“Welcome to the Silver Wheel Gambling House. Would you like a drink, ma’am?”

Panic was the first reaction, as it used to be. Which was reasonable. It was all very reasonable to want to shout and scream and rush for the exit. And yet, the woman who just opened her eyes didn’t. The panic came, and the panic passed, aided by the mellow atmosphere and scented smoke that wafted around them. It was designed to subdue the most violent of reactions. But nothing could subdue the confusion.

“...where am I?”

“As I said, ma’am, this is the Silver Wheel Gambling House. I am your waitress, Teresa, and I am waiting to take your order.”

Typically, Teresa was the first thing they registered, other than the general atmosphere of a classy, upscale establishment. She had a pretty, youthful face underlined by an obvious yet unobtrusive layer of makeup, paling her skin and plumping her lips to a brilliant shade of red. Her clothes were sharp and professional, form-fitting, and looked perfectly worn, as if they had been conjured flawlessly over her body and hadn’t suffered so much as a crease in the years and years she must have worn it. She had withdrawn blue eyes, and she moved like someone who had operated so long in the heat of the spotlight that she had grown disdainful of laboring under it.

The next thing guests would notice, by and by, was their surroundings, as they scanned the room for details. It looked like a high-end casino, gaudy and beautiful and delightfully fake, although feeling rather lonesome as the usual hectic atmosphere that accompanied these kinds of gambling establishments was entirely absent. Music (in this case, “Why Worry”, from Set it Off) streamed in from unseen speakers. The smell of alcohol and lingering smoke punched through the perfume of the air. It was well-lit, with only a single shadowed corner that somehow never quite managed to escape the periphery of their vision.

Finally, they would register the rest of the table.

A seat, just for them.

The table they were seated at, and the single dice in front of them, and three face-down cards.

The dealer, in this case a young indian woman with violent brown eyes that clashed with the impish smile on her thin pale lips.

And their opponent, sitting at the far end of the table.

“Oh, hi.”

“Hey.”

He hissed a little bit, his finger flickering up and down, as if debating whether he wanted to raise it or not, “er… could you order something? The waitress is kind of freaking me out.”

“Oh. She’s still- she’s still here,” she noted, “uh… schnapps?”

“Very good, ma’am.”

She bowed her head and walked out the nearby door, where the woman briefly glimpsed what appeared to be a bar, manned by… someone. The door wasn’t open long enough for her to get a good look at him. She stared at the frosted glass door for a little longer, before slowly turning to the grinning dealer, who had an arm slung over the back of her chair, looking far more relaxed than her stiff-spined colleague.

“So… um… where are we?”

“Silver Wheel. Like we said. It’s a magical gambling house you and your— husband?”

“No,” he shook his head, “brother-in-law.”

“Pffft. That makes sense, you could do way better, girlfriend” Ratna stuck her tongue out, “anyway, you two have been selected by fate — or something like it — for the opportunity to participate in a once-in-a-lifetime game of chance. This, a place between the world of the dreaming and the awake, is a magical realm where you can wager anything your heart desires: money, power, talents, skills — whatever you can imagine, you can put it on the table, and use it to win whatever it is your opponent has put down.”

Of course that was insane, but in spite of the fact it was unbelievable, the woman, who liked to go by Oli, believed it. She didn’t bother trying to understand how paradoxical that was, because she doubted untangling that twist of logic would dispel how absolutely believable she found this situation. So she accepted it as-is.

“There are a few rules you should know before we get started. For one, every game here is winner-take-all. You can’t duck out until you’ve either lost all your chips, or won your opponent’s. Try to leave before that, and you forfeit. For two, whatever you wager has to be seen as equal in value by both parties. So even if you think his car is worth your collection of unique owl pellets, you can’t play unless he agrees. And for three, you can’t wager more time. Everything else is on the table but you can’t gamble for more or less time on that sweet rock you call home.”

A glass of schnapps was placed in front of Oli, but she didn’t quite see who put it there. A quick glance saw the waitress was standing by the door, head bowed… but it would have been impossible for her to place the drink in one moment and be there the next. Another failure of logic in this strange place Oli decided not to linger on.

Her brother-in-law seemed unusually calm. Maybe it was the air.

“If you want to play, talk over what you’d gamble with your opponent. Otherwise, you’re free to walk out the door and return to the waking world. No matter what you do you won’t remember it, so, don’t worry about getting any FOMO or whatever the kids call it.”

The two of them looked at each other.

Oli laughed awkwardly.

“Kinda a lot to take in, huh?”

“No kidding. But… you kind of feel like it has to be true, right?”

“I’m so glad you said that, I was afraid it was just me!”

“So… you wanna do this? I have to admit I kind of want to try it.”

“Oh, I do. I even know what I’m willing to gamble.”

“Pffft, this ought to be good. My sister has already shared your recipes so-”

“-I’ll gamble Isaac.”

Oli gawked.

“...what?”

“Isaac. My wife’s kid.”

Her eyes were wide and frozen, but not in the “deer in headlights” style. That suggested danger, fear, and an inability to process the alien destruction that raced towards you. Hers looked more like the still glare of a very large, angry man who was just spat on by a much smaller, weaker man. An almost confused, excited rage, the static before the first of his enormous hands fell like bolts from heaven.

“Neither of us will remember this, right?” he shrugged, ignoring her obvious shock, “I know you love him to pieces and you’ve always wanted a child of your own. So this seems like the perfect time to seize him for yourself, right?”

“...I… I…” she stammered, too angry and excited to be coherent “I- you can’t just-”

“Oh, he can.” Ratna interjected, “It’s not the years of his life so it’s on the table.”

