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There was a camera near the ceiling right before turning the corner. I waited until we were past it to speak.
Leaning close and tugging at his arm, I whispered ferociously and as fast as I could. "I got out last night. I blocked the vent that pumps the gas. The door locks stop working when the house powers down. I blocked all of your vents too. Don’t move the robe when you get back."
My words came out at rapid fire speed and barely more than a murmur, but Drake must have been able to make it all out. His head snapped around and pinned me with a what-the-fuck look. We were almost to the dining room. All I did was nod vigorously at him, trying to put as much emotion and meaning in the way I stared into his eyes.
Finally, right before stepping into the dining room, he shook his head in wonder, and muttered, "Holy shit."
Throughout the day I kept trying to find chances to tell everyone, but it was almost like Sam was keeping me sequestered. All my daily tasks were solo. The music room, then the kitchen to make dinner. While I stirred the meat mixture to create meatloaf, I had a few moments of worry that Sam knew exactly what I’d done and that was why he kept me sequestered from the others. That fear faded the longer no punishments came, but there was always the chance he was dragging this out for maximum stress.
At dinner, I ate and tried to act as unbothered as I could, but it was tough. Drake kept making eye contact with me, trying to give me unspoken support. Did he notice how on edge I was? Maybe he did.
Bong. "Good evening, my dolls. I have a task for two of you. Elise."
The woman flinched and dropped her fork at the mention of her name. "Y—yes?"
"You and Payton will play a game. Both of you stand and face each other," Sam said.
Payton and Elise both stared at one another for several seconds before rising and standing together on one side of the table. They were about three feet apart and both looked terrified. I gripped my fork with white knuckled fervor as I waited to see what Sam had planned for them.
"I know some will say this isn’t fair," Sam said. "You are of different sexes, but I’ve seen what you both are capable of. You will trade strikes. Elise, you will go first. Strike Payton in the face, then Payton will strike you. The first person to say ‘stop’ loses. The loser will receive one final blow, the winner will be allowed to bypass any single task tomorrow for time in their room to nap or relax. A truly gracious gesture if I do say so myself. Proceed."
Payton and Elise stared into each other’s eyes for a few seconds. Then, Elise sighed sadly. "Not personal. Sorry."
Her fist lashed out, smacking into Payton’s cheek. The sound wasn’t loud, it was quieter than a slap, but Payton’s head swung around from the impact, a thin stream of blood arched from his mouth where his lip had been split.
He grabbed his face and cried out in pain. Elise set her feet and nodded to him. "Okay. It's your turn. Let’s go."
Payton was already crying, not sobbing, but tears shone in his eyes whether from pain or some other emotion churning within him. It was obvious he was not made for this place. Setting his jaw, he grunted and struck her. His blow wasn’t well aimed, and his fist wasn’t closed. Instead of punching Elise in the jaw, he ended up slapping her across the lips. The blow must have still hurt. She grabbed her mouth and cursed. When she pulled her hand away, bright red finger marks marred her lips and chin.
It went on like that for almost ten minutes. Each strike Elise made was harder than the last. First his face, then his stomach, back to his face, every round she grew more comfortable with it. In contrast, Payton wilted fast. His hits became pathetic and impotent.
On Elise’s final turn, she punched Payton square in the nose. I heard the crunching snap as his nose shattered. He fell backward, clutching his face, screaming in pain.
"Stop," he screamed. "Please god stop," he sobbed, hitting the ground.
Bong. "It appears Elise is the winner. One final straw, though. Kick him in the balls. Hard. Now."
Elise hung her head. "God damn it."
"I said, now," Sam growled.
"Sorry about this, bud," Elise said.
Payton was still writhing in pain, holding his bleeding nose. I wasn’t even sure he’d heard what Sam had said. Elise took two quick steps forward and swung her foot out connecting between Payton’s legs. I didn’t even have balls, but I winced at the shot. The air burst out of Payton’s lungs, and he sat forward, eyes bulging, face red, grabbing his crotch. Drake dropped his face, resting his forehead on his hand, not wanting to watch.
Elise went back to her seat while Payton rocked in the fetal position, holding his balls. Before she’d even gotten settled, the sounds of dry heaving came from the floor. He didn’t vomit, but it looked like he wanted to.
"Well played, Elise. Tomorrow, when your tasks are given and there is one you'd prefer not to do, simply walk to your room instead. As for Payton, I believe now would be a good time for a hunt. A new target has been released into the forest. Get up and go. Best to hurry."
I gaped at the speakers. Payton had just had the shit beaten out of him, and now he was supposed to go into the woods and hunt someone? He’d be lucky if whomever he went after didn’t kill him first.
The injured man continued to roll around on the ground until a shock must have snapped him out of his misery. He yelped in pain, arm twitching. Pushing himself to his hands and knees then struggling up to his feet, Payton shuffled to the dining room door. And up the stairs to the weapons room.
"Fuck man. You really got his ass," Bri said. I couldn’t be sure if she was praising Elise or chastising her.
A few minutes later, Payton returned looking pale and bloody. A big hunting knife sat tucked into his waistband and in his hands a wood chopping ax lay, gripped in sweaty fingers. He glared at Elise as he walked by. Anyone else and I would have wondered if they might strike out at her, try to lop her head off before leaving, but not Payton. He wasn’t the type. The only emotion I could dredge up for him was sadness and pity. He wasn’t going to make it much longer. He was too gentle, too passive. Unless we escaped soon, he’d be dead in no time.
Once he vanished out the door, the rest of us went back to eating. I’d made a cake for dessert. A boxed cake. Simple, yes, but it felt a bit like a reward regardless. All of us ate in silence. Forks tapped at plates, spoons scrapped on teeth. The silence was maddening. I almost wished for something to happen. When the next chime came, I assumed it would be Sam sending us off to bed. I was wrong.
