Good Rich People(72)

“It’s just a game.”

Posey is fooling around with her gun, flipping it in the air and catching it. “This is going to be so much fun!”

At 11:59, the group falls silent. The staff member steadies their hand. Five, four, three—

Bang!

They fire early, and not into the air, like I expected. They fire at the chandelier. Gold dust and glass explode across the floor. I’m furious, but I don’t have time to scold them.

I have a feeling this game could get out of control fast. I have to remind myself that’s what I want.

Everyone is frozen, temporarily shocked. Graham is wondrous. I did good, but I don’t feel good. Yet.

“Run, you fuckers!” Mark says. One group races toward the garden; another goes deeper into the house. Graham goes directly toward the gallery. Of course he does. It is not enough to have the advantage. He has to rig the deck. Demi goes outside. I am following her for a second.

Now, I think. You could do it now. She’s right there! But it’s too soon. I would be seen. I want Graham to know it was me, but I have to make sure no one else knows.

I split off, taking the back route to the west wing, where I have paid a staff member to let me in through a side door. She is there when I arrive, holding her gun. I pass through the door as the second shot goes off, too early.

Bang!

“The game hasn’t started, fuck face!” someone shouts.

Bang!

This is going to be chaos.

I reach my out-of-bounds safety spot. It’s a little alcove, like a box at an opera house with a bench. It’s surrounded by curtains I can peek through. It’s where the staff hides so they can be unseen. As such, I can see everything from here: the red foyer below, the arched entrance into the gallery, the stairs to the west wing, even a corner of the terrace outside.

I check my app. Demi is in Purgatory. She’s still in the game.

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Five shots go off in quick succession. A real bullet waits in my pocket to be loaded into my gun. This is going to be a long night.



* * *





I WATCH FROM above as the foyer is destroyed. I should have known these boys would take any opportunity to make a mess. They seem more interested in destroying the house than in killing one another.

They form alliances and wander around in packs, taking shots at paintings and chandeliers, then covering one another to reload. The idea was to have people take a round at a time, but Graham and Mark, who have teamed up, decide to take all the bullets they can carry. Someone shoots a member of the staff.

“Sorry. Just wanted to test it out!” I hear their protest.

The air fills with gold-tinged powder. It has a weird metallic odor that probably isn’t safe to breathe. The lights are out except for a few flickering gas lamps that bounce off the mirrors and reflect in the windows. My heart is pounding, even though no one can see me, let alone shoot me, up here.

Demi is still in the garden. She must be hiding in Purgatory. There is a gazebo there. She’s probably made it her fortress. I wonder if she is out there alone, or if she joined up with Posey or one of the men. I think she must be alone. She’s always alone.

I should go out there and take care of her, but there are still too many players in the game. I didn’t think this through, didn’t realize how chaotic and scary it would feel. I might not be able to get to her. I might get shot. I feel as if anything could happen.

Henri starts up the stairs leading to the west wing. He’s alone. No one wanted him on their team. If he gets to the top of the stairs, he might see me. I don’t know why he’s going this way. It’s a dead end. There is a red rope strung across the top of the stairs. It’s obviously out-of-bounds. He’s probably trying to cheat. I should shoot him before he sees me, but then he might realize I’m cheating. He is so the type who would rat me out.

I will him to stop but he keeps going. He reaches the rope. He’s about to duck under. I back inside the curtain. He’s been to the house many times. He might know about my spot. He might want it for himself. I tighten my grip on my gun. He’s going to take me out of the game.

Bang!

A bullet hits him square in the back. “You fuck!” He trundles around, then slips. He tumbles down the stairs, then lands on the marble floor with a sickening snap. His leg is bent at an odd angle. I think he broke his fucking ankle.

“You fucking— What?” He tries to sit up, screams. “I think I broke my fucking ankle!”

“Oh, shit, oh, God. I’m sorry!” Nigel appears from behind a pillar below me. I didn’t even know he was there. “You’re not serious, are you? You’re okay—”

Bang!

A bullet slams Nigel in the back, shooting him forward. He staggers, nearly tripping over Henri. No one appears to claim the shot.

Nigel finds his balance and wheels around. “That’s not fair! I was trying to help him!” His voice echoes through the hall. Henri whimpers on the floor. “You’re all a bunch of dicks,” Nigel spits. “Come on, let’s go,” he snaps at Henri, helping him up. “I’ll get someone to take you to the fucking hospital. Where is the staff?”

“I think they shot you,” Henri says, stumbling up beside him. “I think they’re playing, too.”