Chapter 22
Chapter
Twenty-Two
HER
D amon’s laughter echoes in the shadows.
Adrenaline surges through me as I chase after him. Every so often, I get a glimpse of him. I run faster and faster, claws of fear digging into my chest, my forehead beading with sweat. But no matter how hard I try, I can never seem to catch up. Nauseous with dread, I hold on to the necklace as a reminder of what’s at stake.
I push myself harder, the corn stalks scratching my skin as I push my way through, but I see no sign of him. Have I lost him? It’s almost as if the darkness has swallowed him up.
Suddenly, I hear music playing in the distance. It’s— was —Grace’s favorite band. I pump my legs, sprinting toward Courtney Love’s voice. When I get closer, the chorus of the song starts—and that’s when I realize just which track it is.
Jennifer’s Body .
My heart is pounding so loud, it feels like an explosion in my chest. The music grows louder with each step. Finally, I burst into the clearing and look up.
And immediately wish I hadn’t.
There, in the middle of the cornfield, is Jen—or what’s left of her. Mangled, broken, fastened to a wooden tree-like structure. Her body is motionless, her hair fluttering in the gentle wind. My eyes widen in horror as I stumble back, unable to look away from her bloody remains as the chorus of the song repeats like a skipping record.
I drop the necklace, unable to process what I’m seeing. This can’t be real. How could this have happened? Why?!
As if in response, voices whisper from the shadows:
“You were too late.”
“You should have killed him.”
“This is the consequence of your actions.”
“No!”
Nick rushes past me to Jen’s body. As he brandishes a pocketknife, my throat tightens and tears well up in my eyes.
“Hold on! I’ll get you down!” He saws at the rope that binds her, cutting her down. “Oh God, Jen … I’m sorry. Please, stay with me!” Over and over, he shakes her like he expects her to open her eyes. But once the harsh truth finally dawns on him, he screams in anguish.
She’s gone.
Cradling her lifeless body in his arms, he gently rocks her back and forth as he sobs. Numbness pins me in place. All I can do is stand here, watching Nick’s pain unfold before me. I’m the reason Jen is dead.
This is all my fault .
There’s nothing to say to make it better. The realization that Jen is gone—and I’m the one to blame—gnaws at my insides until I feel completely hollow. The voices in the shadows grow louder, becoming a cacophony that assaults my ears. I try to block out the noise with my hands, but it’s futile.
Nick’s gaze briefly meets mine, sadness and rage clear in his eyes. I can see what he’s thinking—that the woman he loved is gone because of me. Overwhelmed with guilt and shame, I tremble and collapse, unable to speak or breathe.
Uniformed personnel rush past as a hand grips my shoulder. I look up to see Blake standing beside me, his eyes sad but resolute as he gently helps me to my feet. I let him wrap an arm around my shoulders in a protective embrace as police and paramedics descend upon Jen’s body.
Nick yells, covering her body with his own, shaking and sobbing uncontrollably. My heart wrenches as they push him out of the way to attend to her and gain control of what is now the scene of a homicide.
Blake leads me away from the tragedy I created. I steal one last glance at Jen’s body—an image that will forever be seared into my mind—before we make our way out of the corn maze.
As we emerge, I can still hear Nick’s anguished cries. Tears silently fall down my face as I realize I will never be able to forgive myself for what happened.
“It’s going to be okay,” Blake murmurs.
No … No, it won’t be .
We stand near the archway, finding solace in each other’s presence until the sound of sirens kicks up. A large crowd gathers by the maze as the police close off the entrance with yellow tape to discourage any nosy festivalgoers. Reality crashes back in as a cop approaches us, flashing his badge.
“I’m sorry,” he begins, motioning us to follow him, “but I need to ask you guys a few questions about what happened tonight.”
As the cop escorts us away from prying ears to a cruiser, Blake squeezes my hand reassuringly. My stomach drops as the officer—Daniels, according to his tag—takes out his notebook to record our answers. How am I possibly going to explain this? It feels like a scene from a nightmare that will never end.
“Tell me your names,” he orders gruffly.
“I’m Blake Sullivan, a journalist for the Fallbank Chronicle,” he states, his voice unwavering despite the situation. “I came to the festival to write an article with my fellow Chroniclers.”
