CHAPTER 10
“I’m scared of walking out of this room and never killing the rest of my whole life the way I kill when I’m with you.”
—Not Dirty Dancing
Brunette blowout Jennifer is hiding two booths down from where we found Billie, and she’s much happier to see us.
She reveals herself when we’re a few steps from her hiding spot.
Turns out it’s near impossible to completely soften the sound of five people moving through an echoey corridor, and she figured it was more likely a group of survivors rather than a group of killers.
It’s a gamble, but it pays off for her.
I push thoughts of the pack murderers in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Hellraiser out of my mind as quickly as they enter.
Jennifer still looks “girl next door” pretty despite spending the last however long compressed between a heavy velvet curtain and a brick wall.
Her hair is only a little mussed, her green dress easily straightened, her name easily distinguishable on her sticker because her handwriting is flawless.
She must have gotten out of the bar before the tag could be hit with blood spray.
When she slides out from her hiding place without any theatrics and whispers how relieved she is to see us, she’s immediately likable, and our group of five turns into six.
Jennifer and Billie form a new duo behind Laurie and me, while Campbell still trails at the back. Every time I glance over my shoulder, he seems to lag a little more, like the only thing that’s keeping him tethered to the group is that the alternative—being by himself—is so much worse.
We pass the last of the alcoves, and the corridor splits into an intersection, a red cross illuminated by bronze wall lamps whose flames all flicker in sync.
We can keep going straight, into a claret-colored abyss that may or may not lead to an exit.
We can turn left, into another long hallway that is as dimly lit as the others.
Or, if we go right and trail behind a bar that lines the edge of the dance floor, we’ll end up back over at the side we came from. The other group’s territory.
“What do you think?” Wes asks as we idle, and I try to remember if I’ve been down here before. When it was less Cabaret chic. “Straight ahead?”
I don’t see why not. It makes sense that another exit would be at the back of the building, but then the club sits on a street corner, so there could be a side entrance, too.
“Laurie?” I ask, but she’s already shaking her head.
“I can’t remember shit about this level.”
“Me, neither.” Maybe this place really is the reason I don’t drink Kamikazes anymore. “We stayed up mostly on the mezzanine, didn’t we?”
“Yeah.”
“What if it’s a dead end?” Jennifer whispers from behind me. She’s dug her fingers into her clavicle, gripping on for dear life.
“There’s a double meaning,” Billie mutters, and Campbell lets out a little sniff of fear.
“I think it’s more likely the whole thing connects back on itself,” I say.
That’s the theme of the building—a three-level maze filled with plenty of places to engage in illicit activities. I just don’t think the architects who came in and redesigned the former factory were thinking it’d be as illicit as murder.
I watch Wes as he mulls over our options.
He’s thinking through our path before we take it, considering each route the crossroads presents to us and checking them against the way we came.
He was doing that as we moved past the alcoves, at the coat check, downstairs in the bar.
He’s been doing it this whole time. I never thought I’d find vigilance sexy.
“It’d be good if they all connected,” Wes says. “If we don’t find an exit at least we come back to something familiar… How are we doing for time?”
Campbell glances down at his watch, looks back up. “I can’t remember when we left, but it’s almost ten forty-five.”
Holy shit, Campbell. You had one job.
Before I can firmly categorize myself as confrontational, Laurie decides to be diplomatic.
“I don’t think it’s been that long, but let’s make sure we’re back to meet the others by eleven.”
“Let’s go straight ahead then. And let’s make it quick.” Since no one has the means or motive to argue with Wes, we trudge on.
Whether there’s an end to the hallway is unclear until we’re a few feet away and the gas lamp directly in front of us reveals that the path turns to the left. We’re a few steps from the corner when I spy a shadow creeping across the carpet.
My heart doesn’t clench in my chest. Not like when I saw the unmistakable movement of Billie behind the curtain.
Instead, it plummets into my stomach, because I know it’s not actually a shadow.
I know by the way it moves across the floor without merging with the dark patches of the hallway that the faint glow of the light sconces can’t reach, the way the carpet fibers bend under the weight of the shadow as it edges out farther and farther. It’s a stain. And it’s spreading.
