Five Rounds

I sit on the floor; it's cold, like the soles of Yale's feet when he had a fever last time. In my arms, I hold a blue teddy bear jacket, its collar stained with a bit of milk—Yale spilled some on it yesterday morning, and I haven't had a chance to wash it yet. On the coffee table lies a stainless steel fruit knife, its handle scratched—the mark Yale made when he was learning to cut fruit, crying and saying, "Dad, I'm sorry." Now, no one says sorry to me anymore. Yale is gone. I take out my phone and open the live streaming app. The account is newly registered, named "Yale's Dad." I thought about the livestream title for a long time, and finally typed: Wendy Wade, five rounds to save Leo Jones, or else bury Yale. The moment I hit the "Start Live" button, my hand trembled. The viewer count on the screen went from 1 to 10, then to 100, climbing fast. I glanced behind me; Leo was tied to a chair, his mouth sealed with tape, his eyes filled with terror. The bullet comments started scrolling: "What's going on? What is the streamer doing? Is this some kind of drama?" "Isn't that one in the back a mannequin? The prop looks pretty realistic." "Already reported for spreading violent content. Are you out of your mind?" I ignored the bullet comments, picked up another phone, and sent a message to Wendy Wade: Yale said he misses you. Come home early. After waiting three minutes, Wendy replied: Got it. Don't rush me. I'll come back soon. I mounted the phone on a stand and adjusted the angle to make sure it captured me and Leo Jones behind me. I spoke to the camera, my voice a little hoarse—probably from crying too much yesterday. I said, "Hello everyone, my name is Simon Lincoln. The woman on the screen is my wife, Wendy Wade. She betrays me with her lover, unaware that Leo Jones is here with me. Next, I'm going to play a game with Wendy. You all bear witness. Now, I'm connecting with her." I clicked on the video call, and while waiting, the bullet comments kept coming: "No way, a real call? This can't be scripted, right?" "The streamer looks pretty polished, how could he do something like this?" "Waiting for the twist, I bet it's just hype." The call connected, and Wendy Wade's face appeared on the screen, neon lights from a bar glaring behind her. Wendy said, "Simon Lincoln, what kind of madness are you up to now? Didn't I say I would be back soon?" Before she could finish, her eyes landed on Leo Jones behind me, and her voice suddenly stopped. She froze for two seconds, then immediately pulled out another phone and started dialing. The busy signal came through, and her face gradually turned as pale as paper. Wendy said, "Simon! Why is Leo Jones at your place? What are you trying to do?!" I said, "Nothing really. Just playing a game—truth or dare." Wendy laughed, a bitter, ugly laugh, and said, "Are you crazy? Simon, I'm warning you: don't touch him! Or you'll regret it!" I stood up and slowly walked behind Leo. The number of viewers in the live streaming room had already climbed to two hundred thousand. I picked up the fruit knife from the coffee table, pressing the blade against the tendon on Leo's left foot. Without hesitation, I sliced down. Blood sprayed out, splattering onto my face—warm and sticky. Leo Jones, who had been unconscious, was now jolted awake by pain, letting out 'oo-oo' sounds as he struggled desperately. The bullet comments exploded: "It's real! Not a prop!" "This guy's crazy! Call the police!" "Is he being cheated on? Why else would he be this ruthless?" I waved the bloodstained knife in front of the camera and said, "Wendy Wade, five rounds to save Leo Jones. Otherwise, you come and claim the body yourself." I raised the knife, aiming it at Leo Jones's eye. His tears fell onto my hand. Wendy's voice was sharp, like a broken whistle. She said, "No! I want to play! Simon Lincoln, I want to play! Don't hurt him!" I put down the knife and asked, "Truth or dare?" Wendy's voice trembled, laced with sobs. She said, "Dare." I said, "Okay."