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  Game Master

  D H Sidebottom

  Game Master

  D H Sidebottom

  Copyright © 2018 D H Sidebottom

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorised reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents:

  Day 1

  Day 2

  Day 3

  Day 4

  Day 5

  Day 6

  Day 7

  Day 8

  Day 12

  Day 13

  Day 15

  Day 18

  Day 19

  Day 20

  Day 21

  Day 23

  The End Square

  Epilogue

  It wasn’t fear or apprehension, nor weakness and defeat that took me a step closer to the end square.

  But the strength and courage to bite down hard and flip Satan the bird that determined I would be the one to reach it first.

  Day 1

  08:33

  Nessa

  The lights in the ceiling flicked on without warning. Instantaneously blinded by the fluorescent white glow, I placed my forearm over my eyes and groaned. Last night’s celebrations had taken their toll on me. I was thirty-one for Christ’s sake, my body couldn’t handle the volume of alcohol it once could.

  Nausea lay heavy in my stomach, and my head throbbed. My mouth was so dry I had difficulty peeling my tongue from the roof.

  “Never again,” I groaned.

  Squeezing my eyes closed to protect them from more pain, I delicately sat up.

  Something didn’t feel right. The mattress beneath me was too hard, and my feet didn’t touch the softness of carpet when I swung my legs over the edge.

  Bracing myself for the intrusion of light to my retinas, I slowly opened my eyes.

  Confusion made me draw a sharp breath as I looked around the unfamiliar room. Various hospital equipment, way past its use by date, fitted out the dirty, dilapidated room. Decaying white paint peeled away from the stonework as though contamination seeped through the walls and decimated it. The stench in the air made my sinuses sting and my belly vault, and I pulled the hem of my t-shirt over my mouth and nose.

  My legs faltered when I slid off the bed, and I grabbed onto the edge of the plastic mattress to stop my body from dropping to a heap on the floor.

  “Hello?”

  I wasn’t entirely sure if I was dreaming - or having a nightmare for that matter. After all, the measure of alcohol still clotting my bloodstream could be affecting my sleeping visions.

  “Hello?”

  I wasn’t really expecting a reply, but a part of me wanted to see if the sound of my own voice would rouse me from sleep. It didn’t. The nightmare continued, and it took a sinister turn when I turned my head to look behind me.

  “Jesus!”

  A man was bound to a chair. His head was down, his chin resting on his chest, but it was clear from the blood that caked his clothes that he was severely injured.

  Rushing over, I knelt on the floor to help him. Yet as I reached for him, my hands shook when I spotted the device secured to his chest.

  I couldn’t seem to breathe. My vision swam when my heart rate peaked with the bolt of adrenaline that rushed through me.

  I intuitively knew that the small box strapped to the man was a bomb. I’d never in my life seen one, but it didn’t take an expert on explosives to ascertain that it was most definitely a bomb.

  “Hello, Nessa.”

  It was then that I saw the electronic tablet sat on the man’s lap.

  And it was at that precise moment that I realised this indeed was a nightmare, but not one I had the luxury of sleeping through. This one was a living, breathing hell that dragged me kicking and screaming into its dark, dark depths.

  Day 1

  08:41

  “No. No. No!”

  My head shook as hard as my hands when I picked up the tablet and stared at the blurry image.

  “NO!”

  Undiluted fear took over every one of my senses, and when tears rolled from my eyes, I quickly brushed them away so that I didn’t lose focus.

  His voice came from the tiny speaker on the iPad once again, the tinny quality making it difficult to hear him. “Good morning, Dr Griffiths.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t expect you to.”

  A teardrop that had landed on the screen smeared my mother’s face, and I swiped at it with the hem of my sleeve so I could see her clearly. The sound of my sister’s weeping crushed my heart, and I stroked my finger over her image as she looked to my mother for help. “It’s okay, Carolyn. Don’t cry, baby.”

  “Shall we start?” he asked, the eerie calmness in his voice sending my instincts into red alert.

  “Start?”

  I stared at the four members of my family tied to chairs. I didn’t understand what was happening. Not a mere few hours ago I had been out celebrating my thirty-first birthday with friends. How had I got from there to here? It didn’t make any sense.

  The gasp that left me sounded foreign to my own ears when the device strapped to the man’s chest lit up.

  4:00

  “You have four hours, Dr Griffiths. The first game is somewhat special and worth double points.”

  Panic surged through me, immobilising me, when above my brother’s head a timer lit up, corresponding to the time on the bomb.

  “What the…” I gasped when the image of Sam, my little brother, disappeared and text scrolled across the screen.

  ‘It’s day one, and our game will now begin.

  Tell me, Dr Griffiths, do you have what it takes to win?

  Be a surgeon and take the knife,

  after all, you’re here to save a life.

