Now.
It was a matter of getting Owen closer to Aldiss and his chair. But how? Owen was just inside the door, at least ten feet from the professor. Alex squinted into the darkness, looking for something, anything she could use as a weapon. As she was doing this a memory descended. Another dark room, another desperate situation. She knew how to beat him.
“I understand, Matthew,” Alex rasped, her throat searing with pain.
He looked at her. He was so close she could taste his breath.
“Do you?”
“Yes, I do,” she said, trying to move him, to gently steer him toward Aldiss. “I know how it is, to be great at something. To be dominant. I know how good you are at the Procedure. How expert. And I also know what you want.”
This confused him. His shoulders dropped, the beam swinging wildly onto the concrete wall. “And what do I want?”
“To win.”
His eyes flashed. She’d been right.
“You want to be the best to ever play the Procedure. Better than any of Benjamin Locke’s Iowans, better than Aldiss or any of us who took the night class.” She paused, tried another step. Another inch toward Aldiss. “Everything that’s happened on this campus—it’s all about the game. Ending it. Finishing it forever.”
“You know nothing,” he said. But she knew this wasn’t true. Knew she had struck something, found a hidden part of him. Just a little farther now.
She strained against him. Pushed him so that he tripped over her feet, grabbed at her and yanked her back against him. “Bad girl,” he said, smiling—but then he saw where he was in the room. Saw how close he was to Aldiss. He froze. The light tipped up on her, washed over her face. Blinded her.
Owen was unmovable now. He had her in his grasp, was pulling her to him as if they were in a cruel and brutal dance. Again he began to squeeze the life out of her.
How long? How long until everything went black?
She opened her mouth but the pressure was too much, the air winding out of her, the light bouncing in her periphery like a bad reception.
“And I liked you, Alex,” Owen was saying, his voice muffled, fuzzy. “I liked your company in the house. You were different from the others. Sharper.” She closed her eyes.
No. It doesn’t end like this. It can’t.
She screamed. She wrenched her body to the left, and Owen released some pressure. Enough for her to put in one quick, short breath. And her eyes opened. When they did she saw the classroom door. She saw the man walking through it.
Keller.
Owen tried to turn, but he was too late. Keller planted and drove, and just as he did Alex jumped out of the way. Keller hit Owen full-on, a lineman’s block square in the chest, knocking him back. Just a foot or two, just enough.
Just enough for Alex to remove the gun. She had tucked it in the waistband of her pants earlier, before leaving the room. Before Frank Marsden and any of this.
“You bitch,” Owen shouted. “You fucking whore.”
She fired. One shot. The sound of it surprised her: it wasn’t loud, wasn’t deafening, more of a small pop that elicited only a simple reaction. Owen’s eyes widened. He looked down, saw the bloom of black blood on his shirt. His eyes were angry now, his jaw fierce and set, and he stepped forward—
But he was stuck. Trapped.
Aldiss had him.
Owen tried to pull himself free but it was no use. The professor had a clump of his shirt, and when he pulled, Owen came down on the chair, toppling it. Both Owen and Aldiss went to the floor, then, but Aldiss was on top, his free hand grabbing at Owen’s face. Alex looked away as Owen screamed.
Then Keller was leading her away, into the hallway and up the stairs.