The Fabulist

by Dawn L. Chiletz

  I glance over to Carmen. She’s smiling, but I can tell she’s nervous. I couldn’t be more excited than if I’d actually been Alice. I love the pageantry. It’s more than I imagined.

  Music plays again as I reach below my seat for the pad. I may not need it, but just in case. There’s a note on my first page. It says “Good Luck.”

  I lean over to see if Stuck-Up has the same note—nothing. I glance to my right and Sarge’s page is blank as well. I furrow my brows and stare from person to person until my eyes fall on Hogan. He’s grinning at me. I lower my eyes and press my lips together, trying not to smile back, but I can’t help it. He’s sweet, but for now, I need to focus. The game is on.

  The first person steps into the middle in blue scrubs. “I am a neurosurgeon from Spokane, Washington. I was once called in from my birthday celebration to perform intricate brain surgery on a patient who was involved in a severe car accident. I did my best work and saved the patient’s life. After a ten-hour surgery, I proceeded to the waiting room to meet with the family and was shocked to recognize them as my own. The patient, unbeknownst to the staff, was my brother-in law, who had driven in to surprise me.”

  Shit, that was tough. I’m going with true. Something about the calmness in his tone rang true for me.

  A woman hobbles in on crutches with a parachute attached to her back. “On my first solo skydiving jump, my parachute wouldn’t open. As I fell, I reviewed my life—all the things I wanted to say to people and all the things I had yet to do. I prayed to God to give me another chance. The wind picked up and pushed me into a forest. I hit multiple tree branches on my way down that sliced through my skin and broke my arm and leg. One of the branches caught my suit and prevented me from hitting the ground as hard as expected. The paramedics couldn’t believe I survived. There was supposed to be zero wind that day. I believe prayer saved me.”

  True? I note the scar on her shoulder poking out from her shirt. It seems consistent with her story. She was incredibly centered. I bet her focus saved her.

  The next ten people included a supposed convict, a news reporter, an animal trainer, a ghost hunter, a lawyer, a flamethrower, a homeless man, a war veteran, a person who became famous because of a YouTube video, and a missionary.

  I make notes because the stories become increasingly complex, but I never change my mind. I trust my instinct. If the people I think are telling the truth are acting, they’re damn good at it. Only a crazy person could lie that convincingly. What if that was part of the trick?

  After the last storyteller finishes, the cake is cut, and the music plays in celebration as we are called one by one to the diary room to leave our feedback. Hogan disappears. I assume it is either to film or get a break. I feel bad for the crew. They must work insane hours. I wonder how they get any rest. They are always with us.

  We all refrain from talking too much. I want to ask Carmen how she thinks she did, but eyes and ears are everywhere. I hold on to my notebook the entire time. I’m not about to let anyone see my thoughts.

  When it is my turn, Bryce leads me to the diary room and steps inside next to Hogan, who is filming. “Okay, Sam, as soon as I leave, explain who you thought was telling the truth or lying. Sit on the X and look into the camera. Feel free to say anything you’d like and take your time. Remember, you’re speaking to the viewing audience and The Fabulist. Tell them and him what you want them to know. You never know what might help you. None of the other players will see this. If you can’t remember everyone, there is a list on the table. You don’t have to go in order as long as you’re clear about each person.”

  I nod and sit down, crossing my legs and fluffing my hair as Bryce leaves. I open my notes, lifting my eyes to the camera and then to Hogan. “Ready?” He nods and gives me a thumbs-up.

  I try to pretend I’m just talking to him. It’s easier.

  “I’m Sam, in case you forgot, although I’m sure you already know more about me than I want you to. Let’s talk about the tea party. First of all, can I say it was fucking awesome? Oh my God. I loved every minute of it, including the characters. Speaking of characters, you sent us a few crazy people, didn’t you? I’m curious how it is you know them, because I’m guessing one or more of them may be psychopaths and/or professional liars. Let’s start from the top. The doctor. Although I’m not sure how in the hell no one mentioned the patient’s name, I also believe it was possible. If I could have I would have asked him to hold a pen for me to see how steady his hands were. But from where I sat, they seemed well manicured and smooth. He’s a real doctor. I know that for sure. I’d say he was telling the truth.”

