And Then There Was One

After a few tense moments, Patrice turned to the group. “Boys, we need to explore this place. There has to be an exit somewhere! Maybe we can find a secret exit out of here!”

“But what about the voice and the recording?” Patrick whined from the chair. His friend Jonathan was standing, hovering over him, and keeping an eye on him.

“Don’t be such a woman, Kaner!” Sidney spat, folding his arms, while keeping his eye on the Anaheim Duck captain.

“Stop looking at me Sid! I told you I didn’t kill Cooke!”

“And I didn’t kill Krugger!”

“Sid, Getzy, please, let’s not turn our backs on one another. That would be the worst thing to do right now!” Tyler spoke, rolling his eyes.

“I agree with Tyler!” Patrice nodded his head. “Let’s stay together and explore this place! When we had split up before, we found a bunch of rooms. They were labeled.”

“So what?”

“Sid, please, put the hostility away. I am begging you as a friend and fellow Canadian Olympian!” The Boston Bruin looked at the Penguin, with a soft, stern scold.

There was a heavily exaggerated sigh that followed, with a “Fine.” He attempted a smile, flashing a rictus. Patrice caught it, but decided to ignore it.

The centerman for Boston instead, turned back to gaze at everyone. “The rooms were labeled with each of our names!”

“So does that mean that this was planned?” Ryan Kesler question, stroking his chin.

“Are we all going to die?” Val Nichushkin piped up. His blue eyes were shining with fear, big and watery.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, buddy!” Tyler spoke, patting his linemate on the shoulder.

“Well, if we all have rooms, then I don’t think you all will mind if I go and lock myself in my room?” Sidney remarked, making sure his voice was loud enough for everyone. He didn’t wait for an answer and began to climb the staircase up to his room. He vanished down the hall, letting loose a thunderous shout of frustration that echoed back down to the others. “I HAD to be blackmailed and trapped in a house with these assholes!!” It was instantly trailed by the raucous bang of a door.

Patrice shook his head. “I’ll talk to him later. He needs to be reminded that he is not the only one who doesn’t enjoy being here!”

“And he wasn’t viciously kidnapped!” Jonathan added on.

Beside him, Patrick nodded, his newly grown curly blonde locks bouncing on top of his head.

“I think we should search the remainder of the upstairs. Who knows what other secrets there are lying around this mansion?” Ryan Kesler suggested, with an immediate nod of agreement from his new captain.

“I nominate Bergy to lead us!” Ryan Getzlaf stated, with a respectful nod to the man, who stood on the side of the staircase, looking out at the remaining players gathered. “He’s already been doing that anyway, it only makes sense.”

“Thank you, Getz. Let’s go check this place out then!” Patrice spun on his heel and began to dart up the stairs quickly.

The others followed him. Tyler and Val grabbed each other closely, gazing around with curiosity, as Jonathan helped Patrick to his feet.

The shaggy haired Blackhawk shooed his captain away, swatting at him. “I got it Johnny! I’m good!” He was obviously feeling much better.

The Chicago centre raised his hands up, backing away. “Alright, alright. Just don’t faint again!”

“I’ll try not to!”

They hopped onto the stairs and bolted up to rejoin the group. Patrick Kane looked back down, over the ledge at the top and spotted the two dead bodies of Matt Cooke and Torey Krug. They’d been moved to the side, out of the way, but it was weird and terrifying seeing two of the NHL’s own players lying dead. The Blackhawk gulped and turned away, as his captain slapped him on the arm, lightly.

They walked into the hallway, where six doors were lined up on one side and the remaining six were across the walkway on the other side. All but one of the doors was closed. Sidney Crosby’s.

The group, led by Patrice Bergeron, snuck down the hall and continued deeper down, past the doors. There was a long, dimly lit stretch of hallway, with just plain walls. No doors. No pictures. Nothing. It mimicked a creepy medieval castle tunnel. At the end was a large dungeon style door.

Patrice halted. He was joined by Ryan Getzlaf. The two wise centres worked together and pushed the door open, carefully and cautiously. Behind them the other players perked up. Both men shoved the door open fully, and released it with a grunt in unison. They found themselves in a massive library room. It looked like the library from Beauty and the Beast. They walked in, allowing the others to enter the room.

