by J C Lane
Nerys swallowed. “Unless the Ref is still here.”
Nerys tiptoed to the kitchen while Charles and Amanda checked the single bedroom.
“Nerys?” she called.
He raced to her, and his jaw dropped. Right behind him came X and Solo, practically falling over each other to get in.
“Holy…” X said.
The room was all machines. Shiny silver computers. Snaking black wires. Speakers. TVs. Remote controls. Everything a homegrown cyber terrorist would need. Small monitors made up one whole wall with scenes of Chicago streets and buildings and people, as if eyes had been planted on every corner of the city. But there was more. Amanda recognized her own front door, an unfamiliar bedroom, an outside basketball court hosting a pickup game…A chill ran from her toes to the top of her head.
The wall in front of them was filled with three more screens, the focal point of the room. On one, images crashed around, accompanied by sounds of fighting and yelling, and…stadium seats? On the second they viewed a close-up of nubby gold carpet with urgent muffled voices in the background. The picture turned. A mall? A store? “No!” someone screamed.
The third showed the room they were in that very moment. And Amanda’s face as she looked into her watch.
“Holy…” X said again.
“Find the mechanism to shut it down!” Amanda ordered. “Now!”
Robert
Robert landed hard, his breath escaping in a loud grunt. He reached forward, his fingers inches short of Safety. Tyrese rolled him over and straddled him, smashing his good fist into Robert’s face, splitting the skin on his jaw. Blood shot upward, squirting Tyrese. He shut his eyes and spat. Robert swung hard, burying his fist in Tyrese’s eye. Tyrese roared, swinging again, crunching the bones of Robert’s nose under his knuckles.
Pain shot through Robert’s head. His eyelids fluttered and he brought his arms up. “No!”
“You were going to kill me!” Tyrese hit him again.
Robert punched wildly, connecting with Tyrese’s bad arm. Tyrese reared back, gasping, and Robert wiggled out from under him, crawling toward the court. Tyrese yanked him backward, lunging forward to wrap his arm around Robert’s throat.
“You have everything!” Tyrese screamed. “What more do you want? You want to take the only thing I have!” He flung Robert onto his back and banged his head against the polished, hardwood floor. Robert’s eyes rolled. “It’s all I have!” Bang. “It’s all I have.”
Tyrese drooped forward, tears and sweat and blood running down his face as he leaned on Robert’s chest. “You have everything…”
Their watches vibrated at the same moment, transmitting Robert’s location, although the app wasn’t so sensitive that it realized the two players were in the same spot. Robert’s head lolled, and his breath came in heavy rasps. Tyrese eased off of him, collapsing onto the floor. He smeared the blood and tears on his face and spoke quietly. “You have everything.”
They lay there, panting, crying, until Robert’s breathing changed. He couldn’t seem to…get air.
Tyrese turned toward him. “Robert? Stay with me, man.”
Robert’s head dropped sideways. His eyes were already so swollen he could barely see Tyrese’s face. “Don’t…have…anything…”
“I know I don’t,” Tyrese said. “Not like you.”
“No,” Robert said. “Me. I…don’t have…” He swallowed, and his breathing stopped for a moment before beginning again. “Just…Matty.” He wouldn’t even have freedom anymore. The Ref would turn him in and he would spend the rest of his life in jail. His throat rattled, and he choked before another labored breath. “Tell him…sorry.”
Slowly, he lifted his hand, his elbow resting on the floor, and held it out to Tyrese. Tyrese looked at the offering, then reached over and took it.
Robert raised his other hand to point at their twin watches side by side.
“Yeah,” Tyrese said. “The same.”
But Robert kept going until he touched the screen of Tyrese’s watch, where the Tag button still glowed red.
“No!” Tyrese cried.
But it was too late.
Robert smiled through blood and broken teeth. It was over. He had lost.
But Tyrese Broadstreet hadn’t won.
Laura
“Laura!” Sydney screamed. She rushed forward and dropped to the ground, where Adam was already cradling Laura in his arms. Sydney shook her. “Laura! You have to be okay! Oh, Adam, we waited too long!”
Brandy pushed Sydney to the side and glared down at her. “Whose side are you on?”
“Hers!” Sydney jumped up. “I would never be on the side of a psycho bitch like you!”
Brandy’s face went red, then white, and she gestured for one of her men to come over. “Take this one.”
“No, you don’t.” Adam dropped Laura with a bang and jumped in front of Sydney.
Brandy’s eyes went wide. “So you do like her! It was all—”
“—a trick,” Sydney finished. “To get you here. Laura wanted to convince you to stop, that you didn’t need to do this.” Her eyes filled with tears, and she turned toward Adam, who put his arm around her. Sydney jerked and gaped at her pant leg, clutched in Laura’s fist.
“Laura!” Sydney fell to her knees.
“I’m fine,” Laura said into Sydney’s shoulder. “I was just…terrified.”
“But…” Brandy backed away, looking at her watch, which was lighting up.
Laura’s watch was also making noises, declaring her the new It. “Wait, Brandy, wait! I won’t do it. I’m not going to play. You’re safe from me.”
