Chapter 14 #2
I couldn’t quite line the moments up in my head, because everything suddenly felt blurred at the edges, details smearing together.
There was one thing I knew for sure, though. Earlier in the bathroom with Jasmine, I’d realized just how much the fear and paranoia was getting to me. How quick my brain was to jump to the worst possible conclusion. So I had to think about this logically instead of letting my imagination run wild.
If Rhys was a psychopathic murderer who’d made it his mission to pick off his fellow camp counselors, then he’d had every opportunity to kill me tonight. We’d been alone together this entire time, in an empty building.
But he hadn’t attacked me. All he’d done was stay steady. Talk me through things. Offer advice on how not to get killed.
That wasn’t exactly the behavior of an unhinged murderer, was it?
My gaze dropped away from his neck, heat prickling faintly at the back of my own. I had to be remembering things wrong. He must’ve rubbed his neck just a couple of minutes ago, leaving behind some of the blood that had smeared on his fingertips.
“See anything else?” he asked, completely unaware of the dark direction my thoughts had just gone in.
I shook my head. “No.”
He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck again, right over the spot. “Me neither.”
I forced my expression to stay neutral, even as my heart raced. “I guess it’s time to get the others,” I said softly.
The next hour was the worst of my life, and I'd already had some strong contenders for that title in the last two days.
Telling everyone what we’d discovered was bad. Watching their faces was worse. Grace crumpled to the ground almost immediately, and Maren wasn't far behind her. Jensen almost put a fist through the nearest cabin wall.
Some other people cried. Some just went very quiet and very still.
The decision to leave Sloane and Reid’s remains where they were was made quickly and without any debate. While we’d had good reason to move Delia’s body from out in the open, it just didn’t make sense to move the other two.
Around one in the morning, people finally started drifting back toward their cabins, looking utterly shell-shocked. Wren and Tamsin ended up transferring their things into the cabin I shared with Jasmine, because we all felt a little safer sleeping in a larger group.
I left my bloodstained shoes outside before I went in, being careful to lock the door behind me. Then I changed into a clean set of pajamas in silence and climbed into bed, pulling the blanket up to my chin.
“Rhys offered to give us ax throwing lessons after breakfast tomorrow,” I said wearily into the dark. “So we can learn to defend ourselves.”
“I think I'm okay,” Tamsin replied, her voice flat with exhaustion. “Either Piper shows up tomorrow morning, or Brad and Olivia make it to town by lunch and send the police here by the afternoon. So… not much point.”
“Yeah,” Jasmine said. “Also, no offense, but I don't really want to spend half the morning hanging around Rhys if I don't have to.”
Wren said nothing. I took that as a no.
“Fair enough,” I said. “I think I’ll still go. Just in case.”
The cabin went quiet after that, save for the soft rhythm of breathing and the occasional creak of the structure settling around us. I closed my eyes, hoping sleep would take me straight away, but the image of Rhys's neck swam back up instead. That small, dark fleck of dried blood on tanned skin.
I quickly rolled onto my side, as if the movement could somehow shake the mental image loose, but it clung there, stubborn.
My brain tried to circle back then, to pick the moment apart yet again, but I just didn’t have the energy. I was too wrung out, and every thought felt impossibly heavy, like it had to push through mud just to exist.
Across the room, one of the other girls shifted in her sleep, and the bedsprings creaked softly. A breath hitched, then settled again.
Normal sounds. Safe sounds. I tried to focus on those instead.
But the blood-smeared image in my mind’s eye didn’t disappear. It just softened. Blurred at the edges as exhaustion started to drag me under.
Then it changed.
Not to the version of Rhys from tonight. Not the one standing in that room, steady and grim with an ax propped up behind him. It was the one who’d stepped in too close at the Snack Shed the other night, voice low enough that it seemed to brush over my skin more than it reached my ears.
My mind filled in the rest without asking permission. The heat of him at my back. The weight of his hand settling at my waist. The rough certainty in the way he moved, like there was no question about what I wanted him to do to me.
My breath hitched slightly against the pillow. It should’ve felt wrong to fantasize right now. In fact, it did feel wrong.
But… not enough to stop it.
The warmth in my core deepened, spreading slowly.
Then, without warning, the picture in my mind shifted again, the way half-dreamed things always did.
The memory of that dark fleck on Rhys’s neck seeped in at the edges, and then the images twisted and blurred until I couldn’t quite separate one from the other anymore.
Rhys. The blood.
The two things folded together in a way that made my pulse race, leaving me caught somewhere between fear and want. I drew in a quiet breath, fingers curling into the blanket.
This isn’t…
But the thought didn’t finish. Everything was slipping again, shapes dissolving and edges smearing into shadows. Just before I went under completely, one last thought surfaced.
I’d made the right decision to trust Rhys earlier.
Hadn’t I?
Sleep took me before I could answer myself.