Seven

Chapter 4- The Translation

Mario read and reread the words over and over again, but he couldn't make sense of what they could mean. Was this a clue of what was to come? Or was this simply some type of riddle?

And who had slipped this paper to? Was it his butler, Richard? Or could it have been Carmen? She's the only one of the group who knew any Latin. Could she have known more than she led the others to believe? And if she did, why would she waste her time helping the other players? Only one could win the prize money.

Whatever the purpose of this list, Mario intended to prepare himself for anything. Number one on the list was Find. He knew that the first game involved searching for clues. Which meant that game two would have something to do with speaking. But he had no idea what to think about the rest of them. Accept. Accept what? Acknowledge. Again, what was he to acknowledge? Is that what the clues were supposed to lead him to?

The last, Pay...

Suddenly, the pieces started to come together in Mario's head. He knew exactly what the games were about.

Exposing them, and them making them pay.

This Dr. Vincent must've have somehow found out about Soren. Mario knew it was only a matter of time before someone did, he just thought he'd have a little more time. He was okay with whatever the consequences were. In his mind, his life was over the day he was locked up in the Georgia State Penitentiary for a crime he didn't even commit.

And if he was here for that, that meant the others were hiding something as well. Maybe it was something even worse than what he was hiding? The more Mario thought about it, the more it seemed as if these weren't the type of games anyone was meant to win. The prize money was just a reason to participate.

Mario looked around the room, knowing now was the time to start plotting an escape if necessary. When things started getting too weird for him, Mario had no problem just throwing in the towel. After all, he had lived his whole life without money. He was certain he could continue to live without it.

He walked over to the only window in the room and looked out. He was on the second floor, but it wasn't very far to the ground. Probably only twelve feet or so. He could jump if he had to, and make a run for it through the shrubbery that lined the long, winding driveway. He took a few seconds to map out his exact exit route, the one that would bring him out to the highway the fastest. From there, he was certain he could make it to the nearest convenience store or hotel. He could call one of his sisters, tell them what happened and...

Wait...

Mario knew no one would believe his story. He was six feet, four inches tall and weighed two hundred and twenty pounds (195cm/99kg). No one could forcefully make Mario Banks do a damn thing. As Mario recalled his journey here though, he realized that's exactly what happened. He was forced to come here, though he couldn't figure out how. He remembered feeling the strange powers of persuasion when he first met Richard; the feeling that overcame him and led him to the car that eventually brought him here.

And because no one would believe that story, Mario knew he would be on his own. Still, even if he had to hitchhike back to Atlanta, he knew it would be better than staying here with these strange people and their creepy grins.

Mario nearly startled out of his skin when there was a light tap on his door.

"Come in," he called out.

The door slowly creaked open to reveal Richard with a smile that Mario could only compare to Jack Nicholson in The Shining. His skin was so pale, it made his stained teeth look even more yellow. His eyes were dark, soulless pits. Mario didn't like the way it made him feel when he made eye contact, so he avoided it at all costs.