Endgame (17 page)

E
veryone
helped with the evening meal, which was comprised of canned food that simply had to be heated and served. Crispin was exempt from the preparation, but asked to be given the task of setting the table.

“If you will be patient with me, I can at least do that,” he told them. “Though the colours may not match entirely. However, I would like to feel as though I have contributed in some small way.”

They left him in the dining room. Sami Lee, cigarette in one hand and dishes in the other, went back and forth bearing plates and silverware, leaving them on the sideboard for Crispin to sort out.

Supper was an even more sombre affair than the previous night's. Verna was last to arrive, her hair piled on top of her head and silver hoops dangling from her ears. While she hadn't been entirely successful in covering her bruises with makeup, the dress she wore revealed her cleavage in a way that put the lie to the fact that she'd ever been anything but a biological woman.

The room fell silent as she entered. Max looked up.

“I'm sorry I hit you,” he said, before turning away again.

Verna nodded. “Apology accepted.”

She paused a moment then addressed the gathering. “I'm sorry I lied to you all. Or rather, that I did not disclose my true identity. One of the things you learn during the transitional period is to let go of your old self and merge fully into the new you. It's impossible to live two lives at the same time, so most successful transsexuals simply abandon the past and any reference to it that might hinder their progress in becoming the person we know we are meant to be.”

She looked around at the others then continued, “Some of you knew me as Werner, but Werner is no more. Just as I also had a brother who died when I was very young. Although I honour their memories, I know and accept that both are gone.”

“Noble sentiments,” Spike said when she finished. “If you were so determined to leave the past behind, then why are you even here? Aren't we Werner's past? You said you won a contest. Why did you enter?”

For a moment, it seemed Verna wasn't going to answer. A hand went up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Then she spoke.

“There's always a moment when someone makes the decision — to change their sex — and mine had to do with this band.” She looked around the table. “I met most of you when I was nineteen. I hung around with you for a couple of years. You were fun, exciting, and you seemed to accept me for who I was. Then I fell in love with Max …”

“Oh, fuck you,” Max said.

“And you did — many times, in fact.”

Max clenched his fist and looked around at the others. “It was the fucking heroin. I didn't know what I was doing.” He looked over at Sami Lee. Her face was frozen in a sullen grimace.

“I apologize for bringing this up in front of everyone,” Verna said. “But it's true.”

Sami Lee looked at Verna. “It's not like it's news. Max's dick was never very exclusive.”

“So I learned. Nevertheless, I fell in love with him,” Verna repeated softly. “I didn't plan it. It just happened. I also helped you with some of your music, as I'm sure you recall.”

“What of it?” Max snarled.

“You let me help you when you saw I had some good musical ideas. I didn't ask for anything in return. I just wanted you to love me. That's all.”

“Just.” Max sneered. “Don't listen to her. Him — it. This is bullshit.” He turned suddenly to Crispin. “Turn that fucking thing off.”

Crispin's hand crept over to his recorder.

“No — don't turn it off,” Verna said. “This is as much my story as it is Max's. I want it on record.”

The hand retreated from the recorder.

“And it's not bullshit,” Verna said sharply. “I helped you write some of the songs that made you famous. Maybe not in a big way, but in little, telling ways. I came up with the chorus on the song that became your first big hit.”

“‘A Kiss Is Just an X'?” said Crispin, stunned. “That song is a classic!”

Verna kept her gaze on Max. “That's the one. Remember, Max? What I suggested gave it the hook everyone still talks about when they mention that song. I helped make it a hit.”

“Is this true?” Spike said to Max.

Max's eyes narrowed. His jaw was tight.

“Yes, it's true,” Verna said. “I didn't want anything in return for it. I was glad to help, but Max wasn't going to let you know I had anything to do with it. He said the song had to have his name on it, because of the band, but that he would give me credit for my contribution one day. He never did.”

“Fine!” Max said suddenly. “You want credit? Here it is: you helped me with the fucking song. You want money, talk to Harvey. He stole it all.”

“I don't want money,” Verna said softly.

“Then why are you saying this now?” Max said.

