money and no future ahead of you, ten million dollars can make you do a lot of things. Even things you really, really don’t want to do.
It’s going to be fine.
Fine. Right. Sure.
The commuter jet bounced gently as the wheels screeched against the runway, signaling their arrival in Sin City, and while Persey’s stomach troubles should have escalated as the aircraft taxied to its gate, she instead felt a wave of relief wash over her. She was here. The decision had been made. This was happening. Her body unclenched, the dampness on the back of her neck began to evaporate, and Persey practically smiled as she watched the gleaming towers of Las Vegas casinos pass her small window.
She’d (half) expected to find Kevin Lima on her flight from Los Angeles, since that was where she’d seen him last at the Hidden Library escape room, but though she clandestinely cast her eyes around the terminal before the plane boarded, she didn’t spot his scruffy blond hair or well-maintained feet. Whatever. She’d see him soon enough.
Persey dragged her ancient black carry-on with its broken zipper and lazy wheel up the aisle and onto the gangway while she checked her phone. She’d read the confirmation e-mail from Leah about fifty bajillion times in the last two weeks, but she carefully parsed through each word of it again, just in case she’d missed anything.
A car will pick you up at the airport. Look for the driver at arrivals near baggage claim. Accommodations and all meals will be provided during your stay.
The words were exactly as Persey remembered them—simple logistical information, lacking in specifics. Nothing about the competition itself.
Maybe that was part of it? Part of the game? Withholding information might just have been another way the escape room designers tried to throw everyone off-balance and instill a sense of confusion. In fact, the competition might have started the moment Persey agreed to participate, and every detail from Leah’s bare-bones e-mail to Persey’s flight number, departure time, and seat assignment might be valuable puzzle-solving elements for a later challenge.
Persey sighed, tucking her phone back into the hip pocket of her cargo pants. She had no idea what to expect, a situation that did not sit well with her, and she’d have to pay close attention to everything and everyone from now on if she was going to get that money.
The smell of Vegas hit Persey the moment she stepped into the terminal: a nose-wrinkling mix of stale air, body odor, and desperation. If the sparkling casino façades and red-hued desert plateaus hadn’t clued her in to her location, the familiar stench of McCarran Airport would have, and when mixed with the cacophony of sound and lights, Persey felt slightly dizzy as she turned toward baggage claim. Not to waste a square inch of gambling real estate, slot machines littered the terminal, greeting visitors with bells and beeps and swirling lights as they exited their aircraft.
Gambling seemed so sad to her. Mindless. Pathetic. Money was such a precious commodity—why would anyone throw it away? Las Vegas was all show and no tell, all surface with no substance, and it was a place where she’d never felt like she belonged. She felt like she should be exiting the terminal in a sequined halter dress and five-inch clear Lucite heels instead of the olive-green cargo pants, layered long- and short-sleeve tees, jean jacket, and Toms she’d chosen for her journey. She was like the anti-Vegas—always had been and always would be.
She shook her head, casting off dark memories of this place, that threatened to derail her, and focused on the crowd gathered at the bottom of her escalator. It was a mix of locals greeting family and friends, and livery drivers holding signs with the names of their passengers, and it took Persey approximately .2 seconds to find hers among them.
Because unlike all the other drivers in their near uniform boxy black suit jackets and matching neckties, the driver holding Persey’s name on a dry-erase board was dressed head to toe in an eye-numbing lime green.
He wore a bright green polo shirt, just like the Escape-Capades employees at the Hidden Library, paired with matching track pants and athletic sneakers. On his head, a lime-green baseball cap had the Escape-Capades logo emblazoned across it, and as if that wasn’t enough, the poor guy had a fanny pack strapped around his waist overflowing with flyers advertising the premier Las Vegas escape room experience. He was a walking billboard advertisement.