“I-I mean, he’s not even really yours-”

‘-he is by marriage. You want him, right?”

She paused.

“..yes. Yes I’d play for him.”

“So don’t try getting on your high horse, how’s that sound?” he smiled, although there was a bitterness to his smile that she didn’t recognize. Yet, sadly enough, it didn’t seem alien on his face either. It was like seeing the other side of a coin — noticeably different, but you couldn’t deny it was the same hunk of metal. She didn’t like it. She didn’t care for it at all. She squirmed a bit at the realization, and squeezed her thumb to shake herself out of it.

“Oh my god, I wish my sister could see you right now. She never believed me when I said I wasn’t comfortable with you being around Isaac, but if she could hear all this… you’re kinda sick, aren’t you?”

Oli hadn’t known her brother-in-law was so...callous? Then again, she supposed she had never really gotten past the first impression stage of their relationship. He was her sister’s second husband, and apparently he was a widower himself. She had only met him a handful of times, but each time he seemed kind, if a little reserved. As if he was afraid of letting go, or letting something show. She had chalked it up to him still wrestling with his first wife’s passing, even though there was a not-so-secret part of her, a place in her mind untouched by sympathy or empathy, that believed he must be salting his own wounds if time hadn’t healed them by now.

“Good thing neither of us will remember this,” he shrugged aside her scathing glare, “And what will you wager for the chance to get your very own child?”

Oh, right. She had forgotten that part, too. It was true she had always wanted a son to call her own, and it was true that Oli desperately wanted one just like her nephew, Isaac... but what was she prepared to lose to make that happen? Money? No, she’d need that to take care of Isaac if she won. Plus, she wasn’t exactly swimming in it either. She had an extensive collection of exotic and unique seashells she’d wager, but she doubted he was as interested in that stuff as she was. She had a master’s in biochemistry she didn’t technically need anymore she could wager… but then, she didn’t know how this place worked, exactly. If she lost it retroactively she’d also lose her current job, and she’d be back at square one.

“I’m not sure.”

“Think harder. I’m sure you’ll think of something. Maybe something you’re good at.”

She crossed her arms, rocking her body, as if that would make her imagination a more fertile breeding ground for thoughts. It must have worked, because she only needed a few seconds of rocking — and one sip of schnapps — before she nodded to herself.

“...you know what, if you really feel this way about your own kid, I bet you’re getting up to other nasty deals, too. I’ve been told I’m a good liar.”

“So you want me to trade my kid for your ability to lie well?”

“He doesn’t seem to mean that much to you.”

He leaned forward.

“Prove you’re good at lying.”

She smirked.

“Sure, sure, since we won’t remember this. Every nice thing I said to you about your wedding toast was a lie. It was short, and over-dramatic, and cheesy, and way worse than my sister’s. And the stuff that was supposed to be moving just came off as self-indulgent. It was crap, and everyone I spoke to there agreed with me.”

His aloof, dry expression actually faltered slightly at that, and under the cracks some genuine hurt seeped through.

“Really? I worked really hard on it.”

And in turn, she flashed him a playfully wicked grin.

“I know. It was good.”

He needed a second to process that.

“...heh. Well played,” he admitted. “Fine. I’d like to be able to lie like that.”

And at that admission, like magic, two sets of thirty chips appeared in front of them: his, a galaxy-swirl of red and brown, which was every ounce as ugly as it sounded, and for her, a gradient of black-to-white chips with many healthy shades of grey in-between the two extremes.

“The chips are down and the game is official. I’d say last chance to back out, but, heh, you missed it already. The ability to lie well for his kid — I’d call this the most fucked up bet in this establishment but, heh, that’d be a lie, too. Anyway, the game tonight, appropriately enough, is Pig.”

“Pig” is a simple dice game created in 1945 by American magician and gambler John Scarne, first written about in his book Scarne on Dice. The creation of a dice game might seem a bit out of character for a man who is often lauded as the greatest card manipulator of all time, but in reality the relatively simple game existed mostly as a way to teach would-be card sharks about probability, and has been adapted as such. “Pig” is also the oldest example of a family of dice games called “Jeopardy Dice Games”, a category created by famous German board game designer Reiner Knizia, which describes any dice game where progress is made by risking what progress you’ve already made.

“Pig is stupid easy. You roll the dice in front of you, adding up the results of each roll, until you either roll a one or decide to hold. If you hold, the points you’ve rolled that round get added to your score, a new round starts, and your opponent rolls. But if you roll a one, the points you’ve rolled that round drop to zero, the next round starts, and your opponent rolls like you’d expect. First person to score 100 points wins.”

“Of course, here at the Silver Wheel, we like to spice up our gambling with some actual strategy, and since there’s not a whole lot of strategy to Pig, we’ve added a fairly big kink to the rules. That, dear friends, would be the cards in front of you.”

Both parties glanced at the cards next to their unique dice. Oli picked hers up — she had a +1, a -1, and a reroll. She was pretty sure she could figure out how this was going to work.

“At any point during the game, you can play a card. The +1 will add one to the dice’s number, whereas the -1 will reduce the dice’s number by one. ‘Rerolls’ will force rerolls of the result. Pretty self-explanatory. But if you’re really lucky you can also play the “fuck you’” card, which lets you cancel whatever other card your opponent just put down. Once you use a card, it’s placed at the bottom of the deck. Every time your score passes an interval of 25 — so at 50 and 75 too — you’re dealt a new card. Lemmie draw attention to the fact there’s only ten cards in the deck: three +1’s, three -1’s, three rerolls, and one “fuck you”. You can play a card in response to the opponent playing a card, but you can only use one card per dice roll. You can’t, for example, use two +1’s on any single roll. If a card is played when the dice isn’t showing a number, it will impact the next result. Otherwise, it will impact the result currently showing. And to keep this from being a game of pure speed, you need to let the dice sit for a few seconds before you roll it again, in case your opponent would like to play a card.”