  I go through each name and speak a bit longer than I should, but I have a lot to explain. After I’m finished I say, “That’s it. I’m done,” to Hogan and he seems to shut the camera off.

  “Was that too much?” I ask.

  He flips some switches. “You’re fine. It’s what they want.”

  “How are you?” I ask him, taking advantage of the chance to speak to him.

  He turns and regards me cautiously. “I’m good. You?”

  “Fine, I suppose. You didn’t get in any trouble, did you?”

  He shrugs. “No one has said anything to me, so I assume I’m good.”

  I sigh, relieved.

  “Were you worried about me?”

  “Nah. I get the feeling you can take care of yourself. You’re good with words.”

  “Oh, how’s that?” he asks, stepping closer.

  My thoughts are suddenly jumbled by his proximity. Taking a step back, I say, “I’ve seen firsthand how you make up shit to get out of a tough situation. You’ve done it before.”

  “I have, have I? Explain yourself.”

  “When I told you the first day we met that I thought you were flirting, you all but made me think I was crazy. But yesterday you confirmed I was right all along.”

  He takes another step forward. “I wasn’t flirting the first day. So you were—maybe even still are—a little crazy. And I wouldn’t say I was flirting now. I’d say I’m just expressing interest.”

  “Oh really. So you’re admitting you want me then, huh?” I ask, placing my hands on my hips.

  He brushes a piece of hair away from my mouth. “Are you planning on putting on another lingerie show for me? Or perhaps rolling around in bed in a T-shirt and thong again?”

  “That wasn’t for you, you pervert. I was unpacking. And last night I was tired. I have no idea what you saw, but I can assure you it wasn’t for your benefit.”

  “I didn’t see as much as I’d like,” he responds.

  He’s inching closer. Part of me wants to tell him to back off, but an even bigger part of me doesn’t think he’s close enough. I scramble for words. I want to be a smart-ass and spout off something cocky, but I can’t. All I can think about are his lips and how much I want to feel them on mine. He’s leaning and I know what it means.

  “You’re even more beautiful when you don’t know what to say.” He raises my hand to his mouth.

  My breath hitches. What is it about this man that has me so confused? I never act this way with anyone. His lips are soft. I want to feel them on my mouth. Maybe even everywhere else, but instead of moving closer, I pull back. Something inside me screams to be careful. I instantly regret it by the expression on his face.

  “If I crossed a line, I’m sorry.”

  “No, you didn’t. I just… I don’t know who’s watching and I don’t want you to have regrets or feel you need to explain.”

  “You’re right.” He backs away and runs his hand through his hair. He turns and faces me. The few seconds of no words between us seem like hours. He breaks the silence. “I think it would be best if I had myself removed as your cameraman.”

  “No!” I practically scream as I reach for his arm.

  His face is etched with concern. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’m being irrational and unprofessional. I swear to you I’ve never acted this way before. I don’t want to r
uin any of this for you. Every time I see you, I promise myself I’m going to stay away, but when I’m around you and you start getting all cute and defensive, I just want to kiss your mouth so you shut up.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Which part?” he questions.

  “You want me to shut up? That’s rude.”

  He sighs and rolls his eyes. “That’s what you took from that?”

  “I get the wanting to kiss me stuff. I get the wanting to stay away because I try to stay away from you too, but when you start saying the only reason you want to kiss me is to shut me up, well then I say to hell with your kiss. I don’t want a kiss from any man if its sole purpose is to make me stop expressing myself.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I don’t give two fucks what you meant. It’s what you said.”

  “Sam,” he says with a laugh, his eyebrows rising in amusement.

