These Deadly Games(24)

The operator took a moment to absorb this. “You said you had a sister? Where is your sister now?”

A new text block appeared. I read, “I locked her in the basement. And I doused the house in gasoline. If you send the cops, I’ll set the house on fire.”

Oh, God. What had I done?

My pulse roared in my ears, drowning out the 911 operator’s words. She was asking me something, trying to get me to stay on the line.

A new message from An0nym0us1.

Hang up now.



I scrambled for the End Call button and let out a choked sob. I’d chosen wrong. Some innocent person was about to get swarmed by the police. Once those words left my lips, they ignited a fuse. Now I had to stamp out the flame before Lance Burdly’s life exploded. I had to warn him, whoever he was.

Something else niggled at the back of my mind. A sister locked in a basement. A mother shot and killed. Caelyn was locked in some basement. I’d gotten that one text from Mom, but what if it was fake? Had An0nym0us1 taken her, too? What if the subtext of this call was a threat?

No way. I was overthinking this, jumping to illogical conclusions—

My phone buzzed.

Put the burner and voice changer in the bag, fill it with rocks, and throw it into the lake.



They wanted me to get rid of evidence. Like I’d just committed a crime.

I quickly scooped glittering white gravel surrounding the gazebo into the nylon bag, scrambling to figure out what to do next. First, I had to warn Lance. I could go to their house … dammit, what was the address? I couldn’t even remember the street name. It was lucky enough I remembered his name: Lance Burdly.

What was the worst that could happen, anyway? The police would show up and have nobody to save, because none of that was real. Nobody had been shot. Nobody’s house was being set on fire—

Oh, God. The brownies.

The wax paper smoldering, smoking, setting the kitchen aflame.

I had to get home. Now.

I cinched the bag, chucked it as far as I could over the lake, and bolted before it even hit the water.



* * *



I scanned the sky for wisps of smoke as I pulled into my driveway, but it was clear—blue and cloudless. And when I raced inside, the decadent smell of freshly baked brownies filled my senses. There was no smoke or acrid smell of burning paper. I switched off the oven, threw on oven mitts, and yanked out the pan. The brownies’ edges looked slightly charred, but otherwise delightful.

Weird. They were in the oven for more than double the time they were supposed to be.

I examined the edges of the wax paper. It hadn’t burned or melted at all. Had that article been mistaken? Had I freaked myself out for nothing?

But the way An0nym0us1 had sent me that all-caps threat to stay away from the oven … they’d clearly wanted to make me think the brownies burning was a real danger. I set the tray on the counter, took off the mitts, and pinched the wax paper. Huh. It didn’t feel particularly waxy. Oh, well. Crisis averted.

I rushed outside to grab Whiskers’s carrier from the back seat and let her out in the foyer, where she gave an indignant huff before racing down to the den. “Hey, at least you’re not a catkebab.” I started after her to grab my laptop and google Lance Burdly, but … wait.

Back in the kitchen, I set my phone on the counter and yanked the box of wax paper from the drawer, and felt the roll inside. It matched the stuff in the tray. Curious, I pulled out the parchment paper and ran my fingers over the edge of the sheet poking out.

It felt … slippery. Waxy.

The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. Had Mom accidentally swapped the two at some point? She was always getting discombobulated. Had she unwittingly foiled An0nym0us1’s plan to start a fire?

I glanced at my phone, at the tiny dot next to the ear speaker. Watching. Always watching. Fuck that shit. I grabbed a roll of Scotch tape from the junk drawer and started layering tiny slivers of tape onto the selfie camera, intending to do the same with the back camera, when the phone vibrated. An0nym0us1.

I don’t think so. Take it off, or she dies.



Dammit. My fingers shook as I begrudgingly peeled off the tape, and a new message appeared.

Congrats on winning the first five games! The next game will be later tonight.



Huh. Not the reaction I expected to their plan going awry. Maybe they were trying to save face and needed time to scheme.

In the meantime, enjoy the brownies. They’re your reward.



Like hell I was going to eat those brownies. Besides, I wanted a different reward. “How’s Caelyn? Can I talk to her?”

She can’t exactly come to the phone right now.



Dread snaked through me. A moment later, a video appeared. Caelyn. Hands still tied behind her back. Head lolling forward. I sucked in air, but it was like my lungs wouldn’t take in oxygen. Was she unconscious? I couldn’t see her face. I tried zooming in, but the video wouldn’t expand—

A loud knock.

I jerked my head up.

Someone was at the front door.





CHAPTER 10


Sometimes I’d kill for the chance to travel through time and undo my mistakes. Other times a sound or smell triggers such a vivid memory, it almost seems possible.

Pound, pound, pound.

The knock on the front door hurtled me back into my bedroom over a year ago as Dad pummeled the door. At first, his fights with Mom were mostly hurled accusations—he drank too much; she didn’t understand. He blew too many Bitcoins at poker; she wasn’t being fair. “You don’t get it!” he’d shouted once. “You haven’t lost everything you ever worked for. You still fucking matter.” Eventually, their bickers became brawls.