“I’m almost done,” I assured her when she resurfaced from placing her piece. “I’ll get your last piece from Hartt in a sec.”
I frantically took my remaining pieces down, trying not to notice Hartt spinning like a bulbous otter as he brought his own pieces to the floor. I was only missing one piece, and Hartt had it along with Melange’s. I had to attack now.
I burst upward, only to hear Hartt screaming to the cast, “Where are my pieces?!”
“They hide in Arena!” Aspen’s fractured English echoed. “We try telling you, man!”
Hartt’s murderous eyes found me as I lunged for our pieces, abandoned on the tank ledge. I sent Melange’s piece sailing toward her, but right as my fingers grazed mine, Hartt’s forearm crushed my throat. He wrapped himself around me and dunked us, both clutching my piece.
Underwater, I saw Melange finish her image, a merciful horn echoing through the dull, bleak silence beneath the surface. At least one of us was safe.
Hartt launched up for air, and I swallowed a mouthful of water along with precious wisps of oxygen, the pair of us still locked in combat.
Greta directed her weeping, now-eliminated pal Chrissy toward the hidden pieces, if only to save Hartt. Totally drained, Melange still rushed to waylay her cousin on my behalf, though Chrissy’s height worked to her advantage on land, allowing her to shove Melange off and haul all four missing pieces to the ledge for her man. Seeing this, Hartt pinned me roughly against the tank and drove his knee into the center of my ass. I emitted a dry airless cry as he ripped my puzzle piece away.
My body throbbed as he launched my puzzle piece across the increasingly swampy Arena, lost amid the lights and rain. Melange, slathered in mud from pursuing Chrissy, chased after it. “Luke, he hasn’t touched his piece yet!” PB screamed. “Steal it!”
I strained across the ledge for Hartt’s final piece, but he beat me there, raising it high like a scythe. “Suck my dick, faggot,” he spat, slashing itacross my face, new wounds cutting along the grooves of the old, before he shoved my head beneath the frothing waves.
I’d actually never been called that before. At least not to my face. Behind my back maybe, in the hormone-drenched fog of the middle school locker room after practice or at some Beltway fundraiser, likely tossed in our wake as Barnes and I walked to the car. It was delivered with utmost contempt. But it felt undeniable.
Pirouetting strands of red wafted from my cheek as I drifted above the demons and their ribald dances. Perhaps this was the inevitable destination to which I’d conscripted myself—ever since I’d trusted Barnes, ever since I’d betrayed Imogen, ever since I’d destroyed Arjun, ever since I’d abandoned my children, ever since I’d becomeme: the bloated dilettante, floating bloody in a pool on national television, the faggot who’d abetted the undoing of everything and everyone he should have protected.
When gravity lifted me to the surface, the Devils were cheering, the pack serenading their alpha. Hartt beat his hairy chest, teeth bared in grotesque celebration.
Melange cradled my puzzle piece forlornly, and I saw Shawn restrained by Erika and PB, clearly trying to deliver retribution for Hartt’s slur. I was heartened by the gesture, but I only sought one face. I found Imogen, her eyes wide and determined, as she mouthed, “No horn.”
No horn?I noticed then two pieces on the ledge, ostensibly left over from Chrissy’s uncompleted quadrant… One was unmistakably fromHartt’spuzzle. He’d inserted the incorrect piece, and this Trial was still live.
I rapidly grabbed both pieces and flung them over the side of the tank.
“Melange, throw him his piece!” Imogen shouted, now at maximum volume. Heads whipped in her direction, but Melange gaped, not following. “Do it!”
Melange tossed me the piece, and Hartt’s face fell with understanding.
With one last breath, I plunged beneath. Hartt dove after, crashing into my side, but I was ready this time. My elbow viciously stabbed hisgut, and I shoved my last piece in place before swimming upward, answering the ghostly summons of that single plaintive horn.
Hartt screamed about lawsuits as he was escorted off set, Chrissy limping behind like a bedraggled bird. Meanwhile, Zara brought me to the EMT to examine my face, Troy flitting nearby. “How long will the gash take to heal?” he asked nervously.
“What’s one more scar?” I replied. “At least I got something out of this one.”
“And not even any stitches,” Zara noted, and I blushed to see respect glint in her eyes.
Once we reassembled, Melange wrapped me in a tight hug. “My busted blond behind would be gone without you.”
“You looked out for me too.”
“Not the same,” she said. “I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”
“What a night!” Ecklund applauded when filming resumed. “Luke and Melange, that was one of the most epic Trials ever. You demonstrated partnership like I haven’t seen in ages. But we’re about to see a whole lot more, because after twenty seasons, we’re switching things up…”
Ecklund produced two burlap sacks, much like the ones that had tormented us for hours already. “We’re leaving the teams in Italy because… you’re all flying to CHINA! As PAIRS!”
Every jaw swung. There had never been a season ofEndeavorthat wasn’t team-based; even I knew they hadn’t altered that formula. It wasn’t hard to imagine this reboot yielding considerable trouble. Shawn might be chained to Greta, or PB reunited with Jiamin. All fourteen of us remaining were in terra incognita, no idea how this would affect voting, alliances, anything.
“Luke and Melange, as the Trial winners, you’ll select partners first,” Ecklund continued.
“I pick Luke,” Melange answered instantly. “But I’m guessing it’s not that easy.”