As Officer Daniels stares me down, waiting for my response, I force down the lump in my throat. “I’m Mia Underwood. I came here with my two friends, Nick Campbell and Jen Breck.” The words die on my tongue as I gesture to the maze .
“And what were you two doing in the maze?” Daniels asks, scribbling down our names.
I take a deep breath and tell him the truth—at least a version of it. “I was trying to find Jen. We got separated during the costume contest. I thought I saw her go into the corn maze, so I went in. I heard music, went toward it, and then I saw her … She was … dead.”
“So, the person you say went into the maze,” Daniels presses, “was that not Jen?”
“It was the fucking murderer!” I blurt out, my fists clenching at my sides.
Blake steps forward and speaks up. “The person who might be responsible for what happened to Jen must have been the one playing music. It was coming from a boombox inside the maze. I heard it and came to investigate. That’s where I found Mia, Nick, and Jen.”
Daniels writes some things down before thrusting the pen and paper into Blake’s hand. “Alright. You’ve told me enough for now, so I’ll spare you the trip down to the station. But we might need more information later on, so give me your contact info.”
We both write down our phone numbers before handing the notepad back to the officer. He flips to another page, jots something down, and tears it out. “Here’s the number and address of the Sturgis Borough Police Department,” he says, giving the paper to Blake. “If you think of anything else—anything that could be a clue—call us there.”
With that, Daniels pats us both on the shoulders and bids us goodbye. I watch him go, still reeling with shock. Blake threads his fingers in mine, giving my hand a gentle squeeze.
“Could you give me a ride home?” I ask, my voice thin and strained.
He nods and guides me away from the cruiser. I feel eyes on me, hear whispers about our involvement as we weave through the crowd. My stomach twists painfully into knots, a feeling that doesn’t subside when exiting the festival grounds. I barely even remember getting into Blake’s car.
The both of us are silent for the entire drive home.
I couldn’t bring myself to celebrate Halloween this year.
Since Jen’s death, I’ve been cooped up in my apartment, watching horror movies and drinking. Nothing seems to fill the void or make me feel connected with anything. I just watch violent, dark, and disturbing films on a rotation and consume far too much alcohol.
Brian has given Nick and me time off to mourn, so I haven’t been to work. With minimal contact with the outside world, Blake has been coming by to keep me company and make sure I’m okay. He’s been my rock, doing his best to keep my spirits up. I don’t know what I would do without him right now.
He sits down on the couch next to me. “I’m worried about you,” he says, taking my hand. “You’re not doing well. You need to get out of this apartment and start living again.”
I jerk my hand away and frown at him, but immediately regret it when I see the hurt on his face. He’s just trying to help, and here I am, pushing him away. “I know. It’s just … hard.”
“I know you miss Jen, but she wouldn’t have wanted this for you,” he presses. “She would want you to live your life, not stay in solitude like this.” He pauses, searching for the right words. “I know this is difficult, but you need to do something for yourself.”
His words twist a knot in my gut; I know he’s right. But it’s hard to move on when I feel like her death is my fault. It’s bad enough that guilt eats at me for not disclosing my connection to her murderer—and the murderer of so many others. “Okay,” I say, nodding. “I’ll try.”
“That’s my girl.” He smiles softly and scoots closer, putting an arm around me. “What do you say we go out? Get some fresh air today? We don’t have to do much, just go for a walk around the neighborhood. Or maybe the park.”
I rest my head on his shoulder, watching as some stupid teenage camp counselor gets mauled. “Yeah, sure. That sounds nice. Except for the curfew.”
In the wake of Jen’s murder, authorities have implemented a curfew as a precaution and launched a formal investigation. Given the recent violence in Fallbank, largely because of Damon, it’s not unreasonable to speculate that law enforcement may suspect a connection between the killings.
As we finish watching one of the many Friday the 13th movies, Blake kisses the top of my head. I can’t remember which one this is, and I don’t care to. So much for my being a cinema expert.
