Book Six, Chapter 53: Kimberly Interlude

~Kimberly~

I had been Off-Screen too long; every second counted now.

Riley was gone, and I had no doubt where he’d be headed. He would climb to the rooftop, where the image of a red fire axe would mark the final battle. It was the only place Riley would go, assuming that monster, Daphne, would let him.

From the moment we arrived in this twisted storyline, something about Daphne Sinclair unsettled me deeply. My instincts kept whispering conflicting warnings, but no matter how closely I watched her, I couldn’t catch her slipping. At first, I’d assumed she was merely manipulating Riley, exploiting his love. But that didn’t quite fit, and my doubts wouldn’t quiet.

I watched every calculated smile, every choreographed laugh as Daphne charmed our teammates. Even when Social Awareness screamed that she was acting contrary to her true character, hiding her true relationships. It was like watching a perfect, terrible dance, one I couldn’t interrupt.

What good was I, a supposedly natural-born people person, if I couldn’t spot the impostor among us? I wasn’t a detective, but I trusted myself to read the room. How had I let a murderer into our circle? I should have spoken up on my suspicions sooner. Would Logan still be here if I’d had the courage? Would Ramona?

Riley would blame himself, as he always did, for falling into Daphne’s carefully spun web, as if he should have somehow outsmarted whatever trope had fooled us all.

If anything, he snapped out of her spell fast, faster than I had in some ways, but that didn’t surprise me. Riley’s walls were always thick, his emotions guarded. Even under Daphne’s control, he’d seemed distant, performing his love rather than feeling it.

And she had noticed it too. She looked at him with profound rejection, waiting for him to stare deeply into her eyes while he was distracted by the game.

But the truth was out now, and my suspicion had turned to fury. I guided Andrew quickly into a safe room, a simple supply closet on the third floor, out of harm’s way for now.

What kind of overpowered trope would let you poison someone without having to physically do it? How was it fair for her to have that?

I had tried to help Emmett the blackmailer escape, too, but he refused to leave his wife’s side at first. When I finally convinced him to break away, he collapsed not far into our escape, as if all of his Grit had left him at once. The floodwaters took him, and there was nothing I could do.

It was probably out of character to even attempt to help a thief, given the backstory my trope, Obsessed Survivor, had given me.

Carousel was playing with me, testing me. Teasing my character’s memories, her trauma, dangling it in front of me like bait. All I could do was follow along.

With Andrew hidden away, I flung open the stairwell door, desperate to climb upwards, but instead, I froze. There were no stairs. Carousel had set a different scene entirely, a memory from my character’s past. A bank robbery that she was a hostage of.

Not now! I protested silently.

This had happened four times already, opening doors in the hotel or casino and walking into the past instead of the present. In this storyline, it was hard to show my backstory, so Carousel had gotten fancy.

This was the last flashback. I knew it instinctively. There was no time for more.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped into my character’s past.

I saw the younger version of my character, a trembling fifteen-year-old girl, crying softly on a polished marble floor, wrists bound tightly behind her. She was played by an NPC, not some de-aged version of me.

Beside her knelt a young man, her older brother according to the red wallpaper’s blunt description: “Kimberley’s Brother.” He was tied as well, but somehow calm, whispering gentle reassurances to the frightened teenager.

“It’s okay, Kimmy,” he kept repeating, his voice firm and steady. “Just stay quiet, stay calm. Don’t give them any reason to notice us.”

But I knew the robbers. I’d seen them before in a previous storyline, Permanent Vacancy. Carousel had cast familiar villains as NPCs in this twisted scenario, mocking me, daring me to react. Merrit Speirs, professional and methodical, moved among the hostages, attempting to manage his unstable brother Bradley, whose unmasked face betrayed violent urges barely contained.

Two NPC hostages already lay dead, blood pooling grotesquely beneath them on the shining tile. Bradley had murdered the first hostage in a previous flashback under a flimsy pretense: “he reached for something.” The second had panicked and tried to flee, cut down instantly, a grim lesson for everyone else.

This book’s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Carousel had made me watch every unnerving scene from this terrible memory. Each one attempted to teach the same brutal lesson: compliance with monsters led to survival.

But standing here now, watching this carefully constructed scene, I saw clearly that Bradley’s patience was frayed to breaking. The promise of safety through obedience was a lie. Something terrible was about to happen, something that would tear my character’s world apart.

This wasn’t my past, but it was my burden. Carousel wanted me to understand her fear, to play my role perfectly, to be an obsessed survivor.

I wasn’t afraid. I was angry.

And anger was something I could use.

The final memory played out in front of me. The robbers, Merrit barking tense instructions, Bradley pacing like a caged animal, argued sharply now. It was clear they’d gotten what they came for, heavy bags bulging with cash stacked at their feet. Yet Bradley wasn’t satisfied. His rage simmered just beneath the surface, his hand constantly twitching toward the pistol at his hip.

“We need to move,” Merrit hissed, trying to keep control. “The cops will be here soon.”

But Bradley ignored his brother’s warnings, prowling near the remaining hostages with a disturbing look in his eyes. He seemed to be looking for an excuse, a justification to unleash the violence crackling inside him.

My character’s brother sensed it too. He shifted protectively closer, whispering urgently again, “Kimmy, stay calm, no sudden moves. Just breathe.”