Chapter Twenty-Seven Evie #2
Derek holds up his hands, shaking like he’s trying to razzle-dazzle. “We get our final girl, and our names will live on in infamy. Tell me you don’t love it.”
Devin reenacts a mic drop but doesn’t drop the gun, before he quickly adds, “The working title is Cross My Heart and Hope You Die . . . but let us know if you don’t like it, because we won’t be able to change it in post.”
What the fuck is the only thing I can think. It seems to be the most accurate question for everything they say. I keep opening and closing my mouth, glancing at Chase, whose eyes are locked on the guys.
I’m trying to buy time for a plan to formulate.
“Oh, she’s nervous for her big moment,” Devin says, sucking in a hiss of a breath.
Derek claps his hands together before doing an impersonation of Kris Jenner with his hands coming to his knees. “You’re doing great, sweetie.”
Think. Think. Think.
We have to get out of here, but there are two lunatics in front of the only exit, and they have a gun . . . A gun they’ll use on Chase.
Just not on me . . .
. . . because I’m the final girl.
I’m wading through the thought slowly because a plan is forming. One I hope Chase will pick up on.
We’re standing there, Chase and I still dripping wet, before I reach behind myself and gently push his hand off, taking a step forward.
“No.”
They frown, Devin looking at Derek before he says, “What do you mean, no?”
“I mean no, I won’t be your final girl. And no, I won’t kill you.”
Derek laughs. “Of course you will. Have you been paying attention? We’ve been watching your every move, Evie.
I can almost set a clock to those little panic attacks nobody knows about.
If you think we can’t control you, then ask yourself how we knew what to send Goldie to make you two fight.
Or how littering her inbox with shit about Italy would get her to go .
. . Guess you don’t have to be blood related to both be easily influenced. ”
Devin looks me up and down, popping a hip effeminately. “It’s comical because you think you made these decisions yourself, when in reality, they were selected for you by the people in this room, from the voices in our heads.”
Derek chuckles. “Devil Wears Prada. Insane reference.”
I huff a laugh. “Think what you want about me, but I’m not participating in some D-rate piece of shit. I’d rather you shoot us both right now.”
My eyes lock on Devin, whose jaw is tensed, his trigger finger far too itchy as he points it back at Chase for the third time.
But Derek smiles before he sighs and lowers his brother’s arm so he’s not pointing the gun at Chase anymore.
“Sorry, my brother can be a little hotheaded . . . Creatives are eccentric. But that’s moviemaking for you. Something I know you understand, Evie. We’re the same . . . you and us. This is bigger than just one person. Be a part of this movie.”
“What’s in it for me?” I snark, truly going for it, because making them believe I understand them is our only shot at what I’m thinking. “I’ll be a hero, but alone with blood on my hands.”
They raise their brows at the same time, surprised by my answer, but I don’t stop there.
“Plus, I know you fancy yourselves moviemakers and scriptwriters, but maybe instead of having let the crazy out so soon, you could’ve honed your craft . . . because you’ve got a plot hole.”
“No, there isn’t,” Devin shoots back just as fast.
But Derek holds up his hand for me to continue.
“I’m supposed to be so emotionally affected by the death of my sister and Noah—” I can’t even glance back at Chase as I say, “—and my boyfriend, that I go wild and end you two.”
“Yeah,” Devin rushes out again, clearly offended by my doubt.
I shrug. “Then where are they? It’s just me and Chase here. Even if you said you’d killed them, I wouldn’t believe you. And that kind of rage is more of an in-the-moment kind of thing. So . . . where are the motivators? Because last I checked, you shot my sister, and I don’t see Noah.”
My head shifts around as I highlight my words with sarcasm.
God, let this work. Let this fucking work.
Devin scowls at me, tapping the gun against his leg as Derek glares. They’re standing there quietly, trying to assess my motive for saying what I’ve said. Weighing out whether or not I’m wrong.
I pull out my final card. “You know I’m right. Without them, all you have is a shittier version of The Blair Witch Project and a bunch of headlines that say: Wannabe filmmakers go off the deep end. Your masterpiece will be a zero on Rotten Tomatoes.”
The seconds feel like hours before Devin turns to him, his voice hushed but insistent.
“You told me to shoot. You told me to kill Goldie . . . but she’s right.”
“Shut up,” Derek bites back. “If you hadn’t been caught by Chase, we could’ve stuck to the first script.”
Devin tosses his hands in the air, instinctively making Chase and me duck before I weave my fingers between his and squeeze to get his attention.
The two of them begin to argue as I give Chase a look, then the gun, because Devin’s not paying attention, his arms moving all over as he yells at his brother.
We break away, inching closer to them, my heart in my throat. Even my hands feel clammy, but this is our only shot at getting away.
I motion with my head to Devin so Chase knows who to go for.
Neither of them pays attention as we take careful steps closer and closer. They’re just blaming each other for not knowing where Noah and Goldie are—relief courses through me—and for Chase’s failed drowning.
Insults are being lobbed back and forth.
“If you think she’s right, then fix this!”
“I will,” Devin shouts. “You always do this to me. Expect genius at a moment’s notice. You’re so selfish. I wish Mom hated you so I could’ve pushed you out of a tree and been the good son.”
“Fuck you,” Derek yells. “I carry you . . . I’m not the one who couldn’t kill the friend. Eddie’s death would’ve been a perfect distraction. I even had to flush her fish, you pussy.”
Jesus Christ. They killed Ruth Bader. Motherfuckers.
Chase and I exchange a glance before I let out a quiet, shaky breath, bobbing my head in three counts before we go all in.
