5
Almost an hour passed by the time they broke from their stupors. John was unconscious, and there was really nothing anyone could do for him, so the duty they felt to stay near gradually fell away. Alfie needed to take a leak, so he snuck off to the end of the tunnel and unzipped his trousers next to the TVR. Leo got to his feet and began walking up and down the tunnel, peering left and right into the various locked cells. Cheryl went to join him in his search. “You okay? You haven’t made a bad joke in, like, ages.”
“Thought I’d leave you wanting more,” he said glumly. “Do you believe what Maggie told us?”
“You’ve known her and John a lot longer than I have. What d’you think?”
He seemed to give it some thought. “Ask me if John’s a sex addict and I’d tell you yes in a heartbeat. I’ve seen the guy cheat on his wife a dozen-times, but that’s also his biggest defence. Why would he blackmail a woman to sleep with him when he has no problem pulling girls down the pub half his age?”
Cheryl huffed. “Power. The man Mag described isn’t interested in sex, he’s interested in power.”
“What are you, a psychiatrist or something?”
“No, but I was a psychology student at university for two years. My dad died before I started my third year, but I enjoyed it. I took Feminist Studies as a minor, so I agree I’m a little prone to seeing the worst in men.” She chuckled. “I’m not an expert, just thinking out loud. At the end of the day, Maggie and John both cheated on their partners, so both are morally questionable.”
“You don’t believe in cheating then?”
“Is that a thing anyone believes in?”
He conceded the point. “No, I guess not. What I meant was, you never cheated before?”
“No, have you?”
“Never been serious enough with anyone for it to be an issue. It’s rare I get to be with one girl, let alone two!”
She shoved him playfully. “You wally. I bet you get plenty of girls.”
“You’d think so, but no. I always say the wrong thing. Plus, having Alfie around kind of blinds the ladies.”
“Yep, he’s a good looking lad, I won’t lie, but Leo, you’re a handsome guy too. If you stopped with the pervo act, you’d get any woman you wanted.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely!”
He grinned. “Wow, look at us, Cher. Are we really doing this thing?”
“What thing?”
“That thing where we give each other backhanded compliments to disguise how badly we want to jump in the sack together. Should we save time and kiss now, or do you want me to play along a while longer?”
She rolled her eyes and groaned. “See? That’s why your biggest relationship is with your hand.”
“Are you calling me a wanker?”
“I’m stating it categorically.”
He looked hurt again, but this time she saw right through it. She grabbed his arm and gave him a little shove. They needed to focus on getting out of there, and flirting would have to come later — if they survived — but she realised she would be open to it. Buried in a hole in the ground, Leo was the only one who made her feel safe, and that had to count for something, right?
“I think I found something over here,” he told her, “but I wanted to wait for you to have a look. You’re better at this stuff than me.”
“Okay, what is it?”
He led her over to another of the cells. This one was unlit, making it hard to see inside. A padlock secured the gate. While he waited for her to take a look, he absentmindedly blew on the back of his hand, reminding Cheryl of his burns. They were obviously bothering him, and it made her suddenly think of something. “Hey, before we get into this, I have something that might help you.”
She slid a hand into her pocket and retrieved the Vaseline her mother had given her. Then she handed it over.
Leo seemed perplexed. “What do I do with this?”
“Seriously? Have you never had a burn before? Just rub some on your blisters. It’ll soothe the pain. Butter works just as well. I used to get rope burns all the time down at the stables. Mum would always put Vaseline on them.”
“Okay, thanks, let me try it.” He popped off the lid and slathered a fingertip full of jelly onto the back of his hand. “Hey, that does feel better.”
“You see?” She took back the Vaseline and slid it into her jeans again. “So, you want to tell me what you thought was different about this cell? I can’t figure it out.”
“The numbers on the padlock are blank.”
“Really?” Cheryl took the padlock in her hand and studied it. Sure enough, the three rollers on it were blank, cut from white plastic instead of metal. She thumbed at them and found they rolled easily, but without numbers or letters there was no way of knowing the correct combination. She fiddled a moment longer, making sure there were no numbers hidden at the back of the rollers, then ended up shrugging her shoulders. There was nothing — just white plastic rollers with the odd speck of pink discolouration on them that seemed to get worse the more she meddled. It was the discolouration that got her thinking.
“What is it?” Leo asked. “You have an idea, don’t you?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “It seems like the paint is wearing off the rollers or…” She thought harder, grasping at an answer rapidly forming in her mind. “It’s the moisture from my fingertips. Leo, go get me some water!” It pleased her that he didn’t even question her. He rushed off at once and came right back with a bottle of water as demanded. “The only thing we gained from the last cell,” she explained to him, “is water and crackers. Pour some water on the padlock.”
Leo tilted the bottle and splashed water on the lock. The white plastic rollers turned a solid pink. There were still no numbers on them though.
“Did it work?” Leo looked at her hopefully.
“Hold on.” She thumbed at the rollers until…
A white number ‘9’ appeared in the middle.
A moment later, she found matching numbers on both the left and right rollers.
9-9-9.
Leo frowned. “Nine-nine-nine? Only thing that means to me is emergency services.”
