Chapter 3
Eve's POV
The 911 and missing person calls went unanswered, and I collapsed at home, my gaze falling on the poster for "Eden Game. Maybe I had missed something...
The poster crumples in my fist, edges digging into my palms like shards of the broken photo frame.
The tears come then, hot and relentless, soaking the collar of my top. I haven’t cried like this since David’s funeral—sobs that shake my ribs, that make me gasp for air like I’m drowning.
“Vicky,” I choke out, voice raw. “Where are you?”
The room feels smaller, pressing in on me with the weight of all the days I’ve missed—parent-teacher conferences I skipped, birthdays I forgot, arguments I started because I was too tired to listen.
I should’ve understood what it meant. When I found that poster in her room, I should’ve known it was more than just a game.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, jolting me from the spiral. It’s the hospital—probably the scheduler, reminding me of tomorrow’s double shift.
I can’t go in. Not now.
I dial the head nurse's number, my hands shaking so hard I fumble the keypad twice.
“Cheney,” she barks on the first ring. “You’re late for night rounds—”
“I need the next few days off,” I interrupt, my voice breaking. “My daughter’s missing. I have to find her.”
Silence. Then, a scoff. “Missing? Eve, don't be dramatic. She's a teenager. She probably ran off with some boy and will be back once the party's over. You know, fuck and drunk.”
“I'm short-staffed as it is, so you can stop the drama and get your ass to the hospital now!”
“No!” I say, and hang up before she can scream.
This old bitch, go ahead and fuck it herself!
I have to find Vicky, NOW!
I rushed out of the apartment, walked onto the street, shouted Vicky's name and looked for her everywhere.
“Vicky!” I shout, my voice echoing between the brick buildings. “Vicky, come home!”
A group of teenagers snickers as they walk by, one of them mimicking my cry. An old man on a stoop glares, muttering about “crazy bitches.” I ignore them, my feet carrying me toward the park where Vicky used to smoke with her friends.
“Vicky!” I yell, scanning the benches, the playground, and the shadowed corners. “Please! I’m sorry! Just come back!”
My throat burns, but I keep going, wandering aimlessly through the neighborhood. I check the convenience store where she shoplifted lip gloss last month, the alley behind the high school where she skipped class, and the abandoned warehouse she once mentioned in a fit of defiance.
By midnight, my shoes are scuffed, my voice is gone, and my chest feels like it’s on fire. I collapse onto the curb outside Fire & Fang, shoulders heaving. The neon sign flickers above me, painting my tears in hues of red and blue.
The door creaks open, and Tina steps out, wiping her hands on a rag. Her eyes widen when she sees me.
“Eve? What the hell are you doing here?” She drops to her knees beside me, pulling me into a hug. “You’re freezing. What’s wrong?”
I can barely speak, just shake my head and gasp out, “Vicky’s… she’s been gone four days. Tina, I can’t find her.”
Tina’s arms tighten around me. “Oh, honey. Four days? I know we talked about this, but I didn't think it would be this long. Still, try not to panic. You know how she is.” She helps me stand, steadying me when my legs wobble.
“C’mon. You’re not staying out here. My place is two blocks away, come and rest a while.”
Her apartment is smaller than mine, cluttered with Charles’s toys and medical bills taped to the fridge.
“Mom!” A boy’s voice, was thin and weak.
Tina curses under her breath. “Charles. Fever’s back.” She leads me to the couch, pressing a blanket into my hands. “Sit. I’ll get you something to eat. Just… give me a minute.”
I watch her rush down the hallway, her voice softening as she murmurs to her son. The living room is dim, lit only by a lamp with a frayed shade. A photo of Tina and a man I assume is her ex-husband sits on the coffee table, their arms around a younger Charles, grinning at the camera.
My stomach growls. Tina returns a few minutes later with a can of soup and a spoon. “It’s cold, but—”
“Thank you,” I say, digging in greedily. The broth burns my tongue, but it’s the first thing I’ve eaten since yesterday’s pizza.
Tina sits beside me, rubbing her temples. “Charles has been like this for weeks. Doctors say it’s nothing, but… ." She trails off, staring at the wall.
"Being a mother is really a thing," she said.
I nod, “Every single day.”
We sit in silence for a while, the only sound Charles’s muffled cries from down the hall. Tina checks on him twice, returning each time with a tighter frown. By the time she insists I lie down on the couch, I’m too exhausted to argue.
I wake at dawn, and the couch springs digging into my back. Tina is curled up in a chair, snoring softly. I slip out, leaving a note thanking her, and the phone rings, it's the Head nurse.
“Eve Cheney? You’re fired,” she snaps before I can say a word. “You think this job waits for you to play detective? Get your stuff out by Friday.”
I hang up. Good. Let them find someone else to clean up the rubbish!