“Any questions?”

Oli was no gambler — at least, not compared to her brother-in-law, who seemed to have taken quite the shine to it lately — but she also wasn’t an idiot. Since both of them had three cards, and there were only four cards currently in the deck, it was entirely possible, if the game went long enough, to figure out what was in your opponents hands by just remembering what got played in what order. Card counting, made easy. What made it more complicated was the fact that she didn’t know if their cards were dealt randomly, or if they both started with a +1, a -1, and a reroll by design. And asking, unfortunately, would probably signal to her brother-in-law her hand, even if she kept it vague.

However, as near as she could tell, the cards only helped to mitigate the randomness inherent in the game.You could use the reroll or the +1 to avoid any 1 rolls, allowing you to roll longer, and you could use the -1 to force your opponent’s 2’s to become 1’s… or cancel out an opponent’s +1, she supposed. End of the day, she wasn’t convinced the cards changed that much… unless there was something she wasn’t seeing, it all largely hemmed on luck.

Speaking of…

“No? Great. Then all you dorks need to do is roll your dice. Whoever gets the higher number starts. Reroll if it’s a tie, obviously.”

Both Oli and her opponent picked up their dice wordlessly, but they were glaring daggers at each other from their ends of the table. But despite the lightning in the air, everything was still in that moment. Shockingly so, save for the slow drip of sweat off Oli’s half-empty glass. Oli wondered what was going on in his twisted little head for a brief moment, entertaining all kinds of uncomfortable notions, before giving up on the exercise and throwing her dice rather carelessly into the air: much different from his more efficient scoop, shake, and spill method.

Still, both produced results: she got a 5, and he got a 3.

“The lady rolls first.”

“Thank you for calling me a lady.”

“Thank you for assuming I put any thought into my word choices.”

Well, there was nothing to it but to do it, she supposed, as Bob Dylan “Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right” plucked its way to live across the radio, she started throwing her dice through the air. 5, 2…

...she waited with baited breath to see if her brother-in-law would pounce on that two. He wordlessly shook his head no, inviting her to continue rolling. She obliged, and next got a 3, 3, and 5.

18 total so far. She glanced at her brother-in-law, whose face hadn’t even twitched. She considered, briefly, holding: but with two cards that could save her from a 1 roll, she had no real need to hesitate yet.

4. Another 4. And finally, after hitting 26, she rolled her first 1. Since he could counter her +1 with a -1, she dropped her reroll card, and got a 6 instead. He continued to do nothing. Not even a nervous twitch as her score leapt up to 32, nearly 1/3rd of the score she needed to win, and all she’d need to secure a new card.

“If I didn’t know better I’d think you wanted me to win.”

“Why would you think that?” he asked, his emotions uncharacteristically muted.

“You don’t seem nervous or anxious or… like you want to win? This isn’t poker, you don’t need a poker face.”

“I can see why you’d find that weird. Ratna, how does the Silver Wheel ‘work’? I gambled Isaac, but how will I lose him if I lose this game?”

“Oh, the Silver Wheel will find a way. In the waking world it will all feel very natural,” Ratna rattled on, her undying smile sparking with new, villainous life as she matched eyes with the brother-in-law, “a chain of events, predictable and traceable, will lead to your son being taken from you and given to your opponent over here. Likewise, if you win, the same thing will happen to you: a series of coincidences will make you a better liar, while more coincidences will rob your opponent of her ability to do it well. Rest assured of nothing else, the Silver Wheel will find a way to make it happen. Everything that follows is mere… collateral damage.”

“I see. So why should I feel nervous?” he shrugged, “If I lose, I won’t remember I lost Isaac. From my perspective, I won’t have put him at risk, I’ll have him taken from me by an uncaring and unpredictable universe. I’ll cry. I’ll be sad. But that’s a future that’s not even certain to happen. It’s just as likely I’ll get to keep my son and inexplicably become a better liar. Which will open all kinds of doors to me… like, being better at writing wedding toasts.”

“I really doubt you’d gamble your kid for just that. Don’t you love him?”

“Of course I do. So the fact we both agree your ability to lie is worth him must mean we both know you’re exceptionally good at lying.”

Oli scoffed, fingering the dice indecisively, unsure if she should cast it again and risk needing to use another card.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well we both had to agree this was an even wager before we started, right? So you must really value your lies if you love them as much as I love Isaac,” he leaned forward, “And I’m kind of curious why. Do you do a lot of lying, Oli?”

“Of course not,” she eventually dropped the dice, without rolling it, “but you can be good at something you don’t do.”

“Right,” he sighed, “so you’re holding?”

“Yeap.”

“Smart girl,” Ratna chuckled, grabbing her discarded reroll card, sliding it under the four-card deck, and dealing her a new card — another +1. So now her hand was two +1’s and one -1. She almost would have preferred another reroll, but at least she had a vague idea of what was in the deck now: at least one reroll at the very bottom, and statistically, at least one -1 and the “fuck you” card.

“Alright, can our terrible father beat out 32 points? Let’s find out.”

Her brother-in-law picked up his dice very casually, and gave it a toss. 6. 5. 3. 3. 3. 5. Exactly 25. He put the dice down after a rather uninspired six rolls, and turned to their dealer with the same muted smile.

