Page 65 of Unalive On Air

“Earlier, you told me Helga killed everyone, and before that Sergeant Davies . . .” I’m not asking a direct question, only asking for clarification. Which of his tales should we believe?

He doesn’t answer, perhaps because he can’t. Maybe he doesn’t know himself and he’s been spinning webs, or perhaps he just doesn’t want to reveal the truth.

Either way, I can’t be fucked to continue interviewing him. I’ll ask the others another time, the ones who died before him, to see if they have any trustworthy insight.

“Josh,” I say, moving on.

Josh looks up from his phone. “Yeah?”

“Was there anything weird about your death? Besides getting your head blown up by a cupcake that is?”

Josh shrugs apathetically. “Dunno. Not really. I didn’t see no one looking suspicious or nothing.” He shuffles his feet and stretches out his neck in a way only kids and teenagers do when they want to avoid honesty.

“Okaay.” I draw out the word. “What time was this, and what were you doing before going to the breakfast hall?”

He makes a face. It’s half grimace, half surprise. “I just went for a walk around the hotel.”

Internally, I sigh. “Where did you go on your walk? And who were you with?”

“No one. I was with no one.” He glances down at his trainers. Ghost-mud stains the white rubber of the sole. “I may have been in places that I shouldn’t have been.”

“Such as?” I say.

The silence of everyone else beside me is heavy, almost measurable.

“Okay, but don’t get mad at me . . .”

“We won’t.” I look at the others.

“No, of course not,” Jeanie says.

Pixie adds, “Can’t make any promises.”

Josh shakes his head and purses his mouth tight.

“What?” Pixie says. “We don’t know what he’s done. We can’t promise not to be pissed at him.”

“He’s already dead,” Trystan says. “I think whatever he’s done, he’s served his punishment already.”

“We’ll try not to get cross,” I say, attempting to find the middle ground to keep everyone happy.

“I was . . . spinongilsinchanginrum.” He says the last word so quickly, I’m not even sure if it was in English.

“Huh?”

Josh puffs out a sigh. “I said I was in the women’s changing room at the spa.”

“Oh my god!” Pixie shouts. “See, I knew it was going to be something awful.”

“You’re forgiven,” Stove says with a shrug. Pixie punches his arm.

“Dude, I stuck up for you. That’s not cool,” Trystan says.

Josh looks down at his feet again. “Well, you’ll be pleased to know I couldn’t see anything. It was empty. Probably too early, so I left.”

“And then you went straight to the breakfast hall?” I say. Silence descends once more.

“No. I . . . broke into Helga’s office—okay, I didn’t know it was her office at the time,” he says defensively as Peter turns his full glare toward the teenager. “I just saw a door that said ‘staff only,’ so I went inside, and that’s where I found the muffin.”