And Then There Was One

The twelve hockey players found themselves in the middle of a vast mansion-style foyer. A gigantic staircase raced up the back, made of dark cherrywood. Two knights stood stationary on the mid platform, which branched off into two staircases that split to either side, leading to two hallways. The hallways came around in a horseshoe shape to connect, on top of the back wall of the stairs.

To the right side of the staircase, from where the group stood was a hidden room, tucked under the side stairs. It was caked in shadows and everyone shared a frightened look. To the left side, was an enormous grandfather clock and sitting area, complete with a fireplace. Flames licked the walls, as a fire burned brightly inside.

Behind them stood two grand oak doors that seemed to race upward to forever. There were curls and different artistic designs etched into the wood. The ceiling was far up there and painted the same color as the stairs.

All around them were an array of different torches that burned, giving the place an even creepier look.

“We should split up!” Patrice Bergeron piped up finally. His voice was strong and hollow. Underneath a tremor of doubt and fear had crept in, but he knew how to disguise the uneasiness he felt. He had years of practice.

They split into two groups of six. Torey Krug, Sidney Crosby, Ryan Kesler, Jonathan Toews, Ryan Getzlaf, and Matt Cooke made up one group. While, Reilly Smith, Val Nichushkin, Tyler Seguin, Patrice Bergeron, Patrick Kane, and Drew Doughty made up the second. (Yeah Patrick and Jonathan were split up.)

Patrice’s group went upstairs to search around, climbing the staircase and heading up the left side, while the others remained downstairs.

“If I’m going to be working with Captain Dumbass, I’m going to definately need a drink!” Torey spoke, flashing a look in Sidney’s direction.

The Penguin stuck his tongue out and spun away, rolling his eyes. He wasn’t taking too kindly to working with the Bruin either. Patrice’s group vanished upstairs, venturing cautiously down the hallway.

Jonathan patted Sidney on the arm. “Hey, hey, Sid, lighten up. We need to work together. Some of us were actually kidnapped and forced to come here!”

Sidney wrinkled his nose up and swatted Jonathan’s hand away. The Blackhawk frowned, but shrugged and walked over to Ryan Getzlaf, who smiled at him and patted him on the shoulder with reassurance.

“Sidney’s just upset because he was blackmailed into coming here. He told me his story. He’s not exactly one who enjoys being screwed with!”

Sidney walked out of the room, heading back into the dining room area, where Torey was. It was a few minutes before both walked back in, gripping their chosen alcoholic beverages. The Boston Bruin defenseman was the first one, who walked back in, through the circular archway, sipping at a beverage. It was a reddish-orange colored cocktail, complete with a little tropical umbrella prop. Everyone looked at him strangely.

“What, I happen to like this particular kind of drink!” Torey defended, taking another sip and enjoying it.

“What is that?”

“It’s called a Seven and Seven! It’s made with Seven-Up, the soda, and it’s combined with Seagram’s Seven Crown Whiskey liquor to spice it up! It’s a sparkling drink, yes, but I like it!” the young defenseman exclaimed, taking a large gulp of the drink.

Suddenly, he crashed to the ground, falling forward. He landed on his stomach, with his face wrenched to the side. The drink in his hand went with him. It smashed on the wood floor, breaking into tiny pieces. One of the shards of glass flew back and sliced him on the temple, leaving a jagged scar there. The liquid inside spilled onto the floor, leaving a dark residue that looked like dark blood to the side of Torey’s face.

He remained still, unmoving. The group rushed over to check up on him. They saw that his eyes were closed tightly and he wasn’t breathing at all. His pulse was non-existent. There was a collective gasp.

“He’s dead!” Ryan Kesler exclaimed, throwing his hands over his mouth in shock.

Everyone turned to look at the one man, who was still standing without a care. Sidney Crosby wasn’t paying any attention to the fallen man. He was turned around, staring intently at the door. It was a purposeful distraction pose.

“It was Sidney! Sidney Crosby killed Torey Krug!” Matt Cooke growled. The dirty goon got to his feet and pointed at the man, furrowing his brow in fury.

Sidney finally stopped acting and spun back to them, he shook his head. “I didn’t kill the Bruin, even if I wanted to. Can you people just give me a chance to explain?!”

“We aren’t letting you explain anything, Sid!” Ryan Getzlaf spat. “You were the only one with Torey in the dining room at the time and you had a clear motive…..I think….!” He looked down, unsure of the motive.

“What is your motive? Why do you and Torey hate each other?” Jonathan asked, syncing up with the Duck.

Sidney rolled his eyes, but heaved a sigh eventually. “Okay, fine. He tied my skate laces together before one of the games we played and I didn’t have a good game because of it! It was back in the 2013 playoffs!”

“The one where that rat Marchand owned both of us?” Matt Cooke snarled.

“Yeah. I hate him too!”

“Sid, you can’t carry around grudges on people and players for something that happened in the past!” Ryan Kesler spoke, with a glance to the Anaheim captain.

“Right. Now, lets get the others and call the police! You’ve crossed the line Crosby!” Ryan Getzlaf snorted.

Sidney was grabbed by Matt Cooke and Ryan Kesler. The Penguin easily broke free from their holds on his arms and he stepped backward. “I didn’t kill the Boston player! The drink was sitting in his spot! I warned him not to drink it, since it had just appeared there, but he didn’t listen. He shut me out! I swear I didn’t kill him. I’m not that despicable!”

The second group appeared at the top of the right staircase and gazed downward. Patrice caught sight of his teammate lying on the ground, passed out. The alcoholic drink spilled around him. The glass broken and jagged in pieces on top of the liquid.

“Torey!!” He screamed and bolted down the stairs to his fallen teammate. “No!” He skidded up, avoiding the shards of glass in the process. He dropped down and felt for a pulse. But there was none. He snapped his head back up, glaring at the others, “What happened?”

The other members of the second group gradually descended the stairs together and made their ways up to the horrified hockey players gathered around the unconscious body of the Boston Bruin defenseman, Torey Krug.

“He wanted a drink, found one that mysteriously appeared, inhaled a lot of it, was poisoned and died!” Ryan Getzlaf reported, dramatically, flashing a skeptical look to Sidney once more.

Sidney returned the look with a fierce one, shaking his head at the Duck. Patrice saw the action, but thought nothing of it, maybe it was an Anaheim-Pittsburgh problem. Instead he sat back and gazed around.

“So who killed him? Why?” Patrice spoke, getting back to his feet with the aid of Tyler Seguin and Patrick Kane.

Everyone shared a look with one another and chaos broke out, filling the eerie interiors of the foyer. They argued and shouted.