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Drake took the lead, walking down the hall, hesitant but committed, he guided us. I followed with the others behind me. Once we got out the door, the sight surprised me. We were around the corner from where I’d found the bunker door, on a stone patio. String lights were strung up on posts crisscrossing the patio, and off to the side a couple cornhole boards and horseshoes had been set up. A small table with a giant Jenga tower too. The smell of roasted meat hit my nose, sending a cascade of saliva into my mouth. A wooden table sat off to the side with what looked like huge trays of pulled pork and sides, along with a big tray of cupcakes.
"What in the absolute fuck is going on?" Bri asked.
Our devices buzzed. A message had come through:
Take a plate, enjoy dinner. Beer is in the cooler.
Looking up from my device, I saw a big metal cooler stuffed with ice cubes and bottles of beer to the side of the buffet setup. A moment later music began to play. Generic oldies rock music. The stuff you’d hear at a beach party or something. Or, well, at a barbecue party in the backyard. It was beyond strange.
Payton headed toward the table of food first. Bri took a step forward trying to grab him. "What the hell are you doing? It could be poisoned."
Payton turned and looked exhausted. "If it is, then it is. I’m too hungry to not eat. You can keep starving if you want."
Without any further argument, He grabbed a plate and a bun and piled the pulled pork onto it. Bri stared at him for a few seconds, but her own hunger must have won out, and she joined him by grabbing her own plate. Plus, if Sam wanted us dead, he had a whole day to do whatever he wanted to us. No. This was some kind of psychological thing. He’d do something, but poisoning the food was the lowest of all possibilities. If I had to guess, he’d want the punishment to be visceral and personal.
Soon all of us were grabbing food. Again, I wondered who made it all and who’d set up the back yard. I guess Sam did have all day, but it grew harder to believe that he’d done it all alone or that he’d want to. When the first bite of food hit my lips, my confusion vanished, and worry vanished. No matter how much I wanted to analyze the situation, hunger trumped everything.
I wasn’t really a beer fan, but the ice cold drinks in the cooler did taste amazing compared to the room temperature sink water I’d been drinking all day. None of us acted completely comfortable, but everyone ate. As the minutes went by, we all began to relax a bit. Before long another message came through our devices:
Play some games.
"He’s being awfully kind tonight," Elise said.
Drake grunted and eyed the games warily. "Yeah, but that didn’t read like a suggestion. More like an order."
Drake was right, and he probably wanted us to go ahead and get started. Since I’d finished eating, I walked over to the cornhole board and picked up the beanbags.
"Who’s playing?" I asked.
"I will," Payton said.
The two of us traded throws while the others watched, finishing their dinner. After Payton and I finished our game, the others began. It was all silly fun, and we even laughed while enjoying ourselves. A sound so foreign in the house that it had a surreal quality to it. Then Sam decided to up the ante. Drake had thrown his final bag. It skidded off the side, letting Elise win. He hissed and yanked his wrist to his chest, obviously shocked. We froze, dread sinking down onto us again.
Don’t lose.
The message was clear, and terrifying. As with everything in the dollhouse, there would be punishments for those who didn’t win. Great. The next several games were played in tense silence. I lost the next game against Bri. The shock was stronger than a simple punishment. The jolt was enough to make me release a brief scream of surprise and pain.
After three more games, we were told to move on to the giant Jenga on the table. It was Payton and Bri’s turns to go again. The next message Sam sent us darkened the mood even more:
The loser will be target practice for the others. Dahlia, go see the surprise I have in the chest by the back door
"Fuck," I hissed, and walked over to the door. Sure enough, a wooden chest sat beside it. I lifted the lid and found what he was talking about. I pulled out a plastic case filled with about a dozen metal darts. The exact kind you’d play darts with in a bar somewhere.
I held them up to show the others. Bri’s lips curled back from her teeth in a grimace of anger. The color in Payton’s face faded, leaving him looking ill. Thanking god I wasn’t the one playing, I stood beside Drake, watching the two of them start playing while chewing at my thumb nail.
The first few minutes went by fairly normally, until Bri tried to ensure she’d win. She began taking extra blocks from low on the tower, deliberately making it unsteady. I couldn’t really fault her for it, since that was the point of the game.
Despite Bri’s best efforts, Payton managed to pull a block from the very bottom level leaving only one for the whole tower to balance on. He put the brick on top and the entire thing wobbled back and forth dangerously. He looked terrified, but after a few heartstopping moments the tower came to rest. Bri hissed an irritated breath out when the tower didn’t fall. She extended her hand, hesitantly, ready to grab a brick. Her forefinger barely grazed the tower and the entire thing tumbled over crashing to the ground with a crash of wooden blocks.
"No," Bri screeched and shoved Payton in the chest. "It was him. He knocked it over. I didn’t touch it. You saw it."
We saw it all right. She touched the tower, and as small and slight as the touch had been, it was what sent the thing over. Whatever hidden cameras that were out here had surely seen it too. And that suspicion was proven correct when Sam sent a message:
Bri, prepare for punishment. Everyone will take a turn throwing one dart. If anyone purposely misses, the penalty will be severe.
"No, god damn it," Bri screamed, almost frantic now. "I didn’t do it. It was Payton."
If the woman hadn’t hated the man for killing Liam, she most certainly hated him now. Her rage melted quickly, though. She knew there was no arguing. The look of anger became one of dejected acceptance.
