You can’t help but laugh again, but there’s a hint of nervousness in it that can’t be hidden. You keep at it for a few minutes, hoping that if the laughter holds up, Spencer will finally clue you in on the joke. But the boy says nothing remotely funny, and the sound of the rain on his end drowns out your forced laughter.
“Humans are pathetic things,” he finally says after a while. “Like what the fuck are you laughing for? Is the knowledge of your lover and child held hostage really that funny?”
It is your turn to cough. “Well it has to be a joke. How could a teenage guy hold hostages?”
“How could a teenage guy create bombs? Mass shootings? My generation is capable of a lot of things, doc. Never underestimate us.”
“Spencer, you know this is a criminal offense, right? You could get arrested for just joking—”
“I don’t take light of things I’m passionate about. That’s the first thing you should know about me.”
His words finally hit you. That’s the first thing you should know about me. Have you known anything about him in the first place?
“I-I’m not saying I believe you, but how did you find them? I never told you anything about where they lived or—”
“Ah, but you did. People like me remember the small things. During conversations, there are bits and pieces people slip about their lives that can make up their entire story. And trust me, I know yours.”
A sense of sickness rests in your stomach, the panic rising slowly like cake in an oven. “Where are they?” you whisper, but it’s more to yourself than to Spencer.
Spencer laughs at the question anyway; a trilling sound that seems to merge with the falling rain and manages to send a chill straight down your spine. “I can’t tell you where they are, doc. That’ll ruin the whole purpose of the game. I’ll tell you what, though: it wasn’t hard getting them to do what I said. People seem to listen to you a hell of a lot better when you have a gun.”
“T-this isn’t funny anymore, Spencer. I’m calling the police. I mean it.”
“You won’t do that, doc,” he says. His voice hits a dramatic low, the type you’ve only heard in movies and television shows. “Because if you do, there’ll be a bullet between the eyes of the people you love the most. They’ll be dead before the police can even break down the damn door, you hear? This new philosophy is important to me. If you screw it up, I’ll bring you down with it.”
You open your mouth, but sudden fear swallows up your ability to speak. Rain can no longer be heard on the other line.
“I don’t mean to show this side of myself to you, doc. I like you; I really do. We connect well, but I think that after this, we’ll finally be inseparable. You just need to see what I see. I’m only helping you; you’ve got to remember that.” There is a ding on the other end—it sounds like an elevator. “I can practically see the thoughts running through you head right now. Why the hell did I let him into my office? Why didn’t I find out more about him? Compassion’s a bitch, doc. People with compassion are the ones that get screwed over.”
“You should’ve never come back. I want you to leave me alone now, Spencer. Don’t call me, don’t see me, just…leave.”
“You’ve got to play my game first, then.”
“What the hell is this game, anyway?!”
“Nice of you to finally ask,” he says. His voice has gotten lighter, the same tempo it was when he first met you. “Smart people like me get bored easily. I bet you know that. My mom gave me riddles and shit when I was a kid to keep me busy. I’d spend all day on them, I swear. By the time I turned thirteen, I could solve them in my sleep.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“I want to test you, doc. I want to see if our minds are capable of this bond. So here’s the thing: I’ll give you the first location, and from there you must solve my riddles to get to your family. Easy, right? Each riddle you solve might lead to your family, so you’ve got to work quick.”
“And if I turn you to the police instead?”
Spencer laughs for a moment and whispers, “I think you and I both know the answer to that.”
The line suddenly goes dead. The dull tone filling your ears causes the panic to spike to its highest point. You desperately try to redial Spencer’s number—it feels as if your fingers aren’t moving fast enough—yet every time you try, it doesn’t go through.
A knock on the door slices through the silence. Everything seems to stop all together as your eyes lock on the door down the hall. Knock-knock-knock. Three more.
It’s him.
You trip over dishes and shoes as you make a break for the door, pausing for a second to pick up a weapon. The only useful thing around is the umbrella. You grab it anyway; your pace slowing and your breathing increasing as you near the door.
With the umbrella poised, you unlock the door and turn the handle.
Spencer barges his way in, pausing for a moment to stare at the weapon in your hand. The same chilling laugh fills your ears for the second time, the fear it invokes paralyzing you for minutes on end. Spencer kicks the door closed with his heel, still laughing as he pulls an object from the waistband of his jeans.
