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She opened Cat’s laptop after all. But instead of digging through the files, she began to type, then printed the note, which was short and to the point. She reached into Cat’s desk and pulled out a small orange bottle, twisted the cap, and dropped one small white pill into the palm of her hand. Fern sat there for a long moment trying to decide what to do. What she was doing was illegal, unethical, could be dangerous. But she needed Ned Bennett gone.
Fern slid the paper and the pill into an envelope. She lit a red wax stick, letting the hot wax drip onto the envelope, then pressed the One Lucky Winner sealing stamp to the small puddle.
She got to her feet and went to the closet. Inside were all the items needed for the show’s challenges, including stacks of One Lucky Winner T-shirts, sweatshirts, and warm-up gear. She selected a set for each contestant and carefully slid the envelope between the folds of one of the T-shirts.
With the stack of clothing in hand, Fern exited the closet, closed the door behind her, and surveyed Cat’s office. Everything was in its place. She needed to grab a few hours of sleep and then get ready for the day. It was going to be a long one.
FOURTEEN
THE BEST FRIEND
Maire awoke to a soft white light streaming through the window, her muscles protesting in pain as she stretched beneath the Egyptian cotton sheets. Maire was vaguely aware of someone entering the room and setting something next to her bed. Sleepily, she looked around the room. Three of the beds were empty and a fourth held a rounded heap beneath a pile of covers. Samuel.
In the light of day, it was a beautiful room with its terra-cotta floors and walls painted a warm honeycomb gold. A large fireplace with a flue big enough to climb up anchored the entire space. But the unpleasant scent of other people’s bodies permeated the room.
Maire slid quietly from the bed, trying not to wake Samuel, and crossed the room to inspect a series of framed black-and-white photographs that lined one wall. They included images of shadowy tunnels and unique architectural elements. The contrast of light and dark in the photos was exceptional. She missed photography and painting. Maybe someday she would try again. She paused, leaning in closer for a better look. It took a moment for her to realize what she was looking at. They weren’t just columns and walls made of stone, they were skulls. Rows and rows of skulls. The photos were of the catacombs. Maire turned from the wall, her stomach queasy.
Sitting atop her bedside table was a stack of bright pink clothing. Two T-shirts, warm-up pants and matching jacket, athletic shorts, and a sweatshirt, all with the weird logo of the women with the snaky hair and the words One Lucky Winner. She grabbed the clothing and tiptoed to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind her.
Maire set the clothes on the marble vanity and gingerly began to take off her clothes, her muscles protesting with each movement. She pulled a short-sleeved pink tee over her head, stepped into the warm-up pants and hitched them up over eggplant-purple bruises, and slid her arms through the bright pink warm-up jacket emblazoned with the One Lucky Winner emblem.
She stared at her reflection in the gilded mirror above the marble sink. Her curls were a riotous mess but there wasn’t much she could do about that but try to corral them with a ponytail holder. She slipped an elastic band from her wrist, and it slipped from her fingers and to the floor. With a groan, Maire bent over and heard the crinkle of paper. Curious, she stood up and reached into her pocket, pulling out a small envelope.
Maire slid a finger beneath the blood red wax that sealed the envelope and pulled out a fine linen note card and a small, hexagon-shaped white pill.
Last night was just a taste of what is to come. By now you must realize that there will be many obstacles in your way. As the winner of the Maze Challenge, you have earned a very special Game Changer. This tiny pill could help you on your way to ten million dollars. When to use it? You pick the time, the place, and the recipient. How far will you go for ten million dollars? Only you can answer the question.
Maire stared down at the pill. What was in it? Her mind raced through the possibilities: a diuretic, a laxative, a sleeping pill. And was she really supposed to slip it into someone’s food or drink? That was illegal. The show wasn’t seriously encouraging her to drug her opponents, was it?
Maire gave a little shake of her head. She couldn’t do it. Wouldn’t do it. She’d learned her lesson years ago that playing with fate could have disastrous results. She moved to drop the pill in the toilet, to flush away the temptation, but stopped.
Maybe she’d keep the pill. Just for now. Just in case.
Maire stepped from the bathroom. Samuel was now sitting on his bed. He was shirtless and his entire torso looked as if he had done nine rounds with a rabid raccoon. His sculpted chest was lined with angry red scratches from where he had climbed up the ten-foot hedge. Deep scrapes striated his legs and arms. He stood, turned his back to her, and pulled on a kelly green T-shirt, but not before Maire saw the two burn marks where the Taser probes had struck him.
“That looks like it hurts,” she said, despite her vow to not engage with him.
“Like a son of a bitch,” he said, turning to face Maire. “Thanks to you.” He looked her up and down. “Pink,” he said. “Huh. I thought you always said you hated wearing pink, that it clashed with your hair.”
“I do,” Maire said, flushing. “But I really don’t have a choice, do I? This was the stack of clothes next to my bed.”
“How are you?” Samuel asked. Maire knew he wasn’t asking about the scratches and bruises that covered her own body. She looked around the room in search of cameras.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve already looked. The room is clean.”
Maire peered down into the lampshade next to her bed and then ran her finger along the gilded edge of a painting that depicted an Italian countryside. She moved back to her bed, trying to think of a place to hide the envelope and the pill.
“No, really, I already looked everywhere. There are no cameras,” he assured her.
Maire crossed her arms in front of her chest, two decades of fear and shame billowing up inside her. “How do you think I am?” she asked, finally answering his question. When Samuel didn’t answer, Maire went on, “You, on the other hand, look like you’ve done just fine. A college degree, a big-shot prosecutor. I bet you have a nice home, a decent salary. Am I right?”
Samuel looked over his shoulder, checking to see that the bedroom door was shut. “I am not fine,” he said in a low voice. “Haven’t been fine, don’t think I’ll ever be. Thanks to you.”
Maire sat on the edge of her bed, pulling a pillow atop her lap. “You think I’m fine? I think of that night every single day. I dropped out of college, went home, and married a jerk. The only good things that came out of it were my two girls.”
“Well, that’s something,” Samuel said, stretching his arms tentatively above his head. “I’ve never been married, don’t have any kids.”
“And you blame me for that too?” Maire scoffed. Samuel looked like he wanted to say yes, but instead he turned and went to the window. Maire took the opportunity to slide the envelope and pill into her pillowcase. She would decide what to do with them later.
