by J C Lane
Robert sobbed once and slid down the wall of the El stop, his hands in his hair. He’d been so close. Wrigley Field was right outside. He’d waited too long. He should have just driven over and sat. But he’d wanted to win it all, catch Tyrese on the run. He’d thought he could find him on the El, because that’s where Tyrese had been for the past two transmissions, so Robert had ditched his car and descended to the depths of the city.
Realization of what had actually happened sent him into a cold sweat. Was Tyrese already on his tail? Had a location transmission been sent out already? Most importantly…did Robert’s father know?
It took him three tries to get to the GPS on his smartwatch, and he had to squeeze his arm to keep it still enough to read. His breath came in short bursts. Home Base was the United Center, where the Bulls played. He rested his arms on his knees and dropped his head. The Referee was getting a kick out of this. Seeing him lose. Sending him to the one place that would most symbolize his failures. Who was the Referee, that he was so fixed on humiliating him? Was he an enemy of his father’s? Or of his own?
“Here, son. You need some help?” A man knelt beside him. He wore ripped jeans and worn, brown work boots.
Robert wiped his nose. “I’m fine.”
“Don’t look fine. What can I do?”
“Leave me alone.”
The man stayed until Robert looked up. He had a lined face under a scraggly beard, but Robert couldn’t tell his age. Old. Young. Weird. Whatever. What did Robert care?
Robert pushed himself up. “I don’t need your help.”
“Okay.” The man stood up, too, and held out a card saying he was with an organization called Finders of the Lost. “If you need anything, call us.” The card had a photo of a guy and a girl, each sad and wistful. The boy made Robert think of Matty, and how he would look if Robert didn’t come home the winner. If he came home at all. What had the Ref said? If Robert didn’t Tag his Runner before the end of the Game, he would be turned over to the cops?
“I’m not lost.” Robert threw the card back at the guy.
“I understand.”
“You can’t possibly understand.” Robert stormed forward, banging the guy with his shoulder, knocking him into a passing woman. Robert ran until he reached the end of the platform. He wanted to collapse, but there were too many people. Someone else would try to rescue him.
A train rushed in, screeching and exhaling. The crowd on the train got off. The ones waiting got on. At the last moment, Robert jumped on, too.
Tyrese
As soon as Tyrese’s watch transmitted the message saying he’d won, he dropped to the stairs. He leaned his head against the fence and held his throbbing arm to his chest. He’d done it. He was Safe. It was over.
His watch vibrated again.
Your Runner has been sent to his Home Base. You will receive his coordinates and the location of Home Base in fifteen minutes. These are your new Rules for the Game of Tag.
When you are within twenty feet of the Runner, you may Tag him. And you may walk away.
“You okay, buddy?” The drum guy eyed him over his conga, or whatever it was.
Tyrese took a deep breath and let it out. “I will be.”
Do you accept your role as It?
Tyrese studied the two choices. Accept and Refuse.
He didn’t understand. If he Refused, would the Game actually be finished? Wait. He had one call to the Ref. The Rules had said so.
He dialed the only number programmed into the phone.
“Congratulations, Tyrese,” the deep male voice said. “You made it to Home Base.”
“So now what? If I Refuse, the Game is over?”
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Broadstreet. If you Refuse your role as It, you revert to the role of Runner, and It will resume his hunt for you.”
Tyrese’s head spun. “But why? Why is Robert chasing me?”
“Ah, you have identified It.”
“Why does he want me dead?”
“I assume his life will be irreparably changed at the conclusion of the Game.”
Tyrese couldn’t imagine how. It wasn’t like getting Tyrese out of the picture was going to give Robert talent he didn’t have. Sure, Robert was big and strong, but he couldn’t defend worth anything, and he couldn’t hit a three-pointer to save his life.
A bat cracked and the crowd roared. The man beat his drum. The Ref was still talking, but Tyrese couldn’t hear him. It was time to Go.
Tyrese hit Accept. He was now It.
Tyrese picked his way down the stairs past all the crazies and made it to the main promenade. Where would Home Base be? Not right there at Wrigley Field, he was sure. Unless the Ref wanted him to think it wouldn’t be. No. He—the Ref, whoever he was—wanted him and Robert running. Otherwise it would hardly be a Game. He and Robert were both incredibly fit athletes. If you could call Robert an athlete. He had size and strength, at least, you couldn’t argue with that.
Tyrese got to the front gates, but stopped before going out. Once he left, that was it. He couldn’t get back in, not without buying another ticket, and he’d gotten one of the last available.
“Need something?” A security guard approached him.
“Naw, man, just thinking.”
The security guard watched him for a moment, then seemed to realize Tyrese wasn’t doing anything but standing there. He nodded and moved away, still within sight.
The new Rules said fifteen minutes between transmissions, not thirty. Either Tyrese was getting a break, or the Ref was impatient for the Game to end. He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or worried.
Tyrese brought up a city map on his phone. Where could the Ref possibly send them next? There were so many places in Chicago. Museums, parks, zoos, shopping centers, sports arenas…U.S. Cellular Field, formerly Comiskey Park, where the White Sox played. Would the Ref do that? Send Tyrese to Wrigley, and Robert to Cellular? The stadiums were far enough apart neither he nor Robert could get there within fifteen minutes, assuming Robert had been on Tyrese’s tail. Baseball again. A sick humor.
