Chapter Eighteen #2
I clock every twitch of Derek’s shoulders. Those forearms flex with each keystroke. He rubs the back of his neck and—
Bite mark?
The one I sank into Ghostface when he was choking Lana.
Fuckfuckfuck. What if I got it wrong? What if—
Kristy shrieks, jabs her finger at one of the screens.
A patch of woods.
Derek leans in. “What’d you see?”
“Pigface. H-he was right there. Mask, hoodie, everything.” She looks at me, eyes wide. “Did you—?”
I shake my head. “You sure it was Pigface?”
“I know what I saw. That fucking snout …” She turns back to Derek. “Rewind it.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Derek types, brow furrowed.
I step closer, pretending to peer over his shoulder—but the mark’s gone, hidden under his hoodie. His cologne—bergamot?—makes my gut twist.
Maybe I imagined it. Or maybe it’s a rash. A hickey. A bug bite.
What the hell am I supposed to do anyway—‘Hey, Derek, mind tilting your head so I can inspect your possibly murdery neck up close?’
Yeah. That’ll go over great. Let’s break out a DNA swab while I’m at it.
Derek mutters something under his breath and types faster, eyes glued to the feed. “Whole system’s lagging like hell.”
Kristy leans in beside him, breath shallow. “Check the timestamp.”
Screw the cameras. “Can you just open the gate manually and let us out?”
Derek pauses. Then his chair scrapes back. He stands—spins toward me.
I inch back.
“There’s a manual release behind the panel. Just need to dig out the access key.”
I shift out of his way. Pepper spray’s still in my hand. One shady move and he’s getting a faceful.
He’s moving toward a cabinet in the corner when the door bangs open.
A guy strolls in—no teeth mark on his neck, but there’s a fading tattoo ‘NO REGERTS,’ coffee sloshing from his mug. He freezes when he sees us. “The fuck—?”
Then he spots Derek.
“Steve? Why’re you here? Where—hrrrkkk …”
Red hits the monitors in a crimson arc—blood.
Kristy screams. I can’t. Mouth’s full of cotton.
No Regerts whirls around. Same agonized wheeze—punctuated by liquid pops.
Same wide eyes pleading. ‘Help me.’
Same gaping slash across the neck.
He claws at his throat—just like Jessica.
Make it stop. Someone make it fucking stop.
His fingers grab for my hoodie.
I stumble back one step—out of reach.
No Regerts crumples to the floor.
“Found the glitch,” Derek—or Steve—murmurs, wiping something on his jeans. A box cutter.
“Man, timing really is everything.” He tilts his head, that smile still in place. “Where were we?”
Kristy scrambles to my side, breath ragged. “Payton …”
Her hand clamps down on mine. Canister slips. Fuck.
It rolls under the desk. Gone.
That’s when I see it.
A boot. Sticking out.
The guy’s half-crammed underneath, jaw slack, eyes wide.
“Ah. You found Nate. Always in the way.” Derek glances at the blood pooling near the monitors. “Justin … never much of a team player.”
Nate was already dead when we got here. No wonder the AC’s on full blast.
“Run,” I choke out to Kristy.
We bolt toward the exit—
The door slams shut.
Kristy yanks the handle. “I-it’s stuck.”
“Locked,” Derek corrects. “Admin override.”
Kristy wheels around, keys jutting between her knuckles.
He tsks. “I wouldn’t try that if I were you.”
Pepper spray’s still under the desk—half-hidden near Nate’s outstretched leg. I dive for it.
I scramble upright, canister raised. “Wh-what do you want?”
Derek smirks, turning to the keyboard. “An audience. Every show deserves one.”
Monitors flicker to life—
Screen 1: Two girls in shredded lingerie sprinting past the fake graveyard. Giggling. A shirtless hunter chasing them, mask crooked. Clueless. Still playing.
Screen 2: The Phantom and a woman pressed against a tree, her legs around his waist. They think this is fun.
Screen 3: The woman with cauliflower ears and that NOT YOUR GOOD GIRL choker is on all fours. Bane behind her, rutting.
“Let’s see how your boyfriend’s doing.”
Screen 9 crackles on. The Sanctum trailer.
Is that …?
Derek zooms in.
Kade.
Lying in the dirt, one arm twisted beneath him. Motionless.
Derek sighs. “Tsk. And here I thought he’d be the one to save you.”
“What’d you do to him? Is he …?”
“Dead? Nah.” He chuckles. “Not yet anyway.”
This is our fault.
No. More like my fault.
If I hadn’t gone full Final Girl on Kade … maybe he wouldn’t be lying there now.
He’d be here—kicking this fucking psycho’s ass.
Derek twirls the box cutter. Flicks it open, shut, open. “That’s it? No begging?” Steps toward us. “Tell you what, I’ll give you one chance to save him.”
I lift the spray. “How?”
Derek shrugs. “Go to him. Wake him up.”
Wake him up. Right. As if Kade’s Mr. Sleeping Beauty.
Kristy shoots me a look. Is he serious?
I don’t take my eyes off Derek. “Then what? You’ll let us out?”
He chuckles. “Maybe. But only one of you gets to play hero.”
Kristy stiffens beside me. “What?”
He points the box cutter at me. “You go. She stays. Gotta keep things interesting.”
Kristy grabs my arm. “Hell no.”
“Yeah. I suck at directions. Kristy’s gotta come with me.”
Derek grins like a cat with its paw on a mouse. “You think I don’t know how easily you get lost? Don’t worry. Just follow the red lanterns.”
I glance at Kristy.
She shakes her head.
“You’ve got one hour. Clock starts now.”
If I stay, we’ll be stuck here with this psycho. If I go—and get Kade moving—we might still have a shot.
“I’ll be back.” I squeeze Kristy’s hand. “I promise.”
She seems ready to throw herself between me and the door. Instead, she nods.
Derek reaches for the keyboard again, whistling like this is all routine. “Better hurry. Your boy’s not looking too lively.”