  Will you locate the patient in time,

  and happen upon your second rhyme?’

  “Save Mr Fen, and you save your brother,” he said. “Now, if I were you, I’d hurry up.”

  Shooting upright I span in a circle, surveying the room for any sort of clue. Holding my hands out, I screamed, “Help me!”

  “The only person who can help you is sat in that chair next to you. You will need him for future games, Nessa. But as I consider myself a gentleman, I’ll give you a clue.”

  He was crazy. Totally and utterly certifiable. “This is insane!”

  “Are you a surgeon, or not? To save a life, you must save a life.”

  What the hell did that mean?

  I looked at the man still unconscious in the chair. Although he was brutally beaten, his injuries didn’t appear life-threatening. Did he expect me to perform surgery on the bomb?

  When I pressed two fingers to the side of Mr Fen’s neck, the voice through the iPad once more directed me. “You’re helping the wrong person, Dr Griffiths. I really thought you were more intelligent than this.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I am the Game Master.”

  3:51

  Terror was clouding my judgement, and taking a deep breath, I willed myself to calm down. The rapid thud of my heart was making me feel faint, and I needed to get myself under control.

  “I’ll be back as fast as I can,” I told Mr Fen, even i
f he couldn’t hear me.

  Snatching up the tablet, I took one last look at the riddle and the timer displayed beneath the text, opened the door, and stepped onto the game board.

  Day 1

  08:56

  The corridors were dimly lit as I ran through the old abandoned hospital hunting for the operating theatres. It was the only place I could think of if he intended me to perform surgery on someone. I was praying my intuition was correct, and that I wasn’t wasting precious time on a wild goose chase.

  It was like a rabbit warren, the once-useful signposts to direct visitors around the vast building now faded with time and dirt, and many times I found myself back at a place I’d already been.

  There had to be a generator powering the electricity, and I was grateful for that. Otherwise, it would be impossible to operate on someone.

  Glancing at the iPad, I checked the time.

  3:37

  Bursting through a set of doors at the end of one of the corridors, I breathed a sigh of relief when I arrived at a large lobby accommodating the operating theatres.

  The first two rooms I checked were empty and I wondered if I’d got the riddle completely wrong. However, when I stepped into the third room, my breath left my lungs with a velocity that left me winded.

  “You have to be kidding me!” I wheezed as I picked up the piece of paper sat on a countertop and read the words.

  ‘On your patient’s kidney, you will discover

  the code to save Mr Fen and your brother.

  Good or bad, I wonder which way you’ll stray,

  as it’s up to you if you replace what you take away.’

  “Oh, you’ll find out that I never joke,” the GM answered. I wasn’t quite sure how he heard me, but I already knew I’d never make sense of anything about him. I only knew he was one sick bastard, the body laid out on an operating table testament to that.

  “Now,” he continued. “As you can see, this poor unfortunate patient needs a kidney transplant, Dr Griffiths. You have all the equipment you need, and her new kidney is on ice in the box you can see to the side of the room.”

  “You’re fucking crazy!”

  He sighed loudly. “Oh, there’s a fine line between crazy and genius, Nessa. I know someone in your profession is highly aware of that fact. Now, back to the task at hand. Just giving her a new kidney won’t do, because the code you need to disarm the bomb is on the one remaining kidney inside your patient. You will need to remove it if you’re to save both your brother and Mr Fen.”

  I gagged, the horror from his sick and twisted game churning the bile in my stomach.

  “Of course,” he went on, “you can simply remove it and decide not to implant the new kidney. Her life is of no importance to you. You needn’t worry about it being a match, I’ve done my homework.”

  3:31

  “I can’t do a kidney transplant single-handed in three and a half hours! This is insane.”

  “Scrub up, Dr Griffiths. Time is of the essence.”

  Closing my eyes, I drew in a deep breath, urging myself to get a grip. I had to do this. I didn’t have any choice. Luckily for me, and the patient anaesthetised on the table, I was a damn good surgeon. Yet, performing a kidney transplant without a team severely lessened the odds of succeeding.

  Although there was hand sanitiser, there were no gloves to be found. I just prayed the GM’s depravity hadn’t given me a patient infected with hepatitis. It wouldn’t surprise me. Still, with no choice but to play his game, I picked up the scalpel and began Game One.

  Day 1

  09.21

  Checking the obs on my patient, I was happy to proceed. Well, happy wasn’t quite the right term. But her vitals were stable, and after ensuring she was adequately anaesthetised, I positioned the scalpel at her lower abdomen where she had previously been opened up – and very recently. My hands shook, and I clenched my teeth, willing the adrenaline to piss off.

  “How about some music?” The GM’s voice filled the eerie silence, making me jump. “After all, it’s how you like to work, isn’t it?”

