Page 63 of Headcase

“Why is this person so willing to answer your questions?” Zane asked the room.

“Because he knows she’ll never find him,” Lucas said somberly.

“That’s what he thinks,” Calliope muttered under her breath.

Lucas’s response was an icy shock, like being doused in cold water. Somehow, no matter how grim, some part of Zane always imagined there would eventually be an answer. But maybe not. Maybe there truly never would be any closure. Maybe Zane was doomed to forever wonder why his brother did what he did. Why did he play the game? What was the final straw? Why did he leave him behind?

“What does the game master do?” Noah asked, watching as the question appeared in the box.

I ENSURE PLAYERS ADHERE TO THE RULES.

“Nothing fucking ominous about that,” Archer rasped, startling Zane, who sat beside him.

It really was like having the dead speak directly in his ear.

“Ask what happens when players don’t adhere to the rules, Calliope,” Thomas said.

PLAYERS ARE TERMINATED.

“And if they win?” August asked.

PLAYERS ARE TERMINATED.

Zane felt sick. “So, there’s no winning the game? This is all some sick fucking way to get off on forcing people to self-harm?”

Calliope ignored Zane’s outburst, typing only:So, you can’t win the game?

PLAYERS ARE PAWNS. HANDLERS ARE PLAYERS. I’M THE GAME MASTER. YOUR TIME IS UP.

Zane stared at the blinking cursor on the now black screen. “What the fuck?”

“Tell me you got a location, Calliope?”

Calliope huffed out a breath. “I got nothing. But, on the bright side, I don’t think he did either.”

“So, we’re back at square one?” Zane managed.

August shook his head. “Not exactly. We know there’s a game. We know the players are picked ahead of time. We know the players are dead the minute they start playing the game. We know the handlers are the real players, which means the handlers are just as culpable as the game master. They’re breadcrumbs, but we’ve found more with less.”

“There’s something else,” Lucas said. “And I think August and I can help.”

“What’s that?”

Lucas looked to August, then to Zane. “The game master said the handler picks the players. We know that every five or so years, players from our school and Henley are picked and that they all have similar backgrounds. We can work backwards. If we profile the players, we can profile the handler. If we can profile the handler, we can find him. Find him, we flip him and get the game master.”

“Thomas suggested profiling the victims a few days ago, but there’s so little to go on?”

“I also suggested you contact Lucas,” Thomas pointed out, looking at Zane like a disappointed father.

Oh, yeah. The truth was, he and Asa had spent far too much time wrapped up in each other and not enough wrapped up in the case, but in Zane’s defense, playing kinky games with Asa was far more fun than learning his brother might have been taken from him for such a stupid reason.

“That’s what we do,” August said, gesturing between him and Lucas. “He’s a profiler. I’m an expert in statistics and probability. One person can’t do it all. That’s why we have family.”

“So, what dowedo?” Zane said.

“Track down the player who lived,” Calliope said. “I might have a lead on him. It’s tiny, but it can’t hurt.”

“Send me what you’ve got, Calliope,” Asa said. “Zane and I will check it out.”