The Countdown Party

“I serve you dust when I kill the light. I catch the smokeless without a fight.”

A dozen thoughts fly through my head as I set down my half-full wineglass on our cocktail table. I mouth the inaudible until I speak one word that rises above the rest: “Ashtray.”

Holding up her icebreaker card, Margaux rolls her eyes, then nods. Booyah!

My smartwatch lights up green with a black “+3” in the middle; Margaux’s lights up red with a “-3.”

I’m closing the gap and coming for the tenants. Geoffrey, our host, calls the game’s final five players the tenants for this challenge, and they have the huge advantage of starting with twenty-five minutes on their clocks. The other five of the ten partygoers are the guests; we are the ones recently eliminated and currently clawing our way back into the game, each with sixteen minutes on our clocks from the get-go. The party will go on till only five remain.

I check my smartwatch.

14:43

Margaux, one of the tenants, pouts with about twenty-one minutes on her clock. She gives me a thumbs up. “Got a sexy brain, babe.” Then she reaches for a tray of beef Wellington bites a nearby waiter is carrying.

I gently decline the waiter’s passed hors d’oeuvres. “Later, babe,” I tell Margaux as I snatch away my wineglass and stray from the table. A guest like me can’t afford to splurge. I walk around the venue, eyes shifting from corner to corner, but I want to sprint, dive, and roll for a hidden time token. “No running!” Geoffery said earlier, adding that fifteen seconds will be shaved off your clocks if we do. Indeed, class is a must for the dolled-up and suited-up partygoers.

The temptation to steal the forty-five-second time token Ashley stumbled upon a while ago is real. A time token can save my life because mine, like everybody else’s, dies in this wild-card challenge the moment our clock hits zero. “Sorry, Crazy Collin, but time is the life of this party,” Geoffrey mentioned from the beginning.

My search takes me through the grand piano on stage and the buffet table. I cross paths with Ryan, a tenant on the same hunt; the air around him boils me up, forcing me to head to the bar, but then Geoffrey shouts from his podium, “Switch, partygoers!”

Another riddle, another thirty-five seconds. No token for me yet, but I got to win back the losses I suffered as a Riddler at the hands of the tenants Freddie and Patrice. Smart bastards.

Gotta keep my kindergarten riddles away from the cocktail tables. 

As one of the game’s wild cards, you could say I have nothing to lose, but being eliminated the last time shattered my heart; I just might wear a new one like a medal once I get back in the game. 

I walk to a cocktail table near the floor-to-ceiling curtains, and like all five of them, a golden coin sits right in the middle. Larson nears the same table, and we hug before getting right to the coin toss.

My level of respect for the guy sits in the A tier–the dad of the group, always looking out for us. Though we barely had time to connect during my stay at this hotel arena, given that our conversations rarely passed the fifth-sentence mark.

We both lost someone. Lars lost his son to a tractor accident; I lost my brother in the same month as the accident. Fraternity hazing. I told Matty, without fail, that he wasn’t ready. I barely survived mine, but who will tell him that? A broken nose and ribs can’t kill me, I remember saying through the phone. Unfortunately, he liked to prove people wrong; it was like looking in the mirror.

I flip the golden coin, and the Riddler, with his tongue full of question marks, faces up.

I bounce my eyebrows. Again? I really preferred the Thinker’s hat. Call me cocky, but cracking riddles is my stageworthy, golden-buzzer talent.

I pull out my icebreaker card and go through my special list of five riddles.

“All right, shoot me one, Kev,” Larson says, smiling.

“Come and find me in the clouds. Seen by you and not the crowds.”

Larson did wade a good while in his thinking space. I shift my eyes here and there, hoping one of several glances will catch a hidden time token.

“Could I maybe buy a hint for one minute, Kev?” Larson asks.

I look at my smartwatch.

13:26

Then I check the hint listed underneath the riddle.

Hint: “Man, there’s so much sand.”

Sandman, I think immediately. His mind will then easily get to “Dreams” a little while later.

 “Not selling one, my good man,” I say. “My lips are sealed.”

Larson shakes his head. “Rain? Uh, UFO?”

“Strike one, strike two,” I say, bouncing on my feet.

“Hm, Dr–”

“Time to switch, partygoers!” Geoffrey says out loud.

Saved by the bell! I shake Larson’s hand with gusto. “Awesome try, Lars!” My smartwatch lights up green with a “+3,” and his lights up red with a “-3,” bringing his clock down to 18:36. 

