Chapter 17
AN ACHE PULSATES IN MY SKULL, MATCHING THE RHYTHM of my heartbeat.
It grows excruciating, awakening me. My senses begin to come back to me one by one, alerting me to what’s happening around me.
I hear an inconsistent splatter hitting the ground.
It’s close, but not near enough to hit me, or at least from what I can tell.
Although they feel heavy, I force my eyelids to open, to figure out where the sound is coming from.
Blurriness coats my vision; I blink in an effort to clear it.
I regret doing so the moment I make out the shadows in my line of sight.
My throat dries and I choke in a gag as I stare in horror at Shane’s body hanging upside down from the banister like a fish on a hook.
The hatchet buried in his eye socket, splitting the upper half of his face apart.
A mixture of blood and goo drips from it, sliding down his forehead to the floor below.
My stomach feels queasy, and I breathe through my mouth to block out the rusty scent of blood.
I was wrong. Shane wasn’t Cupid, he wasn’t the masked killer, but there was a darkness within him that pushed him to almost murder me. If Cupid hadn’t shown up at the exact right time, I wouldn’t be here staring at Shane’s corpse. I would be dead.
A wave of cold washes over me. I can’t be relieved that Cupid murdered Shane. I can’t say it was to save me, but his actions did save my life, and I don’t know how to cope with it. A whimper slides from my lips, drowning the splattering noise in the background.
I turn my head away from Shane as tears slide from the corners of my eyes.
My breath hitches when I notice Cupid’s black combat boots standing in front of me. This is the first time I’ve been so close to him, and I can’t help but notice how tall he is. Maybe it’s the imposing stance, secure and confident behind the mask, as he watches me cautiously.
He tilts his head. The mask seems focused on me, watching me like a hawk tracks its prey.
Even if I wanted to, I don’t think I could move.
The pounding headache is debilitating, softening my muscles when I should be up and running.
My brain is aware that this would be the moment in a film where the audience screams at the character to stand the fuck up and stop whining, but I can’t help it.
After falling down the stairs, hitting my head and passing out, I’m only just slowly coming to myself.
I know I will spring into action, but it’s taking me longer than it would in the movies. It doesn’t help that I’m being observed by the killer. Fear is a weird thing. Sometimes it gives you the courage to run or to fight. But this time? It does nothing but paralyze me.
I’m unable to do anything but stare back at Cupid.
Why is he not killing me?
Or torturing me?
Although, he hasn’t tortured his victims so far. At least from what I’ve seen. Cupid is straightforward with his killing. Most of the time, he aims for the head.
Like with Leighton.
And Shane.
Slowly, like he’s trying not to disturb me, Cupid eases down to his knees until he’s almost straddling my legs, but not quite.
He doesn’t let his weight fall on me. If anything, he’s delicate in the way he approaches me, gentle as he crawls over my body without touching me.
The fabric of his robe is the only thing grazing me.
Tiny whimpers escape from my trembling lips as I fight the sobs wanting to break free, wanting to give in to the fear reigning over my body. I shake under him, muscles spasming.
Cupid doesn’t make a sound. He takes his time to explore my body, analyzing every inch as he crawls over me until he stops at my waist. Leaning back, he pulls out a dagger from his clothes where there must be a hidden pocket. This is a new one, untainted by anyone’s blood.
Patiently, Cupid begins to drag the tip of the blade over my pants.
I tense and close my eyes tightly, not wanting to witness what could happen if he decides to rip the fabric and have his way with me.
There’s only ever been one instance where I’ve felt this helpless before, where every inch of my body betrays me and stays still when I should be getting the hell out of there.
Tears sneak past my closed lids, escaping away like I wish I could do.
I’m not a religious person. Most of the time, I’m unsure if I even believe in anything, but in this brief moment, I say a silent prayer.
Cupid doesn’t seem to be interested in stripping me of my clothes as he drags the dagger over my pants until he reaches the waistband.
My body jerks when the cold blade touches the sensitive skin of my navel.
He stops at the button and twists the point of the dagger around it, threatening to pop it open.
The scrape of metal grinding against metal makes my teeth ache.
But he doesn’t open it.
He’s . . . teasing.
Letting go of the air trapped in my lungs, I flicker my eyes open to meet his mask.
Cupid leans forward and supports his weight with the hand he’s holding the dagger with, and brings the free one to my face, caressing the edge of my jaw with the tip of his fingers.
His hands are covered by the leather of his gloves, so his touch feels cold and detached, but it doesn’t make it any less nauseating.
Bile rises from my stomach to the back of my throat, warning me that I’m close to my limit. If I let this go any further, I’ll be unable to stop myself from throwing up.