A gun.
“Who will die first, doc? Seriously. I thought you were smarter than that.”
He walks past you and you let him, too afraid of the object in his hand to take defensive action. By the time you get enough courage to move your feet again, Spencer is already sitting on your couch. The gun is at his feet.
“Wow. This place looks just like I imagined it,” he observes, looking around. He pulls a small camera out of his sweater pocket. “You don’t do much cleaning, do you?”
“What the hell do you want from me?”
“I thought I already told you that. Didn’t I?” He pauses for a moment before saying, “Do you want to see some new photography? I took them myself.”
He waves you over nonchalantly, glancing down at the gun when you don’t stir. As if by some unseen force, your feet move towards him cautiously, getting close enough to see the screen of the camera.
As soon as the screen lights up, there is a picture of a little boy and your past lover strapped to wooden chairs, fresh wounds and purple bruises vibrant against white washed walls. Each picture Spencer flips through feels like he’s pulling your heart straight out of your chest, but you refrain from crying out. It would only grant him satisfaction.
A new image flashes across the screen. It looks like a woman nearing her fifties; she’s wearing a pink nightgown with a polka-dot bathrobe covering her slender shoulders.
But the only thing you can stare at is the wound in her head.
The camera switches off. Spencer shoves it back in his pocket, holding a tight, bittersweet smile. “I know what you’re thinking. My mom needed that, you know. She would’ve died anyway. Besides, she was making too much of a fuss. She called me crazy. You don’t think I’m crazy, do you?” Green eyes pierce into your skin, sending cold blood through your veins. When you don’t move, Spencer’s smile widens. “I knew you wouldn’t.”
You’re staring at the gun, weighing your chances of getting to it before he does. But Spencer grabs it before you can even test it out, rising from the couch and heading over to the kitchen.
“You’re very predictable, doc,” he says. “I can guess everything you’re going to do next. If we’re going to be buddies, we’ll have to change that.” He brings out two glasses from the cupboards and grabs a bottle of vodka from the fridge. “Join me, won’t you?”
You comply, only because he’s still wielding the gun. Spencer has his back to you as he prepares the drinks. There’s a kitchen knife a few feet away. Am I quick enough?
Spencer turns around before you can make sure, setting the two glasses in the middle of the island like a barrier. He still has his smile in place, his eyes daring you to make a move.
“There’s GHB in one of these glasses,” he says. “I thought it would make this more fun. You choose a glass; I’ll drink the other without a problem.”
“I’m not much of a drinker.”
“Really, now? My gun doesn’t say so.” Spencer sighs, his smile faltering. “It isn’t so hard to just do what people tell you, doc. Seriously, just choose one. Who knows, maybe you’ll get lucky and I’ll pass out. Think of all the things you’ll accomplish while I’m out. Hell; you even might save your family.”
Your eyes leave his for a moment as you inspect the two glasses. They both look the same. You take the left one, sniffing the content as you desperately try to remember what you learned in school. Is it supposed to smell slightly salty? Why can’t you smell anything wrong? Does that mean it’s the right glass?
“Final answer?” Spencer asks you. “Come on, I don’t have all night. If you don’t choose quick enough, I guess your family will have to go without dinner for the night.”
With newly found motivation, you tip the glass back, the strong alcohol washing your mouth and throat in a series of hot fire. The room sways once you set your glass down. Spencer is still smiling as he takes his own, drinking as he watches you carefully.
For a while, everything seems okay. You stare at Spencer as he drinks nonchalantly, his swallows the only sound in the entire apartment. After a few moments, something inside of you shifts.
“You are predictable, aren’t you?” he says, although his voice sounds distant. Unnatural. “All I have to do is mention your family to get you to act stupid.”
Backing away from the kitchen, you struggle to take control of your senses, but they’re slipping through your fingers like liquid soap as minutes pass by. You stagger, your feet finally giving away and leaving you to fall onto the couch. Spencer’s footsteps fill your ears—they’re louder than they should be—as he follows you to where you lay.
“I’m sorry that I had to do this, but I knew you wouldn’t have done what I wanted if otherwise. I just need to have my way for a few hours with no protests or questions. When you wake up, we’ll be able to begin our game. Aren’t you excited?”
His image in front of you fades to black five, six, ten times.“You’re crazy,” you tell him.
“Sorry, doc. Wrong answer.”