  I didn’t have time to contemplate how he knew that, but when the quiet of the clinical but dismal theatre was filled with the sound of Halestorm, one of my favourite bands, I finally felt myself start to relax a little. I found it ironic that the song was Mz Hyde, but I couldn’t dwell on his sick sense of humour.

  It was ridiculous, working alone, and many times I found myself instinctively asking the otherwise empty room for different instruments, frustration settling in when I didn’t feel the pressure of an implement being laid in my open palm. I was continuously aware of the time, and as well as checking the patient’s statistics, I was incessantly clock watching. Time was my enemy, in more ways than one, and without the aid of a team, I found the minutes quickly ticking by.

  2:47

  I stared at the kidney when I removed it. Three numbers were branded on the organ like a barcode, the price tag of my brother’s and Mr Fen’s lives sickeningly stamped on a poor woman’s kidney. Although, on inspecting the organ it was evident she really was in need of a transplant. I was confused further. Had he explicitly chosen this woman knowing she would die if she didn’t receive this new kidney? Did that make him sicker, or empathetic?

  I didn’t have time to deliberate the mind of a madman and forcing myself to focus, I picked up the new kidney and got back to work.

  0:17

  Blowing out a breath when I sutured the final stitch, I took a step back and ensured all the patient's obs were fine.

  “I’m so sorry,” I told her, even though I knew she couldn’t hear me. “I’ll have to come back and check you over later.”

  “I’ll make sure she is taken care of. Well done, Dr Griffiths,” the Game Master stated through the iPad. “Now, if I were you, I’d run!”

  Memorising the three numbers, I threw the kidney into the sink, and I fucking ran.

  0:06

  My hands were shaking so hard that I struggled to input the code. The small touchscreen was hard to read when the blood from my fingers smudged the display.

  7

  2

  0:02

  9

  The countdown stopped on the final minute. As did the timer on Sam’s life.

  Turning to the side, I vomited, retching up horror and relief and anger. My eyes watered with the force of each heave and I clung to my stomach with the pain that gnawed at my insides.

  Depravity had burrowed under my skin and infected every single cell that ran through my veins. Pollution slithered deep, poisoning what I would need to survive this. My own body attacked me from the inside out, repugnance impatient to purge the evil from within me. Disgust seeped through my pores, eager for escape. I only wished my mind had such an easy way to bolt from the horror that awaited me.

  Finally, Mr Fen lifted his head. His matted hair fell to the side, partially covering his beaten face, and he stared straight at me. In a vain attempt to lick his dry lips, he gave up and swallowed. “Are you real?” he asked, his voice broken from pain.

  I wasn’t sure if I could answer his question.

  My hands shook as I looked down at them. Blood coated my skin, and a sliver of fleshy tissue protruded from underneath my fingernail.

  Finally, my mind cracked. Falling to my knees, I screamed to the Game Master, begged him to hear the agony in my despair. I knew he listened. He was always listening.

  He had fired the starting pistol on our first game, and like a pawn on a chequerboard, I had made my very first move.

  Day 1

  12:53

  Mr Fen slowly looked me up and down, his gaze stopping at my bloody hands before his eyes shot back up to my face. “Shit, are you okay?”

  I nodded. “It’s not my blood.”

  He frowned, but I guessed he sensed my despair because he didn’t question me. Instead, he gave me a small smile. “I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but do you think you can untie me?”

  “Sorry, of cour
se.”

  I hurried around him and pulled at the knotted rope. He groaned and rubbed his sore wrists. “Thank you.”

  “Caelan Fen, meet Dr Vanessa Griffiths,” the Game Master introduced us as if we were at a simple dinner party.

  Caelan frowned and looked down at the iPad that had fallen to the floor when I had vomited. “What the hell?”

  “He’s the Game Master,” I whispered as I bent to pick it up. My throat was sore from being sick, and the taste in my mouth wasn’t helping to settle the queasiness that churned in my gut.

  “Now,” the GM spoke, gaining both mine and Caelan’s attention. “As promised, Nessa.”

  A choked sob left me when I watched the screen and saw a figure in black walk towards Sam. The terror on my brother’s face as he looked up at the man with wide terrified eyes had my knees buckling. Luckily, Caelan caught me before I fell.

  I tried desperately to get a better look at the person, but he wore a balaclava. His eyes were the only part of him visible, and he never looked towards the camera once.

  Sam was untied, then helped up before being led away. Caelan held me when I broke and wept, relief for Sam mixing with fear for my parents and my sister.

  “For obvious reasons,” the GM spoke again, “Sam won’t be released just yet, but I give you my word that he will be taken care of until the end of our game, Dr Griffiths.”

  “Your word!” I exclaimed. “Forgive me if I don’t hold one iota of trust where your bloody word is concerned. He’s eight years old, you sick fuck!”