“Because I think … I think it's time to say everything.” Verna turned to the others. “All of us. If we have anything to say about what happened back then, it's time to say it. We're not going to get another chance.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Spike said.

“It means that none of us are going to leave this island alive,” Verna said breathily.

A chorus of dissent went up around the table, but died just as quickly as it arose.

“You're wrong,” Max said defiantly. “I am getting out of here alive.” He looked over at Sami Lee. “And so's she.” He looked around again. “What happens to the rest of you is up to you. If you're smart” — he looked at Verna — “you won't trust a thing she's saying.”

Verna held his gaze. “I became Verna for you, Max. Like it or not, it's true. I knew you didn't love me as Werner, so I became Verna. So you could still hang on to your stupid badboy of rock 'n' roll façade and no one would be the wiser.” She looked at Sami Lee. “But you chose her instead. I didn't understand it, but I accepted it.”

“Well, whatever you did it for it was a waste of time,” Max said. “Because I don't even like you now.”

“I know that,” Verna said. “I can see that. But at least now I'm proud of who and what I am. Back when I was Werner, I was just something for guys like you to screw and then go back to their girlfriends and deny it the next morning. At least I know who I am now.”

“Congratulations,” Max said. “I hope it makes you happy. Anything else you'd like to confess?”

They all waited as Verna looked around the table.

“Yes, there is. I'd like to confess that it was my idea not to call 911 that night when Zerin Ames was dying. I did it to save Max. Not that it matters now. But I thought if anything got into the news or if the police got involved, he might go to jail.”

There was a long silence.

Verna continued. “You all know what part you played in that evening. If you want to make peace with your consciences, then now's the time to do it. As I said, none of us are leaving this island. I can feel it.”

“Maybe you got plans to make sure that happens,” Max said. “You can't even decide what sex you are. How are the rest of us supposed to trust you?”

Verna shook her head sadly at him. “Can't you even admit that it was you who dragged her out to the cab that night and left her with an unknown person to drive to the hospital?”

“Fuck you!” Max said. “At least I took her out of the house and tried to put her in the cab. You didn't even do that much.”

“I know,” Verna said softly. “I'm not denying it.”

Max stood and tossed his napkin on the table. “I'm not hungry anymore.”

After a moment, Spike followed him out onto the front deck. They sat and smoked a joint.

“Now what are we going to do?” Spike asked.

Max grunted. “I'm getting the fuck off this island. Tomorrow — even if I have to swim.”

“So much for a career revival,” Spike said.

Max shrugged, but said nothing.

“We're fucking has-beens,” Spike said. “Time to admit it, Maxie boy. We had three hits in ten years, including that piece of shit, ‘A Kiss Is Just An X.' Forget that fucking Verna or Werner or whatever her name is. That wasn't punk — that was fucking disco, man. Dance-hall shit. Sentimental crap. It was a joke!”

“Yeah, except for that very catchy chorus,” Max said with a snarl.

“Right. Lest we forget. It wasn't even ours.” Spike stared off into the distance for a while. “It's all over, man. Vicious died at twenty-one. Cobain at twenty-seven. We should have done the same. The best was already behind us.”

Max thought this over. “What about Dylan? He's twice our age and sounds like total shite, but people still buy his records.”

Spike laughed contemptuously. “Bob Dylan is a fucking mega-superstar with a fifty-year recording career behind him. We're has-beens at fifty. Even Lennon was dead at forty.”

Max grumbled. “Fucking Beatles. You were always going on about the Beatles. What did the fucking Beatles ever do?”

“Besides create the template for modern pop music?”

“Yeah — right. Remind me again. How did John Lennon die?”

Silence crept in around them. Max reached over and shook Spike's shoulder. “What happened to you, man? Why did you just give up?”

Spike shrugged. “I lost my nerve.”

“You did not lose your nerve,” Max said. “Never. Not you.”

“You're right. First I lost my voice and then I lost my recording contract. And then I lost my nerve. It didn't take a genius to figure it out. I was through.”

“But you just gave up. Why? You should never have let it all go.”

Spike looked off in the distance. “One night … I saw that girl … Zerin Ames … out in the crowd. It was one of our last concerts. I was singing and I looked out over the heads and there she was. My voice went dead. I couldn't go on. I don't know if I really saw her or not, but it sure as hell looked like her.”