Patrick gasped. “This library is huge!!” (Alright, calm down there, Belle!)

Jonathan smacked him on the back. Tyler, Reilly, and Val chuckled watching them fight like brothers. Drew and Ryan Kesler shared a look; Ryan rolled his eyes and joined the Bruin and Duck leader.

They gazed around this library room in awe. Reilly rushed forward, spotting a group of peculiar dolls. They were all made up of some kind of straw and crafted by Native Americans. On each of them were tiny shirts…no, jerseys…that showcased a few NHL teams.

The Bruin winger held one of them up. “It’s me!” The doll was crafted to look just like him and it had a number 18 jersey on it.

Patrice walked up and grabbed the other two dolls that wore Bruin jerseys. “One’s Torey and the other is me!”

“I too am here!” Tyler squeaked, snatching his smaller model self up. “And I look smoking hot!” He raised an eyebrow in an attempt to be sexy, or rather should I say “Segsy”.

“Oh, Tyler!” Patrick sighed, holding his doll up. “I’m better looking, see?”

The two younger males fought over whose doll looked more “sexy.” The others shared a look, watching the two men. They let the pair of young adults play around with their own dolls (of themselves), while Ryan Getzlaf reached forward and snatched up a piece of paper.

He scanned it and gasped. He threw his hands over his mouth, dropping the paper. It floated back downward onto the table. Patrice picked it up, joined by Jonathan and Drew.

It was read out loud by the Bruin:

“Twelve professional hockey players arrived to a big house,
One took a sip, had a seven and seven (alcoholic beverage) and then there were eleven.

Eleven professional hockey players hung out as men,
One was beaten to death and then there were ten.

Ten professional hockey players once thought things were fine,
One was stabbed and then there were nine.

Nine professional hockey players were up really late,
One was suffocated, snuffed, and then there were eight.

Eight professional hockey players learned they’d been taken to Evon,
One didn’t want to stay there and then there were seven.

Seven professional hockey players were chopping up food for a mix,
One chopped himself in half and then there were six.

Six professional hockey players were struggling to survive,
One was a red herring; he was hung and then there were five.

Five professional hockey players could withstand the gore,
One was slashed across the neck and then there were four.

Four professional hockey players attempted to flee,
One was caught by the darkness and then there were three.

Three professional hockey players remained wondering what to do,
One was tortured and then there were two.

Two professional hockey players were left with nowhere to run,
One was driven to insanity and then there was one.

One professional hockey player was left alone,
He walked out of the house, alive and then there were none.”

Reilly, Patrick, Jonathan, Patrice, Drew, Tyler, Val, Ryan Getzlaf and Ryan Kesler froze, staring at the paper in the Boston Bruin’s hands.

“What the hell kind of sick game is this??” Drew Doughty snapped. “Who would do such a thing like this?”

“It’s got to be that Penguin! He’s too hostile to us and I wouldn’t put it past him to kill us all!” Ryan Getzlaf snarled, spitting on the ground in fury.

“I don’t know, I don’t think Sid would do such a thing. Sid may be a little hotheaded, but I doubt he’d do something like this,” Patrice spoke, shaking his head.

“Just like you to defend the bastard, Bergy!” Tyler snapped. “You always have to be so sweet, but maybe you’re defending him, cause you know something that the rest of us don’t! Nice little charade there buddy!” The Dallas Star narrowed his eyes, as he roughly shoved Patrick Kane away from him, ending their dispute.

“I didn’t kill anyone! What would my motive be, Segs?”

“Oh I don’t know, you tell us!”

“Boston is known to be rather violent and physical…” Drew thought out loud. He frowned and narrowed his eyes, knitting his eyebrows together. The King stepped forward, causing Patrice to step backward. He clutched his doll quite tightly.

“What about not turning on one another yet? What happened to working together? We need to figure out what really is going on here and who brought us here!” Jonathan spoke, stepping between the budding feud. His arms were outstretched on either side of him.

Drew backed off, with a nod. Patrice did as well. They turned to the Blackhawk, who finally dropped his arms.

