S.W. Tanpepper's GAMELAND: Season Two Omnibus (Episodes 9-11) (34 page)

Jessie sneered. “No, you don't know anything. You're fishing.”

“Really? I know all about you. You and your stupid friends. I know all about Gamel—”

Someone running down the hall smacked her in the back, shoving her against Jessie.

“Sorry!” they shouted as they disappeared into the crowd.

“Stupid asshole!” Siennah screeched after the boy. “Why don't you look where you're going!”

Jessie used the momentary distraction to escape. She was livid. How could Siennah lord what happened to them in Gameland over her? How could she know? She knew the girl was heartless, but this was pure evil. To mock Ashley's and Jake's death like this was just inexcusable.

“Don't turn your back on me!” Siennah yelled after her.

Jessie spun around. She could feel her face growing hot. “Or what?” she spat.

Siennah stepped over. “Or you're dead, bitch,” she whispered.

Jessie froze for a moment. “What did you say?”

The shorter girl smiled. “I'll kill you.
Bitch
.”

Jessie lashed out, shoving Siennah away from her. By then, a crowd had begun to form, and the kids she fell into thrust her back toward Jessie. The two went down in a tangle of fists and elbows. The crowd surged forward, cheering.

“KNOCK IT OFF!” someone roared.

Within moments, a pair of hands reached down and pulled them to their feet, separating them in the process. Jessie lunged.

“Ladies!”

Mister Patterson shook them like dolls. His face was red and contorted. “I said, stop it!”

“She started it!” Siennah cried, pointing her finger at Jessie.

“I don't care who started it. That kind of crap doesn't belong in the school hallways! Save it for the gaming arcade! Do I make myself clear? I won't have you bringing your extracurricular rivalries into the school.” He glared at them in turn. “I said, do I make myself clear?”

He let them go when they both nodded.

Siennah tossed back her hair. “I was just leaving anyway.” She flicked her fingers in Jessie's face as she passed. “Be stalking you soon,
Zeedge
.” Her laughter pealed all the way down the hallway.

“Don't let her bother you, Miss Daniels,” Mister Patterson said. He bent down and retrieved Jessie's bag and handed it to her. “It's all in good fun, actually.”

Jessie gave him an incredulous look. All in good fun? Was he serious?

“You know how competitive Siennah can get,” he told her, nodding. “Now, get to class.”

He turned around and the students nearby scattered. “I haven't been this excited about
Survivalist
in a long time,” he said as he walked away.

† † †

Jessie remembered very little of the next few hours. The encounter in the hallway kept replaying in her head, and each time she came to the part where Siennah started to mention Gameland, her anger would bloom again. What right did Siennah have to joke about what had happened to her and her friends?

She spent all of fourth period in a red rage, picturing herself choking the girl's straw-thin neck.

She knew she shouldn't care about what the girl said or thought. Siennah was just a spiteful, spoiled little rich bitch. Not worth Jessie's time. But Jessie also realized that if she didn't put a stop to her harassment once and for all, Siennah would keep at it until the whole school knew. Every dirty little detail. She had no doubt that Mister Davenport had probably weaseled it all out of the police. Or Arc. The last thing Jessie needed was for everyone to start teasing her about it. Especially when it was the death of her friends.

By sixth period, she resigned herself to confronting Siennah. She headed straight for the bathroom instead of her class and planted herself in one of the stalls to wait. The minutes ticked slowly past, but Siennah didn't show up. Jessie began to realize how pathetic she was, sitting in a bathroom stall, waiting on someone she didn't like or care about. It was worse than sitting in her own vomit.

But then, less than ten minutes before the end of the period, the bathroom door opened and in she walked.

Jessie waited until she was sure Siennah was alone before stepping out. The girl was standing with her head over the sink, the water running. When she looked up and saw Jessie in the mirror, she gave a squeak of surprise and spun around. Her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, and she was trembling. For a moment, Jessie thought she was crying.