Max turned to him. “You're telling me the great Spike Anthrax saw a ghost and had a pang of conscience?”

“I got the spooks, man. I just couldn't go on after that.”

Max shook his head. “We thrashed, man! We were the fucking best.”

Spike nodded. “Yeah — we thrashed.”

“We were the Sid Vicious and Johnny Rotten of North America. People like us don't give up. We're lifers in this business. We shit and piss music.”

There was silence for a while. The roach moved back and forth between them.

“Do you really think it's Harvey doing all this?” Max said at last.

“Of course it's him. Who else could it be?”

“It could be a lot of people,” Max said slowly. “But when you think about it, who was the one person who kept us apart for all these years? Who made sure we didn't talk to one another back then and kept the anger burning all this time?”

Spike snorted. “We did, Max. You and me. You said yourself earlier — neither of us has heard from Harvey in fifteen years, so how could he be responsible for keeping us apart?”

Max's hands went up in frustration. “He poisoned our minds, man! I can still remember the things he said about you. Terrible things. I never trusted you after that.”

Spike turned to face Max. “Then why trust me now?”

“Because I'm looking you in the face and I know you wouldn't have done or said those things about me.”

Spike nodded slowly. “But I did say them, Max. That's the problem.”

Just then Sami Lee came to the door.

“Hon?” Max said, looking up at her.

“It's time,” she said. “I'm going up to bed.”

Max stood with a groan and turned to Spike. “See you in the morning.”

“Yeah,” Spike said without turning. “See you.”

After Max and Sami Lee had gone, Spike wandered back to the parlour. He helped himself to the white powder in the bowl on the sideboard. It occurred to him that if anyone wanted to kill him, it would be the perfect place to put the poison, but he'd already indulged enough to know it was clean. At least that was one less thing to worry about.

He sat staring into space until Sandra came by to say everyone else had gone upstairs. When she left, he stopped to check the front and back doors then reluctantly followed. They were the last two to shut themselves in their rooms with a dull click of a lock.

Outside, the storm seemed to have reached some sort of climax, thrashing against the house in a fury as the wind raged and night came slowly over the island.

M
ax
sat up and looked at the bedside clock: 3:32 a.m. Sami Lee was snoring lightly. Her sleep mask had slipped partially off, leaving one eye visible and the other hidden, like some
two-faced
character from mythology. She'd wiped off her makeup before bed. Now the darkness and heavy lines around her eyes were just from age.

Max listened intently. Faraway, he thought he heard a sound like breaking glass. A minute later, there was a soft shushing that might have been the rain, but could also be someone moving around out in the hallway. He slipped quietly out of bed, trying not to disturb Sami Lee.

He opened the door a crack and listened. Silence. The hall lay in darkness.

Max hesitated. Should he go out and investigate? It was probably nothing, but then again someone could be trying to get into the house from outside.

He slipped out and stood in the shadows. The only thing he heard was the sound of an empty house coming to rest in the night. There was no one around. He headed along the hall till he reached the railing overlooking the foyer. Grasping it with both hands, he looked down to the black-and-white tiles.

A faint glow from the skylight overhead illuminated the squares. Funny, he thought, how the pattern resembled an oversized chessboard from above. He hadn't really noticed that till now. There was no movement below. He tried to recall the sound that had woken him. Could it have been a window breaking?

Softly padding feet came up behind him. He turned.

“Sorry,” Max said. “Did I wake you?”

Before there was time for an answer, a pair of hands reached out and gave him a surprisingly solid shove. Max went backwards over the railing, reaching up to the skylight as though to grasp the moon or a distant star shining down on him from the far end of the universe. He didn't stop to think how the light from those stars had left their heavenly bodies centuries earlier and were now probably the last remnants of some dead planet. Also, he didn't care. Because by then his skull had cracked open as he hit the tiled floor below, landing in a neatly symmetrical pattern over half-white and half-black squares.

Sometime later, Sami Lee's screaming woke the household. Muffled sounds could be heard coming from the guest rooms as, one by one, doors opened and people emerged to see what the fuss was.