“Wes,” I breathe.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. His back is stiff, even as his shoulders drop in a sigh. “I see it.”
“It’s not usually a great idea to walk toward the growing pool of blood,” I say, and Wes nods stiffly in front of me.
“I agree, but if there’s an exit around the corner…”
I hear his exhale, long and weighted, before he turns back to the group with a commanding look in his eye. It does nothing to abate the urge to eye fuck him some more, so I keep my stare trained over his shoulder. If he can’t follow rule six, I’ll do it for him… just in case.
“Stay close to the wall,” Wes says. “And if anyone comes around that corner… run.”
I’d love to do that right now. Turn back, or at the very least slow our steps, but there’s no point delaying the inevitable, and when we get to the end of the hall, we see it. Or rather, them.
He’s killed two more people. The matching puncture wounds on their throats makes that startling clear.
If cut in the right way, a carotid artery can bleed out in two minutes.
I googled it once out of curiosity, after a particularly gore-filled movie marathon.
I just never thought I’d see it in person.
Drew and the woman next to him never stood a chance.
I know it’s Drew from the bold block letters on his name tag, and while the woman’s long red hair is familiar from cocktail hour, I can’t remember her name.
I only know that she was the one with the Julia Roberts smile and that Drew liked pineapple on his pizza.
Really superficial information about two people who are lying dead in front of us.
They look like the twins from The Shining from the way they’ve dropped onto the carpet.
Their blood spreads around them like one of those heart-shaped beds nobody thinks is romantic.
“What the h—”
Laurie’s voice comes out in a long gust. She shakes her head in disgust, her eyes fixed on the spreading stain, and that’s when I notice them. Scattered around the two bodies, sinking into the pool of blood. Red rose petals.
What the hell?
The petals aren’t just confined to the bodies, either. No. They continue down the hall into the darkness, scattered delicately across the carpet. A trail of rose petals.
What in the American Beauty madness is going on?
Wes seems to have the same question on his mind. He starts to edge around the macabre mix of crimson petals and the slightly darker shade of the puddle that is swallowing them as it spreads, intending to follow the trail.
He keeps a firm hold on the chair leg, his other palm extended back, directed toward us, as he says, “Stay here.”
Yeah, that’s not going to happen.
“No, Wes—”
“I’m just going to check around the corner. I’ll be rig—”
“Don’t fucking say it,” I hiss back before he can finish, willing away the sharp clench around my heart at the dangerous words that were about to come out of his mouth. He almost broke rule eight.
“Don’t you dare say ‘I’ll be right back,’ ” I grit out, because it’s a promise he can’t keep. I am surrounded by people who need to consider watching films for their educational value and not just entertainment.
“There’s no chance I’m going down there,” Billie says.
“I don’t want to, either.” Jennifer grips her shoulders tighter, shaking her head jerkily as she looks everywhere but at the bodies on the ground.
While Jennifer is avoiding the obstacle in our path, Campbell can’t tear his eyes away from them with that same distant, unblinking look on his face.
I highly doubt he’ll be making any moves to get a closer look, either.
“Then I’ll go with you.” It’s out of my mouth before I’ve actually made my mind up, but there are too many scenes playing through my head of men like Wes walking down a corridor and never coming back that I don’t regret it.
He glances back down the rose-covered corridor, his jaw tightening before he takes a step back to me, his hand gripping my shoulder, heating my skin, and he’s right. He is taller than me.
“Jamie, stay he—”
“No. Splitting off is just as bad as splitting up. It’s one of the rules.”
I turn to Laurie, offer my Kahlúa bottle, and hold my other hand out for her travel-sized one.
It’s loose in her grip and easy for me to swipe, exchanging it for the larger, heavier bottle.
Jennifer and Billie don’t have weapons, and I’ll feel better leaving them, leaving Laurie, if they have something big and sharp to protect themselves with.
I already know these makeshift weapons won’t hold up against the arsenal I suspect this guy has, but it’s better than nothing.
“Rules? What the fuck is she talking about?” Billie mutters, and I ignore her.
“Jamie—” Laurie says, and I can’t ignore her as easily. “Don’t go.”