I drink my wineglass dry and make my way to the centermost cocktail table, the one under the three-layered chandelier, keeping bouncy eyes out for any hidden time token. There, I meet Collin, a fellow guest, who’s just as hungry as I am to claim the tenants’ spots. Knocking a fellow guest out is easier with our shorter lifespan, but only going for each other's throats will give the tenants the upper hand, even in this “every man for himself” type of challenge.

We fistbump each other. Unfortunately, Collin and I had to skip through our whole secret handshake thing, which we definitely could not stop ourselves from doing when we were still detained in the most posh, cozy dungeon room life has to offer–this hotel never ceases to amaze me. We once had an alliance during our stay till the turncoat Tamika threw him under the bus. I’m sure he’s ever so eager to drain Tamika’s clock, probably saving her for last.

Collin kept this loose grip on our golden coin, but Geoffrey…

“Attention please, partygoers!”

The host stops our coin from ever reaching midair; a bit too late for a few golden coins that have already clacked on their respective cocktail tables. Geoffrey grabs a gavel from a shelf on his podium and twirls it around.

“It’s time for an auction,” our host adds. “As I have mentioned before, this is where you can turn the tables in this challenge, and in this challenge, time is life, but it’s also gold. You’ll be placing your bids using the minutes you currently have for the mystery dish set before you.” One of the staff rolls in a round tray covered with a silver dome cover.

A waiter fills my glass, white wine climbing toward the edges.

“This is either an Extra Ten, a Bill Toss, or a Clock Trade. Sadly, you’ll only find out once someone wins the bid.”

From what I recall, the Extra Ten gives you ten additional minutes on the clock, Bill Toss gives you the power to charge the bid you’ve made on another partygoer, and Clock Trade has the biggest risk, for with it, you have no choice but to swap your current time with the time it currently offers, which might be higher or lower. I check the huge overhead display of the timeboard, and all our clocks keep counting down despite the auction, even while Geoffrey goes through the details.

“Who wants to start the bid at three minutes?” Geoffrey asks.

Freddie, one of the guests, raises his hand.

“I have three minutes from Freddie,” Geoffrey says. “Anyone want to go for five?”

“Five, over here!” Larson shouts, hand in the air.

“I have five from the good ol’ rancher, Larson! Do I hear six?”

“Seven!” Ryan says.

“Ryan feeling generous with seven!”

I side-eye Ryan with a bit of poison. “Eight!”

“Kevin with an eight-minute bid! Eight minutes going once… going twice…”

Ryan shakes his head.

Geoffrey pounds the gavel on the podium. “Sold to Kevin for eight minutes!” Kev, my lad, my friend, this is what you’ve won…”

I push up onto my toes as if a tall crowd is blocking my view. One of the staff lifts the dome cover with his gloved hand, revealing a nine-inch vanilla cake with a sign sticking out of it that reads “Bill Toss!” and a slip of paper filled with dollar signs right underneath.

I strike my palms together. “Yeah!”

“All right, so, Kev, on whom will you charge the bid you’ve placed?” Jeffery asks.

I turn to Ryan and raise my eyebrows. He laughs it off and does not seem surprised.

“Oooh, he bills Ryan for the bid! Ryan, that’s eight minutes off your clock.”

I check the time board, and his clock is pulled down to 12:23.

Geoffrey chuckles. “And that’s how you make enemies in this game! But in this case… enemies for life. I’ll be back with another auction. Riddle away, partygoers.”

Collin flips the golden coin. Thinker. Crap. 

My watch later lights up red with a “-3,” and his goes green.

I repeat the riddle in my head. I stain what’s white with every click. I’m without glass and heavy like a brick. How did he get “Typewriter” on the second try?

I check my watch.

9:46

I soldier through back-to-back losses, both as the Thinker. The tenants Arthur and Patrice were out for blood. I mean, let the starving guests with no advantage eat here.

3:18

My clock’s not looking too good. Bidding at the next auction will kill me at this stage. I flash Freddie, a fellow guest, a fake smile when he finds a time token worth two minutes underneath the ice bucket. I was just three feet away from that a while ago! I move on to the next cocktail table, where I meet Ryan–great.

I didn't bother looking him in the eye and just snatched the golden coin from his sad attempt to take it.

Oh, he knows why. He knows. I confided in him since day one, told him he and his sideburns reminded me of someone I kept close. I called him “brother bro.” I knew the original wouldn’t mind–the one who met his end at the hands of the people I called my brothers, who met his end looking up to a wrong statue, chasing a lost shadow I called mine.

Ryan knew all my moves and secrets, and he sold them to a new alliance to prove his loyalty. Ashley was bold enough to tell me everything. It left holes in both my morale and my strategy, leading to my elimination, topped with Ryan’s special heartbreaking touch. I just got up and left. No tearjerking hug. No heartfelt last words. 

