The Henhouse

June 10th, 2019 - Later

"You've got to be kidding me."

"No one panic-"

"We're- we're-"

Gathered around the false door like a war memorial, the group stood hunched, shocked, and immobile save Peter, who dashed away as though in a fit. Justin didn't turn to see where, couldn't pull his eyes away from the anomaly in front of him.

He slowly edged towards the wall and touched it. Chill brick greeted his trembling fingers as though in mockery.

"I think I'm gonna be sick...."

"Enough," Ivy called for order. "It's- it could be some sort of blockade-"

"It's not a blockade," said Jonah, voice shaking. She turned on Ivy. "You. You said they'd be there. You'd said there'd be an emergency exit this way-"

"Yeah," Ivy retorted, "and you all thought the same thing!"

"Shit, shit shit-"

"The door...." Artie's voice was thrown off-kilter; it shook and caught here and there like an old record. "The- the sliding door, we can force it somehow-"

"With what?" Jonah groaned. "And we don't have time-"

"Peter-!"

Ivy's voice was so shrill, so frightened, that Justin and the others whipped around without hesistation. Peter stood on the edge of the dining table, the fingers of his free hand struggling to tighten the knot on the makeshift noose he'd made from some kind of electrical cord. He'd already strung it on the glistening chandelier above.

"Peter, what are you doing-?!"

"Stop," he commanded. All the brawny, masculine strength Justin expected from Peter's voice when they'd first met came through in that single syllable, and the room fell silent.

"Where's the mic?" he growled. "You said there's one here."

Justin watched his Adam's apple bob up and down as he fitted his head precariously into the hole of his noose. His feet shifted and backed up slightly from the edge of the table.

"I..." Ivy cut herself off and dashed towards the lounge. She flung open the top drawer of a side table, crazedly tossed aside the various clothes she'd used to smother the thing, then pulled it out – a tiny microphone, the type one might attach to a lapel.

Ivy's hand shook and the microphone slipped out of it, collapsing onto the floor. Scrambling to pick it up, she hurried it over to Peter, offering it up like a blood sacrifice.

"Keep it there. They just need to hear me. Hey, listen up," he barked at the room. "You let us see you guys, and- and leave this place, or I'm out of here. Permanently Got it?"

He pulled up the noose with his free hand, drawing the cord threateningly up to his neck.

"Jesus, Peter-"

"And good luck to them loosening this knot." He gestured down to the rest. "It's a constrictor. I don't know how to loosen it. ...I don't care how they try to save me. I'll find a way, I promise you that."

He paused.

"I don't know what you need us for, but Ivy's right. 'Intelligence...'" – he spat the word, - "Right? Makes sense." His jaw jutted out as his face fell into a dangerous scowl.

"And I know if it's true, then you need me. Me. Because, you know. Who cares about anything in this world except who can beat people up the best, or run the fastest? Huh?" He frowned, voice starting to quiver faintly. "Well, that, and who gets the A's, right?"

Ivy's face flushed white as Jonah and Dany turned to her, their eyes narrowing and lips thinning. She was crying, tears rolling silent down her cheeks like raindrops on glass.

"You lose me, you lose nearly everything. You want to take that chance, be my guest."

The silence was deafening. Peter's foot started tapping.

"Any- anything?" His voice wobbled.

Justin couldn't tell if seconds or minutes were passing by.

"So help me God" – Peter's voice cracked – "if you don't answer in the next- the next 10 seconds-"

He inched toward the edge of the table, toes spilling over. Ivy rushed to place a chair underneath his feet but he kicked it away with a chilling precision.

"10-"

The grainy noise of static shattered the room. The world froze.

A voice broke through the TV's sound system.

"Pe- Peter?"

Justin would have sat down, could he move.

"Oh, shit," Dany breathed.

Ella's breath hitched. "Casper...?"

"I- I- I g-go up," Casper said, "a-and Peter c- Peter comes down." He was crying. "Ot- other- otherwise-"

"Yeah, we get it," Peter snapped at the room. "Too bad he's not what I asked for. Casper? I've known him for a week. What- what do I care what you do to him?"

"Peter-"

"Hey, fuck you, man." Dany darted forward toward Peter and stared him down. "Fuck you! You think you're better than him-?"

"'Course he does, he's a world-champion," Jonah snarled. "Don't you know-?"

"SHUT IT," Peter barked. "You hear me over there?! I'm not biting. So step up and let us out of here, or--!"

He stepped forward again suddenly, leaning dangerously over the table's edge; all over again Ivy gasped and raced over to pick the chair up off the floor, ready to place it under his feet.

"Let him off himself, then," Jonah cried. "Oh, I've only known him a week, what do I care what happens to him-?!"

"Stop, Jonah-"

"You selfish-"

"He's in trouble-!"

"Peter, please come down...."

Justin was about to lose it himself, tell Peter to snap out of all of this, when he picked up on a curious hissing sound - like opening a can of soda, but much louder and longer. More than that, the static was gone.

Justin felt sick. He'd seen so little of Casper, and everyone else was too busy arguing; they didn't have a prayer now of guessing where he was.

'What was that?" someone asked.

"Where'd it come from?"

"Here," Dany said. He dashed out of sight behind the pillar supporting the TV while the others held their breath.

"I-" He paced backwards, back in the sights of the others, then pointed to the backside of the pillar. "There's- there's a door here."