These Deadly Games(49)
Remembering how Akira’s footsteps creaked on each step, I took off my sneakers and crept upstairs in socked feet.
Akira’s room was at the top of the stairs, and from within, I heard a faint hum and whir—like a white noise app. Maybe that was why she didn’t hear the alarm right away. I continued down the hall to the master bedroom and used my phone’s flashlight to scan the space. Mrs. Saito kept things neat and tidy, so there were no purses strewn about, though on the dresser I could make out the angular shape of the LEGO Eiffel Tower Akira had built for her years ago. I made my way to the closet. Inside, below a shoe rack, was a familiar beige purse. I practically lunged at it and dug through the front compartments until my fingers found a metal loop.
Keys! I angled the flashlight on them, making sure. Yep, there was the Toyota logo. Relief streamed through my veins like a rush of cool water. Thank you, Matty.
But then I remembered what I had to do next. Steal the car. My stomach lurched, and I switched off my phone’s flashlight as it buzzed with a new message from An0nym0us1.
Good job finding the keys.
Goose bumps bristled my arms. I’d turned off my alerts downstairs. That was no compliment—it was a reminder that they were watching.
That they had control.
I crept back downstairs, slipped on my sneakers, and headed for the garage. An alarm panel next to the garage door blinked at me, and I deactivated the alarm again, cringing with each beep. After the final long tone, I froze, waiting for footsteps on the stairs. But Akira mustn’t have heard. Wow. That white noise app deserved a five-star rating.
As I twisted the doorknob, it occurred to me that I was leaving my fingerprints all over the place. Dammit. I wasn’t exactly used to being a criminal. I was so hyper-focused on completing each game to keep Caelyn alive, I hadn’t stopped to think through the potential repercussions. What would happen after this?
If I got away with the minivan, Akira’s parents would report the theft. The police would investigate, and they’d take fingerprints of obvious things like the freaking doorknob. And I’d touched all those drawers in the kitchen, the alarm panel, and the purse and closet doorknob upstairs.
Shit.
But wait. Sure, that might be the logical fallout. But each of An0nym0us1’s games had completely unexpected consequences. What exactly would they make me do with the car? What if they’d tampered with the brakes or something? What if they made me get hurt? A cold sweat broke out on my neck like tiny pinpricks of ice. My phone buzzed.
Two minutes left.
Jesus. Well, I’d have to take it slowly. Hopefully I was just being paranoid.
Using my sleeve as a glove, I twisted the doorknob and quietly shut the door behind me. The garage smelled like the inside of a toolshed, musty and damp. One of the storage shelves was filled with Akira’s LEGO structures—the ones she didn’t have room for upstairs. She refused to take apart her favorite creations to reuse the LEGO bricks, which drove her parents up the wall. Those tiny plastic blocks cost a fortune.
One of the cars was missing—Mr. Saito’s sedan, probably parked at the airport. The security light on the dashboard of Mrs. Saito’s minivan blinked.
Get in the car now.
“Okay, okay. I’m going.” I unlocked the car and cringed when it gave a friendly chirp. But the house remained still. I climbed into the driver’s seat and dropped my phone into the cup holder in the armrest. The dashboard’s wood detailing gleamed, unlike Mom’s, which was coated with dust.
Turn on the car.
“Alright, alright!” I shouted. “What, are you gonna tell me when to breathe?”
I stuck the key in the ignition, and the engine purred to life. Clipping in my seat belt, I found the garage door opener Velcroed to the visor overhead. I bit my lip and glanced through the rearview mirror. The garage door was right under Akira’s room. She was going to hear this, white noise machine or not.
But I had to do this. I pressed the button to open the door. Nothing happened. Frowning, I pressed it again.
My phone buzzed.
Akira’s parents came home early! They’re pulling into the driveway! RUN!
5 Years Ago
“Gotcha!” Matty tugged Zoey out from under a gardening table nestled against a neighbor’s shed.
My heart clobbered my lungs—Matty and I had sprinted to find Zoey before she beat my time. He tapped his timer as Akira, Randall, and Brady caught up to us. “Nine minutes, thirty-five seconds.”
Zoey stomped her foot. “Darn it.” I was still in the lead—it took everyone twelve whole minutes to find me.
“Where was she?” Randall whispered.
“There.” I beamed my phone’s flashlight past Zoey and Akira, under the table.
Randall gasped and pointed at Akira’s jacket. “That spider’s huge!”
Akira let out an earsplitting shriek and swatted at herself. “Where? Get it off, get it off!” Brady smacked her jacket with his long sweatshirt sleeves, trying to help. Matty hunched over, howling with laughter.
“Get it off, get it off!” Randall mocked, flapping his hands.
“You turd!” Akira shoved Randall so hard he stumbled and fell on his butt with a grunt. But instead of complaining, he looked up at her like he was impressed.