  “Don’t even fucking laugh at me. Okay, we’re done here. I’ll see you around.”

  I reach for the door handle, and he steps in front of it to block me. “What I meant was I just want you to stop fighting me with words. I want you to stop trying so hard to convince yourself I have ulterior motives and accept the fact that I might like you.”

  I place my hands on my hips. “Why would I think you have ulterior motives?”

  “Everything you say to me is laced with uncertainty. You’re not sure about me. I get that. You shouldn’t be. You don’t know me. I could be a complete and total asshole.”

  “You could. You probably are.”

  “I probably am.” He smirks. “Regardless, I apologize once more, and I promise I will never try to kiss you again. You have my word.”

  I furrow my brows. My heart isn’t at all pleased. That’s not what I wanted to hear. “You were going to kiss me?”

  “I might have tried. But it’s better I didn’t. I don’t think we should muddy the waters.”

  This sucks.

  “We should go.” He reaches for the door and I stop him.

  “You may have promised to never kiss me, but I can’t and won’t promise to never kiss you.”

  A slow smile spreads across his face. “If we kiss, I’m certain the wait will have been worth it.”

  “If I decide to kiss you, Hogan, it will be the best kiss you’ve ever had in your life.”

  He bends down and whispers, “I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.”

  His breath is minty and warm and I take a second glance at him as I attempt to restrain myself. I’ve never felt such sexual electricity with any man. A part of me wants to throw myself at him right here and now. I decide against it. I need to focus on the game. There’ll be plenty of time for Hogan Harper later. I’ll make sure of it.

  AFTER A LATE lunch, we’re gathered back in the original boardroom for the results. Earlier I would have sworn I nailed it, but now that I’ve had time to think about it, I’m not so sure. The interaction with Hogan also left me feeling off kilter.

  I want to tell Carmen what has been going on between us, but I don’t want the producers to hear. For all I know it could get us both kicked off. Carmen and I compared answers while we were waiting. We were about fifty/fifty. That means one of us could be really wrong and even have to leave. I’m hoping someone else completely bombed.

  “Welcome back to The Fabulist. We’ve tallied the answers and are ready to announce the winners and the losers. One of you will have immunity in the next challenge. One or more of you may be leaving tonight. Let’s see the results.”

  The screen spurs to life. “Hello, mates. I’m quite impressed by some of you and quite embarrassed by others. A few have shown me you belong, and others, well, I’m not certain why you’re even here.”

  I feel a twinge in my stomach. Everyone’s faces are etched in concern. You could hear a pin drop.

  “One of you had a perfect score and an excellent explanation. If you continue to perform in this manner, you’ll make my decision quite easy in the end. The first player, winning immunity and chance at the position of a lifetime is…” The lights flicker and bounce, shining on each of us as they randomly dance from one person to the next in shades of red and white. The light finally stops as The Fabulist announces, “Thomas Moore.”

  Tom, better known as High-Rise to me, stands and receives a clock piece Bryce hangs around his neck. “As we say in chess, well played. For you, time has stopped. You are no longer under the threat of elimination in the next challenge. Cheers!”

  High-Rise raises his hand in thanks and resumes his seat. He has zero reaction to the news. It’s almost as if he expected it.

  “As for the rest of you, please rise. Your names will light up on the chessboard. Find your space and stand upon it.”

  Shit. High-Rise scored better than I did? That means I got something wrong. Which one? What was wrong with my answers? I want to know; I need to know. The anger and worry I feel rolls off me in waves as I take my place on the board.

  I’m in the back row alone. In front of me, in the same row, are Sarge, Maria, and Tex from Texas. The next row is Stuck-Up, BM, and Cocoa. Carmen and Braveheart are next, followed by Granola and Five on their own line. I don’t know what it means.

  “In this round, the farther back you are on the board, the better your score. Or is the back row the worst? Let’s see for certain.” The Fabulist continues, “Once your light diminishes, you may return to your seat. You have not been captured.”

