Chapter 22
Ash
The zone swallowed me whole the moment I stepped through the curtain. Red lights cut through manufactured fog, pulsing to the bass-heavy track that rattled my ribs. Guest chatter filled the gaps between sound cues.
I stalked through the maze, letting the performance take over. Solo work always felt different. No Jude to chase, no choreography to follow or deviate from. Just me and the crowd and whatever chaos I could create.
A group of young women rounded the corner, phones already out. They saw me, and one of them squealed.
“Oh my god, it’s him.”
I tilted my head. Let them see the skull painted across my face, the Hunter in full predator mode.
“Can we get a picture?” Another girl stepped forward, brave or stupid. “Please?”
I straightened, rolling my shoulders back and relaxing my stance just enough to look approachable instead of threatening. The shift was instantaneous, muscle memory from weeks of fan interactions.
“Make it quick.”
They swarmed. Posed on either side of me, phones held high. I threw an arm around one’s shoulders, grabbed the other’s wrist and pulled it across my chest like I’d just captured her. Flash. Flash. Flash.
“Thank you so much.” The first girl clutched her phone like I’d handed her gold. “We love you and Simon. The videos are insane.”
“Are you guys doing anything tonight? Like, together?”
“Any word from Jude?”
The questions came rapid-fire, and even if I weren’t a bundle of nerves, I would have struggled to answer them all. I left it with a cryptic, “You’ll see,” before I let the smile drop. Let the Hunter slide back into place, cold and dangerous. Their laughter died. “Now run.”
They bolted. Shrieking and stumbling over each other as I lunged forward, not fast enough to catch them but close enough to make their hearts pound. They disappeared around the corner, and I stopped, breathing hard.
Fifteen minutes.
I prowled deeper into the zone. I scared a kid who looked like he might piss himself, posed for another photo with a couple who asked nicely and then chased a group of teens who thought they were tough until I vaulted over a barrier and growled at them.
And then the music shifted. It was subtle at first, just a change in the bass line before the tempo dropped and the lights went from pulsing red to a slow, steady strobe.
It was time.
I moved to the center of the zone, where the paths converged into a wide open space. The spot where Jude and I used to perform. Guests milled around, some watching me but mostly talking amongst themselves. Phones were already out. They always were.
I climbed onto the low platform that served as our stage and spread my arms wide.
Heads turned.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” My voice cut through the noise, amplified by the acoustics of the space and sheer volume. “Can I have your attention?”
The crowd quieted. More phones lifted.
Good.
“It’s been a hell of a week, hasn’t it?” I paced the platform, letting them see me. “Some of you have been following the drama. The injury. The speculation.”
A few people nodded. Someone shouted, “Is Jude okay?”
“Jude is fine.” I grinned, sharp and mean. “Better than fine, actually. But we’ll get to that.”
I stopped pacing and looked out at the sea of faces, the phones pointed at me like weapons.
“And for those of you shipping #Simash.” I drew the word out, mocking and playful. “I see you. I see your comments. Your thirsty, thirsty posts. Your fanfiction.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd. A few people looked embarrassed, but most leaned in, delighted.
“Simon’s a great guy. A solid performer. His girlfriend Amanda thinks so too.”
There was more laughter.
“But tonight isn’t about Simon.” I let the smile drop. Let the moment settle into something heavier and theatrical. “Tonight is about the man who built this. Who designed the Hunters. Who made the Scream Scene what it is and what you all love.”
The crowd went still.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you...” I turned toward the entrance tunnel, raising one arm like a ringmaster. “Your King.”
The music swelled. Dramatic, cinematic, the kind of track that belonged in a horror movie climax. And then Riley’s manic laughter punctuated the night.
She rolled out of the tunnel on her skates, moving smoothly despite the weight she pushed.
It was Jude, draped over a wheelchair like he was posing for a boudoir photo. It wasn’t just any old wheelchair, either. This thing was a throne.
I’d draped black velvet over the back, and glued silver studs into the armrests.
Fake chains looped around the wheels, clinking with every rotation.
Someone had zip-tied plastic bones to the frame last night, and I’d loved it.
One of the vampires was a cosplayer in their spare time, and they’d helped me make a crown of twisted wire and bones, and LED lights.
It now sat crooked on Jude’s smiling head.
