15 | Liam
Liam
When we arrive at the maze, the darkness falling over it feels like a sign.
It’s not one, though. It’s simply my mind conjuring any excuse to avoid this.
I open my door, and my booted feet touch the hay as I hop out of the vehicle.
Nathan and Michael are already unloading the motorcycles, and the woman, unlike any other—even those who don’t usually care—stays still.
Even when no fight is left in them, this is the part where they cry and show fear.
Yet, this woman shows none of it. She stays in the same spot Mike left her when he placed her body into the van. She hasn’t moved an inch.
I stay a little further away from the car, watching them, showing in my own way the lack of desire to participate in this game.
But I will do it anyway. Because we are in this together, and there isn’t a choice anymore.
We either hunt together, and I make sure her death isn’t the reason we end up in prison, or I stay there and watch everything fall apart.
Suddenly, my brain registers what’s happening around me.
I hear Nate reciting the rules, and in a sense, it’s like every other night, but it isn’t.
Both men are already on their motorcycles, and mine waits beside theirs.
I take my place on it, even though I don’t wish to, and stay there, observing as Nathan continues his speech.
Finally, he reaches over and removes the hood covering the woman’s head.
His knife presses against the rope keeping her tied to his motorcycle, cutting it loose.
Then he kicks her like a mule you’re trying to stop from being stubborn.
“Run,” he growls, his voice deep. It’s a warning like nothing else.
This time, the woman screams. I am not sure if it’s the fact that she can see us, or maybe she finally understood her upcoming demise. But now she is suddenly full of life. She flees, running through the maze, and we allow her a head start like we have done with every single woman before her.
I see her black hair as the air brushes through it, the white fabric of her summer dress as it flows against her body as she moves.
She looks almost identical to my aunt, to the point that someone could think they are twins.
Sisters. Or something more sinister. She feels familiar in ways I can’t exactly explain.
She is wearing a white summer dress, and the weather is getting cold.
I am thinking it must be making things harder for her, but when adrenaline hits, all senses get dulled.
I know that too well. I noticed the green in her eyes right before we slid the hood over her head, reminding me of my cousin’s—almost comforting through the terror that the night has in store for her.
When she is far enough into the maze, the sound of the motorcycles beside me echoes through the night, and despite my lack of desire to hunt, I turn the key in my engine.
I follow the guys down the path, trailing the woman’s route into the maze.
Even though I hate the kills, I love the chase just as much as they do.
But tonight’s hunt isn’t one I enjoy. Usually, the air brings chills to my skin, and their screams make my dick hard.
This time, terror fills my body, and the only desire I can feel is the one to help her escape.
But I won’t. It’s not my place to save her.
I am the monster who hunts her, not the knight in shining armor coming to help her through her nightmare.
It takes a moment before I realize I have her cornered in the furthest back of the maze.
I didn’t even realize I was following her.
I climb off my bike, approaching her with a knife in my hand.
I am not sure why; it’s not like I would ever hurt her.
I am ready to speak, not sure what words are about to fall out of my mouth, but I know I have to say something.
What do I even say in this moment? ‘I am sorry you got caught up in all of this.’ That won’t do her any good.
‘Run, and I will distract them.’ That won’t do me any good.
I am trying to think of anything to say, but she speaks instead.
“Liam?” she questions, her voice low, and I can tell she is shivering. The earth moves under my feet and everything seems to collapse around me. I must have heard wrong.
“What?” I ask, trying to convince myself I heard wrong.
Because how would she even know my name?
I am thinking of every scenario possible.
Maybe she saw me at the diner and I didn’t notice.
Maybe she knows Jessica and she told her my name.
But then I realize Jessica doesn’t know my name.
No one in this town does. I made sure not to share it with Jessica in the few moments we shared.
So, how is it possible this woman knows it now?
While I am torturing myself about all the possibilities, her lips part again and another question follows. “Are you Liam or Michael?”
She knows both of us. The realization that we know nothing about this woman dawns on me like a curse.
This isn’t how it was supposed to be tonight.
I wonder who she is. How does she know us?
I wonder if it’s possible she is from our hometown.
Maybe she remembers us from our childhood; back then, the only way to tell us apart was Mike’s blond hair.
