The Games We Play

14. Thirteen - Tess

Thirteen - Tess

For the first time since he started this act of war tonight, I walk confidently to the front of the line at the asylum. With my mask lit, the workers watch as I stride past. Nobody grabs me or drags me along. This place is going to be my bitch; then I’ll find my stranger, and the tables will turn.

A girl with a padlocked metal headpiece that has a countdown clock on the side opens the door, and I step in. Screams immediately filter through the torture house. I’m forced up several flights of stairs until I get to the top floor. A woman with long, stringy hair stands with a rope around her neck in a busted windowsill. She sways slightly, and my footsteps slow to a stop as I cautiously wait for the next test.

“You’ll never make it out,” she says, her voice chipper. Not at all matching her bleak surroundings. “Nobody makes it out.” Her eyes fixate on me. She screams and falls backward. “This is where you come to die!” I rush forward and reach out to grab her, but there isn’t anyone there .

What the fuck ? I lean out the window and glance down at the people waiting in line. A couple looks up and points, but there isn’t a splattered woman on the pavement. Running footsteps come from behind me, and I spin. The woman rushes me and slips the rope over my head, fighting to push me out the window.

Out the fucking window !

“Get off me, you crazy bitch!” I punch and kick for my life. Clawing and scratching, I’m not above grabbing her hair and yanking her backward at this point.

“You’re not worthy of his fixation. A stoner. An addict. You’re trash!” Her words sting, but I don’t stop my struggle. My hands search the ground around me, and I grab a loose piece of debris. I swing it hard, and wood splinters across her head, the contact vibrating up my arm. She falls back, breaking character, and cries out in pain. I don’t stay around for her to get back up.

How did she know those things about me? Did X tell her? Is that what he thinks of me? That I’m nothing? Trash? If that’s the case, then why do all of this? He’s already written me off that I’ll fail. Is this his twisted way of discarding me? To prove I’m not worthy of his fixation, just like the lunatic said? Has he paid these actors off to take care of me ?

And why does that all hurt so fucking much? Everything she said was true. I drink and smoke because everything hurts too much. The truth that is my life hurts too fucking much. The pills were Dad’s way of helping . Even if it was from across the world, but they didn’t. Nothing really does. X is a distraction, something to look forward to and risk it all for. He made me feel something more than this empty black numbness I’ve become accustomed to.

But he didn’t want a broken toy .

I’m lost in my thoughts as I step into the next room. Two beds with restraints sit on separate sides, and I glance around, waiting for the jump scare—for the next person to fight off.

I’m tired, and the longer I think about it, the longer I question why I’m doing this. What’s the point? If he doesn’t want me, why should I be the one to prove him wrong?

I’m tackled from the back; my mask is ripped off and tossed aside. The person overpowers me and slams me onto a bed. The bars through the paper-thin mattress knock the air from my lungs. Hands grip my ankles, and I try to kick free, but straps cinch tight, keeping my legs down.

Fucking bastard !

“Let me go!” I scream and thrash.

“He said if we trap you, we keep you,” the man says, slightly out of breath.

No !

I claw at the man while he’s fighting for my wrist. His skin and blood mingle with the dirt and rocks under my nails. The back of his hand swings down, and a stinging pain radiates across my cheek, and black spots pepper my vision.

“That’ll shut you up,” his grizzly voice bellows, and I slowly turn my head back from its side. “Now sit still.”

He reaches for my wrist again, and I fight through the haze circling around my mind.

He reaches over my body for my other wrist, and I sink my thumbs into his eye socket and press as hard as I can. It squishes under my thumb, and my stomach flips at the sound. He falls back, howling in pain. I make quick work on the straps around my ankles and rush to my feet, grabbing my discarded mask from the floor. Slipping it on, I reach for a rusted pipe in the room’s corner and raise it high over the cowering man.

“It was just part of the game. Plea—please,” he stammers, spittle flying from his lips. He’s not in shape like Ryan or my stalker. He’s soft around the middle and out of breath from the fight I put up.

Anger and rage boil over inside of me. He wanted to keep me. To play with me when it was on his terms. Now that he’s on the losing end, he’s a scared piss-poor excuse of a man.

“You lose,” I say through gritted teeth, and, on impulse, I bash the pipe into the side of his head. He falls unconscious at my feet, his skull dented at an odd angle.

I grin at my triumph and rip a piece of my torn shirt off, wiping my arms and chest from whatever bodily fluid I’m covered in.

Scoffing, I swing the pipe around in a circle by my side as I walk away onto my next victim.

***

I make it out of the asylum without another fucker touching me. I’m bloody, disgusting, tired, and staring up at the clown house entrance like a bona fide part of this haunted hell. The pipe sways at my side in my hand. Fingers graze over my shoulders, and my blood heats as I lean back into the touch.

“It’s you,” I whisper with full confidence. I found him.

“One more, Puppet.” I spin to confront him, but the crowd of excited patrons stares at me up and down. He’s really going to force me to do this. To take on the clown house…alone. Each attraction has been more deadly than the one before. Given that psychotic bitch in the asylum tried to shove me out a window, my chest tightens at what is about to happen. Hope they’re ready because I’m done holding back. Something broke inside of me, setting free a part of myself I didn’t know existed. The part that wants to survive that wants to win.