Brandy glared at her. “How do I know you’re telling the truth? That you won’t press the button as soon as I turn my back?”
“Because…” Laura showed her the watch. “There’s a Refuse button. I’ll press this, and the Game will be over. We’ll be done. You won’t be in any danger.”
“Really? You’ll push it? To save me?”
“Of course.”
“Laura…” Sydney stepped closer. “I don’t trust her.”
“What’s to trust? It’s my choice to end the Game.”
“But I’m not convinced it will actually—”
Laura pushed the button. Her wrist buzzed with a new message.
You have Refused your right to be It. You are now returned to the status of Runner. Your new Home Base is designated on your GPS.
“No!” Sydney shrieked.
“Gotcha,” Brandy said.
She pushed the Tag button.
Amanda
They trashed the apartment, yanking cords, turning off switches, unhooking cables. Still the images played.
“Robert, no!” a guy screamed. “No! Nonononononono…” Sobbing. Rustling. The ceiling of someplace huge.
Amanda’s heart was in her throat. They were going to be too late for Tyrese Broadstreet.
She sank to the carpet and covered her eyes with her hand, but with a shrieked “No!” from the other screen she opened her eyes…and saw a cord plugged into a tiny box in the corner. She crawled under the desk and yanked it out.
The images went dark.
Laura
Laura gasped in shock, waiting to die.
But she didn’t.
Instead, the watch went black.
“What’s happening?” Brandy shrieked, pushing the screen of her watch. “Why isn’t this working? Why can’t I kill her?” Her voice rose to a shrill scream, and the big men alternately tried to quiet her and plug their ears.
Laura froze, staring at her would-be killer.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Sydney said to Adam.
“I believe I am.”
They grabbed Laura’s arms, and hauled her away.
Saturday Night
Tyrese
The corner basketball court was lit only by streetlamps and the neighboring apartments’ ambient light. The sound of the basketball carried from across the empty lot, finding its way to Tyrese, where he stood in the shadows, watching his friends. They jumped and shot, fouled and argued, high-fived and fist-bumped and laughed. They had no idea what the last twenty-four hours had held for him. He rubbed his wrist, where he could still feel the band of the watch, even though he’d been able to take it off hours earlier.
He couldn’t shake the image of Robert on the floor of the United Center, blood covering his face, his nose crushed, his body limp. The drug had killed him within seconds, stopping his heart, leaving Tyrese broken and empty. Alone. But there was nothing to do. Robert was gone. Finished. Nothing could bring him back. Tyrese had never wanted him dead. He hadn’t even thought much about him. Robert was the backup center. Tyrese’s practice partner. Second string. Second rate.
Tyrese watched Squeak spin around one of the guys, traveling, putting up the ball with passion if not talent. This wasn’t his life. Wasn’t his ticket out.
The old guy at the United Center would remember Tyrese, but he didn’t know Tyrese’s name or which college he’d be playing for. That is, if IU still wanted him, now that he had a broken arm and wouldn’t be playing at one hundred percent till partway through the season. It had happened before. Wasn’t a new thing, a high school star fading before he’d even made it through his senior year. The old guy also knew what Tyrese’s face looked like, and if any of today’s events came to light, he would know Tyrese had something to do with it. Tyrese would have to hope the old guy would think about his own situation, letting a killer into the arena, and stay quiet. Otherwise Tyrese’s life would be over. His dreams would crash to the ground. He would be done.
It all depended on what happened with Robert’s body.
Tyrese hadn’t known what to do, staring down at his dead teammate. He hadn’t felt right leaving him there, but if he called the cops they would assume he killed him. Even if they realized their mistake later, Tyrese’s future would be gone. Good-bye, basketball. Good-bye, life outside of Gary. So Tyrese used his shirt to wipe up the blood spatter from the floor and carried Robert up the steps, stumbling, bleeding, crying.
He found the guard Robert had attacked, and laid Robert next to him. Someone would check on them since the guard hadn’t responded to the radio. Someone would recognize Robert. He would be taken care of. The guard was in no better shape than Robert, his blank eyes shining, sending shivers through Tyrese’s bones.
Tyrese took a deep, shuddering breath, praying the cops wouldn’t follow the investigation from the bodies down to the floor. He’d done the best he could with the blood, but if real life was anything like TV, it could still be discovered. Maybe Robert’s father would have the power to hush it all up so the police wouldn’t look further. He’d have to hope for that.
At the last second, Tyrese had remembered Robert’s watch. That could lead to questions he wouldn’t know how to answer. He wasn’t sure how to get it off without wire cutters, but when he slid his finger under the band it fell right off. His own unsnapped just as easily. The claustrophobia he’d felt all day lifted from his shoulders, and he almost smiled. He’d lose the watches as soon as he got out of there.
Tyrese said he was sorry, there in the vast, dimly lit arena, but he wasn’t sure how much he actually meant it. After all, Robert had started it.
Tyrese broke his promise to go back out through the old man’s door, but the guy would have noticed Tyrese’s swollen eye, his blood-spattered clothes. So Tyrese waited for the box office lady to leave her spot, then slipped out the front.
