Sara's Game Part 12

"What?"

"Step."

Her foot caught on something and she tripped forward, realizing he meant steps. She lifted her leg, tested the area ahead, and placed her foot down. Pushed herself up, and felt for the next one. The wood sagged in the middle and creaked under her weight. "How many?"

"Three."

Up she went. With both feet safely on the porch, she said, "This might be easier if you said more than one word at a time."

"Unlikely."

She felt a hand on her back, pushing her forward. Heard the metallic screech of rusted hinges as a door swung open. She walked through and felt the cooler temperature inside on her skin. Smelled the musty scent of age and interior dampness of something that had been shuttered and neglected for far too long.

The door slammed shut.

He said, "Blindfold."

She took it off, relieved to have the use of her eyes again, but they hurt from the sudden rush of light pouring in through the cracked and broken windows. They cast their glow on an old wood stove squatting in the corner. She looked around the open room, saw a table with a single chair, an empty shelf. A decrepit bed with metal railings, a sagging mattress, and a sleeping bag. A red cooler, the kind used for picnics and long trips.

Is this my cage? I can do this. I can do this. Twenty-four hours.

"I'm staying here?" she asked, looking around and up at him. He towered over her, dressed all in black, the familiar ski mask taking place of the baseball cap and sungla.s.ses. Ice blue eyes stared back at her.

"There," he said, pointing to a door in the back of the room.

"What's in there?"

"Cage."

"And what's all this stuff? Sleeping bag, cooler. You're staying here with me?"

"Observation."

"So this is it, huh?"

She angled her head upward, stepped closer to him. Aggressive, but contained.

Be strong, be strong, be strong.

She said, "If you are who I think you are, understand one thing, you big b.a.s.t.a.r.d. I've seen your face, and if things don't go well for me, this place will look like a five star resort compared to where you're going. I hope your son doesn't mind talking to his daddy behind a gla.s.s wall. Got me?"

His eyes narrowed. "Understood."

Control. For the first time in hours, control. At least a little bit. Enough to give her a renewed feeling of hope.

But what if he's lying, Sara? Trying to throw you off? This level is supposed to be about confusion, isn't it? He probably doesn't have a son. For G.o.d's sake, use your head. This isn't supposed to be easy.

Shut up. It's all you've got. Ask him something about Teddy. Scare him some more.

"Can I ask you one more question?" Sara thought she heard a m.u.f.fled huff of exasperation through the ski mask.

"Another?"

"How much is he paying you?"

"He?"

"Teddy. Your boss, my s.h.i.t-for-brains coworker. The guy who has my kids. How much is he paying you?"

His first response that contained more than a single word might as well have been a fist in the center of her chest.

"Not a he."

He pulled a black, cloth sack from his pocket and, as she tried to comprehend, shoved it over her head before she could stop him. He grabbed her by the neck, his large hand wrapping halfway around it as he forced her toward the back of the room.

Sara could hear the door opening, then he shoved her inside. The door slammed. He struck a match and a whoosh of flames followed. He removed the hood and she shielded her eyes from the light of a hissing gas lantern as they readjusted. A large dog cage sat in front of her, partially covered with a black blanket.

And sitting behind it, along one of the windowless walls, was an unconscious, bound and gagged man.

In the soft burn of the lantern, it wasn't difficult to make out the shirtless, miniature form of Teddy Rutherford.

Everything that Sara had antic.i.p.ated, everything that she thought she knew, imploded like an old building brought to the ground with a bevy of well-placed explosives.

"Teddy!" she said. "What's he doing here?"

"Waiting," said the tall man.

"Waiting for what?"

"Pain," he said, motioning toward the table.

Beside the lantern were four objects she hadn't noticed before. A blowtorch, a knife, a set of clipping shears, and a cleaver.

If Teddy's here, then who has the kids? Who've I been talking to this whole time?

What if Teddy wants you to think he's being tortured?

Teddy slowly lifted his head. Sara watched him blink and then his eyes went wide as he focused on her. He mumbled a surprised, "Sara! Sara!" through the gag, then added something that sounded like, "Help me!"

Her notion that this was part of Teddy's plan disappeared as the tall man walked over, pivoted, and swung a bowling ball fist into his jaw. The crunch was sickening as Teddy's head whipped to the side and then flopped down to his chest, the blow knocking him unconscious.

"Why?" she said. She didn't know what to think, how to feel. Her emotions were bundled up with the promised confusion and tossed into the well of her consciousness. Switching to pity after so many hours of focusing her rage on Teddy was...difficult.

But she did.

As much as she detested him back in the real world, seeing his slumped, limp body straining against the ropes set her bottom lip to quivering. He was sleazy, offensive, and deceitful, but whatever sins he committed on the rest of humanity weren't deserving of this. Why was he here? What purpose did it serve to torture Teddy in front of her?