“Me too,” she pulled at the padlock and it popped open easily, “but it’s the right combination.”
When the others heard the squeaking gate, they rushed over. Cheryl couldn’t help but smile proudly at yet another success. Maybe she should take a job as a professional puzzle solver.
She looked over at John.
Maybe not.
“Was it unlocked?” asked Monty, peering at the gate.
That deflated Cheryl a little. “No, it was another puzzle. I solved it.”
“Well done,” said Happy. Nobody else said anything, and it was obvious they were anxious. A new puzzle meant new danger. Whoever had tricked them down here was torturing them on purpose.
Some psychopath with no eyes.
I’m stuck in a crappy horror movie.
“Any volunteers to go in?” asked Leo. “I’ll, um, get the next one. Scout’s honour.”
Alfie huffed. “Pussy.”
“You gonna do it then, are ya?” When Alfie squirmed, Leo pointed a finger in his face. “Ha! See? You’re ballsack ain’t no bigger than mine.”
“I’ll go,” said Monty, stepping forward. “John’s hurt because of me. I’ll take the risk.”
“Technically, you were the one at risk last time,” said Leo. “You were the one supposed to lose a hand, remember?”
Monty looked angry, but he bit his lip and took a breath before speaking calmly. “That’s why I’ll deal with whatever’s in there. Let me make things right.”
Leo allowed his mocking smirk to drop and he nodded earnestly. “Yeah, okay, man, but you’re not on your own. We’re all in this together.”
Monty nodded. “Move aside, bruh.”
Leo stepped aside and Cheryl opened the cell door wider, allowing Monty to go through. For a moment, she felt like an ass
istant in some bizarre gameshow, and wondered once again if there were cameras on them. The man on the tablet had said he couldn’t see them, but who knew for sure?
Who had that man been? Was he badly disfigured or wearing a mask? Were his eyes truly gone? Why was he doing this to them? And did he know she was trapped down there by mistake?
When Monty stepped into the cell, a light came on. There was a small dome sensor overhead, and whatever was inside had obviously been intended to remain a secret until the gate was opened. Now that there was light, the contents revealed themselves.
“I don’t like the look of that,” said Alfie, clutching himself like a frightened child. His breath misted in front of his face.
Cheryl stared into the cell, trying to work out the puzzle before Monty began. The chair in the centre of the room seemed ordinary enough at first glance, but then she noticed it was bolted to the ground and had clamps around both ankles and armrests. She agreed with Alfie, it didn’t look good.
Monty suddenly seemed less eager. “D-Do I just sit down in the chair?”
“Look for an envelope,” Cheryl suggested.
“Or a tablet,” added Leo. “All the other games have given us at least some clue of what to do. The room seems too big just to have a chair in it.”
Monty’s quickened breaths became audible. He clearly did not want to go through with whatever came next, but to his credit he did not exit the cell. He searched the room until, eventually, he located a pull cord hanging from the rear wall. He looked back at them nervously through the bars. “S-Should I pull it?”
“Just be careful, dude,” Leo warned.
For once, Monty and Leo appeared on the same page and they gave each other a respectful nod. Then Monty reached up and took the cord. “Here goes.”
There was a loud clunk, and Monty had to duck quickly as something swung at his head. It was a flat-screen television, old and clunky compared to today’s models, but still working as evidenced by the screen coming to life. A message flashed up on the display: HAPPY. SIT DOWN TO BEGIN.
Monty frowned. “Does that mean I can’t do this one?”
“I guess so,” said Cheryl. “D’you think it’ll matter if you do?”
Happy stepped into the cell. “It might matter, which is why we’re better off doing as we’re asked. Monty, leave the cell. I’m willing to do this… task. You’ve had your share of trauma already. Besides, at my age there’s not a lot to be afraid of.”
Monty seemed reluctant to let Happy take his place, but Happy was unwilling to argue the point. He placed a hand on the much heavier Monty and eased him out of the cell. Once alone, he gave them all a grim smile and sat down in the chair. As soon as he settled, the wrist and ankle restraints snapped into place like metallic teeth. The gate swung shut, locking Happy inside. He flinched but forced himself to keep smiling. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”
Leo rattled the bars. “He’s trapped in there.”
The television screen flashed multiple colours like an old-fashioned computer loading a cassette. It was all theatrics because within a few seconds, the eyeless abomination once again appeared. His rasping voice began immediately. “Happy, you have been selected for this task because the associated sin does not include you. Your crime shall be revealed later, so long as your co-workers do not fail you.”
Happy’s smile dropped for a split-second, and Cheryl couldn’t decide if it was guilt or fear she recognised. It left her uneasy, for as much as you could never truly know anyone, the thought of the friendly old office manager being deviant in some way did not gel with what she knew of him. Happy couldn’t be a criminal. It didn’t seem possible.
“Retribution has begun,” the eyeless man continued, “and while you could accept your fates and do nothing, you have chosen to face further judgement. So be it. One of you is a thief, already revealed. Now it is time to discover another sinner amongst you, a soul shrouded by darker atrocities. One of you is a murderer.”