But then something slipped off the edge of the small shelf above the sink and fell to the floor. Little pink pills scattered all over.

“You bitch!” Siennah hissed. “Look what you made me do. I'm going to make you pay for these, you stupid cu—”

Jessie's hand shot out and clamped onto the girl's throat and squeezed. She hadn't thought about choking Siennah. All she wanted to do was talk.

That's a lie!
This
is what you really wanted!

Jessie's mind detached itself from her body and watched in horror as Siennah's eyes bulged from their sockets.

Stop it! You're killing her!

But she didn't want to stop. She
wanted
to do this!

Siennah's hands flew to her neck and batted at Jessie's, then tried to wedge themselves beneath her fingers. Jessie leaned in and squeezed harder, the horror inside of her shoved aside as she watched the veins pop on her victim's face. A terrible voice inside of her urged her not to stop, to keep on and finish it, put the stupid bitch out of commission.

Siennah managed to get a fingertip beneath Jessie's hand, then two. She began to pry it off her neck. Jessie was surprised.
She's so strong!
The fear in Siennah's eyes leaked away, replaced by triumph.

No, not triumph, she's zoning! Finish her!

“What do you know?” Jessie whispered, pushing Siennah harder. “What do you know about Gameland?”

“Fuck . . . you . . . zombitch.”

Jessie raised her other hand and wrapped it around the first, sandwiching Siennah's between them and anchoring them all into place. She thrust the girl up and over the sink, back until Siennah's head pressed hard against the mirror. Her face was beginning to turn blue.

Stop it! You're killing her!

But she couldn't stop pushing.

Thin, rasping clicks came from Siennah's mouth, and Jessie realized it was her tongue. She'd completely blocked her throat. She felt the girl's feet kicking her shins as they treaded helplessly over the tile floor.

Break her fucking neck! Do it!

With a grunt of disgust, Jessie yanked Siennah away from the wall and flung her across the length of the bathroom. The girl tumbled in a heap on the floor, her hands clutching her molested neck. She sat there gasping and coughing, spit dripping out the corner of her mouth. The redness was still there in her eyes.

“If you ever say a word about me or my friends —
to anyone!
 — I swear I'll rip those stupid cellulite lips off your putrid face.”

Other than the rapid rise and fall of her chest, Siennah didn't move. The rough rasp of the air passing through her ruined throat filled the bathroom. Incredibly, her eyes were devoid of emotion. They never left Jessie's face.

She's out of it. The girl's not there.

“Do you understand me?”

A change began to come over Siennah then. A blush returned to her cheeks, as if breathed back into her with each passing inhale. Her face softened and her mouth began to twist into a grimace. A new sound came out of her throat, a dry, wheezing, coughing sound.

She's laughing.

Siennah rose shakily to her feet, and there was something in the way she moved, the way she held herself. The way she laughed. It scared Jessie.

She stumbled back. Siennah matched her, step for step. Dark bruises were already blooming on each side of her neck. In a blink, they were standing so close together that Jessie could smell the rancid aroma of sweat on her skin and coffee on her breath.

Jessie swallowed. “Back away,” she whispered.

Siennah turned briefly to the side to spit onto the floor. And when she sucked in a rattling breath, it sounded as if something was broken inside her throat.

She chuckled and said, “I'm going to kill you with your own Player.”

‡ ‡ ‡

Siennah was gone before Jessie could react. Below her, the floor was colored with splotches from the pink pills she'd crushed walking out.

My Player?
Jessie thought.
What the hell is that supposed to mean?

As if to answer, her Link pinged. Jessie drew it out and looked numbly at the new message on her screen:

<< STATUS UPDATE: ASSESSMENT COMPLETE. MATCH REASSIGNMENT COMPLETE. PINGBACK 24735 TO PROCEED. >>

All this time, she'd thought the status updates she'd been receiving were in regards to the signal realignment.

That's not true, not the last couple. You knew what they really meant.

With shaking hands, her mind numb, she entered the number provided and waited.

