Chapter 23 Gianna #3
Ice blooms across my shoulders and up my neck. The chill rolls down my spine. The only sound comes from the overhead speakers mimicking shutters hitting a window in a storm.
I push at the stranger’s chest, backing away. It’s just an actor.
I shuffle backward blindly, my chest heaving. I keep my arms locked out in front to keep the person away. I strain to listen more closely, but can only hear the sound system. I squint through the darkness. Pure, cold darkness.
There’s the thud of a boot as the person steps closer. I step back, whirling to face the noise. A finger of light illuminates the hall – it’s only a flash, but a flash is all I need. Dry ice ghosts across the floor as a man in a black hoodie and black jeans looms in the smoke.
His face is covered by a silver skull face mask.
A shot of fear injects straight into my heart. It’s just a mask. But this one, I can’t handle the sight of. I made it, after all. The fear tightens into a sharp point, piercing any bravado I have left.
‘I chicken out,’ I declare to the darkness, taking another step back.
Another flash of light. The figure cocks his head to the side before the darkness swallows him again.
With each flash, I see him. Then I don’t. The light surges like lightning and with each strike, he gets closer, towering over me, only to disappear until the next pulse. I’m panicking. My chest constricts. I can’t … the mask is taking me back to the worst night of my life.
‘I said, I chicken out!’ I scream louder.
I trip and fall to the ground with a thud. I start kicking. Crawling backward along the sticky floor as this masked man stands over me. My nails dig into the floor, clawing at the dirty stage carpet as I shuffle away.
I want out …
I can’t …
‘Stop! Please. Don’t. I … I chicken out,’ I choke on my words while furious tears roll down my face.
The light flickers off once more. When it comes back, the figure doesn’t return. My eyes dart around the space, but no one’s there. My lungs burn as pure hysteria clouds my head. It feels like the walls are closing in and I’m stuck in a box. I wait in the darkness. But nothing comes.
Did I imagine that whole fucking thing?
‘Are you ready?’ A voice startles me from behind.
I look up to see a clown who’s not trying to be intimidating or scary at all.
‘Huh?’ I use the back of my hand to wipe away the stray tears.
‘You chicken out, right?’ He offers a hand. ‘No one will touch you now. It’s okay,’ he soothes. ‘You can exit this way.’
He lights the floor with a torch and leads me down a long hallway before opening a door at the end with a green exit sign. I’m grateful to be out in the open among the sounds of the carnival and bright lights.
‘You know where you are, chicken?’ the clown asks.
I take in my bearings. I’m not far from the carousel, which means I’m near the entrance. I nod and he closes the door. I pull out my phone with shaking fingers to call Monique, but all I get is voicemail. She must still be inside the house.
I take a deep breath, feeling sick.
Who was that? Could it have been a coincidence?
I rub my temples, my head beginning to thump. I walk around the tents and games to where it’s a little quieter and text Monique.
Me: Answer the phone! Are you still in the house?
The message sends and relief hits me when she replies instantly.
Monz: Girl …
Monz: I got out five minutes ago, thank god. But I need to charge my phone asap.
Me: X might have one?
I wait a beat, hoping I caught her before her battery is totally drained, but when she doesn’t respond I keep moving.
I walk around in circles for the next twenty minutes. At this point, I’d even settle for running into Ryker or Renny.
For a second I think about finding the Mustang and going home, then groan, remembering it’s at the garage.
I’m a sitting duck. I’m just contemplating that stuffing my face with cotton candy isn’t a bad way to spend the night when the sight of a red Civic, parked to the left of the closed-off speedway track, catches my attention.
Landon’s Civic.
This asshole shouldn’t even be parked here. Even the stallholders parked on the neighbouring streets. But then I smile. Time for some payback.
Usually I curse being petite, like when I have to climb on top of the kitchen counter to reach the medication basket I store on top of the fridge. Right now, though, I have no complaints. I easily slip through the conjoined hands of couples and agitated attendees, making my way to Landon’s car.
I don’t see his bleached-blond head anywhere. There are a few girls nearby, but they’re too busy fawning over some wannabe pimp in a faux fur coat to even notice me.
When I reach the rear of the Civic, I check the coast is clear again before dropping to one knee.
I work fast, twisting the air cap free from the rim.
The tyre won’t instantly deflate, but maybe one morning he’ll be running late, and that will be the morning his tyres are flatter than Ma’s pancakes.
Yes, it’s childish, but this is the least of what he deserves after he hustled me. I drop the cap on the ground and make my way to the next tyre, then the last two. As I’m removing the final air cap, a massive hand wraps around my arm.