The Game

“Wake up.  Wake up, Janine.  It’s time that we play our game.”

The voice was quiet and distant in Janine’s sleep-fogged head.  She tried to open her eyes, curious to know who it was that was speaking to her, but her head ached so terribly that she immediately squeezed her eyes closed again.  The way that her head throbbed was very similar to the hangovers that she knew all too well because of her college parties, but in her current condition, she couldn’t even remember if she’d been to a party, or even if she had anything to drink.

“I’ve dimmed the lights, my dear.  Please now, open your eyes.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Janine opened her eyes.  With the lights dimmed, she was able to open them completely, though even in the low light, she had to wait for her eyes to adjust – painfully.  If she had been to a party, it must have been one hell of a good one – too bad she couldn’t remember anything about it.

Finally, the room came into focus.  It was a very large room, with walls constructed of red bricks, some of which had crumbled from age.  Large wooden racks stood in neat rows, rather similar to a library, but she could see the dim lights reflected off the numerous wine bottles that lined the racks.  So she had been taken to a wine cellar?  Despite how unique a place that would be to visit with someone, she couldn’t remember agreeing to visit one…

“Janine?  I’m over here, Janine.  Please look at me.”

The voice had become clearer, now that she’d become more aware; it was a very rich voice, enveloping her and… stirring her memories.  That lovely voice belonged to an equally lovely man – of that she was certain – but the face still refused to register in her mind.  Wanting desperately to know who it was that she had gone home with, Janine looked in the direction from which the voice was coming from.

The man, sitting in an antique-looking chair just across from Janine was obviously quite tall, and bearing a thick, luxurious mane of black hair which fell around his body, seemingly to his belt.  The rest of his features, though, were obscured in shadows.

“Ah, yes,” the man cooed.  “I was afraid that I might have used too much chloroform to put you to sleep, but I see you’re just not a ‘morning person.’”  The man chuckled – his laugh was every bit as smooth and alluring as his voice.  The words he spoke though, were disconcerting, to say the least.

Janine tried to reply, question the man’s sick joke, but she found herself unable to form words.  Quite suddenly, as she tried again to form words, she realized how dreadfully her jaw ached.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Janine.  I grew quite annoyed with your incessant chatter, so I took the liberty of gagging you while you slept.”

Janine’s pretty green eyes grew wide, and she moved her dry tongue to feel the smooth rubber ball that had been wedged into her mouth and behind her perfect teeth.  Immediately, her breathing grew rapid as panic welled within her – she hoped that this was just some kinky game that she’d agreed to in her drunken stupor.

“Allow me a moment to refresh your memory, my dear.”

The man leaned forward, putting his face into the soft light that the oil lamp was shedding.  He certainly was as handsome as his voice implied – young, smooth skin, arresting hazel eyes, a beautifully structured face – but there was something sinister in the man’s appearance…  His smile held a predatory joy – the sort of smile a lion might have immediately after bringing down its prey; his eyes were vibrant and shining with that same bloodlust.

“We met earlier this evening, when you and another of your friends asked if I would purchase some alcohol for you.  I carried out your request by taking you both to a very exclusive club with me, rather than simply purchase a bottle of Jack Daniel’s at the spirits store.

“After you and your friend had ingested quite a bit more than your fair share of alcohol, you both agreed to return with me to my home outside of the city.”

Janine’s memories of the evening rushed back into her mind, causing it to throb painfully again, but her remembrance was already obvious in her eyes.  Roland Devonshire – that was the strange man’s name.  The promise had been for ‘a night that he would never forget,’ and that was how they’d ended up in that spooky mansion on the lonely hill outside of town.

Roland was quite pleased when he saw the recognition in the pretty college student’s eyes.

“Very good.  Now, we will be able to move onto our game much quicker.”

Janine’s green eyes drifted downward, where she saw the rope coiled about her wrists, ankles, and stomach, effectively binding her to the creaky, old chair.  She would have smiled if she could have – this was definitely just some recluse’s college girl fantasy.

Roland immediately recognized that the fear had left the woman’s eyes, and that quickly changed his predatory smirk to a look of anger.

“Don’t think that you are here for sex, Girl!” he snapped so suddenly that Janine jumped, almost causing the chair to fall back onto the floor.  “You are here for a game – that is true – but it is not one for your perverse enjoyment.”

Roland stood and moved over to the chair Janine had been bound to; his anger is obvious in every movement he made – it was as if the though of having sex with the lovely young woman filled him with disgust.  He gripped the chair by its arms and spun it so forcefully that it caused Janine’s head to jerk painfully.

Immediately after being turned about, Janine found herself to be face-to-face with the blistered, fire-blackened face of a second young woman – the woman that she had been with when she met Roland.

She tried to scream, but the over-sized ball-gag effectively silenced her completely.

“That’s better,” Roland mused.  “You should be scared, young lady.  As I said, you are here for my enjoyment.”

Roland reached to the other young woman, placing his hand lightly on her cheek; the black flesh flaked away from the red, blistered skin beneath.

“She had so much to drink last night, it was a wonder that her breath didn’t ignite.”  Roland laughed – a loud, mocking laugh that brought hot tears to Janine’s eyes.  She closed her eyes quickly, to hide that horribly disfigured thing from her sight, as well as hide her sheer terror from the monster that had her imprisoned.

“Now, now, Janine.  Don’t be like that.”

