Craving (11 page)

“This one’s too intoxicated,” she declared, and before anyone could say or do anything, my bodyguard and several of the other invisible security guards had swept the girl and her disappointed friends from the party.

The room once again entirely hers, Ursula stood before the man who now occupied the end.

“Pick a secret. Not just any secret, mind you, but a deep, dark, painful secret.”

The man laughed and looked around at the others. “Come on, really?”

She nodded and put her hand on his chest. “Everyone here has done it.”

Along the walls, they confirmed it with shouts and nods. “Okay,” he acquiesced, turning back to her. “Got one.”

“No, no,” she scolded, “not good enough. Give me a truly despicable one, ah yes . . . that’s the one.”

He frowned in puzzlement.

Her green eyes narrowed as she stroked his chest.

“This game is called ‘Tell the Truth.’ The rules are simple. Tell the truth or face the consequences.” Her gaze roamed the circle of onlookers and for a moment, stopped on me. “Now Derrick,” she said to the man gently, “tell the truth. Tell everyone your secret.”

It was as if his expression slid off his face. His complexion paled, and for a moment, he knew it was not a game. The longer he took to reply, the larger her smile grew, until he looked like he might vomit in response to her eagerness.

“Tell the truth, Derrick, my dear,” she insisted quietly.

Like jackals salivating after a wounded wildebeest, the spectators leered.

“I . . . I once . . . robbed a house,” he managed finally.

But she was already shaking her head as if saddened by his dishonesty. “Liar,” she whispered, and as if suddenly brought to life, the room began to hoot and howl. “You have one chance to survive to the next round, Derrick.”

He took a deep breath and looked around as Ursula passed to the next victim.

“Fetch me a secret, my dear,” she hissed at the young girl. Uncertain and anxious, the girl looked at Derrick and quickly learned that she did not want to play.

“I don’t . . .”

“What?” the host said loudly as if hurt by the suggestion. “You came to the party; it is
rude
to not play the games. Come now,” she snarled viciously, “a secret!”

The girl shivered beneath the stare and finally looked at her shoes.

Ursula’s sinister mouth split wide.

“Now speak it,” she commanded.

The girl was on the point of tears when a chant started. To my left and right people were shouting, demanding the girl play the game.

Ursula’s hand went up, and the voices faded.

“Tiffany,” she warned, “tell the truth.”

“I . . .” the meek voice shivered, “my . . . my father . . .” She shook her head, but Ursula was merciless. She reached out and took hold of the girl’s wrist, and with a hard glint in her eye, made sure that Tiffany knew conscientious objectors would never live it down. “My father . . .” the girl finally continued, all the while yanking on her own arm in desperation “. . . raped me.”

I sucked in breath and looked around the room, sure that statement would shut them up, that they’d feel terrible for making her confess such a thing, but they were all cheering, smiling, carrying on as if it was hilarious.

“Now, Derrick, is your chance. Look into Tiffany’s pretty, tear-stained face and tell us . . . is she lying?”

Derrick, again on the spot, ran his fingers through his hair and barely glanced at the unfortunate girl beside him. “Yeah, she’s lying.”

“Ohhh…” Ursula sighed grandly. “I’m afraid you are wrong. Alas Derrick, you have failed. You cannot be genuine, nor can you tell another human’s verity. You are banished from the game.” Derrick was swept away, pulled to the corner at my left and, for lack of a better word, imprisoned on a divan, just as I had been. Feeling badly for him, I turned and tried to encourage him with a gaze, but he was looking after Tiffany in utter despondency.

Ursula turned back to the line of contestants and stepped from Tiffany to the girl beside her. This girl, not quite drunk or modest enough, seemed ready to tell her secret with pride. She had her hands on her hips, posed with arrogance.

“Have your secret, my dear?” Ursula prodded, and in her eyes, I saw that whatever the girl had decided to share would not be what came out. In the wake of that gaze, the girl faltered a bit, and when Ursula shook her head, the bravery melted completely. “My, you have so many, Ashley . . . but that one will do. Yes, that one.”