It made sense, but even if Tyrese was wrong about the details, he had to be right about the distance. The Ref wouldn’t make Home Base somewhere close, or Robert would find it within the fifteen-minute head start. Unless the Ref wanted Robert to win, which was a real possibility.
Tyrese rested his good fist on his hip and rolled his neck. He would have to make the gamble. He stepped past the gate, the ticket-taker thanking him for coming to the game, and jogged down the street, stopping at the first drug store he found. He stocked up on the strongest painkiller they allowed him to buy, downed four of them with a bottle of water, and caught a cab to U.S. Cellular Field.
Charles
Charles ran around the promenade as fast as he could, pushing past people, spilling drinks, ignoring the cries that followed in his wake. He finally reached the bleachers and stumbled up them, watching as the big guy with the watch made his way down the other side. Charles pushed his proximity meter time after time, receiving only the signal that Runner is out of range. Finally, he stood at the same spot he’d seen the other Runner, under the billboard, next to the guy with the drum.
“Help you, kid?” the drummer said.
Charles ignored him, scanning faces, watching for movement…seeing nothing but a great mass of people.
His watch vibrated. The two-thirty location transmission.
Amanda was not in the park.
Charles yelled and kicked the fence. The drummer guy, along with the people in the surrounding seats, swiveled around with alarm, and Charles held up his hands to say he was okay, he wasn’t going to hurt anyone.
Amanda Paniagua had tricked him. Perhaps she’d never actually come into Wrigley. Perhaps her straight shot toward the stadium had been yet another red herring.
Emotion swelled in Cha
rles’ stomach and broke out of his mouth in a sharp laugh.
Finally. His Runner was giving him a Game.
It was what he wanted, after all.
Laura
Private texts between Sydney and Adam:
Sydney: HOLY S**T GET OUT NOW!!!
Adam: Going
Sydney: This girl is bats**t crazy keep Laura at least 20 feet AWAY
Conversation Sydney showed Brandy:
Sydney: Hey, babe, where are you?
Adam: Watching show in planetarium theater.
Sydney: Who are you with?
Adam: New girl. She wanted company.
Sydney: I’ll come join you.
Adam: Almost over. Meet us at back exit at 3:00 to go to aquarium.
Sydney: See you soon.
“I don’t believe it,” Brandy said. “Is he really that stupid? ‘She wanted company?’”
“Hey, he’s not stupid. He’s just…a guy.”
“It doesn’t matter, anyway. Even if he’s dumb as rocks, if you like him, she shouldn’t take him. Those natural, pretty girls should get the leftovers. People like us, who work at it, should get the prizes.”
Sydney smiled sweetly. “Absolutely. Shall we go?”
Amanda
Amanda and her team hustled up the basement steps, X yelling something to his mom about going out, and fell into the old Mustang. Amanda squeezed into the backseat, while Solo grabbed shotgun. That left only one other person for the back.
“Hey, babe,” Nerys said.
Amanda scootched toward the far side, aided by X’s violent reverse turn onto the street.
Nerys’ smile dimmed. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Amanda squirmed. “I know. It’s just, I’ve spent so much time—”
“Hating me?”
“Yeah. It’s hard to stop.”
He smiled, his whole face lighting up. “I’ll change your mind. You’ll see. I’ve never hated you. In fact—”
X took a corner at top speed, throwing Nerys into Amanda’s lap. Nerys rose slowly, his face mere inches from Amanda’s. “—I’ve always thought you were pretty awesome.”
Amanda swallowed and looked out the window as Queen’s “Somebody to Love” blasted through the stereo system. Either X had heard the backseat conversation and was trying to aid his pal Nerys, or it was simply a really uncomfortable coincidence. Amanda was guessing conspiracy.
X sang about working hard every day of his life, and Solo joined in. It wasn’t long before Nerys added his voice. Amanda shook her head and opened the laptop. If people’s lives hadn’t been at stake, the whole thing would’ve been fun.
2:45 p.m.
Robert
Robert made his way to the front of the train car, hanging on to the ceiling bar. His eyes traveled over the faces of the other passengers. A huge black guy turned in his seat and Robert’s heart stopped. But it wasn’t Tyrese. Too bad. It would’ve been nice to have it out with him then and there. If Tyrese simply pushed the button, no one but Robert would feel it, so being on the train wouldn’t hinder Tyrese at all.
His watch vibrated.
Your first location transmission has just been sent. From now on your coordinates will be sent every fifteen minutes.
Fifteen? He scanned the walls of the El. He didn’t even know what train he’d gotten on, or where it was taking him. There it was, on a map. The L line, ferrying him east and north, the exact opposite direction of where he needed to go. He gripped the rail. He didn’t want a cat and mouse game. He wanted to get it over with. Tyrese probably did, too. Robert needed to go directly to United Center.
Robert got off at the next stop and searched the maps for the correct train. He’d never had to take the El before. His dad’s driver would take him wherever he wanted to go. If his dad approved it, of course.
