Killing (And Other Games)

(Thirty Eight)

(Thirty Eight)

Slowly, cautiously, I walk to the pool house. I'm acting like the place is rigged with a bomb, tip-toeing on the concrete, circling it like a wolf. Ryker's threat is ingrained in me deep because for some reason I feel like I'm breaking every rule in the book. Like a fox, I slink up to the door and put my hand on the handle.

Slowly, I twist.

It doesn't budge. Biting my lip, I try again. I put my ear to the door, trying to work out what is behind it. I hear a faint sound...like dripping. What if it's just a pool room? What if Ryker just warned me against it because he felt the need to feel powerful? He'd be right if that's the case; I'll be very mad.

Taking the key from around my neck, I slide it into the hole aimlessly. It can't work up here too, can it? My eyebrows lift right up to my hairline when the key slides in perfectly, clicking. I'm guessing this isn't the normal sort of master key.

I have to build up my courage now that I know the door is open. My hand hovers, floats, above the handle-my muscles pulling me back from whatever is behind the door. I know it's bad. Just from how Ryker asked me, I know it's bad.

But until I open the door and see what's behind it, I don't think I can comprehend just how bad it is.

Suddenly I'm grappling backwards, some intuitive force throwing me backwards. All I'm seeing is red but this time I'm not mad. It's blood. Everywhere. A body hangs in the middle of the room, plastic wrapping like a cocoon, a bucket underneath collecting litres of blood pouring from its head.

In this new, terrifying world there is no one to hear you scream. My hands cover my mouth, the fingers clawing at the stretched edges of my lips, the nails cutting sharp lines. Somewhere else I am okay. Somewhere else everything is normal.

There are bodies. In this shocked, simplistic mind frame I know there are bodies. There's a body hanging, there's a body on a steel table and there are other dead things everywhere else. There are buckets-buckets-of blood and other body parts. I inch into the room, the strangely sterile smelling room that's just a little too cold, and peer into the buckets, sickened and fascinated and angry and scared.

What is this? Is Ryker...is Ryker actually a serial killer? Peering at the body on the table, I can see, despite the autopsy that has seemingly been performed on it, that it's clearly not human. Is this some sort of makeshift, backyard surgery? But surely it can't be because there are no medical devices-only knives and scissors and things of destruction. What. Is. This?

Hopelessly, I try to unravel the body hanging from the meat hook. I can see the creature's eyes, the bridge of its nose, the light blue colour of its skin. How long has it been here? How did it get here? What the fuck is going on? Meat hooks, saws, draining tools; what is this, a slaughterhouse?

The sudden idea churns my stomach. I didn't think anything could get weirder from here. I didn't think I could be any further unsettled, any angrier.

I find the blue esky in the corner. I eye it as I try to decide what to do with it. Snapping the lid open, I peer inside tentatively. Thick balls of dark blood fill the box and when I peer closer I realise they're hearts. Some the size of my fist, others smaller than a Ping-Pong ball. There's one sitting on top that's the size of my head. I gag.

Almost without thought I am taking the esky, running down the steps to the stadium. Halfway down the black corridor I gag, the nausea too much, and I find myself on my hands and knees, throwing up. Dead people. There were dead people in that room.

I think I'm throwing up because I'm shocked, more than any other reason. Blood isn't really my issue.

Stumbling down the corridor, down the stairs, past the guards haphazardly, I find the cells. There is an engulfing, aware silence as I walk to Ryker's cell. He sees me, sees the esky in my grip and winces. Slowly, I place the cooler down and take a deep breath. The tension is killing everyone.