That would explain the reason she is asking who’s standing before her.
Because if she knew us at any point from our teen years to now, she would know who I am.
It’s the reason we have chosen two opposite aesthetics when it comes to the tattoos decorating our skin.
Because somehow we always looked so similar, people have been confused about who is who since we were kids.
But now it’s easy to tell us apart. Mike’s ink is black; it mirrors the designs on my skin because we always had the same taste, but mine is full of color.
It’s my way of making sure I have some beauty in my life.
Even if my soul is black, my skin remains colorful.
“I am Liam,” I tell her and add a question of my own. “Who are you?”
She approaches me and her hand brushes my cheek.
“I am Mary, your mother,” she tells me in a soft, motherly voice, and I think I must have heard wrong, but the look on her face solidifies her statement.
I don’t understand. I try to find a way to make sense of everything that is happening all at once, but I can’t.
The only knowledge I have is that we can’t kill her before we know more.
“Guys, the hunt is over!” I yell, and I hear Nathan’s voice follow mine.
“We will meet you at the van!” he calls out.
I hear arguments, but they are too far away to make sense.
I know Mike isn’t happy about this. I help Mary onto my bike; she doesn’t speak a word while we drive back to the starting point.
I see the guys approaching from other parts of the maze, their engines a dead giveaway of their presence.
“What are you doing?” Mike questions, anger filling his voice.
His face takes on an expression that I hate seeing on him, but I ignore him.
I turn to Nate instead because I know he is the more reasonable one out of the two of them, but also he is the one in this situation who has no connection to this woman.
No emotions to cloud his judgment. No reason to actually want her death besides playing the game.
“Come with me,” I tell him, leading the way as we walk a little further out of Mike’s reach.
I keep my eyes locked on the woman as I talk straight to Mike.
“Watch her.” I bark the order, which is so unlike me.
I am not usually the one to show authority over our little group; that has always been Nate’s role, but in desperate times...
Nathan follows me without arguing, and I see Mike from the corner of my eye pacing around the woman.
I make sure to keep my gaze on her, because he can’t be trusted.
Something comes out of his lips, but I am too focused on what I need to explain to Nate.
The information I just got can't be taken lightly. I explain what happened back in the maze while observing Mike and Mary the entire time I’m talking.
I explain the conclusion I’ve come to as I drove her to the starting point, and how everything just clicked into place.
Her statement was what I needed to piece everything together: how we always looked alike, how our birthdays were on the same day, and how there were no photos of my mother or aunt being pregnant from that year.
Memories of our childhood flood my mind, and I remember every person who couldn’t tell us apart.
I remember the matching outfits our mothers used to dress us in, and how when we went to our first year of school, our teachers had to separate us into different classrooms because it was too difficult for them to keep track of which was which.
I never wondered about it, because when we were little, so many horrific things were happening to us that thinking wasn’t a skill we developed.
We only thought about survival; the secrets of the family were no concern to our young minds.
But what made everything suddenly make sense was the reminder of my father’s words the first night Mike came to live with us: “Always having to bear the burden of her mistakes, stupid slut now had to dump another useless boy on my lap.” We thought he was talking about Mike’s mother, but what if he was talking about a woman we had never met?
I explain everything to Nathan in a hurry. I mumble some words and miss others, but the point gets across, and he nods in agreement. He understands the seriousness of the situation.
“Get her in the van, pretty boy!” he orders Mike, using that ridiculous nickname he has for him.
I have always found it so cringe, but I never told them.
It’s not my place. To no surprise, Michael does as he is told.
He guides the woman back into the van and ties her hands while we load the motorcycles back into the vehicle next to her.
It’s big enough to barely fit one person when all three bikes are loaded in, but Mike squeezes himself in there with her anyway.
I know how to stay in the back with the women by now.
I don’t sit down; I almost sit on my motorcycle as we drive, making sure I steady myself by holding onto the sides of the vehicle as it moves.
But Mike takes a seat directly next to her, squeezing himself onto the side of his motorcycle.
I close the door because teaching him how to properly sit back there when we have a victim isn’t a priority.
Nathan enters the driver's seat, and I climb into the passenger side. The car starts with a new destination as we drive back to the house. And silence falls between us.