Page 198 of Let the Game Begin
While his brother looked for a solution, Logan’s shoulders slumped in resignation. The sparkle of determination that had lit up his eyes so recently had gone out, giving way to wary suspicion that perhaps that bastard Player was just messing with our heads. Maybe he already knew that he’d win either way.
I pushed those disheartening thoughts out of my mind and looked at Neil, who was writing something down with the pen cap between his teeth.
“Three, two…” Logan muttered quietly, pondering something.
“Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. It’s a quote that people think is from Einstein,” he said abruptly, looking over at his brother, who simply nodded.
“What does an Einstein quote have to do with the numbers in the riddle?” I asked doubtfully, but just then, Neil made a catlike leap off the desk and came over to us, staring all the while at the notebook in his hand.
“I might have the solution.” He laid it down on the coffee table in front of us, and Logan and I craned our necks to get a better look.
“It’s multiplication.” He looked at Logan, who had tilted his head confusedly to examine his brother’s scribbles.
“Multiplication?” he asked blankly.
“Yes. Two times three is six.” He glanced back and forth between meand Logan and then sighed deeply. “‘Insanity isdoingthe same thing over and over again and expecting a differentresultis the quote, but our note saidrepeatingandsolution.’” He looked down at the paper and pointed to the six with his index finger. “What happens if we repeat the solution?” He grabbed the pen and wrote out a series of them, “Six…six…six…” He looked back up at us and threw the pen onto the coffee table. “Madness is just a metaphor. The word ‘solution’ implies a mathematical problem, and then ‘repeating’ it is an instruction to verbally say the answer several times,” he concluded decisively, rubbing his face while Logan and I exchanged troubled looks.
“666 is the devil’s number, right?” Logan breathed.
“Yeah,” Neil confirmed. “We need to learn more,” he added, going back to the desk for two more books before returning to us. He handed one to Logan and kept the other for himself, flipping quickly through it.
It took another thirty minutes of tireless searching before Logan made another shocking discovery. “Listen to this verse from the book of Revelation, referring to a prediction about the coming of the Antichrist: ‘Here is wisdom. He that hath understanding, let him count the number of the beast; for it is the number of a man: and his number is Six hundred and sixty and six,’” Logan read. He turned to look at me, and I shuddered at the idea that this goddamned Player 2511 was also some sort of devil worshipper.
“Keep going,” Neil ordered, pacing as he watched us. His agitation was palpable; I could feel it in the timbre of his voice and see it in the rigid way he held his body.
“Contrary to common belief, the number 666 does not identify the king of the demons—namely, Lucifer—but a being very near him,” Logan continued, reading along further. “The significance of the number involves very complex numerological and kabbalistic concepts, but to make a long story short: in the Bible, the number seven often indicates wholeness or completion. Because six approaches but does not reach seven, it is symbolic of imperfection. Repeated three times—another sacred number—it takes on the meaning of arrogance, human evil, and death.” He swallowed hard and shut the book, staring off into space with a troubled expression.
“For God’s sake,” I whispered, trembling with involuntary shivers. There were no words to explain how unsettling the situation had become.
“What is Player trying to tell us with that? That he’s a devil worshipper? We got that,” Neil said with a laugh that was not remotely amused, instead sounding full of contempt. Then he began to pace more frantically.
“No,” Logan argued. “Pay attention. I think he considers himself perfect—a seven, as it were. So the six suggests there’s a person who is very close to him.” He swallowed again and clenched his jaw—a nervous tic.
“You’re telling me this asshole has one or more accomplices?” Neil retorted, pausing to give Logan a look like he was talking crazy.
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. I don’t think he’s acting alone,” Logan answered, his voice heavy with worry.
“Shit, you might be right.” Neil raked a hand through his hair and emitted a low noise of frustration that made me flinch.
“So what do we do now?” Logan asked uncertainly. My heart was pounding so loudly, I was afraid one of them was going to hear it.
“Now we should expect an attack,” Neil answered. He was right: Player 2511 wouldn’t wait long.
He was going to hit us again. In some new way.
And who would be his next target?
***
The rest of the day didn’t go any better. I guess I wouldn’t have happy memories to cherish of my last hours in my father’s luxurious mansion.
When I told Matt that I was going back to Detroit the next day, his face was at first dismayed, then disbelieving, and then heartbroken because we never had actually resolved anything between us. Work had continued to take up the majority of his time, and I hadn’t stopped being silent and mistrustful every time he tried to communicate with me. If anything, I felt like the emotions that had tied me to him for so many years were becoming increasingly far away.
After seeing my father, I sorted out a few final things at the university and then spent the rest of the afternoon packing my suitcase. It felt like I had just arrived the day before, and now it was already time to leave.
But while my decision may have been drastic, it was quitecomprehensible: I couldn’t continue to live under the same roof as Neil, screwing up every other day, stumbling over my own mistakes only to make them again and again. I was trampling my own dignity.
I could understand that Neil wanted to be free from any constraint or responsibility and that love, the idea of a stable relationship, terrified him so completely that he did extreme things, like at the Halloween party. But I could not accept a man who treated me the way he had, forcing me to constantly compete with other women for his attention.