“I’m holding there.”

“Quitter. At 25, you’re still 7 points behind your opponent.”

“Yes, I can count, thank you.”

Still, unlike Oli, he hadn’t used a card to get this far — but that didn’t disqualify him from getting a new card for hitting the 25-point mark, meaning he had four cards to her three, and he had reduced the size of the deck from four to three. That, she realized, gave him a fairly sizable advantage over her… but with two +1’s she should still be fairly safe.

...it was only then, as she picked up her dice to take her turn, that a thought came to mind.

“...do you think I’m lying to you?”

“I think everyone lies.”

Her first roll was a 3. This dice really liked 3 for whatever reason.

“And you want to be better at it.”

Her second roll was a 6. Nine points this round so far.

“Are you curious why?”

Her third roll was a 1. She immediately dropped her +1.

“If I’m going to keep this kid in my life,” he continued in lieu of responding with a card, allowing her to roll again, getting another 6. “I’ll need to lie better if he’s going to believe I love him. And maybe I can lie to myself until I actually do.”

She shouldn’t have been surprised by his bluntness, he had been almost destructively straightforward ever since she had arrived at this weird place. And yet, she still found her perspective of the world shaken. She was so surprised she forgot she was planning to stop rolling that round and let the dice slip out of her hand — luckily for her, it landed on a two.

“How could you not love such an amazing boy?” she asked breathlessly, “he’s so cute and adorable and he’s so obedient and quiet, and he’s got such brilliant green eyes and he’s so smart and funny. I always feel so loved with him, it’s like he’s a little love and hug and kiss factory and he’s always working overtime. Your son is a treasure!”

“He’s alright I guess.”

He picked up his own dice to take his turn, assuming she was done. All-in-all, she had rolled 19 points, putting her at 51 points. So Ratna snatched the +1 she had already used and gave her the top card of the deck: the legendary “fuck you”, which literally had a cartoon face of their dealer, Ratna, flipping the bird. She would have smiled, but she was still fuming at her own brother-in-law’s obstinance, and merely added this card with her -1 and her +1.

He rolled. And as luck would have it, it immediately landed on a 1.

“...alright then,” he nodded to Oli, indicating it was her turn.

“You can’t just ‘alright then’ this,” she pushed forward, “If you feel this way about your kid, why gamble for my ability to lie? Why not… gamble for my love or something? So you could love him the way I do?”

“Good question. Why didn’t you offer it?”

“...er… well, it doesn’t matter, does it? I’m pretty sure I’m going to win.”

“At this rate.” Ratna chuckled, “roll away.”

A 5. And immediately afterwards, a 1.

Oli’s finger twitched to the +1, but then she paused: if she used it now, she’d have no other card to stop her from losing: just a -1 and a “fuck you”, and no guarantee she’d ever make it to 75 points, where she’d draw a new card.

So instead, she just shook her head.

“Spoke too soon. You’re up.”

He nodded, and rolled his dice. A two.

She immediately slapped down her -1.

“Or did I?”

He blinked, ‘cracked’ a half-smile that literally seemed to rip through his blank, emotionless face, and shrugged. “Alright.”

Ratna claimed the -1, and Oli had the field again. That was as good a time as ever to use the -1, she figured, and if he was going to insist on not using his cards, she’d happily steamroll him. The way he clung to his cards, it made her suspect maybe he was trying to lose.

She rolled a 2. She paused, but he didn’t return the favor. Even though she was certain he must have had at least one -1 in his hand, since the four-card deck should contain one reroll, one +1, and one -1: since she didn’t have another -1, and there were three -1’s in the deck, the other had to be in his hand.

So she rolled again. 5. 5. 4. Sixteen points so far.

“What will you ever do with him when he’s yours, I wonder?” her brother-in-law asked, resting his chin on his palm. That smile he cracked earlier had broken the shell on his face. He was getting anxious. The tells were starting to show: his fingers were digging a little too hard into his cheek, he was leaning just a little farther forward than before, and his gaze was still on the dice as he spoke. She played with it in her fingers, and watched his eyes flicker as she deftly manipulated the plastic cube.

“I guess a lot of that depends on how I get him. I’m sure I’d let my sister and you visit him, of course, but I think I’d want to move once he’s in my house. To a better neighborhood. Oh, and I’d homeschool him, if I could. I’ve always wanted to be a teacher, you know, and I’d love to shower him in the love I’m sure he doesn’t get from you.”

A bolt of rage cracked under his face, catalyzed with the help of his thinly-masked anxiety. He very consciously leaned forward, his chin falling on his propped-up arm so he could squeeze his hands together. She could faintly hear his feet tapping rhythmically with “Digital Witness”, by St. Vincent. The pulse of his thoughts.

She rolled another 5. His cards were face-down on the table, and he finally broke his glare away from her dice to glance at them.

“...does that… upset you?”

She held the dice up… and dropped it.

She got a 1.

She didn’t need to think: she played her +1, turning that 1 into a 2, salvaging her 23 points.

She waited for him to respond.

In his endlessly baffling manner, he didn’t. Either to her card, or her question.

Ultimately, she decided to stop there: she was one point away from getting a new card, but while her “fuck you” could stop him from using a -1 on her, it couldn’t help her if she rolled another 1. Her point lead was strong enough as is, and she would use her “fuck you” to end his turn as soon as possible, then make her next turn as quick as well so she could claim that last card and prepare for that final stretch of points.