He located the right line and paced the platform. The overhead sign said the wait was an expected six minutes. He punched a fist into his other hand. A mom with two kids eyed him from her seat on the bench and he glared at her so harshly she gathered her children and moved to a different place.
He brought up the Referee on the phone.
“Hello, Robert.” The Referee smiled out from the watch’s screen.
“I’m done with this. End the Game now.”
“You know that’s not how it works.”
“How it works is I’m paying you for a Game for me. Not for him. So if I say the Game’s over, it’s over.”
The Referee frowned. “That is one interpretation of it. Another is that your father paid for the Game, so when he says we should abide by the Contract, that’s what we should do.”
“But the Game’s gone bad. I don’t want to play anymore.”
“That is a shame, because it’s going so well.”
Robert choked. “You think this is going well?”
“For Tyrese Broadstreet.”
Robert wished he could smash the Ref’s face, but he didn’t know where he was. He didn’t even know who he was. There was a second best option. He turned his wrist to undo the clasp of the watch.
It wouldn’t unlock.
“Hey.” He yanked the band. “I can’t get this off.” He pushed his arm against his leg and pulled the band so hard his arm protested.
“Robert.” The Referee’s voice came out muted, against Robert’s leg.
“The watch! It’s…I can’t undo the band!”
“Robert, stop!”
Robert turned his wrist around.
“You are now the Runner, Robert. You can’t escape the Game.”
“I’m calling my father.”
“Whatever you think you should do.” The Referee looked at his computer. “You have nine minutes until your next location transmission. I would make it a quick call.”
“It’s supposed to be every thirty minutes. You’re cheating.”
“You’re both in Chicago, Robert. There’s no point sending you somewhere else. Not when you’re this close.”
“It’s not fair!”
“From what I hear, that has been your battle cry whenever it comes to Tyrese Broadstreet. Perhaps your time would be better spent improving yourself, rather than aiming your energies at stopping him.”
“You don’t know anything about how I’ve spent my energy.”
“I know more than you think. Remember who is paying for this Game, and how much research was done to make it worthwhile.”
“You have to stop this!”
“Good luck, Robert.” The screen went blue. “You now have eight minutes until your coordinates are transmitted to your opponent.”
“Wait!”
People were staring at him now, so many that they couldn’t all move away when he glared at them. He strode to the back corner of the platform. Should he call his father? Not going to happen. His father would say he’d made his bed, now he must lie in it. He wanted Robert to succeed, but he wouldn’t save him. Maybe he should call his mother. She loved him. Or, at least, she loved how he looked when she took him places. She wouldn’t want to lose that. But no, he couldn’t call her. She thought he was hunting in Alaska. Maybe Ashley? Same thing. She would be surprised to know he was so close to home. Plus, he wouldn’t want her to hear him like this. Or see him. Since Tyrese Broadstreet is glorious.
Once again, he thought of Matty, and the way Matty’s eyes glowed when he talked about “my big brother Robert.” Robert considered his options. He could call Matty, but what would that do? It wasn’t like a twelve-year-old boy could come get him. And he wouldn’t want to put Matty in Tyrese’s way.
But Robert could fake it. Matty didn’t need to know how bad things had gotten. He dialed Matty’s number and held the phone to his ear.
“I’m sorry,” a female voice intoned. “That number can no longer be reached from this phone
.”
Robert redialed, but received the same message. He tried Ashley’s number. His mom’s. All were answered by the same cold voice. He couldn’t believe it. The Ref had blocked his Contacts.
He really was on his own.
The train came into the station and he hung back, waiting until everyone else had gotten on. At the last second he stepped in, as it pulled away from the station, carrying him to victory or defeat.
The train whizzed down the El tubes, finally arriving at Union Station. Robert scanned the platform for any sign of Tyrese. Seeing none, he strode out and up the steps. The Madison 20 bus he needed would be coming in six minutes, according to the schedule, so he took off at a jog. No way was he going to stand there, a sitting duck, for Tyrese to finish him off at a bus stop.
When he saw the right bus at another corner, he climbed on. There were plenty of empty seats, so he chose one in the back. An old lady with a knit purse and a toddler smiled at him. Robert gave her a blank stare, and the toddler pointed at him. The woman pushed the toddler’s finger down, and at the next stop they moved further up the bus, leaving him alone.
Tyrese
The White Sox were out of town, so U.S. Cellular Field was empty when Tyrese arrived. He made sure Robert was nowhere in sight, and leaned toward the driver. “Any chance you could stick around for another minute?”
The driver shrugged and left the meter running. “You pay, I stay.”
One minute to the transmission of Robert’s coordinates and Home Base, and Tyrese would know if he was in the right place or not. He sat in the cab, watching the sidewalks and scanning the stadium for any movement.
His watch vibrated. He’d gambled wrong.
“How long to the United Center?”
The driver shrugged again. “Ten minutes, maybe fifteen, depending on traffic.”
“I’ll pay you double if you get me there in under ten.”
3 p.m.
Amanda
“I found It,” Amanda said. “The speed It’s going, It’s in a car. Definitely.”
