“What?” Christian asks.
“It’s Switzerland that’s neutral, not Sweden.”
“Thanks, Professor.” Christian tries to make it flirty—maybe he does have a shot with her—but she looks away, biting one of her manicured nails. She doesn’t look happy.
She isn’t. Jaden seemed like the best choice. But looking at the other Ava, strong and angry and flanked by the only nice guys here, she wonders. No, she doesn’t wonder. She knows. She’s dated a dozen Jadens, and they’re all the same, and it always ends the same way. He’ll betray her out there, on a day close to the end, when he can’t get anyone else out.
She knows it. She can feel it coming. But leaving him now wouldn’t change that. So she laughs. “It’s a game, remember, guys?”
“Mack, you’re on our team, right?” Brandon asks, hopeful.
Mack lies on her side, curls around her own emptiness, and falls into sleep like stepping off a ledge.
* * *
—
Beautiful Ava wasn’t quite right that first day, but she can be forgiven for not seeing what she was certainly not meant to see.
There are cameras. One in the building in the center of the park, though no one ever watches that feed unless they absolutely have to. One on each of the towers, but starting tomorrow the fence will be on and the towers will be manned, so the cameras are redundant. There’s another one trained on the camp site, grainy green night vision capturing the argument. Linda was correct in assuming she shouldn’t go back today. They’ll realize soon enough what’s happening. Maybe some of them already feel it, but they’re still clinging to the hope that they don’t know something is wrong.
And then there’s the point where no amount of pretending can hide them from the truth. It’s an ugly, desperate, messy time, and she prefers to watch from a distance from here on out.
She puckers her thin, deeply lined lips as she reapplies her lipstick to get ready for the meeting. Only a few more days. She lowers the volume on the screen, lets their arguments become white noise. She can be grateful for them, spend this time as witness in honor of what they are doing, without having to actually listen. This is the only camera feed she ever looks at. She’s the one who brought in the contestants—she still thinks of them as contestants, because it’s an easier word to say and swallow and digest—and so she will watch as they disappear. But there’s no reason to be gruesome about it. The other cameras are not for her.
Her face is as good as it’s going to get. She’s old, and she hates that they have these meetings at night. But she understands it, too. Night is calmer. Night is safe. The tension during the day—knowing what’s out there, what’s happening—makes the meetings too fraught.
She climbs into her car and steers it like a boat through the river of darkness to the spa. She’s the first to arrive. Of course she is. She unlocks the door, marching straight to the conference room, right past Tommy Callas’s smug portrait and the empty safe it hides.
She takes her seat next to the head of the table, glaring at the empty chairs. Her family made the gate. Her mother created the Amazement Park. And Linda figured out how to keep things working after it closed. How to run this stupid game. But by all means, save those spots for the Callas heirs.
As though summoned by her resentment, Ray and his cousin Gary amble in. Ray sets a carafe of coffee in the center of the table, the scent dark and bitter. Linda wrinkles her nose. Who drinks coffee at this time of night? The least they could have done is bring something nice. But the least they could do is more than they ever actually do.
Ray and Gary take their seats at the head of the table. “Chuck’s coming,” Ray grunts.
Linda musters up some sort of smile to flash in response. “Good,” she says, biting off the word. By all means. Another Callas. She glances at the chair next to herself, the one reserved for another Nicely representative. It’ll stay empty. Her daughter hasn’t returned her calls in months.
The others fill in. Weepy Karen Stratton, the only family volunteer for spa duty, sets up several iPads in front of empty chairs for the Frye, Pulsipher, and Young representatives. Linda catches herself grinding her teeth, remembers what the dentist said about wearing away what little enamel she has left on her remaining teeth. Puts on a smile instead.
“Shall we begin?” she says, as Chuck usurps the Nicely seat next to her, a vision of things to come.
“Why do they get to call in?” Chuck nods toward the iPads.