The ping connected. There was a click and the static of the stream blinked off. There was a pause, then a recording began to play, a pleasant female voice: “Congratulations, Jessica Daniels, we have completed our assessment of your sponsored application for invitation. We regret to inform you that the original Player match has been reassigned; however, we have identified a suitable replacement for your profile. If you wish to proceed, please access the following menu to schedule an orientation. Once again, congratulations. And welcome to
The Game
.”

‡ ‡ ‡

The Evans property hadn't even been empty three weeks. Nevertheless, it had already begun to acquire that look of neglect that was so characteristic of abandoned houses. Mister Evans' well-tended tiny patch of grass was browning from lack of water. The nasturtiums standing guard on either side of the front door had long since shriveled into blackened skeletons. Their leaves had finished dropping, shed like moldy dandruff onto the shoulders of the terra cotta pots. A thin film of dust had begun to adhere to the front windows of the house.

Eric stood on the walk and regarded the scene, wondering why a screen door hanging slightly open could make one feel so unwelcomed.

Behind him, a pair of elementary school age girls walked past on the sidewalk, their heads bowed together and their quiet giggles catching his attention. They didn't seem to notice him standing there.

“Excuse me,” he called over to them. He made sure to stay where he was, so as to not frighten them.

The girls glanced warily over and kept walking.

“Do you live on this street?”

“We're not supposed to talk to strangers.” The singsong declaration hung in the air between them, not directed at anyone, though obviously meant for him. They didn't stop.

“It's okay,” he said. “I'm a police officer. Here, see?” He pulled out his badge and held it out for them to see.

“My mom says anyone can get one of those easy on the black streams.”

The other girl shushed her urgently. The comment could be considered an admission of guilt.

Eric didn't answer. He wasn't in uniform, and he didn't have his EM pistol. Not that you couldn't get a uniform, either, on the black streams. Or, for that matter, something that looked reasonably like an EM pistol.

But the girls stopped anyway. They stood right at the edge of the property line, as if sensing that their escape was but a single step away. Yet they were clearly torn. Would they risk his anger if they ignored him?

“I was just wondering about the people who lived in this house,” Eric said.

“They're gone,” one of the girls bravely replied. The other whispered a name — Gemma, Eric thought — and Gemma whispered back that it was okay to talk. The girls clutched hands.

“Have you seen anyone around since then? Anyone who didn't seem to belong?”

“The police came a bunch of days ago. Except they
looked
like police. You don't.”

“Besides the police, I mean. Seen anyone else?”

Gemma shrugged. “No.”

“And how about you?” Eric asked the other, but she wouldn't look at him. She continued to stare into the adjacent property. One step, that's all she needed and she'd be free from this stranger. He watched as the girl anxiously elbowed Gemma, and he suppressed a sad smile.

“It's empty,” Gemma declared, speaking with finality. “We haven't seen anyone.”

He watched them go. They turned around only once, upon reaching the corner several houses away. Then, satisfied that he wasn't going to cause them any trouble, they hurried across the street. They were still holding hands, still whispering their secrets to each other.

Not surprisingly, the front door was locked tight. Eric pushed the screen door closed after checking, but the latch was broken and it just popped open again. He stepped off the porch and began to circle toward the backyard by way of the driveway, his shoes crunching on the gravel.

A separate garage stood in the back corner. He made a mental note to check it afterward.

The Evanses had disappeared from Greenwich not twenty-four hours after the kids had returned. Their sudden departure had felt suspicious, but it was possible they'd simply fled out of grief and a desire to get away before the story seekers and gossip mongers flocked to their door. It was inevitable that the break in would eventually become public knowledge.

Arc had shocked them all by insisting no charges be filed. Much to Eric's relief, his department had been ordered to sweep the entire incident under the rug. And it was under threat of discharge that Harrick had instructed anyone who knew about it to keep mum and to carry on as if nothing had happened— not the deaths of two teenagers, and certainly not any possible link to what was happening in south Manhattan. They were forbidden from discussing it.