Cheryl instinctively took a step back at the revelation. Could one of her coworkers truly be a murderer?
Monty rubbed at his cheeks, revealing the bloodshot insides of his stretched eyelids. “This one ain’t me. I never killed nobody.”
Happy was shaking his head indignantly, even as he sat restrained in the chair. “I refuse to believe it. None of us are murderers. We are all good people.”
The deformed speaker on the television gave no indication he could hear them. “The cell opposite the one in which Happy now sits is open. Inside you shall find a detailed confession to a remorseless killing, along with directions to the body and other evidence. All the murderer needs to do is step forward and sign that confession. Fail to sign it, and the evidence will be forever buried and the crime shall remain unsolved — but there will be consequences. The killer will have six minutes to confess.”
There was a high-pitched creak, and Cheryl turned to see the gate to the cell behind them was ajar. She looked up and saw a pair of steel cables running across the ceiling alongside various electrical boxes and flashing LEDs. Whoever was behind these games was some sort of IT whizz, or an engineer. No ordinary person could create a contraption like this.
“I don’t think I can go in there,” said Monty, realising a new cell had opened. “After what happened with John, and the explosion in the last cell… I’m scared, man. I know I offered to do the task, but…”
It was a display of vulnerability Cheryl didn’t expect, and she surprised herself by reaching out and squeezing Monty’s hand. His palm was still icy cold. “It’s okay. You don’t have to do anything.”
“I’ll check it out,” said Maggie. She seemed spaced-out, and her dark eyelids were now nearly black. Her pupils were unnaturally large. “Any objections or shall I just get it over with?”
Nobody objected for nobody wanted to risk getting hurt, but they had to keep playing the game, so if Maggie wanted to volunteer that was fine by them. Otherwise, they were just trapped down a hole with no help coming. Cheryl remembered from her psych studies how important endeavour was to the human condition. They would only be victims if they gave up and accepted their situation. Human beings were happier fighting than dying. Still, it was a surprise that Maggie was the one to step forwards.
Satisfied that no one was going to stop her, Maggie entered the cell. Like the other one, it lit up when she entered. A table sat inside, and on it was a clipboard with a piece of paper. Cheryl had to step up to the bars to see more clearly, but Maggie helpfully explained things from her vantage point. “There’s a metal clipboard attached to a cable,” she said. “The cable leads into some kind of chute.” She picked up the clipboard and waved it at them. It was indeed attached to a steel cable that ran up a chute at the back of the room. Obviously, as soon as the confession was signed, it would be retrieved from above via the chute. Maggie frowned, and then looked at them again. “I can’t read anything. It’s all covered by a metal plate.”
Cheryl squinted to see, and what she saw was a piece of A4 paper sandwiched between a metal clipboard and a silver plate. The silver plate was shorter than the clipboard and, as a result, it left the lower quarter of the confession uncovered. Just enough space for someone to sign their name without being aware of what they were admitting to.
Leo huffed. “If we could read the confession, we might be able to learn what this is all about.”
“I suppose only the killer knows,” said Cheryl, glancing at the others. “Is there a pen to sign with? I don’t see one with the clipboard.”
Maggie turned back to search. “Um,” she said. “Yes, here!” There was a small pot on the back of the table with a slender, steel pen jutting from it. She snatched it up without examining it first, which proved to be a mistake. Like the clipboard, the pen was attached to a steel cable, and it pulled on something when Maggie yanked it.
A whooshing sound emanated from the other cell — the one containing Happy — and Cheryl spun around with anxiety teeming in her guts as she waited to see
what came next.
Alfie stared up at the ceiling. “What the hell was that? What just happened?”
“I don’t know,” said Leo.
Happy blinked and shook his head. Some kind of hatch had opened above him. A cloud of dust descended. Then something dropped from the ceiling and struck the steel floor, making the ground vibrate. Everyone cried out in surprise, but Happy fell to stunned silence. For a moment, Cheryl feared his head might fall off, that something had sliced him in two, but then she saw him struggle and realised he was okay. The object had not fallen on him, but around him.
Happy struggled at his shackles. “It’s some kind of container,” he said. “A see-through box.”
Cheryl had to squint because it was hard to see, but eventually she was able to make out the perspex container surrounding the chair. Its function wasn’t immediately clear.
Until the sand started falling.
It was a slow trickle at first, making Happy splutter and blink, but then it started flowing from the ceiling in a sustained torrent. An avalanche of sand.
Cheryl placed a hand over her mouth. “Oh no.”
Happy was trapped inside some kind of nightmarish hourglass. And time was running out.
The sand gathered at Happy’s ankles. He tried to break free, but the restraints around his ankles and wrists were unyielding. Panic descended on him. “I’m going to be buried alive. Help me!”
Once again, Cheryl looked at her colleagues, shocked that they held such secrets. Could one of these people she worked with every day for the last three months really be a murderer? Who?
“We need to sign the confession,” said Leo, hands on top of his head as he paced back and forth.
“Then sign it,” said Maggie. She had become standoffish since her confession about John, and perhaps Happy was right and she was regretting what she’d said.
Gripping Thrillers Page 62
