CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

NON-ZERO-SUM GAMES

( — games, interactions, negotiations, or other situations in which one side's gain is not necessarily the other side's loss. in a non-zero-sum game, both sides can win with cooperation or lose as a result of competition. )

— ♡ —

          IT'S TIMES LIKE THESE THAT MAKE RHIANNON ACKNOWLEDGE JUST HOW LUCKY THEY ARE. They're lucky that they all accept to continuously feed a lie to ensure no one gets unnecessarily hurt or arrested, even if some of them tend to back out on their word every now and then, only to get sucked back into the black hole that is the experiment.

          They're lucky that there was no one else around to eavesdrop. Members of any out-group, as harmless as they might seem at first glance, are dangerous and should be avoided at all costs whenever they're all like this, discussing what happened that night. If any confidential information gets out, they might as well turn themselves in.

          Jude's free hand reaches out to take hers, but she's frozen right where she is, exactly how she was that night. That night, she had no idea what to expect from the following moments, but this is only slightly different, especially considering there's not a dead body in front of her.

          However, it's almost as if there was, seeing as she can't look away from Beatrice and Brooklyn as they go head to head. She knows she's shaking, with the floor swaying beneath their feet and no one else looking like they're being affected by her mental earthquake. That's good. It means she's able to keep it inside her instead of projecting the vibrating waves to the outside world.

          "What kind of mistake are you talking about?" Brooklyn cautiously asks, and, heck, it's not like Rhiannon can blame her for immediately taking a defensive stance. It's one thing to talk crap about Beatrice behind her back and want her to take the blame for every single bad thing that has happened to them ever since the beginning of the experiment (since it would be rude to blame the dead guy, even if it would be easier), but actually facing her face to face is a whole new story.

          Rhiannon would expect something like this coming from Hailey, who's prone to exploding and arguing with authority figures. Brooklyn, however, was only daring enough to flash her middle fingers at a surveillance camera and never opened her mouth to complain. She even agreed with the cover story.

          These people keep surprising her, even after they've all been here for nearly four years. Graduation is only a few months away and, if all goes according to plan, they will never have to see each other again and they can try to forget all about that night when the police deem Frances' death an accident.

          That's the utopic scenario. It also means they know it's not going to happen. Even if it gets ruled as an accident and they all get to breathe of relief for brief moments, there will always be someone else determined to find out the truth about what happened. There will always be someone who will refuse to swallow that half-assed explanation and decide to dig deeper.

          It's exactly what Gabriella decided to do. It's what the rest of Taylor's friends (and, for God knows what reason, Isla and Rowan, but Rhiannon suspects Isla's main motive is to clear her father's name) have been doing for the past months. It's what Frances' girlfriend, his friends and his family will choose to do in no time.

          Rhiannon hadn't seen a bright future ahead of her for a while, at least since she got disowned, but there was always something—there was always a silver lining, no matter how small it seemed. Now, there's nothing. No gold, no silver, no bronze.

          "We've all made mistakes, Miss Bach," Beatrice finally replies. Rhiannon's boots sink into the snow, illuminated in orange and red hues with the setting sun, hidden beneath the fog. "I've made mistakes. So have you. Your poor mother."

          "I did what I had to do to be happy and do what I wanted to do with my life," Brooklyn dryly retorts. "It was about time I started thinking for myself instead of letting my mother mold me and doing everything she told me. You have zero, zero idea of what it was like to live with that woman; you have no idea how it's like to feel like you're suffocating under your own roof because nothing you do is ever good enough!"

          Beatrice raises her chin, and Rhiannon remembers the conversation they exchanged in the former's office the day of the interview. Beatrice mentioned being overshadowed by her sister, much like Rhiannon spent most of her life being (and her moment in the spotlight wasn't pleasant in the slightest), so maybe she knows how it feels like.

          Perhaps it was a lie, built on the spot to get Rhiannon to trust her. Perhaps it wasn't just a sob story. Perhaps Beatrice is a better person that they've all given her credit for.

          Either way, Rhiannon isn't sure of what she should believe right now. Any missteps can be fatal.

