Chapter 11
THE POSSIBILITY THAT SOMETHING DREADFUL MIGHT’VE happened to Danny sinks deep in me, scratching my bones and paralyzing my muscles.
Time slows around me, dragging into nothingness.
For a long second, I stay still as a new scenario builds in my brain.
One that makes a wave of nausea roll in my stomach, almost pushing me forward with a dry heave.
I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth as I inhale through my nose.
We’ve been thinking Elodie was the first person to die tonight, but it might’ve been . . .
I shake my head, refusing to consider it.
No, there’s no way Danny could’ve died. He was probably lost around the house when he heard the screams and then had to go into hiding like we did.
Yes, that sounds like a better outcome. I’m not ready to think about anything other than a positive outcome.
I have to think positively, because the alternative is to accept death as an absolute.
I’m not ready to die tonight.
Whenever people die young, the elders always comment on how they were barely getting started in life and had so much left to do and experience.
I didn’t actually think about it until now.
I’m barely getting my career started. I haven’t gotten to write a full-length script, direct the idea, see the film on the big screen.
I don’t own a house. Hell, I haven’t even started paying off my student loans.
There’s so much of life I want to experience.
I can’t die tonight.
And I sure as hell don’t want the people that I love to die either.
If anything happens to Carmen or Cerys or Danny . . . I might lose my mind. I don’t have the sanity to survive in a world without any of them. This last year, I’ve barely been a person. Surviving, but not thriving. If I lost them, I wouldn’t even try to focus on other aspects of my life.
I would just . . . give up.
“Mabel.” Carmen shakes my shoulder, pulling me back to reality. Her voice is firm, and it reminds me I don’t have time to dwell on the possibilities of a future. I must focus on what I’m currently experiencing. “What do you think we should do?”
My sister’s face is void of emotion. Where I expect to find fear, I find a mask of strength covering her features. In this moment of panic, she’s risen above it, becoming the pillar and keeping me steady. Shock rattles through me. Since when has my little sister become such a strong woman?
But she shouldn’t have to be the strong one.
I take a deep breath, push away all the anxiety in my body, and lock in.
We’re being chased by a killer, yes, but I have enough experience to get us out of this. I might not be the final girl of this plot, but I can survive. Or I can get the people I care about to safety.
What was the question?
Right.
They’re asking me what to do.
I consider the options.
We can’t stay hidden here the rest of the night until the killer shows up for us, or we get rescued, whatever happens first. But we shouldn’t venture around carelessly either.
I rub my forehead with my index finger as I try to remember the layout of this place.
Usually, Greek Row houses tend to mirror each other in architecture, so it means it should be close enough to Kappa’s.
But I also tended to avoid spending time in houses where guys like Brian used to hang out.
I think some houses got some remodeling done, but I’m unsure if it was something big or just some touch-ups.
If it wasn’t anything major and they didn’t change the overall layout of the house, if we’re in the main dining hall, it shouldn’t be hard to find the kitchen. Only a room or two over. In there, we could find some weapons to defend ourselves when Cupid comes for us.
Having a weapon would increase our odds of survival. Better than running around blindly, not knowing what to expect.
“Kitchen,” I mumble. “We should go to the kitchen.” Carmen’s original plan.
This doesn’t mean we’re going to hunt down Cupid ourselves because, like Cerys said, Carmen is barely five-foot-two and a theater kid.
I’m two inches taller, but it’s not really like it would make any difference.
The killer was taller than Elodie by at least a foot, and with the way they manhandled her dead body, I’d say none of us have the strength to face them.
“Good, that’s good,” Carmen agrees, bobbing her head.
“Wait, guys,” Cerys halts us before we can even move. “How do we know the killer isn’t going to—” Her words get interrupted by a loud, guttural scream.
Another victim.
“We gotta move. Now!” I say, pushing them to their feet.
Moving cautiously, but determinedly, we begin our journey through the house.
Although it’s easier said than done, considering Carmen is wearing platform shoes and they make a noise every time she steps.
It doesn’t matter how light she tries to tread on the floor, it echoes against the walls, alerting everyone in a three-mile radius about our position.
“Take them off,” I whisper the order.
She doesn’t have a choice here. It’s too loud. Besides, if we have to run again, her shoes will slow her down. I know Carmen is balanced and way more coordinated than I could ever be, but I don’t want to risk it. There’s already too much at stake.
“Are you serious?” she questions.
“Yes! You’re stomping.”
“I’m not!”
“You kind of are,” Cerys chips in. “And you both need to stop sistering while we’re running from a murderer.”
I roll my eyes, thankful for the darkness because they’re not really paying attention to my facial expressions. After adjusting to the lack of lighting, I can spot the silhouette of their bodies, but not really their expressions.
“We’re not sistering,” Carmen protests, her tone slightly pitching with offense.
Cerys is right, though. We can’t keep talking unnecessarily when we’re trying to avoid being killed by a madman.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I keep myself in line, refraining from making any comments as Carmen takes off her shoes, holding them in her hands.
She’s probably clutching them as a defense tool.
They’re not as effective as a knife, but if a body comes running at us, the impact might slow them down.
Good thinking, sis, I praise her in silence.
Theta house is more difficult to navigate when it’s in complete darkness and I’m unfamiliar with the territory.
