Besides, I was careful. After the first two weeks, I didn’t just rely on the refills anymore. I found an old prescription bottle when I was plant-sitting at the neighbors’ house. My dad still had some stored away from kidney stones, years ago. It’s shocking how much people have stuffed away in their medicine cabinets that they’re not aware of. And sure, I didn’t know if the best-by dates affected anything—or if I built up tolerance—but it was easy enough to take that extra pill. And one more.
And one more.
Maybe the pain got worse. Maybe that’s what happened.
Just one more.
I could grow to live with the pain, perhaps. In the back of my mind, I knew I didn’t need them the way other people legitimately did.
But one more.
The pills I hold in my hand could last me for weeks. Or, at least a couple of them. That is, if I take them with me instead of taking them now, as is clearly the intended purpose.
Addict.
It would make life so much easier too, to just…stop. Stop the pain. Stop the fear. Stop the worries. Stop feeling alone. The pills are exactly as tempting as the person who put them there wanted them to be.
All I have to do is put my hands to my mouth.
I could.
Maybe I will.
I put my hands back into my pocket and pull away from the edge. I get to my feet and start walking in a direction, any direction, into the darkness.
I don’t know yet.
Twenty-Two
Ever
Hey, Damien, remember when games were innocent?
We had that conversation this past WyvernCon, in part because I knew exactly what Damien would say and I needed to hear it.
He took a sip from his gigantic soda and shook his head. “First of all, what does innocent mean in this context? Neutral? Unassuming? Because if you think games ever were, I have shocking news for you. Every form of art or expression, including games, is by definition not neutral. Every world-building choice we make, whether it’s including or excluding, focusing on one detail over the other, is a statement. Whether it’s the puzzles we create, or what we describe as different or strange, it all matters.”
In this deadly cabin, I can still see him smile at me. “If there was a neutral position, it would be as simple as including people like us in worlds—because we’re clearly here in the real world, talking to one another—and somehow that’s seen as the most political statement possible.”
“Harmless, then,” I countered.
“Harmless or not hurting? It’s not a bad thing to occasionally hurt, whether it is heartache or joy or the pain that comes from discomfort. Hurt and happiness make us human, and if games can play a role in that, I can only applaud it. What brought this on?”
The same reason why I’m thinking about it now. I wanted to run a game that made my friends happy. Simply that, nothing more. Because I wanted to know that this dream I had, of designing games and building stories, actually mattered. Because I know stories have power.
“You’re not really a ghost, are you?” I whisper now into the shadows. Elle’s voice has dissipated and the music box has stopped playing. It’s quiet. And cold, colder than it was when we were in Carter’s room. And dark. The sound of my own voice is the only thing that keeps me from losing my mind completely. “It takes a whole lot of consideration to fix a cabin like a trap. It takes knowledge of our game to twist it into something so macabre.”
Finn is still slamming his crutch against the window, though the sound is more intermittent now. He looks so small and broken. Behind him, where Maddy once stood, is only night.
He’s alone. I have to get back to the door and find the other crutch, and try to get to him from the other side.
But I have a few more things to say to our ghost. “It’s personal for you, isn’t it? Why? Who are you? What have we done to you?”
I’ve wronged people, I’m sure. We all have. I’m not perfect, nor do I pretend to be. I try to do my best and take care of the people around me, but I can’t take care of everyone and I have pushed people away to protect myself. “Was it one of us in particular? I know you think Liva is a liar, and Carter is a thief, but what does it mean? Care to elaborate?”
I don’t need to know why they think I’m worthless. That one is obvious. Plenty of people do. Walk around with threadbare clothes and a DIY haircut for long enough, and people will have opinions. They look at my dad as if he doesn’t treat us well, like he doesn’t work long days to give us what he can. They look at my sister like she’s a basket case for dreaming of going to college when she comes from a good-for-nothing family.
And me, well. My sins are clear in my presentation, aren’t they? The thing is, I’m proud of who I am. I wouldn’t change it for the world. But that doesn’t mean the world doesn’t try to change it for me.
The silence remains.
I remember Finn’s suspicions and try again, a stab in the dark. “Zac?”
Nothing.
I failed Zac, I know. I held him to standards he couldn’t—or didn’t want to—meet. But the truth is, I wouldn’t do anything differently. Asking someone to be a better person is a kindness, not a threat.
I reach in front of me while I walk, a little more careful this time. It feels as though the furniture has moved again while I had my back to it, but that’s impossible. I bruise my knee against a chair,
