Page 29 of The Player
“We’re more like the three wise monkeys, see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.”
“But there’s only two of us.” He smirked.
“Three, if you include your ego,” I spat back.
Suddenly, the hatch near the floor opened and two water bottles rolled across the floor, followed by a paper plate with two slices of toast on it.
“Hey, open the fucking door!” I shouted, marching over to where the hatch that’d shut as fast as it opened was and pounding on the wall above it. “Come in and face us, you fucking coward!”
I stood banging and pounding on the concrete until tiredness and the futility of it all made me give up.
Turning and leaning against the wall, feeling helpless, I watched as Will bent down, opened a bottle, took a swig, then passed it to me. Seems his preservation techniques from the night before were still on red alert.
“Thanks,” I said, taking it from him and downing the cold liquid, closing my eyes and savouring how good it felt on my sore, scratchy throat.
“It might not look like it, but today is a good day,” Will announced drily. “He’s fed us again. He still wants us alive.” He shrugged, reaching for the plate on the floor.
“Yep,” I uttered to myself. “We’re the perfect fatted calves.”
“Maybe we can use the paper plates,” Will piped up, taking a bite of a piece of toast and handing it to me.
“For what? Makeshift fans to keep us cool?”
“For weapons.” He rolled his eyes, but so did I.
What the fuck was he on about?
Will took his piece of toast, put it on the mattress and started to roll the plate tightly.
“Years ago, my grandfather told me he always carried a rolled-up newspaper around with him. Whenever he was in a rough neighbourhood, he’d use it as a weapon. If it’s rolled up tight enough, it’s as hard as wood.” As if to prove his point, Will jabbed the edge of the rolled-up plate into his palm. “See? A deadly weapon made just for you.” He leaned forward, passing it to me, and I took it, twisting it in my hand.
“Great. The perfect weapon. Until it gets wet or meets an opponent that isn’t made of fucking jelly.”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re a pessimist?” Will arched his brow.
“No,” I snapped. “But being held hostage kind of brings that hidden side out of me.”
“It could be worse,” Will said, giving me a look that told me he thought I should think more like him.
“How could any of this be worse?”
“We could be chained up. Shackled together. Chained to walls, strung up and hanging or some medieval shit like that.”
He had a point.
“Yeah. That would be worse.”
In that moment, extra light from the corner of the room drew our attention away from our pointless bickering and towards the TV that flickered to life.
“Hold that thought,” I said, walking over to be closer to Will. “I think things are about to take a turn for the worse.”
ChapterThirteen
WILL
She was like a pendulum, swinging from one emotion to the other. None of them helping her. All it was doing was making her worse. She hadn’t reached the manic stage yet, but if I didn’t step in, it’d come soon.
At the moment, she was panicking. I couldn’t blame her. Nobody knows how they’d react in circumstances like this—most normal people, anyway.
