DJ shakes my shoulder, encouraging me.
To say Nico looks unhappy would be an understatement. “You sure that’s advisable? I’ll remind you, she’s had no field training.”
“She won’t be doing any field work,” Donny says. “She’ll only observe.”
Anger flickers under Nico’s professional mask, but it’s gone so quickly I almost think I imagined it.
Why is he so against me coming? I’m only going to watch, and it’s not like I would do something stupid, like… I don’t know, run around screaming at the top of my lungs so the police come and arrest us. I’m not amoron.
“Come on, Eden, don’t leave me hanging,” Griffin says.
I turn my head to find him extending his fist to me. I bump my knuckles against his and try to push down the uneasy feeling, glancing between Donny and Griffin. “So, when do we leave?”
CHAPTER 14
In my many years of breaking into crime scenes, I’ve been caught only once.
—Wheels Upside-Down: My Time with the FBI, a memoir by Donald Dellman
Tori hasn’t responded to the text I sent when I arrived at the house, even though it’s been two days. I don’t think anyone will be very happy if, three weeks down the line, she finally looks at her phone and the police come knocking, so I quickly fire off a text telling her I’m okay.
I set Bob up with a pile of blankets in my room so he won’t hurt his leg trying to jump on my bed to rest, then I head to the prep room where DJ is waiting for me.
DJ shows me a locker with my name freshly taped to it.EDEN. Right next toZOEY.
It’s like someone just punched me, but in a good way. I reach for the locker handle, and I’m hit with a scary realization: I want this. I want to belong somewhere so badly it’s making me ill. When’s the last time I had a place that was mine? Or someone wrote my name on something because they expected me to stick around?
DJ beams, and gives me a clean jumpsuit that I take to the bathroom to change into. It’s too big, but the next one DJ gives me suctions to my arms and legs so tightly that the iron plates dig into my skin, so I settle for the big one. The material is stiff and a lot heavier than it looks. It leaves a grimy residue on my fingers after touching it like my clothes do after a day at thebeach, and the arms and legs swallow my hands and feet, but at least it doesn’t restrict my movement. I roll the sleeves and pant legs up as best as the metal plates allow, then put my cargo pants and hoodie back on over it.
DJ’s waiting for me with a pair of goggles, which I take gratefully. They may be the ugliest goggles I’ve ever seen—well, maybe except for swim goggles, which don’t look flattering on anybody—but never again do I want to experience the feeling of being locked inside my body, so I adjust the straps to my head and DJ’s face takes on a greenish tint like we’re submerged in a swampy lake.
I try to keep out of the way while the others change and check equipment. Donny, Griffin, DJ, and I file out to the garage, where the red panel van is waiting for us. Griffin slides into the driver’s seat with DJ riding shotgun, and Donny and I take the back.
There are four narrow seats bolted directly behind the driver and passenger seats. The vinyl is cracked and patched with duct tape. The van smells of stale coffee, warm electronics, and a hint of cleaning supplies. I buckle in, trying not to jostle the duffel bags stuffed under the seats or knock into the metal cases strapped to the walls. I kind of expected Nico would come, since he found the case, so why isn’t he here?
“Is Nico coming?” I ask.
“He doesn’t do field work unless necessary,” DJ says, twisting around in the passenger seat to look at me.
Griffin cranks the radio, filling the car with AC/DC’sHighway to Hell.I can sing every word because Dad loved this song, but I don’t have the capacity to even enjoy it right now.
If Nico doesn’t do field work, then what exactly was he doing at that Walmart?
I peer out at the green exit signs whipping by, dimly illuminated by highway lamps and passing headlights, as Griffin pilots the van with one hand on the wheel. DJ dozes in the passenger seat, her breath fogging the window glass.
Donny hands me a folder.
“Read this,” he says. “I want you to understand what we’re dealing with.”
Using the glow from my phone, I read a couple of lines of the first page and realize it’s a report on the Game Master’s first murder.
His first victims were Grace and Leah. Sisters in their twenties. They were forced to cut off their fingers to win. Grace cut off five fingers. Leah cut off two. Morrow slit Leah’s throat, and Grace was let go.
I try to picture making that choice. Watching Rosie across from me, both of us with a knife, and I’d have to—no. I can’t find the hair tie on my wrist under the layers. Dad’s dog tags are trapped, too. I feel dizzy without them.
I dig my nails into my palms and force myself to keep reading, doing my best to distance myself from the words.
His second trial involved a married couple in their thirties: Amy and Miguel. Whoever peeled off more of their own skin would live, but human skin doesn’t peel as easily as Morrow thought it would. It tore off in tiny pieces, and neither of them could remove enough to satisfy Morrow. He got angry and killed them both.