As the credits roll, something catches my eye. I try to ignore it, digging my nails into my thighs for some grounding pain. It’s the only way I’ve been able to keep the hallucinations at bay. With everything that’s happened and Jen’s funeral coming up soon, they’ve been getting worse. I need to see a psychiatrist, but funds are tight. And if I keep taking time off work …
I should’ve just killed Colton. Part of me wanted to. Something dark and primal stirred in me when I held that knife. I thought it wasn’t the right thing to do. He died anyway, and another person suffered the consequences of my mistake. And now I’m left with sadness and regret over my inaction, my flawed misconception of ‘right.’
I claw the flesh of my thighs, in the same scarred spots from old wounds being opened too many times. Blake notices, his brows drawing together. I force a smile, attempting to brush it off, and stand.
“I’m gonna go get cleaned up,” I say, my voice full of false cheer. I’m about to start for the bathroom when he grabs my hand, clasping it tight enough that I can’t shake him off.
“Let me go with you to Jen’s funeral,” he says—almost a demand, if I didn’t know any better .
This time, my smile is genuine, a wave of warmth swelling within me. “I’d like that.”
He lets go, and I turn to leave. I can feel his eyes on my back as I head to the hallway. I don’t deserve someone as caring as him. But I’m glad he’s here with me, helping me through this mess. Maybe, just maybe, I can make it out of this period of my life with my sanity mostly intact.
Reaching the bathroom, I turn to face the mirror. But instead of my reflection, I see the menacing visage of my stepfather, his lips pale and twisted into a cruel smile. I stagger back in shock, my back hitting the wall. I can feel his presence in the room, and it’s suffocating. My breathing quickens, sweat beading on my forehead.
Why is he here? What does he want?
Slowly, he motions for me to come closer, his hand unnaturally pale. His eyes are black, soulless, and vacant, boring into me as if searching for something—something inside of me . I tremble, my heart pounding so loudly in my ears that I think it’s about to burst my eardrums.
Just as I consider running, he finally speaks. “What I want from you is very simple.” His voice is deep and raspy, like rocks grinding against each other. An evil smile plays across his lips before he adds, “I want you to obey me and do whatever I say—or else you will regret it.”
He’s right in front of me, and it feels like I’ve gone back in time, with his body towering over me. He leans down, cups my chin, and our faces are just inches apart. Fear buzzes in my veins, and the cruelty and darkness in his gaze chills me to the bone. I’m rooted to the spot, unable to breathe.
“So, what will you do?” he asks, his breath laced with booze. “Do what I say? Or suffer the consequences?”
Deep down, I know what he wants is nothing good. I want to run, get away from this repulsive piece of shit of a human being. But suddenly, a voice speaks up, just at the edge of my hearing.
Kill him .
I realize the voice is my own. My body quakes with rage as an abrupt rush of strength compels me to do what needs to be done. Without hesitation, I grab the scissors I laid out earlier to cut my hair—andslamthe tip into the mirror.
The reflection of my stepfather’s face fractures into a jagged web as I drive the weapon in again, causing shards to fly everywhere. He stares at me with his mouth agape, and I can feel power oozing from my pores, a surge of wild energy that nearly carries me away. Before he can react, I lunge forward and bury the weapon in his shoulder, eliciting a scream that rips from his throat as blood pools around us, staining everything red.
And then I’m back in my apartment bathroom, blood dripping from the cuts on my arms. Dropping the scissors, I stumble out of the room, my mind spinning as I fall to my knees. What just happened?
“Mia!”
Blake runs to me, looking at the chaos in the bathroom before crouching in front of me. “What happened?” he asks, masking the panic.
My throat dries as I try to explain. “It was my stepfather … in the mirror,” I answer, my hands trembling as I tug on the hem of my shirt.
He pulls me into a hug before whispering gently, “It’s okay. You’re safe now.” He runs his fingers through my hair in a reassuring manner. “Let’s get these wounds patched up.”
As he helps me to my feet and leads me away from the bathroom, I feel myself drifting away. My body is moving. But it feels like I’m not in control, like I’m watching myself from a distance, like a movie.
All at once, the colors of the world return and I find myself back on the couch. Blake finishes bandaging me up, his fingers brushing against mine. Gazing at me, his stormy blue eyes full of affection, he kisses me on the forehead, and I take comfort in his touch.
As long as Blake is with me, I know I will be okay.