“And by banking it, she’s secured 74 points over her opponent, who’s still stuck at 25. Let’s see if he can not suck long enough to actually get some points this round.”

He clasped his dice and sighed. A few deep breaths to steady him, to channel good vibes into his own plastic cube. For what little good it would do him.

And it worked, at least for the first roll. He got a 5.

Oli leaned forward. If he got a 1, no matter what, she wouldn’t let him change that. All she needed was that one in six chance. That one opportunity, and she could clinch this game with her enormous lead.

His next roll was a 2.

Then a 4.

Then a 3. Fourteen points so far.

“Okay…” he muttered under his breath, breathing onto his dice, before rolling again. It seemed this dice liked being talked to, because it rewarded him with a 6.

Too many points for Oli’s tastes: but as long as he kept rolling, he was at risk of getting a 1. And all of these points didn’t matter until he ended the round, and judging by the way he picked up his dice again, he wasn’t done just yet. Which meant her hope was still alive.

At least, until he got another 6 .Twenty-six points, pushing him past the 50 point mark.

He exhaled, as if the weight of the air in his lungs was becoming too much to bear, and he was finally enjoying release.

“I’m done.”

“Of course.”

At 51 points, he just barely passed the halfway mark, and earned himself another card, making his four-card lead a five-card lead. It was only now that Oli realized this was probably his strategy from the beginning: to claim as many of the limited cards in the game for himself for one legendary, unstoppable roll combo. Plus, by having five cards in his hand, assuming he was counting cards the way she was, he must have known that she had the “fuck you” card, and that she was going to reclaim the reroll she played earlier in the game after her next turn.

There were no new cards after 75. So she needed to win with one reroll and one “fuck you”. Which seemed more than doable: his strategy might have been daunting, but it’s dice that ultimately determine if you win, not the card.

Plus, if they were cycling through cards and she was already back at drawing the reroll she had used first, she knew exactly what cards must have been in his hand: one +1, two -1’s, and two rerolls. Only one of which would guarantee he survived rolling a 1. Even if for some reason she wasn’t able to finish the game in the next two rounds, she was far from out: he’d still have to get fifty points.

Swelling with confidence, she picked up her own dice and tossed it. A 5.

“I’ll stop there.”

“Pussy,” their dealer snorted, “but I guess 79 points is better than 51. Alright love, you’re up.”

As he picked up his dice, the dealer handed her the final card she’d earn this game: the reroll. Looks like she could count to ten after all.

He squeezed the dice between his fingers, pressed it to his forehead as if offering it a prayer, and threw it. 5. 5. 6. Already, sixteen points. He paused here, glancing away from his dice to Oli — they both knew he couldn’t stop there, she was too close to winning to not take chances, but the tension was getting too much to bear long strings of throws. Every time the dice clacked and clattered and warbled in the air, it felt like a bolt to the chest. An intense longing on both sides of the table for very different things. Even the effort to pick up the dice felt like swimming through syrup as both minds wracked with what they stood to lose from this game. The assurance that they wouldn’t remember didn’t seem to alleviate the way it once had.

He dropped the dice. A 3. Oli almost wished it would take longer to land, so she could mentally brace for each drop better. But… she could also feel her mind racing, not just with fear, but with possibility. Of what could happen next, when he rolled a one, when she finally got a turn, of how her life would change when Isaac was finally hers.

He rolled again. A 6. He was at twenty-five points, which meant if he stopped now he would be at 76. On one hand, he had to stop here, because thanks to her “fuck you” there was no way he could survive rolling a 1. But on the other, if he did stop here, he’d need her to roll at least three 1’s before scoring 24 points: because she would “fuck you” his first attempt to give her a 1, and she still had a reroll in case she got a second.

He was thinking. His hands were twitching, not so much ‘clawing’ into the table as much as they scratched helplessly into the fabric, as if trying to rewrite his situation. Whatever thin disguise of ambivalence he may have worn earlier was completely gone now: he well and truly wanted to keep his wife’s kid in his life.

...so why had he gambled him in the first place?

He picked up the dice again.

He decided he couldn’t risk letting her roll again.

The next roll landed on a 4. He’d have 80 points if he stopped now.

The next roll landed on a 5. He’d have 85 if he stopped now.

Oli was standing up now. Ignoring the nearly empty glass at her side. Deaf to whatever music was playing in the background. She was so close. She just needed a 1. A single 1.

He picked up the dice again.

It landed on a 6. He’d have 91 if he stopped now.

“Comeon…” Oli whispered, biting into her lower lip so hard she risked bleeding. He, too, was starting to stand, casting nervous glances between the dice and their dealer, who was drinking in the atmosphere like a bemused cat.

The next roll was a 3. He’d have 94 if he stopped now. He was within striking distance of 100. If he rolled a 6, he would win. If he rolled a 6, she’d be forced to use her reroll on him.

She started to pray. She was too anxious to know exactly who she was praying to, to direct her hopes with a name or address, but she started feverishly praying that he would get a 1, asking whoever would listen to give her this. She made so many promises. So many vows to be better, to do better, to go to ‘church’, whatever that meant to whoever was receiving her aimless prayers, but she said them sincerely nonetheless, because that long-distant hope was the only thing she had left now.

He picked up the dice, whispered into it, and let it fly from his hands.

...and it landed on a 1.

“Ohmygod Yes! Yes! Yes!” she praised, while he released a string of curses that would no doubt offend whatever deity was seated on her shoulder. Of course, he dropped his +1 card, and equally obviously, she dropped her “fuck you”. Canceling it out.

