“He offered them a ride,” I say, putting the pieces together. “That’s how he kidnapped them.”
“Why would two grown men take a ride with a total stranger?” Griffin asks.
“Taxi,” I say, glancing between DJ and Griffin. “I think the Game Master was driving a taxi.”
CHAPTER 20
The human mind breaks in proportion to what it endures. I’ve observed a correlation between the amount of time a person was clinically dead and their sensitivity to the supernatural, though I’m sure other factors also contribute.
Point is, I’ve never encountered somebody who has endured as much as Alexander.
—Journal of Donald Dellman, March 2020
Zoey sends us the security camera footage of Greg and Rafael leaving the bar, where they were last seen at 10:51 PM.
“Eden’s right, a taxi makes sense,” DJ says on the ride back. “I don’t care how drunk I am—I’d never get in a random car.”
“Unless one of their friends offered them a ride?” Griffin says.
“Most of their friends stayed at the bar.” Zoey’s voice comes through the van speakers, sounding echoey. “Police already got alibis for everyone close to them.”
“And the Game Master wouldn’t shit where he eats,” DJ says, twisting around in the passenger seat to look at me. “It takes time to possess someone. The entire process can take up to a week before a ghost can take control for even short bursts, so a smart entity like the Game Master wouldn’t pick victims who could be easily traced back to his host.”
Choosing to possess a taxi driver would give him access to hundreds of potential victims and zero obvious connection to any of them.
Bob limps up to me with his tail wiggling, and I gather him in my arms and immediately go to my room. The pain is gone, but my body feels hollow and too heavy to move at the same time. I don’t want anyone else to see me like this.
How did I feel Greg’s pain?
I pull on one of Dad’s old hoodies and sweatpants. They’re way too big, the waistband practically falling off my hips, but I don’t care. It’s just Bob and me tonight.
Until there’s a knock on my door.
I can’t tell anyone on the team to get lost, so I press my palms against my eyes. “Yeah?”
“I need to talk to you.”
My hands drop. Bob’s head snaps up from where he’s been sleeping on my bed. I assure him it’s okay, then swing my legs off the bed and open the door.
Nico stands there holding a mug.
“Donny sent me,” he says, like he needs me to know he wouldn’t choose to see me.
“Cool,” I say, because right now it’s the only word I remember how to say. My entire vocabulary has fled my brain.
Nico glances down at the mug in his hands. “I brought you… soup.”
He says it like he’s confessing to a crime, staring at the mug with enough apprehension that it’s like he thinks something is going to jump out and bite him. I’m almost expecting to seeDonny standing behind him, forcing him to bring me this soup at gunpoint. I’d laugh at the visual if I weren’t so exhausted.
I take the mug. Steam rises, carrying the smell of chicken broth that makes my stomach grumble so loud there’s no way he didn’t hear it, but he says nothing.
“Thank you,” I say. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.” I expect him to walk away now that he’s free of the mug, but he lingers. Silently.
“Want to come in?”
I step back to make space for him, but he doesn’t step all the way inside. Just leans one shoulder on the door frame and crosses his arms.
