If we weren’t all so damn tired, we might have noticed the man in the corner, smoking his cigar. Perhaps we may have even spotted the silver colt revolver tucked away in his coat, a small bulge in the fabric. We may have noticed the strange taste of the poison placed in our champagne, the smell of smoke coming from the wings, and the disgusting fumes of the carpet being set ablaze. We might have been able to stop it, even, but alas, we had fallen into disarray, and that had proven itself to be our downfall.
It was David who first noticed the man, but he didn’t say anything, because David was the sort of person to believe the best of everyone, and so he didn’t pipe up for fear of causing a ruckus. Arielle had tasted the strange aftertaste of the champagne, but she didn’t care, as any sort of alcohol had become a haven for her. John smelled the smoke, but since he had grown up fabulously wealthy, there was always an entourage of staff taking care of his every want and need, and he simply thought the chef was preparing something horrid for dinner.
It was one in the morning when the first gunshot went off. Then another, and another. We all huddled under the table in fear, shaking and shuddering, and it occurred to me how silly we must look, crowded under a dinner table in our formal attire. Sarah had worn a bodacious wine-red party dress that was cut a bit too much in the back for my liking, but just at that moment, the color seemed less of fine Cabernet and more of blood.
“Should we escape this place, what would you like to say to our gracious host?” Paul joked. He was quite fond of dark humor, regardless of the setting. I might have liked to comment on this not being the best time and place for jokes, but I thought it improper, and besides, he did have quite a sense of humor.
“We shall think of such things if we actually do make it out alive because right now, the chances seem quite slim. Does anyone have any idea how in the world we’re meant to get out of here?” I inquire.
“It won’t do us much good whether we’re trapped in here or whether we’re trapped in a hallway instead, should there be a killer among us. At least in here, we know where everyone is, and who everyone is. We must do a search of every man and woman in this room, to see if any of us are concealing weapons.” John typically thought of ideas without considering whether the people involved in them would feel comfortable partaking in them, and the thought of a full-body search left even the most flamboyant of us feeling peckish. Unfortunately, he was likely correct.
Thus, we proceeded, and every man and woman was checked head-to-toe for any weapons or signs of suspicious activity. John seemed to take great care in inspecting David in particular, especially his nether regions, but this was unsurprising; it was common knowledge that John was a closeted homosexual and that he consorted with a male lover behind his wife’s back. David seemed unaware of this, though, and cheerfully let John search his body multiple times.
Had we been more careful, we might have noticed the man in the coat slip away as we checked Sarah for the fourth time, but we were all so focused on ourselves and each other that we didn’t even notice the blood pooling out of Eleanor’s head until it was too late.
The Daydream Club 