Roland touched her hair softly, before moving his fingertips gently onto her cheek; she felt the grainy ash on his fingers digging into her soft skin as his fingers traveled across her face.  The large ball-gag even held the vomit back, forcing the girl to swallow it all back down.

The chair groaned loudly as it was turned around again, the sound echoing throughout the cavernous brick room.  Janine heard the chair across from her creak as well when Roland sat back down.  Finally, a sound that she had heard hundreds of times before in action movies forced her to open her eyes again, confirming her suspicions.

In his hands, Roland held a silver revolver; he’d broken the handgun and was methodically removing each of the six bullets from the cylinder.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of this game a thousand times before, nevertheless, I would like to explain the rules to you.

“Now, as you can see, I have emptied each chamber of this weapon.”  Roland lifted the weapon, showing it to Janine to verify that it was indeed empty.  “Now, you don’t seem to me to be the type of girl who enjoys games of chance; however, I find that, whenever the game is played for ones own life, one is far more willing to gamble.”

Roland looked to his other hand, in which the six bullets were resting.  He closed his hand around the ammunition, before turning it slightly to allow the bullets to drop from his palm: one, two, three, four, five bullets hit the concrete floor with a quiet, metallic sound.  The sixth bullet, Roland held up so that Janine would be able to see it.  She watched with wide, tear-filled eyes as Roland slid that single bullet into a chamber, before spinning the cylinder and closing the gun again.

“’Roulette,’ this game is commonly known as.  I believe that you are quite aware how this game is played, so without further ado…”

Roland lifted the handgun and pointed it directly at Janine’s nose.  The hot smell of sweat and urine filled the air as Janine’s panic grew; her entire body trembled so forcefully that the chair she had been bound to began creaking incessantly.

“I’ll go first,” Roland said with a smile, before turning the weapon on himself and touching the barrel to the side of his head.  He had no hesitation – he wasn’t afraid – he simply pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened – just an anti-climactic click of the hammer.

The gun was then turned on Janine again, and her green eyes were once again wide with fear.  This time, Roland leaned forward again to touch the barrel of the weapon to the tip of Janine’s nose.  Once again, he did not hesitate to pull the trigger.

Click.

“You know, this is the first time I have ever taken the time to play this game.”  Once again, Roland chuckled softly.  He looked down at the silver revolver, smiling faintly as he looked at his warped reflection in the weapon’s cylinder.  “Isn’t it exhilarating?”

The barrel was pressed to the side of Roland’s head again; he still wore his amused smile as he pulled the trigger.  He watched Janine tense, expectant of the loud gunshot, but there was none.

“That is three, dear Janine.  We are already half-way through with our little game.”

Janine was forced to close her left eye as Roland moved to touch the cold barrel to her eyelid.  Her whole body shook still, her lower lip quivered, and hot tears were still running down her cheeks.  She wanted desperately to speak, to beg Roland to have mercy, but that fucking ball-gag wouldn’t allow her to move her jaw even the slightest bit, without threatening to dislocate it.

She didn’t even hear the click of the fourth empty chamber over her tumultuous thoughts.  It wasn’t until the barrel was taken away from her eye that she realized she was still – somehow – alive.

“And that is four,” Roland said, his voice deceptively soft.  He turned the revolver back on himself, once again touching the barrel to his temple.

After blinking away her tears, Janine opened both of her eyes wide to watch Roland.  The creaking of her chair came to an end when she grew still – her life rested on the hope that that chamber was the home of that which would bring this morbid game to an end.

Click.

Janine’s body felt like jelly after that sound.  She sank down into her chair as far as her bondage would allow, and she closed her eyes as her panic was replaced with utter hopelessness.

“Such a fascinating game!” Roland said enthusiastically.  “It has brought such an interesting question to mind.”  Roland leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, as he looked the pretty young girl over.  “Will you die filled with shame because you are no better than me?”

Janine’s eyes fluttered open and she lifted her head weakly so that she could cast a questioning glance towards her captor.

“You, my dear, are every bit as evil as I.  You hoped – you prayed – that that last round would result in my death.  You wanted desperately to watch that small bullet bore into my skull, ultimately spilling my brains upon the concrete.  Janine, you would have been overjoyed to witness my death.  But now, it is time to bring this game to an end.”

She had thought that her death would be peaceful; she knew it was coming, and had come to accept it.  Roland’s words, however, made that prospect utterly impossible.  Panic swept into her curvy body again, bringing with it the trembling that caused the chair to creak so persistently, as she found herself agreeing with Roland.  She did want to watch Roland die.  Did that make her just as bad as her psychotic captor?

The barrel came to rest against the red sphere thrust so painfully between Janine’s teeth.  The girl went cross-eyed as she tried to watch the weapon, watch the tiny hammer that would end her life.

The barrel moved away from the gag, and Janine’s eyes were once again wide – this time with relief.  Was this madman having second thoughts?  Would she be saved by conscience?

Roland aimed the pistol lower and Janine strained hard against the ropes as the .45 caliber round buried itself into her stomach.  Immediately, her entire body felt cold, except for that grievous wound, which had become searing hot from her blood spilling out through it.

“I hate guns,” Roland said aloud as he tossed the weapon carelessly over his shoulder.  “They bring about death so quickly, so impersonally.  That instant between life and death is a beautiful thing, but it is so fleeting…  I want to watch you suffer, before you die.”

With red-clouded vision, Janine watched as Roland pulled a simple scalpel out of his chest pocket.

“Now, the real fun begins.”