The tapping started softly, like distant footsteps. Then it stopped for a long time, and when it started up again it was almost like a sledgehammer. Did the house get quieter or did the sound get louder? It didn't take a genius to figure out where the sound was coming from. Clearly, someone had not carried out their assigned task, and Irene Bell knew exactly who to blame for this unpleasant development. She skulked upstairs to find her elder son, who was curled into a ball on the floor in the corner of a forgotten room. The sound had not escaped him, either.

Downstairs, Jack had locked both the doors connecting his bedroom to other parts of the house and was contemplating whether it would be most advantageous to attempt to ally himself with a stronger player, or to strike out on his own with a series of sneak attacks. He was quite pleased with the method he and Clu had devised to get rid of Annie. But now that the weakest player was out of the picture, who would the others decide to take out next? Clu, probably, he supposed. And then it would be him. Yes, a plan was what he needed, and fast. Clu couldn't hide forever.

Ned sat quietly on the front porch, sharpening his weapon of choice. There weren't many options out here in the middle of nowhere, but he had managed to find a nice bit of wood that might make an effective stake. He could feel the flimsy porch beneath him shake with the force of the repeated pounding from elsewhere within the house. He shook his head ruefully. He knew who Irene would want to get rid of next, and while he didn't exactly approve, he did want to win just as much as he knew she did. So he continued sharpening, calmly, as the ancient porch swayed back and forth around him.

Like Irene, Molly was quite displeased with Carey's failure to dispatch Annie as directed. She decided to try a different approach than Irene's blunt force attack. She would be sympathetic; she would smile and offer the comforting thought that his weakness was okay, maybe even admirable. Yes. It would be better to gain his trust and then strike quickly than to attempt to beat him into submission and risk being overpowered by brute strength. Irene was probably the best-suited to this game of all of them, but Molly had a sneaking suspicion that Irene's tenaciousness might actually get her into trouble here. She could hear Irene shouting now, chastising her son for not following orders. She headed upstairs stealthily and listened more closely.

"All you had to do was drag her out back and finish the job. That was all we asked you to do. Jack distracted her, your brother took care of the dirty work, all you had to do was finish it. And you couldn't even do that. What stopped you?"

"I don't understand any of this," he protested. "Yeah, I want to win just like you do, but I don't know what it is I'm supposed to be doing."

"It's not that complicated," she snapped. "Eliminate the weaker players. That's it. It's simple. We decided she was the weakest, and we asked you to do one simple thing, and you screwed it up."

"I'm sorry, I just I was taking her out, but it just" Irene rolled her eyes.

"I'm taking care of it now, so don't worry. Where did you put her?"

"What are you going to do when you find her? Could you really kill her?"

Irene shrugged. "Where did you put her?"

He pushed himself back further into the corner. "I'm not going to tell you that."

"Then maybe we were wrong," she said slowly, narrowing her eyes. "Maybe Annie isn't the weakest one here after all."

Molly decided to make her move. "Now, Irene, it's not that difficult to figure out where she is. She's got to be downstairs. The noise gets louder the further down you go. Maybe she's down in the basement."

Irene didn't bother to say anything else; she just walked away quickly, and they could hear her eager steps pounding down the stairs. Molly laughed. "Your mother sure is into this, isn't she?"

Carey didn't bother to answer. He began rocking back and forth quickly with his eyes closed. "Hey," she said softly, reaching out. She placed her hands on his shoulders in an attempt to steady him. "Relax. She didn't mean it. She was just trying to get you to tell her about Annie."

"But you know it's true," he said. "At some point, I will be the weakest, even if I'm not now. And then it will be someone else. And what do you win when it's all over?"

She smiled sympathetically. "I don't understand any of this either. It's like sometimes I can't even control my own thoughts in this place. We should get out of here."

"She won't leave. Neither will the others."

"That's okay. Come on, you and I, we'll make a quick getaway, see if it clears our heads."

He offered a tentative smile in return, but his expression quickly turned to one of horror. He looked down at her hands, still clutching his shoulders--they had become predatory, like claws. Her face changed; she was feral, on the verge of attack, ready to tear into him and claim a casualty for her own. He tried to pull away, shoving himself back against the wall, when suddenly his vision cleared. Molly was backing away with her hands in a surrendering position, looking at him with genuine concern. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," he said, swallowing hard. "But I don't think I can leave."

"That's okay. It was just an idea. I don't know what's going on here, but I'm sure we'll find out. Don't worry," she told him soothingly. "We'll make it out of here. You did the right thing. When your mother starts thinking clearly again, she'll realize that too."

"Thank you."

She smiled sweetly at him.

It would undoubtedly have been a nice moment between them, were it not for the piercing scream that interrupted their conversation. It was a male voice, and Molly's maternal instinct kicked in briefly: "Jack!" she shouted, heading downstairs at a quick pace.

Jack didn't answer. He just stood there, holding the kitchen knife, staring at it, unable to believe what he had done. But shock soon turned to satisfaction, and he faced the row of shocked faces that crowded into the open door. "Jack, what have you done?" Molly asked in a tone that was not as condemning as it was awed. Clu lay prone on the floor in front of him, bleeding and unconscious.

"I don't exactly remember," he explained. It occurred to him too late, as he glanced around at the others: since Clu had been eliminated from the game, he was the one in danger now. He decided to run for it, and impulsively did so, slamming the other door behind him.

Irene and Ned regarded their younger son with a curious degree of apathy and detachment. Try as she might, Irene could not remember this boy as her son; he had simply been an opponent. A fallen opponent. Good riddance. So, who was next? Jack, clearly, thought he would be. So maybe a surprise attack to subvert expectations was the answer.

But who?