Jonathan grabbed the paper with the poem up. He read the lines again. “The first and second line of the poem, they foretold the deaths of Torey and Matt. But the third, has yet to come!”

“It could be a happy accident?” Patrick suggested, shrugging his shoulders.

Jonathan sent him a scolding look. Patrick returned to his doll, studying it.

Val stood to the side with his head cocked, watching the scene. He looked like a puppy begging at the dinner table. He was grinning, with absolutely no idea as to what was going on. Even though, he could read facial expressions, he wasn’t sure what the other hockey players were arguing about. The Russian Star sat down in one of the chairs, gradually taking his seat. He continued to watch the others argue and converse.

“It says that the third player to die is going to be stabbed to death! Who is that going to be?” Jonathan objected.

“No one! No one is going to die! We will all be cautious and stick together! No one leaves the group!”

“Except for Sidney!” Patrick growled.

“We’ll need to get him. Actually I have a better plan, everyone head to your rooms and stay in there. While I am talking to Sid, everyone remain in your rooms…work on stick handling or puck possession or something!” Patrice commanded, retaking his control over the group once more.

“We don’t have our hockey sticks, genius!” Tyler shot, folding his arms.

“Then busy yourself doing something!”

They meandered out of the library once more, shutting the door and headed back down the hall. Sidney’s door was wide open. He was nowhere in sight.

“Screw what I said! Find that Pittsburgh Penguin!”

They charged down the hall, exploding back to the top of the staircase. They halted gazing around, frantically looking for Sidney Crosby.

An earsplitting girly scream came from the back of the group. Everyone turned to face Patrick Kane, who had his arms over his mouth in horror. Patrice snapped his head around, looking at all of the players around him. Reilly Smith was missing.

“Where’s Reilly?” the Bruin centerman demanded.

“He was right behind me! I looked around and he wasn’t there!”

“Fuck!” the older Boston player cursed, stomping his foot on the ground. He pushed past the Blackhawk and darted back into the shadowy hallway. “REILLY!!”

The others remained frozen in place, unable to move. They didn’t dare make a noise or go anywhere. They just stared back at the hallway, where he had vanished.

After a few terrifying moments, a figure appeared in the shadows and emerged back into the torch light at the edge. It was Patrice and in his arms was the unconscious body of Reilly Smith. The newer Bruin’s body was soaked in crimson at his chest. It stained his shirt, in the area, right around his heart. Patrice’s eyes were full of tears, as he stumbled up to the group and dumped the newest victim to the ground. In his hand, he gripped the weapon, a dagger, covered in fresh blood.

“What happened?” Drew finally choked out, coming to help out the enemy player.

“I-I found him…he-he was……”

“He was what?”

“He was stabbed in the back with this!” Patrice raised the knife up to show them all. It glimmered in the light, as another close lightning strike struck outside. “Sidney IS the murderer! Sidney killed Reilly!”

“I told you!” Ryan Getzlaf shot, cracking his neck in a circle. “That son of a bitch has it out for all of us!”

“No I don’t, Getzlaf!” a voice spat to the left side of them.

Everyone turned to see Sidney Crosby rubbing his head with his left hand and holding a plate of French fries in his other. He was shaking and he had a pained expression on his face.

“How could I possibly have killed the awkward little guy, when I went to find food! I don’t know how the hell I ended up with a plate full of French fries, but anyone hungry?” He held the dish out, a little bit unmoved by the death.

“Don’t eat any! It’s a trap! They’re poisoned!! Sidney Crosby, you liar!” Patrice spat, stepping over the dead body of his friend.

“Yeah!” Ryan Getzlaf added, joining the Bruin.

They stalked toward the Penguin, who looked lost and flummoxed. He finally figured out that they were coming toward him, in attack mode and he dropped the plate and whirled around. He raced off, across the left side of the mansion. The Duck and Bruin launched off, after him. There was screaming, as they chased him around the house. The loud shouts echoed around, coming from every direction.

When they reappeared, from the opposite side, Ryan and Patrice had finally caught him, grabbing him by either arm and halting him in place. Sidney was boiling with rage.

“I didn’t kill anyone! I swear!”

“You are guilty Sid!”