Under him, I shake uncontrollably. Panic seizes my muscles as I begin to awaken my body to respond to all my commands. I shed more tears when Cupid presses his body against mine and buries his mask in the crook of my neck.
His labored breathing comes out full of want and desire.
Slowly, he draws an invisible path from the curve of my neck to the edge of my ear.
I can almost feel the warmth of his breath as he rocks his hips, and .
. . Fuck no. The protuberance of his boner can be felt through the layers of clothing as he presses it against my hip.
It twitches and he lets out a soft groan that makes my skin shrivel.
Cupid is turned on. He’s getting off on this, the desire apparent in the way he continues to rock his hips on me.
I need to break free from this.
If I don’t . . . I don’t even want to think about what will happen.
Desperation increases in my chest as I try to order my limbs to push Cupid off me, but they don’t respond.
There’s a disconnect between my mind and my body, making it impossible to do anything while I swallow my tears and bile.
I urge the nerves in my body to respond, to do something other than send shuddering signals to my brain.
Anything, please.
I can’t stay here. He’s going to do much worse than kill me.
I would prefer it a thousand times if Cupid simply dug his knife in and left me to bleed out on the flood, like an animal for slaughter.
I would accept my death that way rather than have to endure him taking away what’s left of my broken dignity.
The shields I’ve kept in the dark corners of my memory threaten to break under the pressure. No. If I let those paralyzing memories resurface, I’ll never make it out of here.
I breathe in short puffs of air, becoming more lightheaded with every passing second. The only thing that’s too aware of everything is my head.
My head.
If I’m unable to move my arms or legs, I know something that will work.
Without giving it a second thought, I gather all the strength in my body and slam my forehead as hard as I can into Cupid’s face, aiming for his nose under the mask.
There’s a loud crack and I’m not sure if it comes from the plastic of his mask breaking, or if I successfully smashed the bridge of his nose. Cupid lifts himself off me, groaning in pain as he covers his mask with his hands. The pained groan is almost familiar to my ears.
A clang catches my attention, and I stop watching Cupid to witness the dagger falling to the ground near me. I know what I must do. The opportunity has been presented to me on a golden platter, I’d be an idiot to pass it up.
It’s now or never.
Regaining control over my body, I hoist myself from the floor and grab the dagger.
Cupid is too distracted by my attack to notice me escaping.
I’m lightheaded as I limp back up the stairs.
Shaking my head to disperse the dark haze clouding my sight, I keep moving, holding the hilt of the dagger tightly.
I have a weapon now. I don’t let the triumph spread through me because I’m still in danger. I stagger across the second floor, barely missing Jaden’s body as I step over him to cross the hall and go down a path I hadn’t explored before. Anxiety mixes with the adrenaline buzzing in my bloodstream.
Frantic thoughts rush through my brain in flashes. Instinct guides me as I roam the corridor. The soles of my shoes are sticky from Jaden’s blood.
I’m disoriented thanks to the dull ache in my skull. I’m still not a hundred percent recovered from what I’ve just gone through.
I barely made it out of Cupid’s hold.
This is a dire situation. I’m slowly becoming that character who’s so close to surviving but dies regardless. That character who ends up generating multiple discourses online because the viewers believe they should’ve become a final girl.
But I wouldn’t say I’m final-girl material.
In my most vulnerable position, I froze when I should’ve fought, fear completely taking over me.
Where is a good spot to hide?
I try to recall what Shane told me before he was killed. He said he’d stumbled across Jaden’s body, but where was he before that? Cupid seems to dispose of the bodies quick enough, so either Shane was roaming the halls or he was hiding somewhere nearby.
I take a right at the end of the hall and continue trying all the doors. Cupid has been ahead of us every time, making sure the spots to hide are limited to the common areas.
Common areas . . .
The lounge room is out of the question. It wouldn’t make sense for someone as tall as Shane to hide in a public and exposed area.
Maybe he’s a Theta? Shit, I didn’t think about that possibility before. He could’ve been hiding in his room the entire time. It would definitely explain what he was doing here.
Could that be it? I carry on checking the doors until I spot it: a door with a bloody knob and a partial handprint on the edge of the frame, showing it’s been opened by someone recently.
Silently pleading that I won’t find Cupid’s secret lair, I twist the knob. The door opens with a quiet click. I look over my shoulder to make sure Cupid hasn’t followed me.
The threat of his attack is still too fresh in my brain, causing goosebumps to erupt over my skin. I push the thoughts away.
I swiftly slip into the room. Closing the door behind me, I attempt to find a lock but there’s nothing. Why isn’t there a lock?
Simple white tiles flash in front of me when a light is turned on. I swirl around, stunned by the room’s sudden brightness. Two sets of eyes stare back at me.
Eyes belonging to the people I’ve been desperate to find.
Danny and Cerys.