Chapter 14

Our meal was meager by anyone’s standards, but at least it gave us something to do besides sit around and stare at each other by the light of the emergency lamp. Which was exactly what we’d been doing for the past five minutes…and which, naturally, seemed easily like five hours.

Alisha said, “We need to do something to pass the time. Let’s play a game.”

Jacob has a competitive streak a mile wide. You know he’s in a bad headspace when he doesn’t jump up and start picking teams, calling dibs on the red piece, and planning out his victory dance.

“What game?” I said, since no one else did.

Alisha surveyed the room. “We got paper. We got a pen. How about tic-tac-toe?”

“What’s the point?” Jibben said. “The optimal first move is the center square. And once that’s taken, there are only eight possible moves left. Ultimately, the best you can hope for is a draw.”

Alisha rolled her eyes. “Okay, then, smart guy. What kinda game can you make with nothing but a few pieces of paper?”

“Chess, obviously.”

Obviously.

Jibben shuffled a blank sheet to the top of the clipboard, then folded another into an impromptu ruler to create an exacting grid. Where were these MacGyver skills back when we stood some chance of actually getting out of here on our own? “Unfortunately, my drawing leaves something to be desired. Does anyone else care to draw out the pieces? No one? Well, that’s fine, I’ll just write the names of each piece on a square of paper. And I’ll differentiate the black from the white with either a circle or a box....”

I found myself wishing someone had suggested making our own chess set sooner. Jibben was not nearly as annoying when he was putting the thing together. But, all good things must come to an end, and as he jotted down the final square pawn, he said, “We can play tournament-style. Anyone care to go first?”

If there’d been a cricket in containment…it would’ve been chirping.

“Don’t be shy,” Jibben said. “We can draw lots if that seems more fair.”

“Actually, I don’t play,” I admitted. Too much paying attention involved for my taste, not to mention too many goofy rules.

Alisha said, “Neither do I.”

We all looked to Jacob. “Never did pick it up,” he said.

Jibben was affronted. “Seriously? None of you? You could’ve said something before I wasted all that paper. We might end up needing it—”

“What for?” Alisha said. “Writing all the help messages in the world won’t do us any good if the paper’s stuck right down here with us.”

Jibben considered. “Maybe not…but we could jot something down and tape them up by the security cams for when the power comes back online.” He turned over his “chessboard” and wrote, S.O.S - 4 TRAPPED - LAB on the back, then repeated it with three other pages.

He handed the stack and a roll of duct tape to me, saying, “Aside from me, you’re the only one who’s familiar with the layout. Hang them in different locations so they have a better chance of being seen.”

I cocked my head for Jacob to join me. “C’mon. I need you to hold my tape.”

We went toward Dr. K’s office first, figuring the most prominent camera would be aimed there. Sure enough, we found a fish-eye mount just outside his locked door. “Tape,” I said, holding out a hand like we were doing surgery. I kept my tone light. Playful, for me—though you’d probably only get that if you knew me phenomenally well.

Jacob knew me better than anyone in the world. And even so, the pensive crease between his eyebrows didn’t ease in the slightest as he tore off a piece.

“Gotta admit,” I said, “I had you pegged for a chess master. So, you don’t play at all? Or you just didn’t want to play with Dr. Spreadsheet?”

As Jacob stuck the tape-square to my finger, the corner of his mouth twitched, and the eyebrow crease smoothed out some. “No, I just never got into it.”

“Huh. Chess club seems like it’d be right up your alley. All that strategic mental flexing, not to mention trouncing your opponents in a socially acceptable public setting.”

“Chess club met the same time as wrestling, so….”

Ah, that made more sense. Just as much competition—but more skimpily-clad teenager eye candy. Not to mention all the male grappling.

“Pardon the pun,” I said, “but back in containment, you seemed kind of off your game.”

Jacob tore off another hunk of tape and smoothed it across the bottom edge of our S.O.S. “I don’t know if it’s the lack of ventilation, lack of food, or the stress of the whole situation. I’ve got this nagging headache that just won’t quit.”

