AFTER DESSERT, AND drinks, and cigars, the other ladies go home. I lead all of our players into the foyer to explain the game. The gaslight fixtures flicker pleasantly. I wanted the lights to be dim. I want it to feel surreal. It will only make my job easier.
“Everyone, listen up!” I wait for the boys to stop talking. Then I give up. I raise my voice so it is magnified in the stone foyer. “This is important: The boundaries extend across the entire grounds, all nine levels of the garden. The only portion of the house that’s out-of-bounds is the west wing, where Margo is staying. You’ll see it marked off with a red rope. There are staff members stationed everywhere to make sure no one cheats.” I don’t mention that these staff members are armed with Simunition, too, and under orders to shoot anyone who cheats. Except me. I have paid and instructed them to look the other way so I can hide in the west wing until I see my opening.
“What are we playing?” Graham asks drolly. “Tag?”
Behind me is a long table covered with a velvet cloth. I remove the cloth. Twenty-seven handguns glow on the table.
“Those are real guns,” Mitsi’s husband, Mark, observes.
“Real guns,” I explain. “Fake ammunition. We’re using Simuniton. It’s what police officers use to train.”
“Isn’t that illegal?” Nigel says.
“Don’t be silly! That’s the fun part!” Tony laughs.
“Shouldn’t we be wearing pads? I’m pretty sure cops wear pads.”
“Has anyone tested this out?” Henri sounds genuinely scared.
Graham’s dimples are showing. He’s not smiling and he’s not smirking. It’s the same face he made when I showed him Elvira’s body.
I swallow hard and continue. My voice wavers with the light. “They’re each loaded with six rounds. If you need to reload, you can find more on a table in the gallery, but you’ll have to be careful. There’s no time-out, no safe zone.”
“What about other weapons?” Mark asks, eyeing up a sword on the wall. “Couldn’t someone just grab a knife from the kitchen?”
“The point is to shoot them,” I say. “You’ll know when they’re dead. It’s a special kind of Simunition. I hope you all don’t mind getting a little dirty.” Posey whoops. “Once you die, you can head out to the terrace for drinks and to wait out the game.”
“What do you get if you win?” Mark asks.
I catch Demi’s eyes. They glimmer in the half-light. “To keep playing.”
Graham whispers in her ear, flirting. She flirts back. He gets the last word, then leaves her side and crosses to me so abruptly, I feel myself wither. He slings an arm around my neck, rank with testosterone, kisses my cheek. My stomach drops. I feel sick, and not the good kind. “This is a brilliant idea, darling!” He leans in closer; his voice drops so it hums against my ear. “Is this my present?”
I extract myself. “You’ll know it when you see it.”
He chuckles, like he is in on this and every joke. Then he strides to the table, selects the best gun, turns off the safety. He points it at Henri. “Shall we test it out? Make sure it’s safe?”
Henri tugs his collar. “Might as well just start the game.”
Graham smirks, brings the gun in, blows on the muzzle. “Happy birthday to me.”
LYLA
Everyone selects a gun from the table. I explain the start. A member of the staff stands at the top of the stairs, holding a gun. One shot to run. One minute. Another shot and the game starts.
First shot at midnight. We wait, nervous. Little groups of men form to discuss strategy.
“It’s better to form alliances!”
“No, it’s better to go it alone. You can’t trust anyone.”
“It doesn’t seem fair,” Henri says, fiddling with his gun. “They know the house best.”
“It’s just a game.”
Posey is fooling around with her gun, flipping it in the air and catching it. “This is going to be so much fun!”
At 11:59, the group falls silent. The staff member steadies their hand. Five, four, three—
Bang!
They fire early, and not into the air, like I expected. They fire at the chandelier. Gold dust and glass explode across the floor. I’m furious, but I don’t have time to scold them.
I have a feeling this game could get out of control fast. I have to remind myself that’s what I want.
Everyone is frozen, temporarily shocked. Graham is wondrous. I did good, but I don’t feel good. Yet.
“Run, you fuckers!” Mark says. One group races toward the garden; another goes deeper into the house. Graham goes directly toward the gallery. Of course he does. It is not enough to have the advantage. He has to rig the deck. Demi goes outside. I am following her for a second.
Now, I think. You could do it now. She’s right there! But it’s too soon. I would be seen. I want Graham to know it was me, but I have to make sure no one else knows.
I split off, taking the back route to the west wing, where I have paid a staff member to let me in through a side door. She is there when I arrive, holding her gun. I pass through the door as the second shot goes off, too early.
Bang!
“The game hasn’t started, fuck face!” someone shouts.
Bang!
This is going to be chaos.
I reach my out-of-bounds safety spot. It’s a little alcove, like a box at an opera house with a bench. It’s surrounded by curtains I can peek through. It’s where the staff hides so they can be unseen. As such, I can see everything from here: the red foyer below, the arched entrance into the gallery, the stairs to the west wing, even a corner of the terrace outside.
I check my app. Demi is in Purgatory. She’s still in the game.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Five shots go off in quick succession. A real bullet waits in my pocket to be loaded into my gun. This is going to be a long night.
* * *
I WATCH FROM above as the foyer is destroyed. I should have known these boys would take any opportunity to make a mess. They seem more interested in destroying the house than in killing one another.
They form alliances and wander around in packs, taking shots at paintings and chandeliers, then covering one another to reload. The idea was to have people take a round at a time, but Graham and Mark, who have teamed up, decide to take all the bullets they can carry. Someone shoots a member of the staff.
“Sorry. Just wanted to test it out!” I hear their protest.
The air fills with gold-tinged powder. It has a weird metallic odor that probably isn’t safe to breathe. The lights are out except for a few flickering gas lamps that bounce off the mirrors and reflect in the windows. My heart is pounding, even though no one can see me, let alone shoot me, up here.
Demi is still in the garden. She must be hiding in Purgatory. There is a gazebo there. She’s probably made it her fortress. I wonder if she is out there alone, or if she joined up with Posey or one of the men. I think she must be alone. She’s always alone.
I should go out there and take care of her, but there are still too many players in the game. I didn’t think this through, didn’t realize how chaotic and scary it would feel. I might not be able to get to her. I might get shot. I feel as if anything could happen.
Henri starts up the stairs leading to the west wing. He’s alone. No one wanted him on their team. If he gets to the top of the stairs, he might see me. I don’t know why he’s going this way. It’s a dead end. There is a red rope strung across the top of the stairs. It’s obviously out-of-bounds. He’s probably trying to cheat. I should shoot him before he sees me, but then he might realize I’m cheating. He is so the type who would rat me out.
I will him to stop but he keeps going. He reaches the rope. He’s about to duck under. I back inside the curtain. He’s been to the house many times. He might know about my spot. He might want it for himself. I tighten my grip on my gun. He’s going to take me out of the game.
Bang!
A bullet hits him square in the back. “You fuck!” He trundles around, then slips. He tumbles down the stairs, then lands on the marble floor with a sickening snap. His leg is bent at an odd angle. I think he broke his fucking ankle.