These Deadly Games(62)

An image flashed through my mind: a gloved hand brandishing a knife over Caelyn, the wall behind her faux-brick concrete.

My pulse quickened. I tried sliding the window open, but it was locked, because of course it was. Breaking it wouldn’t help—it was so small, I didn’t think my hips would fit through. I had to move on.

I sidled past the back stoop—and that’s when I heard it. A muffled voice coming from the next room. I pressed my back against the wall, heart racing, and craned my neck to peek inside. The lights were on, blinds wide open.

There he was.

Fishman.

And he was playing MortalDusk, facing his massive monitor against the right-hand wall, wearing huge black headphones as he spoke to an empty room. I couldn’t make out what he was saying, but he was clearly streaming.

I bit my lip, considering this. He hadn’t gone live yet when I checked his channels earlier on Mom’s laptop. If he was really holding a thirteen-year-old girl hostage in the basement, would he stream? Maybe he thought it could be an alibi, however shaky. I slid my phone from my pocket. The moment I turned it on, my GPS coordinates would be traceable, my cameras functional. This was an incredibly stupid idea, wasn’t it? If Jeremy was An0nym0us1, and he caught me, he’d kill me. Not to mention Caelyn.

Dammit. I wished Dylan were here—and not because I needed a knight in shining armor or some crap. When I left my house, so much rage bubbled in my belly it felt like I could Hulk-smash Jeremy’s face in if I needed to. But realistically, it’d be nice to have backup in case shit hit the fan. How well could I defend myself, unarmed and alone, against a sadistic twenty-one-year-old dude?

But it was too late to turn back. I was right here. I had to know.

Pressing the power button felt like touching a flame to a dynamite fuse. After a few moments, the screen brightened. I’d missed several alerts, but ignored them and navigated to An0nym0us1’s app. I wasn’t sure how many of their messages I’d missed, since I could only see their most recent one.

Why is your phone off? You’re playing with fire.



Glancing up at Jeremy, I gnawed at the inside of my cheek. His phone was on the desk next to his mouse. I couldn’t tell if it was faceup or not.

With trembling fingers, I typed. Sorry, ran out of battery. Full charge now.

Sent.

Time seemed to slow as I watched Jeremy, and my heart thundered in my ears. Did the screen brighten? I couldn’t tell from this angle. I breathed hard, puffs of white condensation escaping my lips like homing beacons.

No reply from An0nym0us1.

Jeremy was in the middle of a sword fight, leaning forward, hammering on his space bar. Maybe he’d missed the notification. Finally, he threw his hands in the air. “Ohhhhh!”

Someone killed him. Or he’d won. Either way, the round seemed to be over.

Maybe I should try again. Jeremy was still talking to his audience, muffled just enough so I couldn’t make out the words, probably giving his usual postmortem; whenever he won, he’d belittle his opponent, and when he lost, he’d run through some other tactic he should have tried. I shot off another message.Well? What’s next?

At that exact moment, Jeremy picked up his phone.

It had been facedown. He stopped talking. I couldn’t see his expression. Was he tightening his jaw? Was he angry? My heart went still.

It was him. It was him.

He seemed to shake away some thought and spoke again, setting down his phone. Still no reply from An0nym0us1. Was that enough of a confirmation? What should I do? I hadn’t thought this far ahead. I could call the cops. They could free Caelyn from the basement. We weren’t close to a police station—it would take them a while to get here. Once Jeremy realized where I was, would he kill Caelyn in a last-ditch effort to win his sadistic game?

Caelyn.

I had to check for another basement window. I had to—

My phone buzzed. A message from An0nym0us1.

I know where you are.



No. No.

Jeremy hadn’t picked up his phone again or touched his keyboard. His fingers were clasped behind his head as he continued his recap. Had he somehow dictated the message without his audience knowing?

No. My gut sank. Checking his phone had been a coincidence. He wasn’t An0nym0us1.

That meant it was either Lucia or Zoey … or someone I hadn’t thought of yet. It also meant I’d broken An0nym0us1’s rules for absolutely nothing. I gritted my teeth, choking back a frustrated scream, when a new message appeared.

Have you given up? If you forfeit, I’ll keep playing without you. Then she dies.



Wait, what? They’ll keep playing? What did that mean? Before I could make sense of it, Jeremy glanced out the window and spotted me.





5 Years Ago


The screaming jolted me awake.

“Brady!” A woman’s voice pierced the silence of Zoey’s den as footsteps thundered down the stairs. “We’re going to be late to church—” The lights flicked on. My head swirled after what must’ve been only a few measly hours of sleep. Matty groaned somewhere nearby. “They’re still asleep? It’s nearly seven thirty.”

Even Zoey’s mom, who stood at the foot of the stairs in a bright blue robe, looked baffled. “Well, I let them stay up late. And it is Sunday…”

Mrs. Cullen gave an annoyed huff. “I told him we were going to the early service today. Brady?” She nudged Brady’s BB8-themed sleeping bag with the tip of her shoe. But only his pillow peeked out.