These Deadly Games(17)

Maybe there’d be some sort of clue in Caelyn’s room. I bolted upstairs. Her room was in its usual state of disarray—purple blankets tangled on the bed, clean laundry in heaps on the floor, fabrics piled next to the ancient turquoise sewing machine Grandma Rose had given her, in-progress jewelry and beads scattered across her desk. I spotted my denim jacket dangling from a bedpost. She was always swiping the few items from my closet that passed as fashionable, even if they were big on her. I didn’t mind; if anything, I was flattered she thought them worth filching.

Her laptop was missing, but she probably took it with her, even though she wouldn’t have internet access at Frost Valley. Nothing seemed particularly out of place except for Whiskers, curled up like a fuzzy orange cinnamon bun on Caelyn’s pillow. She usually camped out in the den. Could she sense something was wrong?

I petted her and stared at the corkboard above Caelyn’s desk, at the picture of Caelyn and me snuggling Whiskers as a kitten. I’d wanted to name her Bowser but was overruled three to one. My eyes lingered on the selfie of all four of us at Hanover Lake a few years back, Dad’s arm taking up a quarter of the shot. It was our last family outing before Dad found out the news that would change everything—news I remembered had felt like the end of the world to him.

Little did we know how much more our lives would fall apart.

Finally, my phone buzzed. An alert from An0nym0us1. My lungs constricted as I tapped on it, and a video started to play.

Oh, God. Caelyn’s gag had been removed, and her curls hung around her face as she looked wide-eyed into the camera. “Crystal—” she managed before letting out a sob. I bit my lip to keep from making a similar noise. Her glasses were askew; with her hands tied behind her back, she couldn’t fix them. “Help me. Please, help me.”

Seeing her was both comforting and horrifying. She was alive, but this killed any possibility that this was all some epic prank.

This was real.

My sister was a hostage.

And she was truly terrified.

The video lasted fifteen seconds and looped back to the beginning. Panicking would get me nowhere, so instead I scoured the footage for clues. Caelyn sat against a faux-brick concrete wall on either a low-backed chair or a stool, since I couldn’t see it behind her. The lighting was shit and caused a vignette effect, so I couldn’t tell if the room had windows or not. I guessed she was in a basement. Eventually, text replaced the video.

You can send one video message back.



I tapped on the video icon, and my own face filled the screen. A fifteen-second meter stretched beneath the Record button. So that’s how this worked—short bursts of video back and forth. What should I say?

My reflex was to make sure Caelyn was okay. I could ask if she was hurt. I could comfort her, assure her that everything would be fine. But my brain whirred with other possibilities. This was also a chance to get her to reveal information about who took her, or where she was. How could I ask her the right questions without being obvious?

I bit my thumbnail, pondering this, but I couldn’t think straight—her voice looped in my mind. Help me. Please, help me. Despite my efforts to stay calm and focused, fear enveloped my heart. My baby sister was tied up in some dark, dingy basement, terrified, awaiting my reply. The agony of leaving her alone with her kidnapper for another moment drove me to hit Record.

“Caelyn … I … I love you.” My voice shook, and my tongue felt thick in my mouth. But I had to get more words out. “Just hang in there. Everything’s going to be fine—”

A notification appeared over the recording screen.

A text from Matty.

Just wanna make sure you’re okay.



I frantically swiped the notification away. But the video had stopped recording. My fifteen seconds were up.

Apparently, there were no do-overs. I let out a frustrated cry. I didn’t get to ask any questions. “Dammit, Matty!” It was 3:00 p.m.—school had just let out. If Matty hadn’t texted right then, I could have finished my recording. Instead, Caelyn would see that useless video of me getting distracted. I could kill him.

But it wasn’t Matty’s fault. He’d had no idea what he was interrupting.

Gripping the edge of Caelyn’s mattress, I took a deep breath, trying to temper my boiling blood. Whiskers had perked up at my outburst and stared, primed to flee if necessary. But I needed to stay calm. I bit my lip, staring at Matty’s text. I had to keep playing the sick card. If he knew the truth, he’d insist on calling the police. I texted back.

I’m fine. Gonna nap now. See you later.



Then I scrolled to my notification settings and turned off alerts for everything except for An0nym0us1’s mystery app.

An alert popped up—a new video of Caelyn. “Crystal, please,” she said. “If you don’t do everything”—either the audio was garbled, or she struggled to catch her breath—“they tell you to do … they said they’re going to kill me…” Before I could search for more clues, the screen went black.

Dammit. I really needed to start taking screenshots.

They, Caelyn had said. Was there more than one kidnapper? That could explain the perfect timing with Dylan, if someone watched me at school while someone else held Caelyn hostage. But would two people be in on such a depraved stunt? Maybe the kidnapper instructed Caelyn to use gender-neutral pronouns as to not reveal anything about their identity. She’d hesitated, and the audio got all fuzzy—like she was correcting herself.