I want to live and show X just who I am. What he thought he could easily get rid of.

I pause when I step through the door and decipher that thought. How long has it been since I’ve cared if I lived or died? I had muted myself to emotions and feelings around me. It’s like I was seeing everything in black and white, dulled until the only thing I wanted was to not feel anything. I had become numb.

A giggle pulls me from my thoughts, and I ready my weapon. Not one, not two, but four clowns step out of hidden doors on all sides. I widen my stance and raise the rusted pipe.

The one on my left has a rainbow afro with a baggy one-piece, complete with a red nose. He’s like the clown that was rejected by toddlers and murdered them instead. I can only assume the one in front of me mimicked ‘ It’ minus the red balloon. The other two put less effort by wearing band T-shirts and jeans with just clown makeup smeared down their cheeks.

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star,” the one with a rainbow afro says. “Let us see how wet you are.” He steps forward, and I swing in his direction.

“Will you scream until you die?” the one behind me picks up. “Cut in pieces for him to find,” he giggles, and it sends goosebumps down my arms.

I spin as they tighten their circle, not sure which one will attack me first .

“Not before we have our fun,” It impersonator growls. “Make you moan until you come.”

“No!” I shout, but they laugh in unison. They’re so close now. The largest one steps in front of me, grabbing my throat.

“You are running out of time.” His lips curl into a smile, and the black makeup on his face cracks around the lines. “Find me soon, or we’ll be done.”

“X?” I ask. The four laugh and slip away into the shadows.

I check my phone. Only one hour left ? This place has been like a fucking time warp.

“Do you want to play a game?” a voice echoes in front of me, seeming to come from everywhere all at once. I step into the next room and onto the bridge that extends to the other side. The tunnel that makes the walls spin is painted in bright neon colors. I sway on my feet, grabbing the railing, and my pipe falls as I nearly tumble forward. It clanks and disappears under the metal bridge.

Fuck .

The bridge shakes, and I glance up to see the clown who wanted to see how wet I was with the rainbow hair crouched low, blocking my path. Fear seizes my muscles; his bone-chilling smile stretches wider.

He pulls an elongated blade from behind his back and taps it lightly along the railing. The metallic pings tell me it’s real and not a prop for show.

He lifts the blade to his mouth and sticks out his tongue, licking up the sharpened steel. Every instinct in my body is screaming to run, to get out of here.

But I’ve come this far. I refuse to let X win .

“Come on then,” I bait the clown and push to my feet, steadying myself with the handrail. “Get it over with.”

He leaps onto the handrail and walks toward me like a balance beam. If I try to run past him, he’ll easily catch me. There’s no room to avoid him. I’ll have to go through him to get to the other side. He drops onto the metal grate before me, angling his head from side to side, and dances the blade between his hands.

“Eeny, meany, miny, moe. Catch a Puppet, take her home,” he giggles, and I stiffen. “Carve her up and make her moan. Eeny, meany, miny, moe.”

“Do you all speak in riddles?” I hiss.

He strikes out with the knife, slicing through my torn shirt and across my chest. I jerk back and cover the cut with my hand.

Blood soaks into what is left of my shirt, and the slices in my skin burn like acid. My hand wants to shake, and my flight response tries to take over, but I’m not the same girl who stepped foot into this place tonight.

His giggles grow louder, bouncing off the spinning walls.

He thinks he’s won.

He thinks I’m the same one who tried running in the beginning.

He’s wrong.

I grab the knife, twisting it from his hands. The blade cuts into my skin, but I don’t feel it. I’m focused on what is going to happen next.

“My turn,” I say with a wicked grin. I plunge the knife into his stomach, and he falls back, eyes widening with pain and shock.

“What the fuck!” he whimpers as he pulls his hand away from the stab wound, blood dripping between his fingers. “Chappy!” He shouts as I walk over to him. “She’s got a knife! ”

He’s done laughing. Suddenly he’s the prey, and I’m the fucking predator.

“Walking through the clown house, leaving a trail of blood,” I rhyme to ‘ Ring Around the Rosie ’. “X, our game is far from done.”

I laugh as I step off the bridge and leave the spinning tunnel behind. The floor slants upward at a steep angle, and I’m forced to lean forward to reach the other side. I keep the blade ready in my hand. No clown jumps out at me in this room or the next. I run my hand along the broken toys and dolls scattered around the room.

It’s silent. I grab the door at the end, but it won’t open.

“You’re getting colder, Puppet,” a voice with a slight accent cuts through the silence.

X .

I know it’s him. I look around the room for another exit. There’s a prop door that the actors use to hide in, and on the other side looks like storage, and I step inside.

“You scared off the rest of the toys,” X says, panting from somewhere deeper into the room.

I step cautiously, not wanting to trip but also not convinced this game of his is over.

“Are you not going to talk?” His words come out as a moan, and white, fiery rage surges under my skin. I step around shelf after shelf of miscellaneous items, getting closer to my stranger. Pushing through a thick, heavy curtain, the scene before me causes me to see red.

X lies on his back, his pants unbuttoned but still around his hips. The woman from the asylum who tried to shove me out the window straddles his waist and kisses his neck as he turns his masked face to find me. When her hands dive to reach for his cock, I sprint across the room, holding my knife high above me.

Before I realize what I’ve done, the hilt protrudes from the cunt’s back.