“Ooooh, so close!” Ratna laughed as the brother-in-law dropped his head to the table, gripping both sides as his fortune turned against him, “But hey, you’re not out of this yet, big guy. Your opponent still has to get twenty-one points, and you almost hold all the cards. Alright sweetie — you’re up.”

Oli’s elation was short-lived: Ratna was right. she had one reroll, which wouldn’t so much guarantee she survived a 1 as much as it improved her odds slightly. Meanwhile, with two -1’s, her opponent could easily punish a 2, forcing her to use her reroll early.

But still… only twenty-one points. With luck, she could win this in four rolls. And even if she failed, he’d still have to roll 49 points: with only two cards that could undo the damage of a 1.

She hadn’t won. But she had good odds.

And she threw her dice.

It landed on a 3. She only needed eighteen points now.

She threw again. A 6. She only needed twelve points now.

She threw again. Another 6. She only needed 6 points now. She was within striking distance of victory. Both of them were exhausted from his last turn, but neither of them had settled down either: both still standing, both still clenching teeth and hagged breathing as their game inched closer to a conclusion.

She picked up her dice… and she threw it.

...and in a stroke of incredible luck, it landed on a 1. As if their dice conspired to toy with them as they edged dangerously close to victory. But she still had one card to her name, and she played it: giving her one free reroll.

“Comeon… comeon…!” she hissed as she picked up the dice, glaring at its corners, somehow sharper than any knife she’d seen in her life, “for Isaac…!”

She threw the dice.

A 4.

If she stopped here, she’d have 98 points. Which meant this next throw would determine if she won or not. A 1, or a 2, and she’d lose, and it’d be up to her brother-in-law to close the enormous point gap between them. Anything higher than a 3… and he’d force her to reroll. No doubt. But he could only make her reroll once, and he couldn’t drop a -1 if she rolled a 2 on the second roll, so she only had to roll a 3, 4, 5, or 6 on the first roll, and anything but a 1 on the second.

...but if she ended here… she could secure these points. She’d give him a chance to catch up, but he had 49 points to go and only two rerolls to make that happen. And if he used them… then her odds of winning would be even greater.

Oh god. This was the toughest decision of her life. Did she play it safe… or go for the win?

“I need you to make a decision, sweet cheeks,” their dealer leaned forward, her grinning face dangerously close to Oli’s, “Are you holding… or rolling?”

She stared hard at the dice.

Then picked it up.

“Screw it!” she shouted, angry, petulant, at the notion that she was being put in such a difficult situation. But the way she figured, she already had a strong lead on him: 79, 98, she was still close enough to be scary for him. And making him use a reroll now, if necessary, would still mean one less reroll for his own herculean climb to bridge the gap between them if it worked in his favor.

So she picked up the dice, and she threw it.

It bounced.

It spun.

It lasted every bit as long as she had hoped it would last a few short minutes ago.

And as the head of the dice spun, both parties could clearly see the number she had rolled before the dice had even settled.

It was a 1.

“No! No! What fucking bullshit!” Oli shouted, while her brother-in-law could only breathe: he’d been holding it in this whole time, knowingly or unknowingly, and seeing that single dot finally untwisted the valves that controlled the air into his lungs.

“Oh, don’t relax yet, buddy,” Ratna snorted to her brother-in-law, “You ain’t out of the woods yet, Mr. 51 points. Good luck.”

While Big Data’s “Dangerous” started playing over the radio, her brother in law picked up his own dice. With no more cards in her hand, and no more chances to get them, Oli could do nothing but hope and pray, if she could decide who she was actually praying to. Or if it mattered.

He picked up his dice… and he threw .

The first roll landed on a 5.

The second… landed on a 1.

“Shitting me…” he muttered, dropping his first reroll card so he could take another crack at it. The dice was much nicer following that, giving him a 5 instead.

The next roll was a 2. Then a 5. Another 5. 3. 2. He had racked up 22 points so far, and if he had ended here, which of course he wouldn’t, he’d have 73 points total. Not even enough to get a new card, but too close for Oli’s liking.

And then another 6, which made Oli’s heart ache.

And then finally, his second 1.

But of course, he dropped his second reroll card, getting a 4 instead. Which meant he was out of lifelines. Assuming she was counting her cards correctly, he only had two -1’s left. He had nothing but luck to carry him for the remaining 11 points that separated him from victory. Still far too close for her taste, but she was glad they had leveled the playing field at least somewhat.

“Please”, she begged in her own mind, praying to the same formless, nameless deity who had answered her the first time, “Just one more 1… please… one more 1….!”

And her god, benevolent and kind, responded.

He rolled a second 1.

“Oh thank god thank goooooood!” she exhaled, pounding her chest as if to steady her throbbing heart, picking up her own dice. “That scared the crap out of me. But-”

“Put down the dice, sugar. His turn’s not over.”

Wait… what? That shouldn’t be right…

She opened her eyes and looked at the table. His 1 was still there, but next to it was a -1 card. He had reduced his own die result to 0.

“...that’s bullshit. That doesn’t count, does it?”

“Rules say you stop when you roll a 1. He’s rolled a zero, so his turn’s not over,” Ratna shrugged, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, “Your mistake was assuming that the -1 could only be used aggressively. But boytoy here had figured out that every card, sans the fuck you, is really just an opportunity to keep your combo going.”

“...no. No, that’s… that’s such horse shit. That shouldn’t work! That shouldn’t work!”

But while she complained, he had rolled again. A 2. A 4. and then a 6.

He had crossed the 100 point gap.

“And I think I’ll hold it here.”