Resting on my thumb, the coin itches to spin through the air.

“Attention, partygoers!” Geoffrey, the host, shouts from his podium, mallet in hand. “Another auction is upon us.” One of the staff wheels in the covered dish.

“Begin.”

“Four!”

“Six!”

“Seven!”

“Eight!” The last bid came from my table. I see Ryan smiling, his hand raised.

“Going once… going twice… sold to Ryan! Let’s see the dish you won, my good man.”

One of the staff reveals a hot dog sandwich and a full beer mug with text that reads, "Clock Trade: 3 Minutes."  

Ryan wipes his face with his whole palm.

“Ugh, this might leave a bitter taste in your mouth, Ryan,” says Geoffrey. “Your clock is now down to 3 minutes. So be careful what you wish for, partygoers.”

His clock blinks to 3:00 on the timeboard.

“Oooh, Tamika’s clock unfortunately hits zero! Collin answered her riddle correctly and blows her only chance of making it back into the game. I’m sorry, Tamika, but I must ask you to leave the party immediately.”

Tamika finishes her wine, places the glass on the table, and she shakes her head as she exits the party. A dark smile spreads across Collin’s face. I want one too.

“If there’s any time to remind yourself why you are fighting to stay in the game, now is the moment,” Geoffrey adds.

I remember the first time Geoffrey asked me that. “Why are you here?” It was when he invited me to come into his penthouse office, where he was set to give me information about the next challenge, information I earned by achieving his secret mission.

“To break the cycle,” I've said. "My younger brother passed, Momma became sick, and I worked myself to the ground nonstop." Of course there were details left unsaid, for they consume me.

Things went downhill for the family back home when Matty died. Momma spiraled into clinical depression. She barely ate but ingested God knows what late at night when everyone was asleep, only to become an addict who’ll blow all our savings. My father, the entrepreneur with an eye on his profits, pulled away, leaving to cut his losses. Momma found herself in jail, and I worked and worked to keep the house running till she got back. Momma got out, but her history kept jobs way out of her arm’s reach. It was always me crawling from paycheck to paycheck, and winning the game’s one million dollars, with 100% certainty, would grant me that beautiful escape. And maybe from the guilt too.

I flip the coin. The Thinker, deep in thought with his big cloud-like hat, faces up.

Finally. “Riddle, now!” I demand.

Ryan holds up his icebreaker card. “Wearing different faces, I start by meeting the air, then grow like uncut hair, and end in a nightmare.”

Gulping down a tide, he knows my first educational pill came as a 305-page book of brainteasers when I was four, with Momma teaching me to read every word.

I wear a clueless face. “Care to sell a hint for one minute?”

He shakes his head. Wise choice.

“Different faces,” I whisper to myself, “start, grow, end…”

I check my smartwatch.

1:22

Ryan’s was at 2:45

This can be the riddle that sends him home and brings me back.

“Light?” I ask. Ryan shakes his head, gulping.

“Lie,” I answer.

Ryan shakes his head again, releasing the air he's been holding. “Last chance.”

He knows I’m closer than ever, inches away from the ballpark’s bullseye, hot as an arsonist’s finale. But there was fear in him that I’ve never seen before, only imagined–the micro-stiffness slithering through his hands, his rapid blinking, the cold sweat running down his jaw. I thought about the terror my brother suffered that night, along with the punches that were too raw for him to chew. I relived his terror while leaning on my headboard for too many nights, and now I see it before me, dressed to the nines in a party of dappers.

I’ve never heard Ryan say the reason why he’s fighting to win the game and take the prize pool home. I did ask, but Arthur pulled him aside for a private conversation before he could get a word in.

Ryan’s breath seemed to drag to and fro like sandpaper, heavy like slabs.

I open my mouth. His watch lights up in green; mine lights up in red. My clock hits zero. With added time on his, Ryan swings his fist, cheering.

“Kevin, I’m sorry to say that you're out of life in this party,” Geoffrey announces. “With your clock on zero, I’m afraid you’ll have to leave right away.”

I turn back to Ryan, a smile in my eyes. “Live. Do us both a favor and live.” I reach out my hand. “Cling to ‘life’ in this game, brother bro, but don’t tell anyone.” I’d hate to look soft.

Of course, it's life–it wears different faces and so on. In shock, Ryan slowly reaches for my hand and shakes it, then mouths, “Thank you,” his face glowing.

I can feel his eyes on me till I cross the exit–the closest thing to him walking me to the door.

Guilt becomes the riddle I cannot answer. Is it made of sunshine? Hail? Who knows? I don't. And that three-hour plane ride back to New Jersey kind of, somehow, very much so… hits close to freedom.