Page 22 of Hupotasso
“And what of the child from your marriage to Angie? You’ll simply pass him over in favour of the first son Sophie has with you? That will definitely rouse suspicions with The Families. The death of a wife and the passing over of a firstborn son…”
“No,” I shrug, turning to walk away from him so I don’t have to witness his reaction. “The baby will die in childbirth, as will his mother.”
Despite feeling more comfortable saying this out loud, I wait for Jag’s opinion. I know it will clarify my thoughts on this matter,which are far from settled despite his acknowledgement that Angie’s a spy.
But when I turn around, he’s gone.
17
I sit in my hotel room in Colombo, Sri Lanka, and prepare for my meeting with Pasha’s family. Having watched the series now, I realise how hard this is going to be for them.
The editing was truly diabolical.
In Pasha’s case Showman had essentially hotch-potched a variety of footage of small arguments or disagreements I’d had with her over the course of the weeks we’d lived under the same roof. It had made it seem like we were mortal enemies. This had culminated in him panning in for a close-up of her corpse in the snow, the arrow still visible, ensuring the audience would have been left with no doubt that I was a cold-blooded killer.
I flick through the notes I have from the show and try to remember some good things I can say about Pasha, my eyesdrifting to the list I’d made of contestants. Beside each name I’d noted how they’d died and everything I knew about them. I’d started chronologically with the first night when we’d lost the British and Indian contestants. I rewound footage surrounding those two several times to try and garner more of an impression of them for when I visit their families.
I’d never even learned their names. Pretty much all I could remember about them was their shocked expressions and gallons of blood as their hearts were ripped out and their heads ripped off. But I know I won’t have to talk about anything like that with their families. The public only saw stand-in actresses with their backs to the camera as they stared at the gardens with a voice-over from Falcon that was clipped from another time when he’d said, “Will you accept my bite?”
As far as the audience knows, he took them aside at the first cocktail party and dispensed with them in a gentlemanly way. No one, including their families, would ever know the true horror their daughters actually went through.
The next contestants on my list I also didn’t know very well, and I’ll have to draw on the footage I saw in The Games to speak to their families as well. These include the Thai girl who Falcon killed at the second cocktail party, the Swedish doctor who Giselle killed in the first challenge, and the Saudi Arabian who’d come last in that challenge and also been killed by Falcon. It had been too soon in The Games to have anything but a basic impression of these women.
I can’t help but wonder how Falcon decided this early on who to kill and who to keep. He really seemed quite remorseless and downright bloodthirsty in his choices — a giant red flag I’d noticed but been unable to do anything about. Later, though, I shake my head, I should have remembered.
I continue staring at my list.
After that first challenge we’d moved to Morocco, and the Italian was killed by Falcon. I hadn’t particularly liked or disliked her. She was a strong personality. Then the night fishing challenge had seen the Samoan killed by Giselle, although she never claimed that kill, and the Mexican came last and was eaten by Falcon. I’d enjoyed the Mexican’s sense of humour, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember her name. I re-read it three or four times now to try and get it into my head. There was a little footage of us joking in the kitchen as I cooked nachos, and it made me sad. I hope I manage to impress upon her family what a lovely young woman she was.
The deaths all start to become a little easier to remember after that. And I know these will be the hardest families to meet.
I recall the night Yin and Kesha, the South African contestant, went on a double date and how scared I’d been that Yin wouldn’t return. Falcon had thrown Kesha over the edge of the Eiffel Tower that night. I hadn’t known that until he told me later.
‘That’s not something her family needs to know, but it should have told me something about him. God, why was I so blind to his faults? Still, seeing her bitch about me on the show does make it seem a little more excusable…’
I skim further down my list, the body count growing exponentially. My notes became longer as I’d remembered things about each contestant and watched the show to fill in the gaps. I just have to make sure I don’t say something the audience was not privy to.
Some of the people I’d thought were OK were actually back-stabbing bitches. Watching the show as a survivor is not for thefaint-hearted. I hadn’t realised how disliked I was, or the open jealousy about me that was simmering beneath the surface and overflowing in other rooms. All I’d really noticed was the odd snarky comment. There was definitely intent to kill me though; that was evident. And there had been a level of protection, both physical and emotional, that my small group of friends, particularly Yin, had provided that had insulated me from the harshest comments and several real threats.
Some of those most keen to end me had met their own untimely ends in the Louvre. The Greek contestant had been killed by the Chinese contestant, who was then killed by Giselle, and the Norwegian contestant came last and was killed by Falcon. That’s all on the public record. Three in one night. The fact that they were three who planned to knock me off as soon as they could was news to me. The footage from that night was all new to me too, though, because I’d been unconscious.
After that episode the show had started to become more personal and harder to watch. There were things I’d blocked out and things I’d remembered differently, either because Tom had fabricated and made shit up for the ratings, or because I’d just looked through the prism of my experience.
After my hospital stay I’d acknowledged my feelings for Falcon, but the montage Tom had put together of Falcon’s tender watch over me while I was ill was heartbreaking. He really looked like he’d cared. I can see why the audience ate it up. Of course Tom was a smart director too, leaving giant cliffhangers between scenes so the audience feared for my life again and again. Panning in on my peaceful slumber as Giselle leant over and put a pillow on my face was, I had to admit, genius. I’m sure Sam and all the other viewers would have been on the edge of their seats waiting for the next episode to see if I was dead. And I’msure they would have been invested in the whole ‘the plain-Jane has won his heart,’ crap Tom was spinning.
Meanwhile Falcon fucked and sucked the Indonesian contestant and flat out killed the Turkish woman as easily as if he was squashing a bug. I’d pegged the latter as a bit of a front-runner, she was truly mysterious to me —obviously not to a vampire, though. As for his spa antics with the Indonesian, although mostly hinted at through careful editing, it was obvious what had occurred. Tom used this to highlight that Falcon had ‘broken the rules again’ to keep his roguish ‘what will he do next?’ Appeal going with the audience.
It made me sick to the stomach to watch.
I’m ashamed to say I was happy he killed her.
I don’t know how I’m going to handlethatfamily visit.
Of course, there’s going to be worse than that, because then Isabel was pushed off a cliff during the Japanese challenge. Although I didn’t technically do it, or claim it, I am responsible for it. I can still hear her scream as she plummeted to her death. There were no cameras around for that, so once again Tom hammed up some footage and showed a body being recovered from the sea, although to my knowledge, they never found her.
I haven’t taken too many notes on Isabel. I remember her clearly. I remember her as a friend. I’m still a little heartbroken over her attempts on my life, although knowing more about the vampire world now, I understand why. I’m also trying to play my cards close to my chest about her. Caroline’s watching me like a hawk, and I don’t want to let on even a hint of what I’m thinking about through a misplaced expression or comment in relation to The Free Men.
Instead I’m, on the surface, focusing on others.
