Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
“They do call you the executioner. I hope you live up to the name.” I love the way his eyes light up, even as a mask of fury and resolve etches lines around his eyes.
“You do know how to flirt with a guy, don’t you?”
“Not in the slightest. But with you, I’m learning.”
We move gracefully. As one.
“We’ll go into the arcade. See what we can find. I texted Joe and my surveillance team, they’re getting back to me with specs on the arcade’s layout.”
It’s dim and hot in the arcade. Skee ball flanks one wall, across from air hockey machines and foosball tables. Large, clunky machines spit out coins and tickets, and everywhere we turn, I see flashing lights. I can hardly hear myself think in here with the bells and whistles and loud, raucous music.
Cain says something to me, but I can hardly hear him. I shake my head to tell him I can’t hear him. He lifts his phone. He’s got the arcade blueprint.
Two floors. The first houses video games, skee ball, and the table games, but upstairs are the classic games, virtual reality, and funhouse. Behind the funhouse are storage rooms and a small studio apartment.
They could be anywhere.
According to this map, the stairs are to the left of the foosball tables. I reach for his hand so we don’t get separated in the crush of people. I locate the dimly lit back stairs. He goes ahead of me but reaches his hand behind him so we don’t let go.
The noise increases as we go upstairs. At first, my heart beats faster at the sound of a scream, but at the top of the stairs I see a macabre Halloween game with a screaming banshee. A few teens are laughing and playing, racking up points for every scream the banshee shouts. A few feet away, my body’s tall and distorted in the funhouse mirror, and Cain’s looks oddly frightening with a twisted clown’s face staring at us.
“I hate arcades,” I mutter to myself. “I fucking hate them.”
I once got lost in an arcade as a child and never forgot it. They’re easy to get lost in. Cain doesn’t know how much it means to me that he’s holding my damn hand.
I jump when one of the teens hits the jackpot, the screaming banshee’s wails pitching louder and louder. Cain frowns, his eyes narrowed. Here, right behind these walls, are the storage rooms and studio apartment, likely designed for the owners to live in or rent.
“Those fucking screams don’t help,” I mutter. His body goes rigid.
“Christ, Violet. That isn’t the machine,” he says. I look wildly back to see the teens have gone, the game is back to the “start” menu, but the screams haven’t stopped. A chill runs down my spine.
“Through here,” I say, pointing a finger at the break room door. “In here.”
It’s locked, but that doesn’t stop him. It’s an old wooden door that opens inward, and the locks look flimsy. A perfect setup. “Back up.”
The guy’s a human bulldozer, larger than any other human I’ve ever met, and he knows how to use his body. He lets loose with a roundhouse kick, followed by a shoulder ram. The door whines and cracks. Another kick, shoulder, kick, shoulder. The door splinters and breaks. I help him kick the broken wood aside, half expecting someone to attack, but no one comes at us at first.
He steps through, and I follow behind him. “Be careful, Violet.” Like him, I expect someone to attack at any moment. No one comes. My spine straightens at another scream, louder this time, and it’s not coming from behind us but in front of us.
In seconds, I’ve got a knife in each hand, and he’s cocked his gun. I wish I was experienced enough to have one too, but I’ll get there. The knives are only my backup. My body’s my main weapon.
There’s no movement ahead of us or around us. I don’t look at Cain, both of us focused. It’s a small room that leads into another, the curtains and shades drawn tight so the room’s darkened. A yellowed, bare bulb hangs from the entryway, throwing off a weak glow. Broken arcade games surround both sides, some with wires hanging out, others with cracked screens, the machines tilted on their sides like discarded gaming carcasses. I shiver. There’s something eerie about them.
Another scream. My heart beats so fast I feel nauseous. Cain breaks through the rubble and runs. For the huge guy he is, he runs fast. I run behind him, panting to keep up, and we come to another doorway, this one with no door. This room must’ve been part of a haunted house or something similar back in the day. Discarded party decorations litter the floor. We enter the room; it’s lined with boxes, so dark it’s hard to see a damn thing.