Dice, Rules, an Empty Chair

Max didn't live there anymore. But he still knows all of Jonas's friends. If Silke wants more, she should get more.

If you don't know what D&D is: You might be too young for this site. Or you had a childhood without dice and dragons. Neither excuse is valid here.

Jonas had cleared off the living room table as if tidying up were some kind of moral achievement. Three friends were coming over. Beer in the fridge. Chips in bowls that no one would wash. Just a normal evening, Jonas thought. Monsters. Numbers. Laughter. Silke was supposed to say hello, maybe watch for a round, and then disappear into his room or drive home. That was the plan Jonas knew.

The plan the others knew was dirtier.

Tim arrived first. Tim was the one with the folder under his arm and a face that was too harmless for what was in the folder. Tim was in on it. Leon and Bastian arrived next—loud, hungry, already a little too interested—when Silke opened the door. Silke knew more than her face showed.

An anonymous message had been on her cell phone since that afternoon. No name. No number that could be traced. Something like this: *Tonight at Jonas’s. Dice game. He’ll leave. You play dumb. You play naive. You can go as far as you want. But if you don’t go far enough, your photos won’t stay private.*

She didn’t know what to expect. But she wanted to give it her best shot.

She’d dressed especially innocently. A white shirt—thin, but not see-through. A light-colored bra underneath. Tight jeans. No fishnet. No neckline down to her belly button. “Naive” had to look like “naive,” not like an invitation. The fact that her body was already aroused was another story.

Around half past seven, Jonas’s cell phone rang.

No movie accident. No blood. Just a voice pretending the world had just become inconvenient. A buddy. A problem. A “I need you right now, like, right now—no bullshit.” Jonas went pale at first, then became practical, then turned into what nice friends become when they feel guilty about leaving.

“I have to step out for a minute,” he called into the room.

Leon leaned back as if he’d been expecting that. “Then the game’s off.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Tim said immediately. Too quickly, if you listened closely. “Silke can fill in. Just until you get back. We’ll explain it. It’s easy.” Jonas looked at Silke. Silke put on the expression she’d practiced: overwhelmed, polite, a little lost between dice and guys.

“Me? I’ve never played anything like this before. Dragons and… traps and stuff.”

“You’re just the heroine,” said Bastian. “We’ll tell you when to roll the dice. You don’t have to know how to do anything.”

Jonas hesitated. Of course. His girlfriend. His living room. Three guys. But his cell phone was vibrating again, and Tim said, “Just until you’re back,” and Silke shrugged as if that were a gap in the evening and not an abyss.

“Okay,” said Jonas. “Don’t be weird and stick to the adventure.”

He kissed Silke quickly, grabbed his jacket, and was out the door. The door clicked shut. The chair at the head of the table remained empty. The room felt smaller, even though no one had stood up.

Tim opened the folder. The paper was thick. Someone had put a lot of effort into this.

“We’re playing *The Prisoner in the Tower of Desires*,” he said, as if it were a title like any other. “Very narrative. Very… physical, when it comes to the trials.” “Although now that Jonas is gone, I guess it’s *The Prisoner in the Tower of Desires*.”

Leon grinned. Bastian grinned. Silke rolled her eyes as if she’d heard the word “desires” in a church choir.

“What do I have to do?”

“You’re Lyra,” said Tim. “The heroine. You want to save someone. Along the way, there are traps. Punishments. Spells.” Silke laughed nervously. The laugh was good. It sounded like someone hoping the others would say “Just kidding” next.

Tim slid a character sheet toward her. Numbers. Boxes. A name that wasn’t hers. Silke nodded, as if nodding meant she understood. She understood that she was supposed to stay dumb. That was enough.

They played through the opening scene. Torches. Stone. A hallway that smelled of wet wool and old metal, as Tim described it. Silke was supposed to “walk carefully.” She picked up the die. Her fingers were already sweaty. She rolled poorly.

“Trap,” Tim said gently. “A noose on the floor. Leon, your thief rips it away.”

Leon rolled the die. He rolled poorly, too. That roll doesn’t imply anyone meant to do it. It just implies that bad rolls had good friends that evening. Tim read on without looking up. “The noose pulls tight. The fabric tears. The thief’s shirt is ripped right off his body. Completely. Ruined.”

For a heartbeat, it was silent.

Leon looked up. “Seriously?”

“House rule,” said Tim. “Traps and penalties apply. Otherwise, we might as well play Ludo, and that’s not why anyone came here.”

Silke blinked, extra slowly. “Wait. Does that mean… he’s taking his shirt off? Right here?”

Bastian shrugged as if it were a matter of hygiene. “Yeah, he lost it in the game. So off it goes.”

Leon groaned through his nose, half-stood up, and grabbed the hem. To Silke, the movement lasted too long and too short at the same time. The shirt went over his head. Chest. Shoulders. A strip of skin that no longer belonged to the “harmless game night.” Leon tossed the fabric over the back of his chair and sat back down, bare-chested, a grin that was a little too fixed.

Silke stared for a second too long. Then looked away. Then back again, as if her gaze had caught itself. The white of her own shirt suddenly felt like a statement.

“Is that really the rule?” she asked. Her voice was small. Naive. “The rule,” said Tim. “What the trap takes, it keeps.”

Something was humming in the fridge. Outside, a car drove by. Jonas was gone. Silke sat there, her shirt still on, and realized with an unpleasant, warm tug in her stomach that the next noose was no longer meant for Leon.