“Then don’t be a hero. Raid the first aid kit and find some aspirin.”

We stuck another sign up by the camera at the main intersection between the research area and the offices, one by the break room, and then, finally, headed toward the entrance.

My flashlight beam was steady now, and I kind of wished it wasn’t, as it illuminated the body of my old classmate still sprawled on the floor on the other side of the safety glass…and his repeater getting blown back from the door. I’d wondered if the repeater might have faded a bit over the past few hours, but it looked the same as it had when it first jolted out of Darnell’s physical form. Repeaters don’t fade easily, not without intervention, and I’ve got no idea what their normal half-life might be.

Jacob eased up to the door and placed a hand on the glass. “Don’t risk it,” I said. “Supposedly lightning can’t strike twice, but why tempt fate?”

Jacob let his hand drop. He was scowling hard again, I saw…no doubt searching for that repeater.

“Not great for your headache,” I warned.

“No, it’s okay. It’s easing up. I just needed to get up and walk around.”

I slapped up the final S.O.S. in plain view of the lobby cam and turned to go, but Jacob didn’t follow my lead. Sighing, I turned back and planted myself beside him.

Eventually, he said, “What do you think Clayton is doing right now?”

“In all likelihood...same as us, scavenging up a meal. But look at it this way: we’ve been meaning to clean out the cupboards for a while now and never got around to it.”

“I should never have left—”

“Come on,” I said gently, and slipped an arm around his waist and bumped our hips together. “First of all, he’s probably got power. I can’t imagine a city the size of Chicago would be totally down from one end to the other. And, second…neither one of us is even remotely motivated enough to clean out our fridge every Friday. Clayton might have to gnaw through some incredibly stale bagels, but he’s not gonna starve.”

While Jacob pondered that, I double-checked the position of my note, and decided it would be seen wherever I’d managed to stick it. When I turned back around, I found Jacob staring at the soles of Darnell’s shoes. I said, “He didn’t suffer. And his etheric form didn’t stick around. So, don’t worry. No one’s here but Alisha, Jibben, you, and me.”

We headed back to containment, where Alisha greeted us with, “Finally.” She seemed awfully relieved, or annoyed, or both. “Maybe you can explain it better than me.”

“Explain what?” I asked cautiously.

“Never Have I Ever.”

Jibben said, “I just don’t see the point.”

“The point,” Alisha said, “is to pass the time before we all lose our damn minds.”

Jibben said, “It’s a drinking game, yet we have no alcohol—and it would be silly to squander the bottled water—”

Alisha interrupted. “We don’t need to drink, I already said that.”

“And there’s no way of fact-checking anyone’s answer. So what’s to stop us from lying to score a point?”

Most of my experience with this particular game took place during my Camp Hell years. The questions were vicious. The prizes were meager. And if you so much as thought about fudging your answer, a telepath was sure to pipe up and tattle on you.

“If you lie, it’s on you,” I told Jibben. “But we don’t need to drink, we just keep score. Hold up your hand. For every statement you can’t agree with, lose a point and fold a finger down.”

Alisha said, “And the first one to make a fist has to be quiet for half an hour, and not say a word.” Three guesses as to who she was trying to knock out—two of which, I didn’t need. “I’ll go first.” She held up a hand, fingers spread wide. “Never have I ever cheated on my taxes.”

The rest of us looked at her blankly.

“Really? None of you? I thought that was something old white dudes did all the time.”

It was Jibben’s turn next, and clearly, he thought the game was the most pointless thing he’d ever heard of. But he decided to play along…or at least try to. “Never have I ever…used a pen.”

Alisha gave him a bland stare. “We all just saw you use a pen.”

“Oh.”

“We are not counting that one—and you lose your turn.”

Jibben shrugged, and play moved on to Jacob. He stroked his beard and said, “Never have I ever eaten a frozen lasagna without heating it up.” I caught that sharky glint in his eye—the competitive spirit he’d been hoping to flex this weekend—and was immensely grateful to Alisha for dreaming up such a workable distraction.