Confusion, Sara. Distraction. She wants you to know that you were wrong.

Who?! Who is SHE?!

Someone at the office. She knew I'd think it was him. He's the obvious choice.

The tall man said, "In," as he pointed toward the cage.

Sara looked down, saw the padlock on the cage's door.

Keys open locks, locks open cages. She wants me to cage myself. Why? What does that prove?

Control. She can make you do whatever she wants.

"I'm not getting in that thing," she said.

"Expected." The tall man grabbed the blowtorch, ignited it, and shoved the flame at Teddy's bare shoulder. His skin seared and the sudden shock of pain brought him back to life.

His m.u.f.fled scream clawed at Sara's eardrums. She dropped the paper bag, covered her ears, tried to block the sound of his wailing. "Enough!" she said. "I'll get in, I'll get in. No more, okay?"

Seconds later, she sat inside the cage, the door open in front of her, padlock dangling from it.

"Key," the tall man said.

She flung it at his legs.

He closed the cage door with a clank and a rattle, snapped the padlock shut with a click.

The black blanket covered half the cage, making it darker inside, blocking her view of Teddy. The metal rungs dug into her skin, pressing through her running shorts and into her thighs, her b.u.t.tocks. She tested the distance of the sides, the top, each of them a half an arm's length away. It gave her room to move, to turn around if she needed.

Sara had never been claustrophobic, but the feeling of confinement overpowered her mind as it crawled its way over her body, sending her breathing into short, ragged bursts. Her chest hurt from straining to get enough oxygen. Fingertips tingled. Dizzy. The floor tilted underneath.

The tall man said, "Calm."

Teddy whimpered behind her, inhaling heavily through his draining nose, exhaling around the s...o...b..r-soaked rag.

Sara dumped the contents of the paper bag onto the cage's floor. The water bottle bounced. The apple rolled and settled. The jewelry box landed with a thunk and came to rest against her foot. She kicked it away, held the bag up to her mouth and breathed. Inhaling, exhaling, inflating the bag with air, sucking it back into her lungs.

Inhaling. Exhaling. Inhaling. Exhaling. Bringing herself to a controlled cadence.

Tempered normality returned. The tall man knelt down, shoved a familiar slip of paper through the bars.

"Instructions," he said.

She s.n.a.t.c.hed it from his hand, held it around to read in the light.

SECOND HALF OF LEVEL 2 a SELF-PRESERVATION HIS PAIN = YOUR COMFORT.

REMEMBER a 24 HOURS IF YOU THINK HARD, THE ANSWER WILL COME.

His pain equals my comfort? G.o.d, this is insane. If I get hungry? Thirsty? If I have to pee? Torture Teddy, get rewarded.

She wants to see how selfish you are.

The tall man rattled the door. "Understood?" he asked, returning her earlier threat, returning to control.

"Yes," she said. "But she won't break me."

He nodded and slid another slip of paper through the cage.

This one read: SO PREDICTABLE.

HIS PAIN = YOUR CLUES.

SOLVE THIS RIDDLE AND THE FIRST ONE IS FREE.

WHAT IS GREATER THAN G.o.d, MORE EVIL THAN THE DEVIL?.

THE POOR HAVE IT. THE RICH NEED IT. AND IF YOU EAT IT, YOU WILL DIE.

Sara almost laughed with relief. Sometimes luck aligns with the universe.

Two weeks earlier, Lacey had come home from school with the exact same riddle and had flaunted it at her for hours. She had been tired and cranky after another day of dealing with Teddy's inadequacies and Jim's demands. She'd wanted to relax and unwind, to forget about the day, and Lacey's teasing had been so relentless that Sara had almost sent her to her room. The threat had worked well enough for her daughter to apologize and give her the answer.

Sara wadded up the slip of paper and threw it at the cage wall, toward the tall man's face. He didn't flinch. She said, "The answer is nothing."

"Quick." He slid yet another slip of paper into the cage.

CONGRATULATIONS. YOUR FIRST CLUE:.

WHY DO I HAVE BRIAN'S WEDDING RING?

LITTLE ONE'S PAIN = MORE CLUES LITTLE ONE'S PAIN = YOUR COMFORT HOW MUCH DO YOU WANT TO KNOW?.

Little One...she knows his nickname.

When she finished reading, she peered through the bars, glared at the tall man. "Are you done?"

"Temporarily," he said, sliding the black blanket over the cage, covering her in darkness, wrapping her in a shroud of solitary confinement. The only thing that penetrated her square tomb was the steady sound of Teddy's erratic, panicked breathing.

CHAPTER 15.

DJ.