L. Sellers - The Gauntlet Assassin

Had it been present in any of last year’s Puzzles?

A small metal table and plain wooden stool occupied the middle of the room. The table held an assortment of items, but nothing that would plug into the wall socket.

Lara spun and examined the door. A small wave of panic rose in her throat. There was nothing on the wall this year! No key mechanism, no coded fingerpad. In past Puzzles, contestants had used the provided items to create keys that would unlock the door. Crap . They’d made it harder.

She ran to the door and tapped along the perimeter, just in case appearances were deceptive. No luck. She spun back and took five strides to the table. Her heart sank as she inventoried her tools: a short piece of thin nylon cord, a straw hat, a tube of chapstick, a tube of superglue, a bar of soap, a stick of gum, a clump of steel wool, and a room key card.

Oh hell .

For a moment her mind went blank, the stress and fatigue of the last few days making her feel overwhelmed. Lara forced herself to focus, looking at each item and determining its properties. The glue and gum each had sticking power, but what was she supposed to stick together? The soap and the chapstick could be molded, but into what? The hat made no sense at all, simply a distraction. Lara decided to approach the Puzzle backward. The door was electrical and would only open by triggering an electrical mechanism. She glanced at the wall socket. Was she supposed to stick something in there? It couldn’t be that simple. Past Puzzles had required using multiple items.

The recessed florescent lights were the only other things that were electrical. Should she break through their thin plastic barrier, looking for a switch? That would require putting the stool on the table and dragging the combination around the perimeter of the room until she found the switch. There wasn’t a switch, she told herself. That went against the nature of the Puzzle. Lara hurried to the wall with the outlet and began to scan up and down. She moved quickly around the room, scanning for small bumps, recessions, anything. The walls were perfectly smooth.

She ran her eyes across the ceiling and stopped directly in the middle. A faint circle about four inches in diameter was visible in the vast unbroken white. What could it be? A recessed ceiling sprinkler? Why would a Puzzle room need a sprinkler? The only thing that triggered a sprinkler was heat from a fire.

Four minutes had likely passed. If she wanted to win this, she had to take a chance and get out in the next two minutes.

It was time to start a fire.

She grabbed the superglue and dumped it on the brim of the straw hat. With her free hand, she picked up the hat and the baseball-sized wad of steel wool and ran for the electrical outlet.

Crap! She still had to get the cover plate off. She set down her items, ran back to the table, and snatched up the hard plastic credit-type card.

Kneeling on the floor in front of the outlet, she used the corner of the card to loosen the tiny flat-head screws and pull off the electrical cover. Lara grabbed the double socket mechanism and tugged it gently away from the wall, where it was still attached by electrical wiring. She begged the universe not to shock her and yanked the wires free from the outlet.

Letting out the breath she’d been holding, Lara grabbed the steel wool and shoved the two metal ends of the wiring into the wool, forcing them to touch. A tiny spark lit the fine gray threads on fire. Yes!

Lara pressed the burning wool ball against the brim of the superglue-soaked hat. It ignited in a foul-smelling flame. Now she needed to keep it burning long enough to set off the sprinkler. She hurried to the table, and with her free hand, hoisted the stool onto the surface.

Burning hat in one hand, Lara jumped up on the table, aware of the viewers watching her for the first time since she’d entered the cube. Yes, it was awkward and weird, but she was getting out. She climbed on the stool and her weight made it slide toward the edge. She eased off and tried again, moving more carefully.

She climbed to the seat of the stool and kneeled on the flat surface. She held the burning stinking hat to the faint circle in the ceiling. A weird laugh escaped her throat. If she was wrong, not only would she look ridiculous to the viewers, but she might catch the stool on fire and have to be rescued from the room.

Before she could regret her actions, the circle popped out of the ceiling and a chrome sprinkler head dropped down. Water sprayed out, soaking her face and dampening the flame on the hat. For a moment, she froze, getting wet and feeling stupid.

Behind her, the door zipped open.

“Yes!”

Lara slid down from the stool, jumped off the table, and charged out of the cube. Minda and her crew were exactly where she’d left them, watching the live feed from the room and giving a running commentary for the viewers.

Lara glanced up at the scoreboard for her time: 5:36!

Four and a half months earlier: Wed., Jan. 18

After Isabel’s funeral service, Paul went in to work because he couldn’t bear to be alone in his apartment for another minute. His safety net was gone, but he vowed to toughen up and become his own support system. As he neared his office, Camille greeted him in the hallway with a hug. Paul was so overwhelmed by her comfort and the full-body contact he nearly started to cry. Had anyone but Isabel ever hugged him?

Camille stepped back. “You should have taken the day off.”

“I’m fine. But thank you. My foster mother was my best friend and I’ll miss her.”

“You’ve got me as a friend.” Camille smiled and went into her office.

Paul decided it was time to ask her out on a real dinner date. Would it seem like a sympathy move? In some ways it was, but he could live with that. He would ask her later that afternoon.

The day passed quickly and Paul worked through his lunch hour to make up some of the time he’d missed recently. He took a MetaboSlim and drank a can of V8, his new lunch program until he lost another fifteen pounds.

Around four, Camille came to his office to ask about a procedure for new employees. He wondered why she hadn’t just sent a message. That’s what everyone else did. Nobody walked around the office unless they had to. Was she coming on to him? Paul could barely concentrate on her question. It was time to ask her out.

Paul stood, wanting to look her in the eye. “Will you have dinner with me tomorrow? I know it’s last minute, and it doesn’t have to be tomorrow, but I’d like to spend more time with you.” Paul kicked himself for not keeping it simple.

She bit her lip, thinking. “I have plans for tomorrow, but next Friday, I’m having dinner with some friends at Perry’s and you’re welcome to join us. We have room in the reservation.”

“I’d love to. What time?”

“Seven-thirty. Shall we carpool?”

“Sure.” Paul’s heart hammered with excitement. “Shall I pick you up?”

“I’d rather drive, if that’s okay.”

“Sure. I’m in the Potomac Towers. Number 37.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Paul watched her walk out, too excited to even think about her gorgeous butt. He had a real date! He wished it would be just the two of them, but it was still a step forward. Camille was taking it slow and he didn’t blame her. He was still a work in progress. Paul touched his nose reflexively. The swelling was gone and he could finally see his new normal. Plus he was down fifteen pounds and had an appointment to have his front teeth capped next week.

He’d never been to the restaurant she’d mentioned so he keyed it into the AmGo search engine. The sushi menu disappointed him and the prices were startling. Could he afford to date Camille? How did she afford such restaurants on her salary?