          "You're right," Beatrice agrees. "I don't know what it was like to live with your mother, but we went to high school together. We went to college, right here at Crowcrest, together. It's easy to forget she's not the girl I once knew anymore." She clears her throat. "Nevertheless, faking your own disappearance and covering it up using the local myths didn't solve anything; you might have gotten that scholarship"—Brooklyn clenches her jaw so tightly Rhiannon fears she'll dislocate it the next time she moves—"but at what cost? You shattered her heart."

          "And fixed mine." Brooklyn's voice is now considerably lower, with everyone else feeling like they're stepping away from the original subject. The argument was about January 14, not Brooklyn's teenage adventures. "I'm not sure what that has to do with anything."

          "Well." Beatrice clears her throat. "You needed to know the legends like the back of your hand to cover up your tracks as well as you did to make everyone in town think history was repeating itself. I'm pretty sure you noticed the exact same thing happened not too long ago . . . except someone was not as lucky as you were. Whoever handled everything made sure to study the legends . . . or perhaps they already knew them pretty well."

          Everyone falls silent. No one speaks, no one breathes, and Jude's hand squeezes Rhiannon's so tightly it begins to cut off her circulation, but she can barely feel it with the cold.

          Beatrice didn't even hesitate. It's like they've all just realized how dangerous she can be, going from their strongest ally to their worst enemy; after all, she and Frances were the ones who explored loopholes in the guidelines for a psychology experiment to meticulously choose the participants. She also kept all the footage of the security cameras and, if there was anything suspicious, she must have seen it by now.

          She holds all the power. She's in charge of the system.

          "You can't possibly think I had anything to do with what happened to Taylor," Brooklyn weakly says. "Those were two completely different things. I just wanted a scholarship and I did it when I was seventeen."

          "I'm not accusing you of anything, Miss Bach." Beatrice shakes her head, moving her hair away from her face. "I'm just saying it could potentially look suspicious, in case the police found anything to connect you and Miss Morris, especially if there was anything . . . negative in that connection." Brooklyn gulps and Rhiannon risks a glance at Hailey, who's as shocked as everyone else, but tries to regain her usual self-confidence when Beatrice finally looks away from Brooklyn. "Listen. I, too, want to know exactly what happened that night, but you won't budge. Not even a single inch. I've studied group behavior for long enough to know exactly what you're doing and why you're doing it, but that doesn't mean I agree with it. It's always a lot easier to deal with it in theory."

          "But that was what you wanted," Zelda intervenes, "wasn't it? Wasn't it the whole purpose of the experiment? Diffusion of responsibility. Bystander effect. It all connects, in the end."

          Beatrice sighs, staring off at the snowy campus. "I appreciate that you took the time to study the concepts Professor McCall and I wanted to observe, but, like I said, it's easier to look at it from a theoretical perspective. Someone died that night, Miss Berry, and I worked with that person for a long time. He was my friend." She sharply inhales and Gabriella purses her lips together in a line so thin her mouth almost disappears. "You were all there when it happened. According to what you told me, only one of you knows who did it and that's the person themselves, whoever they are. I want to know which of you was it, but, at the same time . . . I owe you something. I vowed to keep you all safe at the beginning of the experiment and things could have gone a lot worse than they did that night; more people could have gotten hurt, and that's not something that would be easy to explain to the board and to your families. You are still my responsibility."

          "The experiment is over," Rhiannon chimes in, and they all turn to face her. "You don't owe us anything at this point. If Professor McCall was alive, he would have told us we're on our own now and it's up to us to deal with our responsibilities."

          "Except I'm not Professor McCall. After all, I was responsible for keeping the footage from the cameras safe." Everyone exchanges a nervous glance. "I'll have you know I deleted plenty of it and kept what serves as an alibi for certain people, you two included." She nods towards Rhiannon and Jude. "Naturally, there wasn't enough footage for everyone and lack of footage certainly doesn't equal lack of guilt or involvement, but it was the best I could do. I didn't watch any of it, if that's what worries you; I just watched what you asked me to and did it right by your side, Miss Ford." Rhiannon nods. "After that, I deleted mostly everything from that night, said there was an outage and gave the safe footage to the police to protect the alibis of everyone who had a solid one. Naturally, Mr. Duncan also had to lie and work hard to keep this story up. My advice? Stick to your story. Stick to your lawyers. Most importantly, stick to each other."

