20. Res
20
Res
I t becomes apparent that Jaxson has his hand in more than just the haunted floor for the Halloween event the evening of.
Rather than simple cheap but creatively decorated tables for children to explore and collect candy from, everyone now has their own personal booth under various colored carnival tents. Most of the booths are stationed by volunteers, but Jaxson has also hired actors for the event. And that’s just for the trick-or-treating part. He’s also arranged for an actual cash bar and a huge stage for the new band I booked for after ten o’clock when the event becomes a massive Halloween party with bonfire for everyone eighteen plus, though realistically, I know some sixteen and seventeen-year-olds are going to sneak in.
“I don’t know what magic you worked on that man to pay for an event for a holiday his religion forbids him to celebrate, but whatever it is, keep at it,” June says to me as we do a walk-through of the Disney Princess lane.
Children run all around us, making delighted squeals and giggles as they go from booth to booth collecting candy and interacting with the paid actors and volunteers .
“I didn’t really do anything. I told him what a haunted house was, and all of a sudden he was fixated on it,” I say.
Speaking of haunted houses, I see a group of young teenagers run screaming and laughing out the old school of which the entire first floor has been transformed into a literal place of horrors. I can’t wait to go in and experience it later.
“Speaking of him, where is he?” June asks.
“I don’t know. He said he would be here, and he wasn’t going to be wearing a costume, so he would definitely stand out.”
“Boo!” someone shouts from my right, causing me to jump in surprise. In the process I bump into someone behind me.
“Sorry,” I say, turning to face the person after they’ve helped steady me. An actor based on the expensive looking costume. Black fitted trousers, boots, armor—with various buckles, leather, and zippers—a leather overcoat with a caped hood, and a realistic lethal looking long dagger.
“Scared ya!” J says, throwing off the hood of his costume and capturing my attention. A sorcerer by the look of it.
“J,” I say, pulling him into my side to hug him, not caring about the abrupt manner I dismiss the person I knocked into. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in weeks!”
“Around,” J says vaguely.
I take a look at him. His cheeks don’t look as sunken and dull from hunger, he’s clean, and his haircut from a few weeks ago looks like it’s been maintained since.
“Who are you staying with?”
“A friend,” J says, again vaguely .
I know better than to push J for answers he doesn’t want to give so I don’t. I only ask, “You haven’t gotten involved with the wrong crowd, have you?”
He rolls his eyes. “Nothing illegal. Just a friend giving me a place to stay. They’re not a predator or pedo or anything like that,” J adds, knowing that was going to be my next question. Then he perks up and says, “I have a phone now. If you’re that worried about me, you can just text me to make sure I’m okay.”
I get his number and then text him from my phone. He takes his phone out his cloak and says, “Gotcha.”
I frown when I get a glance at his phone. “J. Is that the latest—?”
“See ya later, Res! I’m going to check out the Haunted House. Heard it’s sick!”
And then he’s gone. I contemplate chasing after him, but my phone vibrating in my hand distracts me. A text. From Jaxson.
Snow White , it reads.
Before I can decide if I’m going to answer or not, the next text comes through.
Let’s play a game.
Something heavy settles in my stomach at the thought of what his definition of a game is.
Where are you? I text back
He ignores my question and texts, Tag, you’re it. Find me before midnight and you get a treat.
What’s this treat entail?
I can picture him casually shrugging as he texts, Didn’t come up with one. Because you’re not going to find me .
And I’m assuming if I don’t find you, I’ll be the subject of a trick?
A trick for you. A treat for me.
My stomach becomes even heavier at the thought of what his idea of a treat for himself might be at my expense. But also, I feel the butterflies of excitement. Of anxious anticipation. I scan the grounds. There are so many people, and I have to tap out a volunteer for a shift at one of the princess candy stations in ten minutes.
My search for Jaxson is going to have to wait until after the trick or treating is done and the adults only party begins. I regret that decision by the time all the children have left, the trick-or-treating booths are shut down, and adults in various costumes looking for a good time pour in.
Rather than wasting time walking up to everyone of similar height and build—which is a lot of people, despite Jaxson being so tall and broad as it is—I stop and think. If I were Jaxson, what costume would I choose? Jaxson may act calm, cool, collected, and above it all, but he has a flair for dramatics. So any character with the same flair would be a candidate. But that doesn’t particularly narrow it down. That could be anything. Dracula. Batman. Darth Vader…. Probably not Darth Vader. He hates Star Wars as much as I do because of our similar cult upbringings…
Then again, because I would never suspect he’d wear that costume, it’s possible that he did wear it. In that vein, Jaxson also doesn’t know a lot about pop culture and pop culture characters. So it would have to be something within the bubble of pop culture that he does know and understand. Because I don’t imagine that he would spend a lot of time and effort researching to find a costume. Then again, he might if it was for a game he planned to play with me.
Fuck. I’m overthinking this.
Okay. I need some alcohol to loosen me up.
I go to the now open cash bar to get a can of whiskey mule and do a double take.
