“I wish I could be sure too. Excuse me.” Ever hesitates between the door and the staircase, and for a brief, irrational heartbeat, all I want to do is stop them, make them stay here with me. Play this game with me. This is my time, and I’m tired of it being interrupted.
“Ever…”
They don’t respond, and a wave of anger washes over me. I clench my fists and try to swallow the annoyance, but it burns hot inside me. The moment Ever walks away from me, I get up and walk away too. I can’t force the game to continue, but I can make my way to the kitchen to pretend I’m still in control. Even if all I do is stare at the cabinets and ignore the silence. I ignore the footsteps upstairs. I ignore the emptiness opening inside me.
It’s always the same thing. Other things and other people are always more important than me.
And if people see me, it’s never for who I am, but only for what I can do for them.
I reach for the coin purse and test its weight once more. Maybe neither the coins nor the note were a warning; maybe they were a hint. After all, following or breaking the rules aren’t the only options. I can find my own way. I can simply stop playing.
Bend the rules. Win the game.
Truth is, to get what I deserve, I simply have to take it myself.
Some sounds can break through everything:
Silence.
Tension.
Night.
Imagination.
The idea that a pile of blankets can be a body. That cards can be real artifacts and puzzle boxes truly deadly. That dice are weapons.
Some sounds remind you this isn’t a castle.
This is a cabin.
And a loud scream tears through the darkness, raw and filled with terror.
Eleven
Finn
A bat drops from the rafters and nearly tumbles onto my face before flying off into the night. I flip it off when it does. With no one to see me, and no one to judge, I can breathe. I could break. I want to be able to trust my friends. I want to go back to feeling safe amidst all of them, and I’m trying. But right now, I don’t know if I can.
It used to be so effortless. We could simply let ourselves fall into another world and thrive.
If this game ends after this weekend, and I never see any of the others again, I wouldn’t care.
Except about Ever.
When my brain calms, I get stuck on the memory of the touch of their hands, soft and careful, when they broke character for me.
Let me know if there’s anything you need. Physically. Emotionally. I want you to feel safe here.
It hurts that they know me so well, that they care so deeply. It hurts in the best of ways.
I consider all the answers I didn’t give. I need you, physically. I need you, emotionally. I feel safe with you.
Trouble is, that’s exactly what scares me. I don’t feel safe with many people. I have literally never asked anyone out on a date before. I don’t have a clue how to go about it. I never did crushes before. I didn’t feel comfortable enough in my own skin. I didn’t know how much of a hang-up gender would be for other people—or disability, for that matter. If you’re constantly told people like you don’t have meaningful relationships, it’s hard to believe you’re allowed to try.
So a big part of me wants to stick to Damien’s advice: Try. Find your family and cling to it. Life is too short and too hard not to embrace every aspect of it. It’s part of why I ran, and it’s most of why I came back. Because underneath all my fear, I want to make this the best game yet. Follow the clues and the signs. Play my heart out. And then hand it to Ever in a puzzle box.
Something crashes though the undergrowth, not far away from where I’m sitting, and my pulse pounds. It was just an animal, I think. I hope. Are there wolves or coyotes here? I pull my knees up to my chest and cradle my crutches closer, but it’s dark enough now that I can’t see beyond the small circle of light surrounding the porch.
“Hello?” I call out hesitantly.
Silence. Darkness.
I’m letting the ghost stories get to me. It was probably a squirrel or—
The door slams open. Ever. The bright light from inside filters out around them, making their shadow almost bleed into the darkness. It’s too shaded for me to see their face; I can only hear their rapid breathing. “Finn, you have to come back in.”
I scramble to my feet, my heart slamming in my chest.
“Something’s wrong.”
Carter appears behind them, holding one of the decorative fireplace pokers, his eyes wild, his cheeks flushed. When we all push into the cabin, Maddy is standing on the stairs, her face deathly white and her hands trembling.
She keeps glancing back over her shoulder, and her voice shakes as much as her body does. “Did you hear that? There was something—someone upstairs.”
Carter dashes up to meet her. “Are you okay? How are you feeling?”
I’m still trying to catch up. “What happened?”
At the same time, next to me, Ever says, “We heard screaming. Are we all here? Where is Liva?”
Oh.
Everything snaps into focus. One of us is missing. “We have to find to Liva.”
“We have to stay close together,” Ever cautions.
They place a hand on mine. Carter reaches for Maddy. And the cabin feels cold and lonely. The only thing we can do is walk up the winding staircase and hope she’s waiting for us at the top.
“Liva?”
Nothing.
Again, “Liva!”
Carter still holds hands with Maddy as we edge toward the bedrooms, his free hand continuing to grasp the poker.
Ever leans into me, a little. “Did you see her leave the cabin by any chance?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t. I heard something moving in the brush, but it sounded like an animal.” To be fair,