The girl refused, but with saccharine sweetness, Ursula put a hand on her shoulder and directed her to the crowd of hateful enemies. Beside her, Tiffany was weeping softly into her hands, raped again in full view of the public. At last, Ashley recovered her nerve and with a great sigh, let it go.

“I poisoned my ex-boyfriend. He . . . he got sick.”

The corners of Ursula’s mouth stretched yet again and I knew what she was about to declare.

“Liiiiaaar!”

The girl’s face paled, for the interrogator had gotten her right; it did not shake her though, as evidently, her strategy was to out-lie everyone else. The man beside her was made to admit he was a serial rapist, and when Tiffany gasped in horror and cowered, Ashley shouted out that he was telling the truth and was saved from dismissal.

By the end of the round, I was thoroughly disgusted, but knew that I could not leave. I was chained, not just by the strong men or the ridicule of the crowd, but by morbid fascination. I felt slightly sick, but my heart pounded as each person was called upon a second time.

“Tell the truth,” Ursula ordered, and being sweet and innocent, I could see that Ashley’s strategy would never work for Tiffany. There was no way she could afford to lie because there was no way she could tell who was lying. She attempted it though, and her falsehood was too extravagant, which made me wonder what her real secret was. When the second girl was interrogated, Tiffany failed to see through it, and was dismissed.

In the end, there were two liars facing each other in all out war, determined not to share, and to call out the other, but Ursula threw in another twist.

“The game is called ‘Tell the Truth,’” she admonished, “and you have played it well, but the only way to win, is to confess. Tell the truth. The first person to lie to me is finished.”

Both players were horror-struck. To the tune of laughter and catcalls, they were examined and their secrets chosen.

Ursula stood before the girl and crossed her arms.

I could see the poor thing’s chest heaving. “I . . . When I was in high school, I had sex with my chemistry teacher to get an ‘A,’” she nearly shouted.

With a calm nod, Ursula stepped before the man. “Your turn, Todd.”

He gulped in a few breaths and planted his feet. “I hit a kid on a bike with my car. I drove away and didn’t call the cops.”

It was Ashley’s turn yet again. Ursula stepped before her sternly and chose her secret. In that moment, I wondered how it was done. Was it a subtle change in eye movement, temperature, pulse? Was Ursula a human lie detector?

“I had sex with my half-brother,” she confessed.

It moved to Todd, and I could see it. He was about to lie. He didn’t care what the consequences were, because he wasn’t going to confess whatever it was she wanted him to say.

“I shot my brother’s dog,” he lied. The auburn head gave a sad shake, and to a rush of sound, the beautiful referee declared the girl the winner. Todd was escorted to the corner.

“I humbly thank all of you for playing our little game,” she said, by way of a grand closing. “For those who would like to play again, please step forward.”

And so it went, for hours. They never seemed to tire of it, and each time a winner was selected, they were allowed to sit on the banked seating along the back wall and squirm in half-darkness. It was an ingenious torture device; success was a hollow victory, for really, the only way to truly win, was to have nothing of which to be ashamed. Even if a person didn’t play, they were reminded of the disgrace somewhere in their life. What boggled me, was that people came back, addicted, and I wondered if they went out and committed fresh offenses just to have another secret. Impressed with the sick cleverness of it, I watched the host, trying to discover her scam.

At last, it came down to the finals, where liar faced liar, and in the end, told the truth with frantic satisfaction. By the end, a man who had declared himself everything from a murderer to a sadist, but had never once been truthful, took the game with ten straight confessions, and revealed himself to be just as vile as his falsehoods. Ursula took his hand and held it up for the audience and after he had taken his bows, she sat him at her piano.

“And now, my little shriven dears, it is time for you to depart. In Michael here, I have found my winner, and he will receive his reward. Come back with more secrets, my dears. Come back and work harder next time, for if you can see clearly enough, you might just win the prize.”

“What is the prize?” someone shouted.

I was beginning to wonder that myself. Was it money, or something equally grand? It had to be, to make such quick work of secrets that would destroy a man should they be leaked to the outside world.

“Well, you’ll just have to play, my dears, but I can assure you, it’s the prize of a lifetime.”

She had such a charisma to her, that with only a few words and gestures she had crowned herself in their eyes, and with fawning glances and forlorn faces they drifted out the door, taking the shaken losers with them. I wondered if any of them would come back, and was fairly certain they would.

