Author Games: Ace of Spades

Quarterfinals: Adam Burke

When I had first walked into the casino, it had been pristine, all white floors and silver tables and decks of cards stacked perfectly. Now, the cards were scattered, the tables knocked over and their perfect silver marred with the same crimson that had splattered the floor.

I had been cradling my head in my hands, sitting against the far wall, watching everyone else. The entire room seemed numb, like we were past feeling at this point, too tired and scared to do anything.

What would the next horror be?

I couldn't take the waiting, the growing tension in the room making even the slightest movement seem like a death threat. The darkened room was growing ever darker with the thoughts that swirled around it. No one was expecting to make it out alive.

I ran a hand through my hair and couldn't keep myself from yawning - it was hard to tell how long we'd been in this hell-casino, but it was long enough for me to need sleep and a trip to the bathroom.

I pushed myself up as gently as possible - no point in drawing attention to myself. For all I knew, the Aces were waiting to shoot whoever moved first. There was no gunshot, though, so I felt safe enough to cross the room, my strides brisk. Already, people were taking note, watching me move, probably thinking that I had a death wish.

I slipped around a corner and let out a deep breath. It was strange, that walking across a room could be so stressful. I'd thought navigating business conferences with tact and not offending some important client was hard, but this was like four conferences rolled into one ball of handshakes, fake laughter, and stress, minus the handshakes and laughter.

Just constant anxiety.

I ran my hands through my hair again, no one here to judge me for messing up the artful messiness to plain messiness. It was hard to not rip every last follicle out.

I kept walking, hoping the rulers of these cards games weren't sadistic enough to deprive us of basic human needs. They'd given us food, and hadn't actively ripped the clothing off our backs to torture us further, so perhaps a bathroom wasn't such a stress.

The first door I tried was locked. The second, further still down the darkened hallway, seemed to lack even a keyhole. The Aces had things to hide.

It was tempting to give up, go back to the brightly lit room with its felt tables and linoleum flooring and find a bottle to pee into, but I was hardly safer there than I was here. At least here, there wasn't as much waiting.

I forced myself to go on.

Another corner passed me, and I saw another doorway, this one somehow darker, though I still couldn't see much. It wasn't any different from the others, but still, I knew it would have what I was looking for.

It confused me, then, when I stepped inside and it wasn't filled with stalls, urinals, and water-stained mirrors - instead, it looked like a break room, with a low, long couch, spindly table holding a briefcase, and silver chairs that could have belonged to any building in the world. Plain white curtains lined the walls, and I caught my breath - were there actual windows behind them? I hadn't thought it strange before, but I now realized that there were no windows in the casino. They were blocking us off from the world - from everything but their murders.

I didn't want to look out those windows and be reminded of what I was cut off from.

Instead, I refocused my attention to the silver briefcase that sat on the table. Next to it, not noticed before by me, was a picture - a recent picture. The bright red hair of one of the girls still alive was instantly noticeable, as well as the lack of people.

We had been twenty when we entered. Now, by the count of this photo, we were only nine, and I had no doubt that the number would continue to dwindle.