  Hoping I’m safe by position, I sigh deeply in relief when my light is the first to go out. If the order is accurate, Carmen should be safe as well.

  One by one, the lights flicker and dim. Carmen is safe, but it becomes obvious Granola and Five are not.

  “To the lot of you, congratulations. It seems you will live to play another day. Finola and Andrew, you’ve committed quite the blunder. If we were playing chess, I’d refer to you as a novice at this stage. One of you will be captured by the lie. You each have one minute to make a final plea to your fellow players. Only they can determine who is worthy to continue. As always, ladies first.”

  The screen goes dark and Granola and Five turn to face us. This royally sucks, but I’m relieved to know Carmen and I are safe for now.

  “I must say, I’m completely shocked,” Granola begins. “I’m not sure how this came about, but I don’t feel I should be in the bottom. I’m a great player. I’ve been in the business world for thirty years and I can read people better than most. I’ve formed a few friendships since I’ve been here and I trust that those relationships will see me through.”

  Her eyes rotate to me. She stood up for me once. Surely I should do the same for her.

  Five shuffles his feet. “I’d demand a recount if I thought it would help. Most of you heard my story. I need this opportunity. My family needs this. I have a wife and children that are depending on me. I’m a smart man. I’ve seen and heard things some of you might not know about. There’s a spy in our midst. If you keep me in the game, I might be inclined to share that information with you. If you let me go, you will never know the truth.”

  Bryce steps forward. “You will have one hour to make your decision. When you are ready to vote, go to the diary room and cast out the player of your choice. Finola and Andrew, you have one hour to potentially alter your destiny. Good luck.”

  The “Master of Puppets” music plays as we stand and move about the room.

  “How you’re still here, I’ll never understand,” Stuck-Up hushes to Carmen with quiet menace.

  I’m about to pounce when she responds, “Guess you underestimated me. Best not to do that again.” She smiles brightly and shakes a finger at him jokingly.

  “You’re still in the bottom. Don’t act like you’re suddenly one of us and don’t ever shake your finger at me unless you want to lose it. Rumor has it you were never supposed to be here in the first place.”

  Before Carmen can say another word, I interject, “Why don’t you shut the fuck up, Stuc
k-Up? The only reason you’re here is because they needed an asshole to balance out all the decent people. Eleven good people and you. Yep, sounds about right.” I move my hands to show the motion of equity.

  Cocoa approaches. “Carter, if you’re done with these losers, I need to speak to you.”

  “Oops, I forgot, two assholes, ten good people. Guess you’re not the only dick after all.”

  “Do you have a problem with me, Samantha?” she questions, stepping forward.

  “Bitch, don’t even start with me or I’ll put you in your favorite place—flat on your back with your legs in the air.”

  Hogan and two others rush over with the cameras.

  “I’d like to see you try. You think you’re tough just because you have a New York accent. I can talk ghetto like you too.” She flicks her wrist as if the motion makes her strong.

  I laugh in her face. “You think you’re so much better than the rest of us, don’t you? I hate to tell you this, Teresa, but you’ll always be just the friend, never Barbie. Stop shoving your tits in the world’s face. It won’t make us forget there’s more in your bust than your brain.”

  “At least I have breasts, Skipper. Too bad yours never fully developed.”

  “Oh, I have breasts, bitch. I’d just rather be known for being smart than a slut.”

  She lurches forward and Herman Matthews steps between us. “Ladies, ladies, please. May I remind you that violence is an offense that will have you removed from the show? Take a moment and compose yourselves before you do something you’ll regret.”

  Stuck-Up tugs Cocoa away. “She’s not worth it. Just walk away. We all know you’re better than her.”

  Cocoa is immediately approached by Tex, Sarge, and Braveheart. Seeing an opportunity, Andrew rushes in to plead with her to let him stay. Hogan follows her with his camera. It feels like he’s choosing sides, especially since he’s been with me from the start, and it upsets me more than I want it to.