“I’ve been playing a long time for this.” The winner grinned up at Ursula, who sank into his lap seductively. He was in his mid-forties, but was obviously still passing himself off as thirty. He wore a close-fitting shirt with a paisley pattern and dark jeans. His thick fingers pawed up her back eagerly, pulling her toward him, until she was straddling him and the piano bench, and had his lip in her mouth. Then he spotted me.

“Is she part of the prize?” he asked with a laugh.

Ursula cast a dark look back at me and shook her head. “Her? No. She’s a witness.”

“To what?”

The woman laughed, at first like a woman, but all too quickly like a banshee. She laughed until he was looking at her in awkward disquiet and then her voice trembled to a halt.

She tipped herself forward in his arms and touched her nose to his.

“To
my
secret, silly.” Before I could do anything, she toppled him backward onto the piano bench. I jumped up and saw something glitter in her hand. I realized too late that the jeweled buckle to her belt was some kind of weapon. Her hand dropped and he let out a single shout that came to a gurgling crescendo. She threw herself over him and like a wild animal, began growling and tearing with her hands. At first, too stunned to move, I stood there, but as blood began to pool on the floor, my adrenalin got the better of me.

I turned to the door and found the way open. In a mad dash, I reached the foyer, just in time to hear her shriek in wicked laughter. I spun back and she was on her feet, facing me, her entire upper body covered in gore.

I hurled myself at the door and tumbled through it. On the other side, former contestants still gathered, laughing and patting each other on the back. I rammed through them at top speed. A few shouted after me, but there was no way in hell I would apologize. I had reached the bottom of the stairs before the signs of pursuit reached me.

They were moving through the crowd on the dance floor, black suits turned in my direction, shoving people aside. I looked around desperately for an exit and had no choice but to go back through the cattle press to the beacon of the green exit sign. Furiously, I elbowed and kicked my way through the people, and was close enough to feel relief, when someone fought back. A drunken girl caught my fist in her stomach and responded by grabbing hold of my hair.

I managed to turn my head while her boyfriend tried to pull us apart, and caught sight of one of them. A girl a few feet away was hurled back, and as he reached for me, I screamed in rage and dropped my stiletto heel right unto the bitch’s metatarsals. While she shrieked and bled in the bouncer’s way, I tore from her hands and slammed into the exit door. The alarm blared, but it was barely louder than the music. I made my way down the alley. They hit the door right after me, running faster than I was. In desperation, I made for my car, but I knew I would never make it in those shoes.

Suddenly, one heel stuck in the metal street grating, and I went down harder than a linebacker. I landed on my knees and rolled over, tried to get up, and found that I couldn’t. Sobbing, I tugged at the shoes, trying to get them off so that I could get away, but they were right on top of me. I threw my arms up to protect myself, but to my surprise, nothing happened.

Lowering my shaking hands, I sat in the gutter, a bloody, filthy wreck, and they just stood there, looking around. Terrified they had but to confirm their orders, I screamed for help, and before I knew what was happening, warm arms encircled me from behind. A skein of long, dark hair dropped into the crook of my neck. He pulled me to my feet and steadied me. With my heart slamming so loudly, I could barely hear myself think, I pushed back, trying to crawl into my savior for safety. In a frenzy, I looked up at his face and to my further astonishment, found it completely composed.

It was the armchair philosopher, and he was holding my pursuers at bay with a tranquil stare.

“We . . . we have to go now!” I cried. “Please!”

He blinked down at me with a distantly curious look, as if he had happened upon the scene and couldn’t fathom what was going on, but when he saw the panic in my face, his eyes transformed into little chunks of cobalt. In a second flat, he had hooked his elbow beneath my damaged legs and was walking away with me in his arms.

Over his shoulder, I could see the security guards, their faces screwed up in rage, pacing in place and shouting into their radios like panthers roaring behind cage bars.

“Go faster!” I begged, but he shushed me gently. “They’ll follow us!” I insisted, half-insane. I pulled back from his shoulder and looked him in the eyes, my hands on his face. His skin was incredibly smooth. “They’ll follow me!”