“Never have I ever skinnydipped,” I said, thinking that Alisha seemed like she might’ve been pretty daring in her younger days.

Unfortunately, Alisha hadn’t…but Jacob had.

Alisha narrowed her eyes at me and said, “Never have I ever shaved my face.”

Jacob and I each lost a point, and so did Jibben. As an educated man of science and elite researcher for a top-secret government agency, he clearly thought this little game was below him. And yet, since the rest of us were all gung-ho about it, he gave it the old college try.

Not well, mind you. But he did make an effort.

“Never have I ever won a Ganzfeld Endowment Grant.”

Right. Moving right along….

Jacob considered the room, and said, “Never have I ever had an allergic reaction.”

I said, “Wait a sec—that time we were cat-sitting and I got all puffed up—?’

“It counts.”

If this game mattered whatsoever, I’d be affronted that he was using his knowledge of me to deliberately knock me out. Affronted, though not exactly surprised. Winning means so much to him, he’ll resort to any means necessary to come out on top.

Alisha lost that round, too. “Shellfish,” she said. “Shrimp makes the roof of my mouth all itchy.”

My turn. And since Jacob was gunning for me, I figured I’d return the favor. “Never have I ever left a pair of socks on the front stoop.”

“I told you, they were wet.”

“We’ve all had wet socks. And yet, you don’t see anyone else here airing them for the whole block to see.”

“Actually, I live in an apartment,” Jibben said, “but Agent Bayne does have a point.”

“Never have I ever kissed a girl,” Alisha said, earning a raised eyebrow from me. Jibben folded down a finger, though I had to wonder if maybe he only did so because the alternative—admitting to being a forty-year-old virgin—was too embarrassing. Then again, I’d never kissed a girl myself, though back when I was too young to drive, I’d been giving out hand-jobs behind the gas station.

Jacob, however, lowered a finger as well….

I filed that tidbit away for later discussion.

Jibben—finally getting the hang of things—went next with, “Never have I ever forged a signature.” I strongly suspected Jacob was lying when he didn’t cop to that, but since he wasn’t hooked up to a polygraph, no one could prove otherwise.

Alisha and I both took a hit. We were all tied, with two fingers left…except Jacob, who trailed the rest of us with only one remaining strike. But it was his turn to even the score. “Never have I ever recited pi past four digits.”

Good to know my husband was on my side again. The only one who admitted to that nerdism was Jibben.

My turn again. One more hit would take Jacob out—and since he was the only one I didn’t want to shut up, I’d need to be more strategic about dinging someone else. What did science-y guys like Jibben do that the rest of us mere mortals would never even consider? Everything I presumed would interest Jibben, from learning Latin to reading the encyclopedia, were also things Jacob had probably done at one point or another, since he gets off on being the smartest guy in the room. Though Jacob was such a good liar, if he didn’t want to admit doing something, he could just pretend he hadn’t, so I really shouldn’t overthink it—

“Say something already or lose your turn,” Alisha snapped.

Damn. “Never have I ever, ah…discovered something and shouted, eureka.”

Even as it left my mouth, I knew how pathetic it was. No one lost a point. Not even Jibben.

Alisha must’ve been cooking up a really juicy question, because she hunkered down, leaned in, and lowered her voice dramatically to say, “Never have I ever…seen a ghost.”

What the hell had possessed her to ask that?

Suddenly, second-guessing looked more like simple arithmetic as I waffled between third, fourth and fifth guesses. She shouldn’t be able to read the codes on our ID badges. Did she know I was a medium? Had I said something in passing? I didn’t think so. Only to Jacob—and only out of her earshot….

Unless she’d been eavesdropping.

But before I got defensive and blurted out an accusation I’d later regret, Jibben twitched a few times, then said, “I have.” The rest of us looked at him like we’d all just now seen a ghost ourselves. “It’s true. I have. Or, at the very least, I’ve seen the evidence of a noncorporeal being. In fact, the house I grew up in was incontrovertibly haunted.”