I Joined a Fake Death Game for My Son's Surgery, and the First Rule Killed a Man novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Four and Four

Jo turns one voter, gambles her own life on a tie, and beats the streamer who campaigned to kill her, then the after-show plays a smiling exit interview with the man she watched die.

"Then you've got nothing to worry about," I said, and twirled my spaghetti.

Twenty-One laughed and patted my shoulder.

"I like you, Fourteen. That's the shame of it."

He picked up his plate and moved back down the table to Eighteen.

Five leaned across and lowered her voice.

"Seven goes to St. Michael's every Sunday, honey. The seven o'clock Mass."

"How do you know that?"

"He told me while you were upstairs. He asked if I thought God watches television."

After dinner I found Seven at the ice machine, filling a glass with his huge hand.

I stood on the square beside him and waited for the machine to dump.

When it did, I spoke fast.

"If it's five on me tonight, I die, and you're one of the five."

He didn't look at me.

"Twenty-One says you go home with the money."

"Did you see Forty go home?"

The ice kept falling, and he turned the little gold cross on his chain between two fingers.

"If it's four and four," I said, "nobody dies. Nobody in this house has to kill anybody tonight."

The machine went quiet.

Seven filled his glass the rest of the way and walked off without a word.

In the kitchen I told Five, Three and Six the plan.

The four of us would vote for Eighteen.

"Why her?" Five asked.

"Because she started it," I said. "And because I need four names on somebody who isn't me."

"And if he counts it the other way?" Three said.

"Then she and I go out that steel door together."

Three put his hands on his head.

"That's the worst plan I ever heard, and I worked a bar on Mischief Night."

"Have you got a better one?"

"No," he said. "I've got the worst one with you."

At nine o'clock the Wall came on, and the nine of us sat in a circle on the carpet.

Nobody wanted the chairs anymore.

"Each player says one number out loud," Garson Langan said. "The bell rings when the count is done."

My heart was on the strip under the Wall for everyone to see.

It said 128.

Twenty-One went first.

"Fourteen," he said, and winked at me.

The whale went next, pulling his silk robe tighter.

"Fourteen."

Eighteen said it to the dome, not to me.

"Fourteen."

One sighed and took his cap brim in his fingers.

"Fourteen. Nothing personal, sweetheart."

That was four.

Five patted my knee.

"Eighteen," she said.

"Eighteen," Three said.

Six didn't even look up from his hands.

"Eighteen."

Then it was Seven.

He sat with his elbows on his knees, a huge man folded small.

Twenty-One was already smiling.

Seven turned his cross over once.

"Eighteen," he said.

Twenty-One's head came around.

Eighteen made a sound in her throat.

It was my turn, and I didn't take my eyes off the Wall.

"Twenty-One," I said.

"Four for Fourteen," Garson Langan said. "Four for Eighteen. One for Twenty-One."

The bell started.

Eighteen's number on the strip jumped from 98 to 160.

She looked at Twenty-One, and he looked at the floor.

She looked at One, and One studied the brim of his cap.

Nobody on her side moved an inch toward her.

"This isn't fair," she whispered. "I didn't even mean it. It's a show."

Her lash extensions were coming loose, and she was shaking all over.

I put my hand out, palm up, on the carpet between us.

She stared at it.

Then she grabbed it and held on so hard her nails cut my skin.

The bell rang and rang.

I thought about Leo on the couch at home, thirty seconds from now, watching his mother hold hands with a girl who wanted her dead.

The bell stopped.

Nobody fell.

Every number on the strip stayed lit, and Eighteen let out a sob that was half a laugh.

Garson Langan touched his bracelet.

"The player with the most votes is written out," he said. "Tonight, there isn't one."

He smiled down at me.

"Well read again, Fourteen."

Twenty-One got up and walked over to Seven.

"What was that?"

"I go to Mass," Seven said.

Eighteen let go of my hand.

She didn't thank me.

She went upstairs to her room, and nobody from her side went after her.

At ten the Wall came on again, playing a cheerful little jingle.

A banner across the bottom said BACK DOOR: TONIGHT'S EXIT INTERVIEW.

Forty sat on a white couch in a sunny room, wearing a fresh shirt and a big grin.

"What can I say?" he said. "I took the money and ran. Cancun, baby."

He held up a check for two hundred fifty thousand dollars.

Five's hand went to her mouth.

Eleven hours ago I'd watched Six lift that man's eyelid with his thumb.

Twenty-One clapped once and turned around to face the room.

"See?" he said. "Stunts. Every bit of it."

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