“Oh! I ran into you earlier,” I say. “You’re one of the people Jaxson hired, right? Actually, you probably don’t know who he is. This is just a job for you. Sorry about earlier. You disappeared before I could make sure you were okay.”
The man whose face is covered by his hood and a featureless black cloth mask says nothing as he stares at me. I’m not offended. He’s just trying to do his job, and it’s probably been a long night. I order my whiskey mule and leave as soon as he hands it to me.
I pop the can open, take a few sips, and begin my search. I come across a few red herrings, but quickly dismiss them. I don’t need them to take off their masks. Most of them disqualify themselves as soon as I get anywhere near them, either losing all nerve and becoming a rambling mess when they lay eyes on me or suggesting we ditch the party and the costumes. Jaxson wouldn’t ramble in nervousness, and he certainly wouldn’t suggest that we ditch the party and costumes. If that’s all he wanted, he would have done that with me already. He wouldn’t have played this game to begin with.
It's amazing, how much I’ve grown to know him in just a month, but none of that would be enough to find him.
It’s twenty minutes before midnight, the party is in full swing, the music is loud, the bonfire is lit, my can is almost empty, and still I’m no closer to finding Jaxson. My heart races in my chest as adrenaline pumps through me. Where is he?
“Res,” June says. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you. Come on. Let’s go dance. This band is good.”
“In a minute,” I say distractedly, suddenly feeling eyes on me.
I follow the feeling to a man dressed as Michael Myers yards away, staring at me with a fake bloody knife in his hand. He lifts his phone, looks down, and types into it.
My phone vibrates.
Fifteen minutes.
I look up to see Michael Myers is gone.
“Wait,” I say, starting to head in the direction I saw him.
“Res?” June calls.
“We’ll catch up later,” I promise before running to find the man dressed as Michael Myers but who I’m sure is Jaxson underneath it all.
Of course, that’s who he’d dress up as. Of course, he’d dress up as the guy I jokingly said he had a lot in common with.
I get to where Jaxson just was only for him not to be there. I scan the crowd helplessly. He could have gone anywhere. There’s no way—
I spot him, walking into one of the many open entrances of the school for the haunted floor. Of course that’s where he’d go.
I sprint to the building, taking the same entrance he did.
I thought having him contained would make him easier to find, but I would have had better luck picking him out in the crowd outside .
Let it never be said that Jaxson does anything by half measures. I haven’t even gotten to the most scary parts, where actors jump out and make noise and walk through the shadows, just allowing themselves to be seen before disappearing. I’m just in the entrance. Pitch black with little lights on the ceiling, black walls and curtains covering up the lockers with realistic looking dead bodies and blood spattering.
The adrenaline racing through me now is twofold. From the intense and frankly terrifying atmosphere of the haunted floor and from the fact that I only have ten minutes, if that, to find Jaxson.
“Jaxson,” I call as I walk into the hall and come to a juncture. Right or left?
Screams tear through the halls as three older teenagers fly past me into the other hall. I turn to see an actor with long black hair covering her face in a bloody white dress making her way slowly down the hall like a ghost.
It’s just an actor. I know it’s just an actor. But fucking hell, she’s a good one.
Suddenly, halfway down the hall, toward me, she lifts her head. I can’t help but let out a scream at the realistic makeup of an eyeball hanging out the socket and a slashed mouth. I decide to follow the children in the other direction and make a sharp left at the next hall before bending over with laughter at how silly I’m acting. But that’s the fun of a haunted house and Halloween.
A shadow moves around the corner, and I spot the outline of a knife.
A door clearly opens, and they disappear into the classroom .
“Gotcha,” I say, running down the hall and into the room without abandon.
The room is empty except for some decorations. Seemingly anyway. Emboldened and reminding myself that everyone here is just actors, and I’m not really in danger, I open the storage door at the back and then a tv cabinet to find no one.
Then I see the door on the other side of the class leads out into a different hall near the front desk and white board.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
My phone vibrates.
Time’s up, Snow White.
I glance at the time, and indeed, it’s 12:03.
No fair! I had him! I saw him. I was only supposed to find him. Not catch him! I start to text just that only for an arm to wrap around my chest and a hand to cover my mouth and muffle my scream. I struggle as I’m dragged out the classroom and across the hall to another classroom. They let me go, and I stumble forward before whirling around to catch the door being closed.
“Jaxson, you fucking—”
I freeze when I catch sight of my captor in the dim light from outside. It’s not Michael Myers. It’s the fucking guy I bumped into earlier when J scared me and who handed me my whiskey mule earlier. The fucking guy with the exact same build as Jaxson. But this doesn’t make any sense. He—
Then I look at his costume. Really look at it. It’s the crossbow at his back that gives it away.
He’s dressed as a huntsman .
Not just a huntsman. The huntsman. From Snow White.
It’s both clever and proves I was right in my line of overthinking but also simple in hindsight when I remember his nickname for me.
Snow White.
There was only one thing he could have dressed up as.
The huntsman pulls down the cowl of his cape and takes off the featureless black, fabric mask. Then he removes his dagger from its sheath and twirls it in his hand.
“Trick or treat, Snow White.”