Page 61 of They're Watching You

I move on to where the passageway swerves to the left, and that’s when I see it.

Another room, its gate still knocking against the frame.

I take one step inside and then back up immediately. This could be a trick. Annabelle could be waiting back there, ready to lock me inside.

Besides, I’ve seen enough. This is the room from Polly’s videos. Her blue sneakers peek out from beneath the dirty mattress, and that square stone is a few feet away, covered with dark matter that pools into the cracks.

She was just here. I choke out a sob and sag against the doorframe. Annabelle must’ve forced her out of here and through some secret passageway so suddenly, Polly didn’t even have time to put on her shoes.

Footsteps pound the floor as I struggle to breathe through the sobbing. “Maren?” Remington baseball-slides down to inspect me.

“I’m fine,” I say, sniffling. “But we missed them. I heard Polly. She called for me, and I couldn’t catch her.” I failed her.

“They couldn’t have gotten far,” Gavin says, inspecting a plate of half-eaten crackers on a stool.

“No, but they pulled a disappearing act back in the corridor. Unless we can figure out which wall they walked through, they might as well be one hundred miles away.” I wipe my tears haphazardly. “It was our only chance to save them. And we blew it.”

“Maybe not.” Gavin strides past me back into the corridor, flashlight in hand.

“Where are—” But his figure is swallowed by the darkness.

At the far end of the room, Remington crouches on the ground, torch in one hand, feeling beneath the bed with the other. He pushes onto his knees, rocking slightly, head bent low. “Maren, you said you heard Polly’s voice. Was there…”

“Another voice?” I ask, unable to meet his eyes. “I didn’t hear one. But that doesn’t mean Jane wasn’t with her.”

“If I could find a clue, one small trace that she was in here…” He tears the ratty sheet from the bed.

I force myself up on wobbly legs to help him search, lifting my lantern. “We don’t know they were in the same room. If Annabelle only managed to move Polly, maybe Jane is still back here somewhere.”

He nods, pulling himself up by the rusty bedframe. From somewhere out in the passageway, a low grunt sounds, followed by a thud. “What was that?”

“That,” coos a new voice an instant before the gate slams, “was Gavin being knocked unconscious by Dallis and Paul.” Annabelle places a brass skeleton key into the lock and, though Remington lunges at her, turns it with a click.

Through the bars, she smiles at us. “There. Now you’ll see that the only way to save anyone is the Gamemaster’s way.”

Twenty-Three

“What will you do to Gavin?” I rush to the gate, lashing at her, fingers knocking iron. She steps back, just enough to avoid my clawing.

“I’m not sure yet,” she says, swinging the key by the ring to taunt us. “Might have to interrogate him until his true loyalty surfaces. Or…” She shrugs. “Make an example out of him.”

The image of Alicia Jones writhing on the ground slices all other thoughts in half, and I lean against the gate for support.

“We could always add him to the winnings,” she muses, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Up the ante, so to speak. If you play the game and stop wasting everyone’s time, I’ll release him too. How’s that for a prize?”

Remington shakes the bars hard enough to make Annabelle flinch. “We know you’re planning to kill one of the girls in some sick ritual. We know this isn’t just a game and that the society isn’t simply one big, rich, happy family.”

She stares at him, like she didn’t comprehend his words.

“So why go to all this trouble to choose?”

“You haven’t figured that out?” She squints at him, and then her gaze flicks up to the ceiling above her. “The Games are the society’s greatest source of entertainment. Each one leads up to the tournament’s finale tomorrow night.” She tosses her hair back behind a shoulder. “Think of it as our Superbowl.”

“Except no one gets sacrificed to a pagan god at the end of the Superbowl,” I snap.

“Why are you doing this, Annabelle?” Remington asks. “You don’t have to go along with these monsters.”

Her gaze tracing over him, and I can’t tell if it’s with desire or disgust. I shut my eyes, still picturing the two of them, lips pressed together, limbs entwined. I rub my arms, trying to wipe off a sensation like ants crawling over me.

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