Squeak jumped to block a shot, but his arms flapped through empty space. His teammates laughed and slapped him on the back, telling him to try again. He would. And again he would fail. But he would keep at it.
Tyrese touched his sore eye. At least the bleeding had stopped.
With both smartwatches at the bottom of the Chicago River, he’d been unable to monitor the news on his way home. He’d stayed quiet, his hoodie pulled over his head, hiding his face from the other passengers on the buses and trains. When he saw a TV in Union Station there had been no breaking story about Cyril Matthews’ murdered son, and when he’d ducked into a bar to check, the TVs showed only some pointless sitcom. Someone would have found Robert and the guard hours ago. It should have been all over the networks. But so far, nothing. Politics. Cover ups. Multi-million dollar sports industries. Tyrese hoped those things would work together to keep the story hidden forever. It could happen.
He wondered if Robert’s little brother, Matty, would ever know the truth. Tyrese wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to deliver Robert’s last message. There were a million reasons not to. Only one reason to risk it all and say those words.
“Hey!” Squeak had noticed him now, was gesturing him over. “What’s up, bro?”
A lot. A lot was up.
Tyrese called on his usual confidence and swaggered toward the court.
Squeak took him immediately to the Urgent Care Center where his arm got fixed, he received an ice pack for his eye, and was given food fresh from the deli.
According to Squeak, he would be as good as new by morning.
Brandy
Stupid Ref. Stupid thugs. Stupid Game. Brandy threw her smartwatch, cut off with one of the thug’s knives, at the Hummer’s tinted window. It cracked against the glass, and she let it fall, not wanting to see her reflection. The interstate clicked beneath their tires, taking her back to Wisconsin, where Chanel would come to visit, gloating over the fact that she had won her Game, and Brandy hadn’t. Stupid Chanel.
Her parents wouldn’t blame her. They’d fall all over themselves, saying how sorry they were the Game didn’t turn out the way she wanted, and that when she was ready, she could try again. Whatever. It wasn’t like the next Runner would be any different from this one. Stupid girl.
“Got company,” one of the thugs said.
Brandy glanced out the window at the flashing lights. One cop car behind them, one beside, and another pulling in front to cut them off.
“Drive faster!” she shrieked.
But there was no getting around them.
The cars forced the Hummer to a stop, and officers jumped out and hid behind their doors, guns drawn and aimed. “Brandy Inkrott!” A woman in the center spoke through a megaphone. “You and your men come out slowly. Hands where we can see them!”
Sweat sprouted on Brandy’s upper lip. The Ref had warned her about this, had said that if Brandy didn’t win she would go to jail, charged with…something. She couldn’t remember what. But it wouldn’t happen. Daddy would pay them off.
Her men glared at her.
“It’s not my fault,” she said.
Officers, still pointing guns, approached the Hummer and flung open the doors. Brandy narrowed her eyes. “You are in so much trouble. Wait until my daddy hears about this.”
The officer with the megaphone put a hand on the top of Brandy’s door and leaned in, smiling. “Oh, your daddy knows all about this. In fact, we got him, too. Seems the two of you have been conspiring to commit murder. Now, get out of the car.”
Conspiracy to commit murder. That’s what the Ref had said.
Brandy winced as the cop slapped on the handcuffs. She hoped no one was taking any pictures.
Because she wouldn’t be playing another Game, after all.
And she really wasn’t looking her best.
Laura
Jeremy was already at the exit with his mom’s Honda, under the overhang at the deserted gas station. Laura barely waited for the car to stop before she flung open the door and ran. She threw her arms around Jeremy’s neck, and he grabbed her tightly. Behind her, Adam and Sydney stood awkwardly, having said they’d let Laura take all the time she needed. Laura wanted all the time there was
. Every second. She also wanted to go back and do the last twenty-four hours over, without the Game. Like this version of the day had never happened. Because everything was different now.
“Laura.” Jeremy pulled away and brushed her hair back, holding her face in his hands. “What happened to you? Where have you been?” He leaned forward and whispered, “Who are these people?”
Her eyes welled up, and she shook her head, placing her cheek on his shoulder, her face against his neck.
Sydney stepped forward, dragging Adam along. “Hey.”
Jeremy hesitated. “Hey.”
“Um.” Sydney scratched her forehead. “Some stuff happened today.”
Jeremy kept hold of Laura, and looked down at her. “I thought you were with Rosie. You texted me. That’s what I thought until I got your call tonight, saying you were okay. And that other weird call from that girl, who said to tell you it was all over for sure, that the Ref was out of business.” He looked at Sydney. “Was that you?”
She shook her head.
“What did she mean, it’s all over? And who’s the Ref?”
Laura wiped her face on his shirt and stepped back enough to get some air, not letting go. Sydney held out a napkin, left over from the fast food they’d grabbed on the way. Laura blew her nose on the scratchy paper. “I wasn’t with Rosie. Rosie thought I was with you.”
“But you were actually with…these people?”