The rest of the day blurs into a fog of panic. I check the police station twice, but the officer behind the desk just shrugs and says, “These things take time.” I wander downtown, stopping strangers to ask if they’ve seen a girl with a snake tattoo, but most just walk away.
By evening, my feet are blistered, my throat is raw, and I’m pretty sure I’ve developed a cough. I stumble home, collapse onto the bed, and fall asleep without taking my medicine.
The phone rings at 7 a.m., jolting me awake. I fumble for it, squinting at the screen. Dr. Mann.
“Eve,” he purrs, his voice too loud in my ear. "I heard that you were fired by the head nurse. That's really unfair. I'm willing to hire you as my personal assistant. How about this, give me your address and I'll come right away..."
This scumbag had to take advantage of me, a single mother who just lost her only daughter, at this moment?
Rage boils in my chest, hot and sudden. “Go to hell! you piece of shit,” I snarl. “Leave me alone.”
I hang up and throw the phone across the room. It lands in a pile of laundry, the screen still glowing.
I lie back, staring at the ceiling. The water stain above the bed looks like a face, its eyes mocking me. What else can I do? The police don’t care. Her friends don’t know anything. I’ve checked every corner of this godforsaken city, and there’s no sign of her.
Maybe she’s gone for good. Maybe she meant what she said—she hates me, hates this life, and she’s never coming back.
Tears sting my eyes. I close them, trying to breathe, but my chest feels tight. I’m so tired. Tired of fighting, tired of working, tired of being alone.
A notification chimes.
I ignore it at first, too numb to care. Probably a bill or a spam email. But it chimes again, insistently.
With a sigh, I roll over, grab the phone, and unlock it.
One new message. Unknown number.
My heart stops when I read it.
Want to find your daughter? Come to Sequoia Steel Factory *
The words are in English, but the signature is in flowing script: EDEN GAME.
I sit up so fast I get dizzy. Fumbling in the couch cushions, I find the poster I stuffed there yesterday. The blue-green paper crinkles in my hands as I compare the signature. Same loops, same slant.
It’s real.
I dial the unknown number, my fingers shaking. It rings once, twice, three times—then goes to voicemail. A robotic voice says, “This number is not in service.”
“Fuck,” I whisper. What if it’s a trap? What if it’s some sick joke? But what if it’s not? What if it’s the only chance I have to find Vicky?
I throw on my jacket, grab my keys, and run outside. I need to get to the Sequoia steel plant.
The taxi driver looks at me like I’m crazy when I tell him the address. “That place? It’s been abandoned for years. Nothing but rats and rust.”
“Just drive,” I shoved a handful of crumpled bills at him.
The ride takes an hour, through neighborhoods that get worse and worse—abandoned houses, overgrown lots, wire fences. When we finally pull up to the steel plant, my stomach drops.
It’s a monstrosity of rusted metal and broken windows, the sign above the gate hanging by a thread. The surrounding area is desolate, with just a few weeds pushing through cracks in the pavement.
“Wait here,” I tell the driver, but he’s already pulling away, tires screeching.
I step through the gate, my boots crunching on gravel. “Vicky!” I shout, my voice echoing off the empty buildings. “Vicky, are you here?”
No answer. Just the wind, whistling through the broken glass.
I walk farther in, scanning the shadows. The place is eerie, like something out of a horror movie. Piles of discarded machinery loom in the darkness, their shapes twisted and menacing.
“Vicky!” I call again, my voice trembling. What if she’s here, hurt, and I can’t find her? What if this is a mistake?
My phone rings. I jump, fumbling to answer it.
“Hello?”
A mechanical voice, not human, fills my ear. “To find your daughter, board the vehicle at the main entrance.”
I spin around. There, parked by the gate, is a black van. I didn’t see it when I arrived—maybe it was hidden behind the fence. The sliding door is open, revealing a dark interior.
My heart races. This is insane. I should run, call the police, or do anything but get into that van. But what if Vicky is inside? What if this is my only chance?
I take a deep breath and start walking. The van is old, its paint chipped, the license plate is covered in mud. I pause at the door, hesitating.
“Vicky?” I call into the darkness. “Are you in there?”
No answer.
I grit my teeth and climb inside. The floor is cold metal beneath my shoes. I turn to ask the driver—whoever they are—where Vicky is, but before I can open my mouth, something pricks my neck.
Pain, sharp and sudden, spreads through my body. Then electricity, searing hot, raced up my spine. I scream, but no sound comes out. My legs give way, and I fall to my knees, vision blurring.
"Contestant No. 28, Eve Cheney, has gotten on the bus," someone says, their voice distant, like it’s coming through water.
I reach for the door handle, but my fingers won’t work. Darkness creeps in at the edges of my vision,
swallowing everything—my fear, my anger, my hope.
The last thing I think is: Vicky. I’m coming.
Then everything goes black.