Page 67 of His Twisted Game
I couldn’t exactly say,Our boss said he murdered his own father.So I changed the subject: “So this coroner doesn’t have a record?”
“Which means,” she paused, “either the coroner is just as private as the Feldmans, or someone is hiding somethingverynefarious.”
Sawyer had said the words plainly like he had nothing to hide:I killed him.Sawyer was strange, and sometimes, he seemed sadistic. There was a strange undercurrent of violence to him, like he expected to own everything, even if he had to kill to get what he wanted.
But Sawyer had never hurt me or threatened my life. Not like that, anyway.
Was he joking? Or had he been completely serious this entire time?
Part of success is knowing when you need to ask for help,he had said.
I glanced at my desk drawer, thinking of the files in there.
I needed her help to open the file. I didn’t have to share it with her.
“Can you help me figure out how to open this thing?” I asked. I grabbed the two small metal devices, holding them up to the light. “It’s encrypted or something. Nothing I’ve tried has worked.”
“NowthatI can tinker with,” she said. “I knew these technology skills would come in handy somewhere.” She slid them both into the open slots in the computer tower. “Not much to work with here, but if my login back at my old job still works—” she paused, opening up a new page.Diametric Focus Hub.It sounded familiar, though I didn’t know why. She logged in.
A black screen appeared. Green characters popped up as she typed, but the actual content was in some sort of programming language. I watched her like a hawk, wishing I could follow what she was doing. The computer beeped and she groaned. “Plan B,” she said. Next, she tried another program, shifting through her old work’s database, but when that didn’t work, she snapped her head up straight. “Third time’s the charm.” She tried another option, and finally, a window popped open.
A single video file. A series of numbers and a name.
Erica reached to click the item and I jumped in front of her.
“Let me look at it first,” I said.
“What is it?”
I wrinkled my nose. “It’s private.”
“I mean, if you’re using encryption software, it is definitely private,” she said, side-eying me. “But you asked for my help. Can’t you at least tell me what it is?”
I almost wished I could tell her, but I honestly had no idea. And ‘a work video’ might inspire her to ask more questions.
“It’s my little sister’s diary,” I lied.Sorry, Elaine.
“And she encrypts her diary?”
“She wasextremelyprivate.”
“And she’s going to talk about boys, then. It’ll be hilarious.”
I used the only thing that I knew would get her to stop pestering me: “It’s my dead sister.”
She sighed. “Geez, Fi.”
“I’m serious,” I pleaded. “Can I at least watch it by myself first?”
“Suit yourself.”
As a set of patrons formed a line at checkout, Erica disappeared to the front desk and I made sure that the other part-time assistant was occupied. I popped in my earbuds, then double-clicked the screen.
A video player popped up. A man dressed from head to toe in black crossed in front of the lens, circling a man on his knees, his hands tied behind his back, a cloth gag in his throat. The man in black’s gloved hands shook two red dice, then let them fall to the ground. Words were murmured. The victim on his knees mumbled, his voice shrouded by the cloth, and the man in black bent down, using the knife to cut it off, slicing through his cheek.
You can’t do this,the victim said.Please. I’m begging you. I have money. Land. You can have it. I’ll pay you double what they paid you. I’ll—
The man in black’s voice murmured, and the victim’s bottom lip quivered.Please,he cried.Please. I don’t. I don’t—
