Sixteen Minutes to Midnight

Chapter 11

You know how people talk about seeing into your head? 

Well, I quite literally saw into Glen's head.

A bullet had bore its way right through, and left a hollow path in its trail. If you looked in from one side, you could see right through to the opposite end - you could literally look into his mind, only to find nothing looking back. Except maybe flesh, and stringy bits. It was a rather gruesome, gory piece of art. Glen laid flat, arms outstretched on the bed, and Donna beside him. They were holding hands, and both of them had been shot. Glen took a shot straight through the head, Donna had multiple wounds on her torso - probably from getting shot multiple times.

Gilbert swallowed.

"U....uuuuahhhhhhh!" screamed Sandra, "Look at his head...oh my god! Oh my ga-od!" It was a pretty ugly sight. Quite the oxymoron.

"Good god," said Gilbert, "this is gruesome."

"Indeed," muttered Dmitri, "it appears the killer has claimed yet two more lives."

"And two more minutes to midnight," I added.

Darren paced around the room. He kicked over a chair, which made a loud thumping noise, then stood it back upright and slouched into it. "Argh," he suddenly uttered, "this is hopeless. We're never going to find the killer, not in this huge expanse of an island."

"Ah, but the stakes are higher," I said, "the less of us there are, the harder it is to separate us."

"That so?"

"The killer is very opportunistic. He, or she, takes what they can get and makes a bloody mess of things. So if we don't give em the opportunity, they won't get one. You see what I'm getting at?"

"So you saying we shouldn't pull...a Glen?"

Sandra chuckled. "Pull a Glen? That's not a nice thing to say."

I coughed. "Yeah, sure, I guess you could call it that. We don't pull anymore 'Glens', so what that means is that nobody does something stupid or stubborn, ok? No more 'I want to stay in the room', that shit is going to get you killed."

"Ain't that the truth," she laughed.

"So what do you think?" asked Gilbert.

"The killer entered from the secret door, the only way in since the entire room is barred up, and shot the couple in their sleep - that's what I reckon," said Darren. 

"Yes, son, but I was asking Craig, not you." 

Darren scoffed.

"I think Darren's mostly got it right. He left out one instance though - how the killer got out. As you all can see from looking around, the room has been left in its state of...well...imprisonment. It's been left the same as how we found it yesterday - with all the locks and barricades. So the murderer could only have left through the secret passage."

"So?" Darren asked.

"The secret passage leads down to the boat shack. Therefore the only way the murderer could have escaped was through the boatshack. But they didn't, because we were all sleeping in there. So? The secret passage must have another way out."

"Or the murderer has just been waiting in the secret passage the whole time," muttered Sandra.

"And then?" I asked, "what would they do?"

"They could have escaped when we entered."

"But how?

"You know," she said, "that locked door that we needed the combination to open? The murderer must have hid in there." 

"Ah," I realized, "that does make sense. Are you suggesting we go back?"

"Yes," she said, decisively, "it's our only lead."

"It might lead us the wrong way," grunted Darren, leaning back in the chair with his legs crossed.

"At least it will lead us somewhere," she made with a smile, and flipped her hair.

----

We closed the door to the master's quarters, the last time we would ever enter again, and then descended back into the dimly lit passage with its musky odour, and made our way back to the sealed door.

This time, there was a note on it.

"The code is 3 1 1 2 5 2" it read.

"Well, well," said Gilbert, "the murderer wants to help us. We must be on the right track."

"Maybe they want us to go in," said Dmitri, and then in a hushed tone he added, "tread cautiously."

"It's our only lead," grumbled Gilbert in a sarcastic tone, and then keyed in the numbers. He turned the lock on the door, rotating it clockwise. There was the low hiss of gas escaping, followed by a sudden groan as the door began to open by its own will. Gilbert hesistantly walked in.

The room was in the shape of a cuboid. It had metal walls and looked drab, like a grey cardboard box. At the end of the room was another wall, this one had a long glass panel that separated the room, and it too was locked by a door that required a combination. Behind it was an array of keyboards and screens, feeding in hazy monochrome images of the mansion. 

"What is this?" I asked Dmitri, "some kind of panic room?"

"It...I didn't know this even existed....but yes, sir, I would assume it to be some kind of panic room."

We heard a grinding noise, and turned around to see the door we had just entered from closing shut. The base of the door skidded against the floor, leaving narrow scratches as it made contact with the tiles, then tightly closed shut with a loud 'woomph'.

There was another hiss, and then we noticed that the air ventilation was on, except this time the room smelled different. The air smelt...odd.

A figure moved into view behind the glass panel, out of reach but not out of sight. It had a black hood that covered its face, and wore a cowl that obscured most of its body features. I only saw two bony hands reach for a microphone, then pull it close to his face. Then, over the speakers, we heard a voice.

"You've finally found me. It's been a while, huh? Quite the while. Unfortunately for you, the game has changed. I no longer have to hunt you one by one if you're all together now. I can afford to hunt you all at once. Isn't that lovely? A chillling thought, perhaps."

"Who are you?" I yelled.

"You'll find out soon enough. In the meantime, are you enjoying the room? I designed it myself. Very nice, huh? Meanwhile, I have to sit here with all these computers and technogadgetry and brood about my self-longing. Looks like you guys have it good."

"Hey, what's the idea?" screamed Gilbert, banging his hands against the glass pane.

"Don't touch it, it's very expensive. Industrial-strength stuff. It costs a real FORTUNE to buy. Aren't we all interested in fortunes?"

"Let us out!" shrieked Sandra.

"There's no need to hurry things up, you'll all be let out shortly. Dead, of course. Smell that gas? That's hydrogen cyanide with a concentration of about 150 milligrams per cubic metre, which means you'll all die in about 20 minutes if you keep inhaling the stuff."

"AGH!" screamed Darren, "LET US OUT! YOU MONSTER!"

"Well, only I have the way out, see?" the figure laughed, "because only this room has the exit. There's a ladder that leads out into the grounds of the island, so if you do escape....err...somehow," the figure added with a chuckle, "you'll still be ripe for the picking."

"How long has it been?" I asked calmly.

"Oh, about four minutes or so. Sixteen minutes to your deaths! Better hurry up and think of a way to escape, because this death chamber isn't going to kill itself, huh?"

"Just you wait," gasped Dmitri between closed breaths, "we'll find a way."

"Ta-ta," tutted the figure, and then it moved out of view and left.

Those sixteen minutes were ticking.