They found Sami Lee standing at the railing, looking down where Max was splayed out on the foyer tiles. A thin line of red had crept from his body and along to the window, as though it too wished to escape the house and its madness.

They all went downstairs. Sandra was already there, kneeling over the body. She felt for a pulse, but Max was dead.

It took a long time to calm Sami Lee down. When her hysterics finally stopped, Verna, Crispin, Pete, and Sandra all waited patiently as Spike addressed her.

“Tell us what happened,” he said.

She explained how she'd woken as the dawn light began transforming the room and shapes emerged in the cold light of morning. Feeling beside her for Max's warmth, she found an empty space, long since cold. It wasn't unlike him to wake in the night — he'd suffered bouts of insomnia for as long as she had known him. She thought he was probably downstairs in the drawing room with the instruments, working out some musical riff or other.

She got up to check that the door was still locked. But it wasn't. She knew Max would never have left her alone with the door unlocked and she felt a rush of panic. What would make him go out without telling her? Why had he left her defenceless while she slept?

She stepped out into the hallway. There was no one else about. She listened for a sound, but heard nothing coming from anywhere in the house.

She walked to the end of the hall. If Max wasn't in the drawing room, she thought he might be in the dining room nursing a cup of coffee. Possibly he'd decided to get a head start on breakfast. She stood by the railing. The skylight showed the heavy greyness had continued. The wind had lightened a little, but the rain was still steady.

“And that's when you looked down?” Sandra asked.

Sami Lee nodded, her eyes outlined in black like a grim sorceress.

“I looked down and saw him. I knew immediately that he was dead.” She choked back a sob. “Who did this?” she shrieked, looking around accusingly at all of them. “Who would kill Max?”

“We don't know for sure that anyone killed him,” Crispin reminded them. “He could have become confused and fallen over the railing in the darkness. As a sight-impaired person, I live with the possibility of such danger every day.”

“Yeah, right,” Spike said. “Like Max would ever let that happen to him.”

Verna pulled the collar of her nightgown across her chest. “I'm sorry, Sami Lee,” she said. “I'm so sorry.”

“I'm sure you'll understand if I say I don't believe you,” Sami Lee said coldly.

“Max didn't fall over the railing,” Spike said. “He was pushed. So we have to consider that either someone got inside last night or one of us did this.” He looked at them meaningfully. “Did anybody hear or see anything?”

“No,” Verna said.

Pete shook his head. “Me either.”

“I didn't hear a thing,” Sandra said. “I slept soundly for once. I mean, considering everything that's been going on it's a surprise any of us slept at all, but I was so tired I was dead to the world.” Her hand went up to her mouth. “Bad choice of words — I'm sorry.”

Crispin cocked his head. “I thought I heard something at one point. It almost sounded like breaking glass.”

“Where did the sound come from?” Spike asked.

“From one of the guest rooms,” Crispin said. “Or so I thought. I put it down to my overactive imagination. I'm sorry now I didn't get up to investigate.”

“Probably good you didn't,” Spike said. “It might have been you instead of Max.”

Sandra interrupted. “We should check to see if the outside doors are still locked or if any of the windows are broken.”

Spike stood and went first to one door and then the other. He gave each one a good rattle. “They're both locked.”

“There's also the kitchen entrance,” Sandra added. “It was locked yesterday after the scare with the gas and then David's death, but someone could have unlocked it.”

Spike went to check. “It's still locked,” he reported on his return. “And as far as I can tell, all the ground-floor windows are still intact.”

Sandra nodded slowly. “So that means if Max was murdered then someone lured him out of bed and waited till he stood at the railing before pushing him over. It had to have been one of us.”

A chill went round the room.

“I agree,” Spike said. “We all claim we went to bed at the same time. But for some reason Max got up in the middle of the night and wandered around the house without anybody hearing him. Except someone did. And that person has to be lying. There are six of us sitting here right now and one of us is lying. One of us came to the island deliberately to kill the rest of us.”

“Well, it's simple then, isn't it?” Sami Lee said scornfully. “We just have to wait till everybody's dead but that one person, then we'll have our killer.”

