Chapter 11
Erica and Zach burst back into the living room.
Liv stood in the center of it. She held the gun in both hands, arms locked straight, elbows trembling. The barrel swung in erratic arcs—wall, couch, bookshelf, body—as if she couldn’t decide where the danger was coming from. Or maybe it was everywhere at once.
Her eyes had gone dark, the blue reduced to a rim. Her face looked wrong, stretched thin over fear. This wasn’t the Liv Erica knew—the careful one, the practical one who triple-checked directions and never raised her voice. This was someone stripped down to instinct, just nerves and survival.
It terrified Erica how quickly that version of Liv had appeared. How quickly fear could erase a person.
“There’s someone else here,” Liv said. Her voice cracked on the last word.
Derek froze mid-step. His hands lifted instinctively, palms open. “Liv—”
“I saw it,” she went on, words toppling over one another. Her chest rose and fell too fast, like she couldn’t get enough air. “In the mirror. There was someone behind me! We’re not alone.”
The room tightened, like it had drawn a breath and decided to hold it.
“Okayyy,” Beckie said, forcing a laugh that didn’t land. “I think she had a psychotic break from all the ghost stuff and her boyfriend killing the extra-large.” She winked at Chad.
Liv whipped toward her so fast the movement blurred. “Chad killed him. Not Derek!”
“That’s right,” Derek said quickly.
Liv turned on him just as fast—and the gun followed.
He flinched, hands lifting higher. “Whoa, babe.”
Erica’s breath caught hard enough to hurt. She had the sickening thought that Liv didn’t even realize where the barrel landed—only that it did.
Liv’s hands shook harder now. She turned toward Chad, fury cutting straight through her panic. “You did this.”
Chad scoffed, but it came out brittle. “What? Are you out of your mind?”
“You killed him,” Liv said, her voice rising, cracking again. “You opened the door.” She jabbed the barrel toward Elias’s body on the floor. “He’s the one who let it in, and he’s the one who could’ve closed it—but he’s fucking dead.”
Derek took a careful step forward, slow and deliberate, afraid to spook her. “Babe. Just—just give me the gun. We can talk about this.”
The gun snapped toward him again.
He jumped back. “Jesus—”
“I need it,” Liv said. “To protect myself.”
“You don’t,” Derek said, forcing steadiness. “I’ll protect you.”
Liv laughed. It was a shrill, broken sound that didn’t match her face at all.
“No, you won’t,” she said. “Not from this. We’re all going to die.” She looked down at the gun in her hand as tears spilled freely. “Might as well just get it over with ourselves.”
The words landed like a slap. Erica felt a cold shock slice straight through her chest. This wasn’t panic. This wasn’t hysteria. This was despair.
“We’re not killing ourselves,” Derek said, his voice urgent now. “Liv. Liv—look at me.”
She didn’t. She looked at the walls, the ceiling, the corners, tracking something none of them could see. Her eyes lingered in the darkest places, the seams where light failed first.
Erica followed her gaze without meaning to, scanning the empty space, waiting for something to resolve into shape. Nothing did. And somehow, that was worse.
Erica stepped forward before she could talk herself out of it.
“Liv,” she said. Her voice sounded steadier than she felt, like it belonged to someone else who knew what to do in emergencies. She held one hand out, palm open. “Please. Give me the gun.”
Liv’s eyes snapped to her. “You believe me.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a test. Erica swallowed. Her mouth felt thick and dry. She thought of the mirror. The fog where there shouldn’t have been any. The way the room had felt crowded without anyone new entering.
“Yes,” she said. “There was something in the bathroom. I saw the mirror.”
The truth tasted strange in her mouth.
Liv’s breath stuttered, and her grip tightened on the gun. “You did?”
“I did,” Erica said. “It doesn’t make sense.”
Liv nodded frantically, tears spilling faster. “It’s not possible.”
“It’s not,” Erica agreed.
Beckie let out a short laugh. “Okay, but—”
“Stop,” Zach said.
Liv folded inward, shoulders hunching even as the gun stayed raised. “So you saw it?”
Erica nodded. Her heart hammered. “I know something’s wrong here. I can feel it.”
Liv laughed again, hysteria bleeding through. “We’re going to die.”
“No,” Derek said. “We’re not.”
“You don’t know that!” Liv snapped. “You didn’t see it.”
Derek looked helplessly at Erica, like he was begging her to fix this moment, to anchor it the way she always did.
She took another step closer. The gun wavered between her and Derek.
“Liv,” Erica said. “You’re safe right now.”
It wasn’t a lie. Right now, she was safe, but Erica wasn’t convinced it would last.
Liv shook her head. “No, I’m not. It’s still here.”
Chad scoffed, trying to reassert himself. “This is fuckin’ nuts.”
Liv rounded on him. “Shut up! For once in your life, Chad—shut the fuck up!”
“You stole my gun!” Chad snapped. “Give it back.”
Liv barked a laugh. “Are you fucking kidding me!? Give the only murderer in the room a gun?”
“I’m not a murderer,” Chad argued as if that were the most pressing matter.
Zach shifted closer to Erica, his voice barely audible. “Careful.”
Erica didn’t look at him. She kept her hand out, fingers steady despite the tremor climbing in her arm. “Liv . . . please.”
Tears streamed down Liv’s face, carving lines through panic. She looked impossibly small holding something so lethal.
“I don’t wanna die,” Liv whispered.
“I don’t either,” Erica said, meaning it in every way possible.
For a fraction of a second, Liv hesitated. Then the lights went out, and the condo was swallowed by darkness. The timing was too perfect.
The gun went off, the sound deafening in the confined space. A collective scream tore through the room. Something hit the floor with a heavy, wet thud. It was the same wrong sound they’d already heard earlier that night.
Erica’s ears rang.
Someone sobbed.
Someone prayed.
Someone whispered, “Oh my God.”
And in the darkness, no one knew who was still standing.