          "Why are you doing this?" Jude questions, his voice barely hearable over the wind blasting against their backs and legs. "Why are you protecting us?"

          "At this point, I'm not so certain anymore. But a glass wall is better than no wall, I think."

— ♡ —

          THEY DECIDE TO SHOVE THAT ENTIRE CONVERSATION TO THE BACK OF THEIR METAPHORICAL CLOSETS. Though it's certainly nice to know Beatrice has got their back, having erased evidence that could incriminate anyone (if there even was some, seeing as most cameras around the crime scene had been turned off prior to that), Rhiannon knows some people don't fully trust her. They can't even be blamed for that one, as no one really knows her true intentions, but they're also grasping at straws.

          It can be dangerous. It can be really, really dangerous and, if it backfires, it will all be over before any of them can ask for a lawyer.

          What shocks Rhiannon the most, because she's awfully self-centered, is Connor's involvement. She highly doubts he's doing it because he genuinely cares about what happens to them (or, more specifically, to her, to Jude or to Roman, as they're the people he knows the best) or because he let himself be blackmailed into being pulled into the lie.

          If there had, in fact, been a blackout, the electricity meter would have to show lower levels of monthly consumption, or so she's assuming. Having to count every penny she spends when she's at her apartment, making sure she'll have enough money to buy everything she needs and be able to pay rent and bills at the end of the month, Rhiannon has learned how to make smarter choices with water and electricity.

          She has no idea what Connor said or what he didn't say or how it will affect them and their story. It's why she thinks they all should meet up, Beatrice and Connor included, and discuss their stories to make sure there are no holes that will lead the police to realize they're all lying. However, that won't be an easy task, since no one likes Connor and they're torn between trusting Beatrice and being wary of her motives.

          On Saturday morning of this absolutely hellish week, Rhiannon is awoken by Isla when she enters their bedroom, pulling a pencil out of her hair. Isla doesn't notice Rhiannon is awake at first, walking as softly as she can from the entrance towards her desk; the latter eventually forces herself to gather enough energy to slowly sit up, pushing away the blankets.

          "Hey," Isla greets, briefly turning around to flash her a gentle smile. "Did I wake you up?"

          "Don't worry about it," Rhiannon replies, with a yawn, and raises a hand to free her hair from her braid. She doesn't want to make a habit out of sleeping without her hair down (since she doesn't even like it), but it's an easier way of making her natural gentle waves look more pronounced. "Where were you?"

          "I went out for breakfast with my parents. It was nice to be somewhere else for a little while." Isla pauses, taking a deep breath, and Rhiannon knows there's something else she wants to say. However, it's never a good idea to try to force Isla into doing anything, as she might do the exact opposite simply out of spite. "It was really nice."

          "That's cool." Isla hums, nodding, and falls to her chair. It spins around a little bit with her height, but Isla is tiny enough for it to be harmless. "How is he doing? Your father, I mean?"

          Isla sighs, forcing the chair to rotate again until they're facing each other, and crosses her legs over the pillow. "Pretty low. But, then again, can you blame him? He's been slumped with work; if he's not in his office talking to angry families, he's teaching or in meetings with the board or the professors. It was a miracle we managed to get him out of bed this morning." She bites down on her bottom lip. "He always gets home super late and leaves before sunrise."

          "Thankfully, he never thought he'd be able to write that book himself."

          Isla's lips tremble with laughter. "Well. He had the decency to think things through in advance and, if he hadn't, Mom and I would be dealing with a man on the verge of a breakdown and a very, very grumpy ghostwriter. Fortunately for us and, especially, for me, that's not the case."

          Rhiannon wrinkles her nose. "Is he still being that insufferable?"