Verna looked at her for a moment then turned away. “I'll go put coffee on for the rest of us.” She paused. “Does anybody want to come and watch?”

No one answered, so Verna simply turned and went to the kitchen. A moment later, her voice reached them. It was a cross between a sigh and a moan of fear.

“Are you all right?” Sandra called out.

“Oh!” was all they heard.

Spike, Sandra, and Pete went running, leaving Sami Lee and Crispin with the body. They found Verna in the drawing room.

She shook her head. “I don't know what made me pass through this room instead of going straight to the kitchen, but when I got here —”

Her voice broke. They looked to where she was pointing at the chessboard. There were now seven pieces lying on their sides. A black king had been placed on its side along with all the others.

A small glass vase lay shattered on the floor beside the board game.

“The broken glass,” Spike said. He looked at Crispin. “That's what you heard.”

“But when?” Verna said. “When could someone have knocked over the chess piece?”

“It could have been any time between last night and this morning,” Spike answered.
Or it could have been done by you just now
, he thought to himself.

“You mean someone killed Max and then calmly came downstairs to knock this stupid chess piece on its side?” Verna's chest heaved. She seemed on the verge of hyperventilating.

H
alf an hour later, the six remaining guests were seated at breakfast. Sami Lee smoked while the others ate. Every few minutes one or another of them glanced suspiciously around at the group.

“What are you looking at?” Sami Lee snapped when Verna glanced in her direction.

“Nothing,” Verna said.

“Say it!” Sami Lee demanded. “You, with your need to confess everything. I can tell you're thinking something.”

Verna sniffed. “All right. I was thinking how odd it was that your makeup wasn't even smeared when you got up and found Max's body. It looked freshly applied. Obviously you didn't sleep in it. How was it you had time to paint your face before coming down to find him, if you were so worried about where he was?”

Sami Lee looked as though she would explode. “Are you saying I killed Max?” she screamed. “Why would I kill him?”

“Maybe because you didn't know he'd had an affair with me and you flew into a jealous rage. Maybe you didn't know he used to fuck me and let me suck his cock.”

Sami Lee laughed scornfully. “You're pathetic. A lot of people sucked Max's cock.”

Verna's chin jutted in the air. “Maybe you were worried he'd leave you for me. I'm a lot better-looking than you. You're a dried-up old hag.”

“You stupid hermaphrodite!” Sami Lee reached across the table to slap her, but Verna sat back out of reach.

“I'm not a hermaphrodite!”

“This is not very constructive,” Crispin's voice warned. “This is probably exactly what someone wants to happen here. We've got to think with the mentality of this killer, who would be more than happy to have us set ourselves one against the other. My guess is that's just what he or she is hoping will happen.”

“Crispin's right,” Spike said. “We can't afford to fall into that trap. We've got to concentrate on staying alive until someone comes to rescue us.”

“And when will that be?” Sami Lee glared at them.

“There's no way of knowing,” Crispin answered. “But eventually someone's got to come by.”

“But that's the brilliance of it, isn't it?” Verna said. “Don't you see? This is an exclusive retreat. There's no mail delivery or food drop-off. More likely than not, no one ever comes here.”

She slumped in her seat.

Crispin shook his head. “Soon enough someone is going to realize that none of us have been in touch for days and start a search. It will happen.” He paused before repeating himself in a softer voice. “It will happen. I know it will. In the meantime, once the weather clears up the sailboats will start to come by. We'll flag one down. We could even start a fire once this rain stops.”

“By then we'll all be dead,” said Sami Lee. She got up and went to the front door. She unfastened the lock and stepped out into the rain.

“You probably shouldn't go out and wander around,” Pete told her. “Whoever it is might try something when you're alone.”

“Who fucking cares?” she said, and slammed the door behind her.

Verna looked at Spike. “Shouldn't someone follow her? She's not safe.”

Sandra spoke up. “If we try to follow her, she'll think she's being stalked. I wouldn't.”

“Or maybe she feels safe because she knows who did this,” Spike said. “She could have pushed Max over the railing then gone back to bed and gotten up later and claimed she'd been asleep the whole time.”