These Deadly Games(78)

Then I spotted the plastic bin labeled SCARVES/GLOVES/HATS. I tugged it from the shelf, chucked the lid aside, and dug through the fabrics for scarves. “What’re you doing?” Zoey asked, but I ignored her. I couldn’t believe I was doing this. But she’d left me no choice. No choice.

Once I had four scarves, I knelt beside her.

She shifted forward. “No way—”

Out of patience, I raised the knife again, and she whined as she sat back. “Sit still.” I’d wasted so much time here already.

Should I tie her wrists together, or each one separately to the armrests? I couldn’t exactly google “how to tie someone to a chair” right now. And should I secure her ankles or hands first? If I bound her hands first, she could kick me. If I bound her ankles first, she could grab my hair or punch me. How did kidnappers do this?

She was already clutching the armrests so hard the tendons on her hands bulged, so I started there, keeping my grip on the knife. I stretched a scarf over her wrist and looped it around the armrest several times, ignoring the pain in my own wrist and trying not to nick Zoey with the knife. As I tied a knot beneath the armrest so she couldn’t lean forward and gnaw at it or anything, she grunted and tugged at the fabric with her free hand. “You’re cutting off my circulation.” Frustrated, I swatted her away, accidentally swiping her arm with the knife. Both of us gasped. “Ow!”

A thin red line appeared on her wrist; I’d broken the skin, but barely. My heart plunged. “Dammit, stay still, or you’ll make me cut off more than your circulation.”

Zoey blanched, and a new sort of fear filled her eyes.

“Oh my God, I … I didn’t mean it like a threat, I only meant…” I stuttered, choking back a sob. “Just … hold still. Please.”

She started crying as I looped a scarf around her other wrist, covering the tiny red droplets oozing from the cut, trying to ignore what I’d done. I hadn’t meant to do it. I never wanted to hurt her.

But that didn’t really matter now, did it?

I repeated the process with her ankles, binding them to the frame of the rocking chair. As I stepped back to examine my handiwork, Zoey glared at me. “How could you do this?”

“To save my sister’s life,” I said, digging a fifth scarf from the bin. “I’m telling the truth, whether you believe me or not.” I didn’t want to gag her, but what if An0nym0us1 came hunting for her and opened the basement door? This was for her own good. “Listen … it’s safer for you here than anywhere else. If this psycho tries sending me after you, I’ll say I don’t know where you are. But if you hear someone come in … well, you won’t want them to find you.”

She visibly swallowed. “But … what if I have to pee?”

I cringed. I hadn’t thought of that. “You’ll have to hold it, I guess.” I raised the scarf to her face.

“No, wait!” she cried. “I won’t scream, I swear.”

“You’re literally screaming right now.” Instead of trying to get the scarf between her teeth—that seemed too uncomfortable—I looped the scarf over her mouth and tied it behind her head, careful to leave her nostrils exposed. She let out one last muffled cry before I picked up the knife and backed away, giving her a forlorn look.

I wished I could trust her. I wished she trusted me. But she thought I was capable of killing our friends. Heck, at this point, I didn’t blame her. “I hope you’ll forgive me for this. I swear I’m telling the truth. I swear you’re safest this way.”

Then I left and shut the door, leaving her bound and helpless.

Somehow this felt worse than all the rest of it.





CHAPTER 34


Back in my room, you’d think everything was fine.

My fluffy purple quilt beckoned, offering comforting solace. Whiskers curled up on my pillow, slow-blinking at me, wanting pets. Video game posters lined the walls—Zelda, Skyrim, Assassin’s Creed, and of course, MortalDusk—promising memories of adventure. Friendly faces grinned at me from photos pinned to the corkboard above my desk—our family selfie at the lake, my friends at ten years old from the time Matty brought a retro Polaroid camera to school. The cosplay costume Caelyn made for me to wear at the tourney hung on my closet door.

Here, I could almost believe the world outside wasn’t burning to the ground. That I’d somehow reloaded an earlier save.

But Zoey’s kitchen knife in my grip was a stark reminder that I hadn’t. My throbbing headache, torn-up palm, and pulsating wrist were all more proof that the past twenty-four hours had happened.

I set the knife next to my laptop and booted it up. If An0nym0us1 had hacked it, too, here I was. Exposed. Vulnerable. But that was the point—I needed to reach them. If they weren’t monitoring my webcam, I could send an email to myself so they’d see—

The red dot over my messenger app caught my eye, and I reflexively clicked on it. Our group text chain was at the top, the most recent message from Randall.

CRYSTAL WHY DID YOU STALK FISHMAN???



The floor seemed to drop out from under my chair. I quickly scanned the other messages I’d missed this morning.

Randall: Back in the hospital. Dad’s out of ICU in a recovery room.

Akira: YAYAYAY ILUUUUU