          "What? No, not at all. It's a lot more bearable to be around him now." She pulls her knees close to her chest, surrounding them with her arms. "This place has softened him up a little bit, I think. It's just . . . he's been working so hard on the book and sometimes it worries me it's the only reason why he's here. We've talked about it and he has said it's not the only reason why he's staying, but . . ." She momentarily looks away, staring out of the window. "I'm not sure what's going to happen after he finishes it. I mean, at this rate, it should be finished by mid-March and will certainly be ready to publish the following month. Ergo, before graduation. I just wish we had more time."

          "Who's to say he won't stay?"

          Isla throws her a deadpan look. "Rhiannon."

          "Sorry."

          "It's Rowan we're talking about here. He'd never . . . you just know this isn't the place for him, just like you know it's not the place for me either. I have no idea what I'm going to do or what he's going to do or—"

          Rhiannon lets out a soft sigh, rolling out of bed and sliding her arms inside a thin cardigan. "If there's one thing I've learned, it's that you're the only thing you can control, and even so, there are some limits. I'm not telling you shouldn't be concerned about the future, but, from what I've seen, both of you seem to be pretty committed to your relationship; I doubt he's simply going to leave without talking things through with you first. Unless . . ."

          Isla's eyes widen. "Unless what?"

          "Well . . . there's always time to get preg—ow!" She winces, after Isla throws her a pencil case and hits her right in the stomach. "It was a joke!"

          "Yes, because it would totally be hilarious if I walked up to him one day and said 'hey, I'm having your kid, so you can't leave'!" Rhiannon chuckles at the thought, throwing her the pencil case back, and Isla catches it with no trouble. "Seriously now, do you think we should . . . have The Talk? About what we're really going to do?"

          "In more practical terms instead of hypothetical ones, sure. Even though you should also try to enjoy your time together now."

          "Yeah." Isla exhales, lowering her legs. "That's not an easy thing to do at the moment." 

          "Isla . . ." Rhiannon runs her fingers through her hair. "Look, I know I'm the worst person to tell you this, but you guys need to be careful with whatever you've been doing in that investigation of yours. I know I'm being a hypocrite," she adds, when Isla throws her one of her characteristic cynical looks, "but it doesn't mean that what you're doing isn't as dangerous as what we're doing."

          "None of us killed someone."

          "As far as you know."

          Isla narrows her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

          "I'm just saying . . . you can't be sure of anything. I certainly am not when it comes to the people I was in that experiment with. Those people you're with, Taylor's friends, they all seem nice and genuine, but please, please be careful with what you do and in who you trust. That's something that can always backfire."

          She almost adds Taylor's old friends are part of the group of people Rhiannon should trust, but has found she's having a hard time doing so. Hailey is safe from both accusations, perhaps along with Laura, but Rhiannon still has her doubts regarding the remaining two.

          However, she manages to keep her mouth shut.

          Isla's facial expression softens. "I know. But I trust those guys, even if you want to argue their commitment to finding out the truth might possibly be a way of easing their guilt over being involved and manipulating the evidence so they won't be charged with anything. I've had that mindset too, but I'm over it now. Those people are good people, Rhea. I'm sure of it."

          "Good people can do bad things sometimes. There's an entire book about that."

          "Yeah. I think Matteo has mentioned it once . . . maybe twice . . . during the five minutes I spent with him this morning . . ."

          Rhiannon laughs, genuinely this time, but her relaxation period is short-lived thanks to her phone. It's buzzing, nearly falling off her bedside table, and she rushes to check it before it hits the floor.

          An unknown number is calling her and she's pretty certain she knows who it is. Any reasonable person would tell her to ignore the call, much like she's been doing to the text messages, but, this time, she does the exact opposite and presses her thumb against the green symbol flashing on the screen.

          "Hello?" she greets, praying her voice is minimally steady.

          ". . . find out the truth," a cool female voice, sounding almost robotic, says. "We will find out the truth. We will find out the truth. We will find out the truth. We will find out—"

          "Rhea?" Isla calls. "Is everything alright?"

          Rhiannon tries to nod after she hangs up. At least, she thinks so.

          "I'm pretty sure McCall's girlfriend was on the phone," she announces. "Her voice was in a loop."