Chase lunges at Devin as I leap toward Derek. A loud thud, followed by the skittering of the gun, sounds to my left, but my fingernails dig into Derek’s face, scratching across his eye as I open my mouth wide and bite his chest.
I’m feral, all the rage built inside my body exploding, but he’s so much bigger than me. It was never the plan in my mind to win this fight, only to give Chase enough time to get the gun away from Devin.
I know he can. Because he’s always my hero. And that’s not changing today.
“Evie,” Chase yells as Derek grabs me by the neck and tosses me to the ground.
All the wind’s knocked out of me, but I’m staring up, watching Chase barrel through him, lifting Derek off his feet before he slams him down to the ground.
Before I can suck in even a molecule of more air in, I’m lifted off the ground, held in Chase’s arms as he takes quick steps out of the goddamn boathouse and back into the dark, running.
My lungs try hard to fill as I hold on to him, but all I can manage is coughing out stuttered huffs until they finally relax and I can breathe.
“Are you okay?” he says for the fifth time.
I nod. “Yes.” But I’m still panting, trying to make up for the loss.
My head shoots over his shoulder. “Where are they?”
Chase barely slows down as he places me on the ground so I can run, too, while he answers, “I don’t know. I knocked Devin out, and the gun’s in the water. But I only dazed Derek . . .”
“We have to get to Noah and Goldie. They have to be at the car.”
I look over my shoulder again, and Devin and Derek are standing in the doorway, like two hellhounds out for blood. But it’s only for a moment, because they break and sprint toward us.
“Chase,” I scream. He takes my hand, pulling me along faster.
The world’s a blur beside us, his grip on me like a vise as we run. The moment our feet hit the camp, I point toward the car.
“The trunk . . . There are weapons in the trunk.”
I can barely speak because I’m heaving breaths. There’s no more left in the reserves of the reserves. He lets me go as I scramble for the driver’s-side door handle. I’m praying I’ll find keys when I open it and my sister with Noah.
But as I tug the door open, the car’s empty.
Fuck. Where are they?
Chase is rounding the car to the back. I look up to tell him I don’t see my sister, but my eyes spring open, not enough air in me to scream his name, because time’s run out.
The boys went a different way.
Derek’s behind him, a metal wire in his hand, his arms lifted in the air as he closes the distance. He’s about to put it around Chase’s neck, to kill him.
I stab a finger in the air, squeaking out my words, stumbling against the car. “Behind you!”
Chase’s head whips over his shoulder, but as he turns, he collides with Derek, and the trunk flies open. The wire scratches the metal, piercing the air as they fall against it.
Derek howls but not because Chase hurt him.
But because the arrow I released from my bow nicked his shoulder before making a wet thump behind him.
I’m trembling, standing with the crossbow as Chase and Derek follow my line of sight.
Devin stands, his mouth hung open, the arrow lodged straight through his mouth and out the back of his head. He blinks, blood trickling over his bottom lip as a gurgled sound accompanies his stumbled step.
He drops to his knees before falling face first into the dirt.
Derek screams, running to him, crying out his name over and over.
“You killed him. You killed my brother,” he screams.
But I toss the crossbow I found in the back seat down to the ground. “I was just sticking to the script, asshole.”
Chase closes the trunk, a meat cleaver now in his hand. He looks back at me over his shoulder.
“Close your eyes, baby. You’ve seen enough for today.”
Derek’s yelling and sobbing, but I turn around, closing my eyes and putting my hands over my ears as I start to hum “Baby I Love Your Way” by Big Mountain.
But I know when it’s over because I feel the cleaver hit the ground.
Chase’s arms encircle me, keeping my face hidden before I look up at him splattered with blood.
Normal people would be falling apart. Normal people would be scrambling to call the cops, but there’s nothing normal about us.
We’re just two traumatized versions of Romeo and Juliet who would kill for each other.
“Sooo,” I breathe out, taking his hand as we turn away from the carnage, my eyes lifting as I hear sirens off in the distance. “This feels like the wrong time to say this, but I love you.”
He grins, showing off that dimple. “Thank fucking god, because I’m not sure I could best murder.”
His hand cradles my face as he stares down at me, then frowns, letting go to grab my still-damp shirt and wiping his mouth on it.
“Gross,” he says, looking back at me again, retaking the I’m about to kiss you position before he does just that.
He kisses me long and tenderly before pulling back. “Hey, you probably already know this, but I love you too.”
This is where the movie would end if this were fiction, but instead, I scream . . . because Noah flies out from the cabin, with the knife Goldie threw earlier in his hand.
“Fuck . . . youuuu.” Chase jump scares, almost breaking my arm to put me behind him.
Noah’s chest is rising and falling at breakneck speed, his pulse visible on the side of his neck, as we all stare at each other before he looks at the crime scene behind us.
“Oh . . .” he breathes out, still a little breathless as he lowers the knife. “Okay. So, handled.”
Chase nods, running his hand through his damp hair. “Yeah, but I may never make lamb chops again.”
Goldie’s voice comes from the cabin, so I rush to her, wrapping my arms around her. “Oh my god, you’re okay?”
She nods weakly. “It’s gonna take more than that to kill me. I’m the main character.”
Damn. She has no idea how close her joke is to the truth.
The boys take a seat on the steps as my sister and I hug on the floor in the doorway, and art imitates life imitating art all over again.
Police descend, ambulances tear in behind them, and even the familiar sound of a chopper kicks up dust around us. But the four of us sit, looking between each other.
“Can I say it?” Chase grins as Noah chuckles.
I nod, rolling my eyes. “Yeah. Do it.”
“Cue the credits.”
I hate him. And god willing, I’ll never have to live without him.