“Smart man. And our winner is Aarav-”

“No! I refuse to accept this! I was so close! Let me talk to your manager- or, or let’s play again!” Oli leaned forward, slamming her fists into the table, “Double or nothing!”

“...how do I ‘double’ Isaac?” her brother-in-law asked, eyebrow raised.

“I… I don’t know, but you can’t… you can’t take my ability to lie, I… I um…”

She struggled. She floundered. She found herself wrestling to do something that had come as easy as breathing not moments before. It was as if the connections she needed to make to create a fantasy even she would believe couldn’t form anymore. It took concentration. It took visible effort. It was almost impossible.

“Don’t bother trying anymore, I already won,” her brother-in-law sighed, regaining control of the situation as if he wasn’t sweating bullets not more than a few seconds ago, “Don’t beat yourself up over it. I knew what we were playing and had time to plan. And more experience with this shitty place.”

“...what…?”

He gestured to the wolf-like dealer, who was collecting the cards and the dice. She flashed Oli a bloodthirsty grin.

“That’s my dead wife. And she drags me here all the time.”

“...I don’t understand, your ex is… dead and…”

“Not dead enough if you ask me,” he snorted, “but yeah, didn’t you think it was weird I knew her name even though she never introduced herself?”

“...you cheated, didn’t you? You- you had a loaded dice, didn’t you? You and your whore of a dead wife set me up, didn’t you?!”

“Well it was my idea to bring you here, so… yeah, sure.” Ratna beamed, “But since my two-timing hubby went and got remarried I don’t so much as lend him a hand either on or under the table, if you know what I mean.”

“This… this has to be some kind of bad dream…”

“Haha. You’re half-right,” Ratna chuckled, sweeping away from the table and resting her arm across Oli’s shoulders, “...it’s certainly bad.”

Oli reeled backwards. Silent in a defeat that was so awful she couldn’t even lie to herself to make her think it was somehow survivable. Keenly aware of her loss, she could do little but accept as Teresa gently grabbed her shoulders and steered her out the door, into the yawning void that waited to drag her back into the waking world.

The married couple glanced at each other. Ratna leaned up and pecked his cheek.

“Good job.”

“Scared the crap out of me, are you sure you didn’t fix the dice?”

“Heh, nope,” she leaned away from him, cupping his hand and dragging him towards the bar, “You’re just so handsome even lady luck’s fallen for you.”

“Bite me.”

“You wish.”

~*~

“The world’s gone to shit.”

Of course, when Marie Walker had thrown the key to the Silver Wheel into the abyss, the gesture was purely dramatics. As Teresa had pointed out to Ehije from the very start, the key was merely symbolic of ownership: once Marie Walker had died, ownership had once again transferred to Teresa, who was quick to re-establish the Silver Wheel’s original purpose. Only two creatures on earth, Gene Oberman and Miss Nine, knew of the Silver Wheel now, and both of them could be trusted enough to leave it well enough alone, so Teresa did not extend her purging wrath to them.

The Silver Wheel was a mystery to the world once more.

Exactly what Teresa had wanted from the very beginning.

Teresa was cleaning up the parlor while the night’s victor sat at the bar, drinking a rummy cocktail, Ratna seated on his lap, arms wrapped affectionately around his neck. The sensation was strange for Aarav, who hadn’t known his dead wife to be so tender, but in the many times she’d dragged him to the Silver Wheel since it reopened in its former glory, it usually ended this way. Him having barely scraped a victory from the jaws of defeat, and her mocking him for choosing to get remarried when the “woman of his dreams” was still around.

Still a headache. Still the love of his life.

“With no other Maries, no one’s really smart enough to handle Walker Industries. And since everyone’s still convinced that the ‘veil between dimensions’ is thinning, well, there’s a lot of panic. All non-essential interdimensional travel and trade is shut down, which basically means we’re being watered and fed by other earths but that’s just about it. Governments are scrambling to get control of her P.I.N.K technology, all the power she’d been generating with her interdimensional power stations, everything like that. The world is shit and it’s only getting shittier, so… I’m glad to hear there are other worlds out there doing better. Makes me think maybe there’s still something we can do to fix our mess.”

Aarav had a second job, other than entertaining his dead wife: keeping them abreast of current events. Teresa didn’t want to be caught off guard by another Marie Walker, and thus, wanted an agent on her version of earth who could keep up with any potential threats and keep her abreast of any who might need nipping in the bud. His only reward for this was getting to spend more time with Ratna, but the payment was good enough for him. Waking up in the Silver Wheel was waking up to the reminder that his ex-wife, while forgiven, did not hate him, or blame him. An emotional oasis he knew he would forget upon waking, but he was sure he still managed to carry with him through the waking world…. somehow.

“So, same shit, different asshole, then?” Ratna asked.

“Just about. Hey, uh, can I have a refill… um…”

“You may call me Xecho, man of mystery and liquor” their new bartender turned, flashing a cunning grin that was undercut by Aarav’s knowing frown as he tapped his chin.

“...no, wait, you were Chester last time. You said your name was Chester.”

“Please forgive Ehije,” Teresa interjected, appearing beside and behind Aarav, bowing her head, “he is still struggling with managing the professionalism his job demands. He will stop operating under aliases soon. I trust.”

With Marie dead, Ehije was, indeed, killed in prison soon after arriving. But that worked out well, as far as he was concerned: it meant his last-minute gamble had paid off, which left him feeling like the world’s best gambler and con-artist. So he died with a smile, or at least, he tried to smile. It was hard to keep smiling while getting beaten to death by prison guards.

