The Game by L.P. Lovell

24

The afternoon drags on. Meeting after meeting. Me pretending to be Tobias’s assistant and having to watch women stare at him while they most likely fantasize about someone who belongs to me.

Belongs to me… God, I’m losing it.

The last meeting adjourns and Tobias and I leave the office, meeting Preston on the street.

“So, Ella…” Tobias lights a cigarette. “What do you think of murder?”

“I...” What do I even say to that? I've learned with them not to elaborate too much, to keep my answers short and closed to probing. “I think it's illegal.”

Tobias’s gaze shifts from me to Preston, the smoke curling from his lips reminding me of the devil. “Do you think people who commit murder should be punished?”

There's always a right and wrong answer with Tobias. The trick is knowing which is which because I think he wants me to answer wrong. “Yes,” I say.

Preston’s arm wraps around me as we maneuver between the throngs of office workers leaving work for the day. “How do you think they should be punished, sweet Ella?”

I feel as though the answer to this question is obvious, but nothing with them is ever as it seems. “I think they should suffer the same fate.”

“So you would murder a murderer?” Preston asks.

It feels like a trick question, but I couldn’t murder anyone. Not directly anyway. I didn’t mean to kill that homeless man. “No.”

We turn the corner, passing through the crowd emerging from the subway. “So, if given the chance,” Tobias says. “You'd let a murderer walk free?”

“No…”

“Let me rephrase it. If you knew you could save a hundred people's lives by slitting a single man's throat, would you do it?”

“And if you don't,” Preston adds. “Those hundred people die.”

“Would you not be a murderer either way, little lamb?” Tobias laughs, twirling a strand of my hair around his finger. “Or, like yesterday, would you absolve yourself of guilt and responsibility and let fate take its course? After all, not everyone is a hero, Ella. Not everyone is superior.”

We stop at a crosswalk and Preston pulls me close to his side. “Don't worry, Ella. It's only a hypothetical question.”

Only a question. Is anything ever only a question with them? “I suppose, in theory, I would kill the one man.”

“How, in theory, would you take his life?” The sick smile settling on Tobias’s lips makes me anxious. Why is he asking me this? Nothing they do or say is ever without reason, without a point.

“In theory...” This isn't theory though; it never is with them. They don't waste words on pointless conversation. “I’d choose a humane way.”

“And what exactly is a humane way to murder someone? In theory, of course,” Preston adds. The crosswalk changes from red to green and we cross through the middle of Manhattan. People are all around us, and these two are asking me how I would murder someone, smiling as though we're discussing our evening plans.

I think about it. I would choose something without much pain. Something without gore. Poison maybe? But that can take a long time to take effect. I think of how I would want my life to be taken from me if I had to. I’d want peace. I wouldn’t want to be aware. “Carbon Monoxide poisoning,” I finally say. “It’s a way I would choose for myself if I had to make a choice.”

When I glance up at Preston he lifts a surprised eyebrow.

Tobias simply laughs. “How thoughtful of you, little lamb. I'll keep that in mind.” He winks before striding forward, parting the crowded sidewalk. That isn’t unsettling at all…

Preston and I follow in our master’s wake until we reach the limo that seems to always be waiting wherever we go.

* * *

The car dropsus outside St. Matthew's Hospital. Of all the places for them to bring me, this seems unlikely, and the suspicion has me on edge.

The sterile smell of cleaner and bleached sheets hangs heavy in the air when we step inside. “Curious, sweet Ella?”

“I live in a constant state of curiosity with you two.”

“Makes life exciting, doesn't it?” A wild smile flickers across his face.

Tobias stops in the middle of the two-story atrium, a charming smile on his lips as he speaks to a group of men in white coats. They smile back, drawn into the trap so easily. They see Tobias’s polished veneer and buy the lie, but Tobias is a lion parading as a house cat. I once read that serial killers and businessmen share personality traits, and I completely believe it. Tobias is somewhere between a god and a genius, and Preston… He's right there beside him. The devil's beautiful right-hand man, his loyal counterpart. His perfect match.

When we stop behind Tobias, one of the doctors looks at Preston. “Yours and Mr. Benton’s contributions are greatly appreciated. These children's families would be lost without it. It's very generous of you both.”

“It's only money.” Tobias smiles, and while that smile seems genuine, I know there's more to it. Something sick and twisted. Dark and depraved.

We’re guided up to the 8th floor where we’re asked to scrub up and put on gowns, masks, and gloves. Then the doctor shows us around the wards complete with new plasma TVs and game consoles—ones I’m assuming Tobias and Preston’s donations bought.

The question of why they brought me here itches in the back of my mind. None of this makes sense, though I fear it will all too soon. I’ve learned to live in a constant state of hope for the best and prepare for the worst.

We leave the empty wing and turn by the nurse’s station. “There's someone I would like you to meet, little lamb,” Tobias says, stopping in front of a patient’s room. He taps on the half open door and we’re invited in.

My chest tightens when my gaze lands on the fragile little boy asleep in the hospital bed. There’s a tangle of tubes hanging from his IV pole and oxygen shoved in his nose. A woman I assume is his mother sits in the recliner beside him. It’s obvious from the dark circles below her eyes and splotchy cheeks she’s been crying.

“How is he?” Tobias whispers. The conviction in his voice nearly breaks me.

“The study drug didn’t work. They've given him a few weeks at best.” And then she breaks into tears.

Tobias sits on the edge of the bed and places his hand on the boy’s arm—Thomas, according to the sign decorating his hospital room wall.

The little boy’s eyes slowly open.” Mr. Tobias!”

“Hey, little man.”

“Superman came to see me.”

Tobias chuckles. “The real superman.”

I’ve never seen Tobias seem so genuine and it’s jarring. Now I feel horrible for wondering if this is all just a twisted part of the game, some ploy to screw with my head. It’s obviously not.

Thomas attempts to push up in the bed a little but doesn’t get very far. “And he told me I was the strongest little boy he'd ever met.”

“I believe that,” Tobias says quietly.

A soft sob breaks from the boy’s mother. I want to offer her a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold, but I'm a stranger. Her child is dying, and no amount of support will ever make this right. Thomas continues to tell Tobias about his visit with Superman. I can’t help but wonder how the little boy manages to find happiness when his situation seems so grim. The lump in my throat swells until swallowing around it hurts. I have no right to the tears welling in my eyes, which is why I quietly slip out the door and into the waiting room. Removing my mask, I fight the emotions swarming inside me as I head to the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city. It’s not fair when children die. The tears that creep from my eyes make me feel like a fraud because I’m not the one losing a child, and I have no right to that woman’s grief. I swipe at the tears and turn from the window, my gaze landing right on the fancy gold and black plaque on the wall: The Benton and Lucas BMT Unit.

Philanthropists, donors...and buyers of women.