The crowd lost their fucking minds when they saw him. They were screaming and cheering, phones everywhere, recording every second as Riley pushed Jude into the center of the zone and locked the wheels.
Jude looked lost between stunned and overwhelmed, and positively ecstatic. His hands gripped the armrests as his eyes found mine across the platform. I could hear that look in my head: What the hell did you do?
I grinned and jumped down, landing in front of him.
“All hail the King of Screams,” I announced. “The Architect of Fear. The Master of Scares.”
The crowd ate it up. Jude’s face cycled through shock, embarrassment, and something close to tears before he settled on a crooked, disbelieving smile.
He was beautiful.
I turned back to the audience and carried on.
“Now, what does a king do?” I paced in front of the throne, playing to the crowd.
“He presides. He rules. He watches over his domain and judges all who serve him. And tonight, for one night only...” I paused, letting the anticipation build. “Or more, if the public demands it.”
The crowd roared. Someone was already chanting, “More, more, more.”
I raised my hands for quiet. It took a moment, but they gave it to me.
“Tonight, all those who scare shall perform for their King.”
The music changed again. Faster now, aggressive and chaotic.
And from every entrance, every shadow, the performers emerged; Jonas towering and skeletal; the murder clowns with gore-streaked faces and manic grins; hissing vampires and howling wolves.
A flock of creepy dolls with their twitchy, broken joints and dead eyes, shuffled in behind Riley.
And Simon roared from the sidelines, the sound causing more than a handful of pleased shrieks.
They formed a circle around Jude’s throne, and I loved seeing him like this. Happy and in costume and struggling not to break character and grin from ear to ear.
“Your champions, my liege.”
And then Simon lunged at one of the clowns and all chaos broke loose. The music warped again, shifting from aggressive bass to something bouncy and ridiculous; traditional circus music with calliope organs, honking horns and all.
Simon’s punch was so fake that a blind man could see it, but that was part of the fun. The clown went down like he’d been shot, arms windmilling dramatically before he hit the ground in an exaggerated sprawl, and the crowd when wild.
Another clown tripped over the first one and sent themselves flying face first into a prop barrel.
Jonas stumbled backward on his stilts, grabbing at thin air before crashing into Riley, who somehow spun it into a skating routine, pirouetting around him while screaming obscenities that the music drowned out.
A vampire lunged at Simon. Missed completely and careened into a support beam, sliding down it like a cartoon character. One of the dolls got “tackled” by Jonas and collapsed on the floor, arms and legs twitching in a broken marionette sort of way.
It was complete chaos, a controlled disaster and an homage to all the stage performers who’d ever come before us. The weird, the wacky and the wonderful.
My eyes couldn’t stay away from Jude for long, though. He was laughing—really laughing—his shoulders shaking with his hand pressed to his mouth like he couldn’t believe what he was watching. The wheelchair wobbled as he dissolved into fits.
He was so beautiful. Manic as fuck, but beautiful.
One by one, the performers met their dramatic, over-the-top ends, each one making the crowd gasp and laugh.
The rest of the dolls collapsed in a heap of spasms, taking their ringleader with them, and when Jonas fell to his knees, he toppled like a felled tree.
The vampires clutched their chests and shrieked as they crumpled, seemingly intent on taking themselves out while standing in the middle of a spotlight.
Down they all went until it was just me and Simon left standing.
We circled each other, playing it up, tossing out insults and threats. The crowd chanted our names, torn between loyalty and the overall thrill of the show.
Simon grinned and mouthed, Make it good.
I tackled him.
We hit the ground hard, rolling and grappling in a mess that looked far more violent than it was. He got me in a headlock. I threw him off and pinned his shoulders. He bucked me off, and we scrambled to our feet, breathing hard.
Then I grabbed his collar, yanked him close, and whispered, “Thanks for this.”
“Anytime, man.”
I shoved him backward and bear-kicked him down. He stumbled, fell, and didn’t get up again.
The cheers were almost deafening. I’d never had a crowd like this, and I couldn’t stop myself from having my moment.
I lifted my arms and roared, channeling every movie moment I’d ever seen: gladiators and supervillains, generals, and rock stars.
And then, breathing hard, I turned and stepped over the fake corpse on my way to Jude.
His eyes were bright, his hands gripping the armrests so hard that his arms were shaking.
I dropped to one knee in front of the throne. Bowed my head.
“Long live the King.”