  The Nylo music sounds again and all three of us take out our phones. Video plays. We see Gabriella’s back as she stands on the lawn like Superman as starburst flashes from automatic weapons light up the afternoon all around her. She drops to the ground, her athleticism showing. The vans squeal away and we see the security guards scrambling.

  Alistair and Gabriella and I look at each other. Then we look up at the top window of the summer house.

  The angle of the video was taken from up above and behind us. The camera in the video was shaking as it panned: a person was holding the camera. Which means that whoever was taking the video is somewhere inside the house.

  35

  “Actors,” says Mel, after returning in his car and walking up to us slowly. “It’s a bunch of actors. They’re staying put until the cops arrive. Somebody hired them to shoot at us with blanks.”