Chapter 3 - Stuck

Brian De'Mara [1]

Chapter 3 - Stuck

-Earlier that day , Brian De'Mara-

My eyelids felt very heavy but my mind was clear. Whatever sleep I can have is precious. The others think that it is going to be a getaway.

HAH! Fat chance.

Jury was already a controversial game and the mind behind it was ultimately shunned by many triple A developers. The invite was to his residence; surely the old coon had something up his sleeves.

How exciting! It is hardly any fun back in the big city. No mind to challenge my own. Just societal bullshit. This getaway will be a rare challenge. I'm sure of it!

Bus ride was pretty crappy but hey, it was probably there to tire us out. That isn't going to get me. I glanced at the watch. Good we should be close and I rested sufficiently.

It wasn't long before my destination came into view. Coulthard Manor. Good thing I did my research prior, it was exactly as I expected it to be. Jeremiah Coulthard. The man behind Jury with an impressive history of contributions to the mathematical and engineering worlds. I truly admire this exemplary scholar and today, after long last I will finally meet him.

I watch my travel -weary co travelers hastily stepping down from our crude contraption. I didn't waste further time on looking on their worn faces for I smelt a fish.

For starters the gate was slightly ajar. We're we not the first ones to arrive? So, that would mean there were more ‘winners’. But that wasn't all, our escort was acting rather hasty to leave. I wouldn’t say I would miss him and his pungent sour stench but him leaving in such a hurry didn't go well in my heart.

Also, there was something about this butler who calls himself Martin that didn't sit with me right. For a stoic and decorated man who enervated silent grandeur, he had his tuxedo on wrong.

The others had already went in by the time I was done thinking through my latest observations. Martins stoic yet mannered voice broke the silent thought as he bade me to enter. I did, and behind me I could see the gates close ominously. An illogical feeling I must admit, but it can't be helped, after all no one is safe from the media.

The interiors of Coulthard manor added on to my ongoing paranoia. It's walls were new and the furnishing grand as expected but there was a strong musky aura to it. It was as though it was recently cleaned and polished for the specific purpose of greeting us. Decorations were deliberately angled to face a guest rather than a tenant who would enter or sit around from a different angle.

The others didn't seem to mind. I'm guessing that their carefree travels have produced stenches of their own. Before long, we were offered respite, but I had other plans.

My suspicions were being pried. I noticed Martin slip away after handing out the toiletries and I immediately feint movement towards the bathhouse only to cross into the exit Martin left.

Well what’s this? It would seem Our friendly butler doubles as the mechanic or a janitor. Under his fine clothes were dirty overalls. Martin, doubt it's his real name, tore off his tux in a real hurry as soon as he turned the corner and set himself against the wall. I could see it from a shiny plated suit of armor that was so new, it reflected quite clearly.

I quickly ducked out of reflected sight; if I could see him, science tells me he could as well. Hah! I knew I smell a fish. I peeked carefully past the corner, ever slowly. Nothing was there save a dead end.

A secret door?

It has to be. People don't just disappear. There must be sort of mechanism slotted along the wall, floor or something. It took me awhile but I finally figured it out. A simple touch gesture on a discolored segment of the wall. Pretty clever… It wouldn't be found out if someone accidentally leaned on it. But, it wasn't halting me; our butler cum mystery man left his greasy palm stains on the pad, and I followed it precisely.

The panel slipped opened obediently as I punched the air in victory. I quickly regained my composure; after all our hosts could very well be right there. My concerns proved to be in vain as the hidden room held no soul but a coterie of electrical equipment and a beeline of monitors. It was like a control room. It even held a set of complicated buttons and levers.

The monitors were fully functioning and from the amount of panels spread in an arc across the room, it should cover a lot of the space in the manor. Oh no! There was even one at the spot where I was standing earlier. Did our host see me then?

Well, if he did it I figured it probably wouldn't matter what I thought right now. I should rejoin the rest and keep this vital information at hand. Wait, what's this?

Martin was on camera 21. None of the places looked familiar save the entrance but wherever he was, it smelt of seafood all over. It was as if he was prepping a pyre, with charcoal bits and ashen coal. It was like the old traditional, non electrical sauna heaters with a small brick outline. And then at the corner of the screen, my heart momentarily paused.

My mind raced hard as my eyes quickly scanned the monitors. Ethanol. Acetone. If I was right, there’s only one compound needed left. Where was he goin- no way. No f*****g way.

I bolted from my spot and quickly signaled the panel. Thankfully it wasted no time in opening up, and before soon I rejoined my comrades at the bathhouse. I need to warn them. I had the element of surprise; our hosts does not know I was on them and I would like to keep it that way.

I needed a way to warn them without drawing attention to myself and the rest. Everyone here would probably be guarded against a direct approach; not after they received such a promising looking start to their vacation.

Aha. I know just the thing. Intrigue. Intellectual intrigue got them here, it should get them out. The great Brian versus Coulthard, the battle begins now, my friend.

The notes were to be tailor made to obtain the highest percentage of penetration to my audience. Guy with girl, care. Muscle guy, threat. Entitled girl, money. List goes on.

Delivery was easy, I was small and quick and the notes were not too difficult to place. The girls portion was slightly trickier but I was slender enough to pass as a girl wrapped in a towel.

It wasn't long before my warnings were in place. Now, what's left is to pray that it is heeded. I felt a momentary shudder of nervousness as I left the male bathhouse; I was certain our hosts have at least an inkling of what's going on; I wouldn’t put it pass Coulthard to not place surveillance in the bathhouse but a quick check held no external devices. To the naked eye at least.

My note dropping held no particular order but the last guy, Leon I believe was his name struck me as a rather interesting person. There was something about him I felt familiar with but I cannot quite recall.

As it is now, I was the first one out from my ‘bath’. I sat on an armchair contemplating when I too should make a move. Leaving too early could alert our host.

And as if my paranoia was vindicated I felt a sharp stinging pain on my neck. It started off excruciating but it started to dull slowly. What was this? I wasn't long before I realized it wasn't the pain wearing off; it was my senses in general. My eye drooped as I heard a voice.

“Didn't think you could fool us did you, Brian? We thank you, for getting the ball rolling. Now rest. You earned it.”

“Us..?”

“Who..?”

“Rest…?”

I muttered incoherently to myself as I faded into a long deep slumber.