Still, he couldn’t say he was surprised to wake up in the Silver Wheel. A dark soul that barely edged its way to the light before death: he was the perfect candidate for an employee, and as it turned out, he already had work experience here.

“Please do not be cruel, Teresa, surely there is no harm in my little game. It helps keep me amused during the long workday.” Ehije grinned.

“Yeah, let him call himself stupid names. I like Xecho.” Ratna chimed in.

Mr. Eight, who wasn’t in the room but could still chime in, agreed.

Teresa, for all of her flaws, could not ignore the virtues of democracy, and nodded.

“Very well. But if you had any hope of becoming employee of the month, you will need to reconsider how you act in front of patrons.”

She gestured to the employee of the month plaque. She still had her own face there.

“...yeah, about that, shouldn’t we, I dunno, memorialize Ture there or something?” Ratna asked, brow furrowed, “the dude did die trying to protect the Silver Wheel.”

Teresa looked at Ratna as if she were speaking some alien language.

“He was not an employee when he did that. So he does not qualify.”

“Ah, right. I’m the stupid one, silly me.”

Teresa paused, her eyes darting back and forth slightly, as if trying to read the room.

“...I…”

Everyone turned to look at her.

“...I cannot in good conscience declare him the employee of the month. But Ture will always be a special friend in my… heart. And I look forward to seeing him again, in a bright place.”

Ehije smirked, and raised the glass he was refilling for Aarav.

“Cheers to that.”

“Yeah! Cheers!” Ratna joined in, throwing herself over the counter to blindly grope behind the bar, grabbing an empty glass to hold up.

Mr. Eight, now in the room, elegantly plucked two empty glasses from the back, and handed one to Aarav, who held it up as well. Cheers.

“Cheers.”

Most of their glasses were empty, so they couldn’t drink or toast. And by the time they had filled each glass, Teresa had wandered off — probably to clean something, or simply to escape the memory of the bartender she had lost. Still, everyone else drank, and talked, and cheered, and enjoyed the happy dream that the Silver Wheel sometimes offered those who visited it.

But all happy dreams would need to end eventually.

And Aarav’s would end when he stepped out the door, and opened his eyes.

~*~

Over the next few days, Isaac retreated into his room more and more frequently, much to the concern of his mother and his new dad, Aarav. The wedding had been hard for Isaac, who had spent much of it with his aunt while his mother and new father were celebrating, and at first they assumed he was still adjusting to having a new man in the house. Aarav understood. He still struggled waking up next to a new woman in his bed. But while doing laundry right after one of Isaac’s visits with his aunt, he noticed an unusual stain that a nine-year-old should not be able to produce: one that could have been mistaken for a mere spill of water were it not for the stench of bleach that had clearly been used to disguise a more incriminating smell.

Aarav had suspicions. But his wife loved her sister, and Oli, for her part, effortlessly breezed past his efforts to probe exactly what it was she was doing during Isaac’s visits. He had been looking for some proof, some evidence, that he could use against her, something that didn’t involve putting Isaac on the spot: he didn’t want to be accused of trying to use, or, god forbid, manipulate his new son to cause a split between the two sisters.

After a particularly good sleep, that opportunity finally arrived: he noticed Isaac had a slight bruise on his hip. He called Oli about it, as Isaac had once again been over there, and Oli insisted it was just from a slight fall he got playing in her yard. When he asked Isaac where the bruise came from, Isaac said he didn’t know. And when he asked Isaac what he did with Oli, “playing in the yard” didn’t come up.

A weakness, which he latched on with the hungry fervor of a starved shark. When he asked Oli why he didn’t remember playing in the yard, she insisted he was sleepy, which was what led him to getting bruised in the first place. When he pointed out he was over around lunch, she insisted he was sleepy because he had a big lunch. Isaac couldn’t independently collaborate this. When she accused Aarav of trying to create a crisis for drama’s sake, he pointed out there was no one else in the call who could hear them, and with no audience there was no drama.

It wasn’t much, but once they hung up, Oli was shaken. She realized she couldn’t go on without Isaac, but she also couldn’t risk slipping up again. She started overthinking. She started overplanning. Creating an increasingly intricate web of lies that she tried to drag Isaac through. A more competent, willing accomplice might have been able to navigate her turbulent weave of misinformation. But Isaac was clumsy, and scared, and he didn’t understand the seriousness of the situation.

In the end, desperate and fumbling as Aarav relentlessly pursued the story to its logical conclusion, she tried to give Isaac a phone so she could better control his story even when she wasn’t there. A phone, she very quickly realized, that became evidence.

Oli was arrested. Her family was devastated. And both Aarav and his wife were investigated for suspicions of their own complicity with the scheme. And Isaac, he was left confused, and scared, and unable to know what was right and what was wrong, who he could trust, and who he could safely love.

And one night, when Aarav had to comfort his sobbing step-son, Isaac asked him if he was going to be okay.

And Aarav, now a much better liar than he was when this all started, could confidently say that he would be.

This is not the last story that the Silver Wheel shall tell. It will continue to spin, twisting the threads of fate for those fortunate — and unfortunate — who are caught in its alluring spokes. Directing fate from the shadows, assuring that those with the guile, charm, and luck to endure her trials are rewarded, and those who fail are punished alike. And you may never know when you find yourself caught up in these strings: every turn of good luck, every twist into misfortune, every unexpected gift and every sudden loss — it may be a sign that you, too, have played a game at the Silver Wheel Gambling House.

But it will be there.

A single cog in a wild, wonderful universe. Unpredictable, vast, and beautiful in its glory and horror.

Waiting for your next visit.