The floor plan is different than Kappa’s, I notice, the second I turn left at a corner and end up hitting a wall where there should be an open hallway.
Venturing deeper into the house, we cross a room that I guess is some type of games room.
Cerys stubs her toe on the leg of a billiard table.
With every step I take, my anxiety rises to a new level.
There haven’t been any more screams after the second one, which means the killer is probably creeping around, looking for their next victim.
I don’t know what’s worse, the sickening screams or the deathly silence.
Is it wrong for me to say I prefer the screams?
At least with someone making noise, albeit a horrifying one, I can tell if the murderer is nearby or not.
But with silence? There’s nothing but the promise of a threat lingering over our heads.
It’s only a matter of time before we stumble upon the killer.
What if I’m leading them straight to the murderer?
My entrails grumble with nerves. Maybe I’m putting my loved ones in danger by guiding them in the wrong direction. Perhaps I should’ve ignored the rule of never heading upstairs. There are rooms to hide in on the second floor.
But what will you do in a room with no alternate exit? Nothing, my common sense reminds me.
It’s the only thing keeping me going on the same course instead of rethinking the original plan.
It doesn’t matter if there are rooms upstairs to hide in because, if the killer finds us in one of them, there’s no other way out, no way to escape.
It’s much worse to be trapped than standing in a hall with open passageways.
“Are we going the right way?” Cerys dares to ask in a barely audible tone, but it’s loud enough to be heard under the fast and heavy stomps heading our way.
My heart bangs in my chest, faster as the milliseconds tick by.
At my side, I can just about make out Carmen raising a shoe, preparing to throw it.
I don’t know if she has the arm power to cause anything other than a distraction, and I find myself wishing Danny was here with us.
He was a pitcher for the Westbrook baseball team.
The wound in my soul stings at the reminder of him, but I push it away. No, I can’t engage with any sad or distressing thoughts.
Danny’s fine. He’s probably stuck somewhere, hopefully hiding along with the rest. Yes, that must be it. He has to be okay. Even though there’s a golden rule about not trusting any romantic interests in slasher films, Danny is different.
The steps slow down as they near us, almost fading to a stop, before a figure springs around the corner, turning a flashlight straight at us.
Before I can process who the person is behind the phone, Carmen throws a shoe at the figure, and it hits them straight on the chest. The person stumbles back, tripping over their feet.
The fall is louder than it should’ve been, dramatically blasting across the hall.
Fuck.
I wince, bracing myself for the killer to rush here, but after a beat goes by, there’s nothing.
I puff out, emptying my lungs.
It’s Leighton.
She remains sprawled on the floor, her phone flashing at the ceiling. The sudden brightness hurts my eyes, and I hold a hand up to cover the harsh LED glare.
“Are you insane, Leighton?” Carmen mutters, picking up her shoe. “Turn that off, right now! You’ll get us caught, you dumb cow.”
Almost instantly, I elbow Carmen.
While I understand where she’s coming from, she’s being unnecessarily mean. Leighton is a sweet and sensitive girl. And, yeah, she’s a bit dumb, but there’s no need to insult her, even though her irresponsibility might get us killed.
Okay, maybe she does deserve it a little, but I still don’t want to deal with any emotional tears.
“I’m sorry!” Leighton exclaims, louder than we need.
We shush her.
Leighton grabs her phone and struggles to turn the flashlight off.
In the moment of illumination, I take the opportunity to examine her.
She fell, but she’s unharmed. Her fair skin is spattered with blood.
She was the one standing closest to Elodie when the killer appeared, so it makes sense for her to have Elodie’s blood on her.
Her eyes remain wide open, pupils dilated with shock.
Harsh pink rims her lids, and her mascara has spread over her cheeks, the tears leaving black stains.
“Elodie’s dead,” she mumbles and begins to sob, reality setting in. Her thumbs hover trembling over the screen, but she still doesn’t turn the flashlight off. “And then I lost Bethan . . . I’m just . . . I’m glad to see you girls.”
A trace of empathy grows in my chest. I can’t even begin to imagine what she must be going through. She just watched her friend get murdered in front of her and has been wandering around lost and panicked, with no one to rely on. Stained with the blood of someone she knew.
I crouch down to her level. Softly, I lay a hand over hers while the other grabs her phone. I need to turn the light off. I feel guilty about using comfort as a tool to get what I want, but she’s close to a state of shellshock. Confused and lost.
“I’m sorry about Elodie,” I begin to say, pulling the phone into my palm without breaking eye contact. The screen illuminates us, but I don’t care to act before I know she’s calm. “I know she was your friend.”
I wish I could say more to ease her sorrows.
I’ve remained emotionally distanced from this life long before I moved to LA.
I’ll remember Elodie as a sweet and gentle person.
She deserved to live a full life, grow into a confident woman with a bright career.
Elodie deserved the chance to explore a future.
But, right now, with danger looming over us, I can’t bring myself to grieve for her the way Leighton is.
I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to.
“She is,” she mumbles in agreement.
Her use of the present tense makes my soul twist painfully.
This will be something she won’t completely heal from. It doesn’t matter how much therapy she has, there’s going to be a part of her that will always be trapped in this moment where she witnessed one of her closest friends get brutally murdered.
“We can’t stay here on the floor, come on,” I tell her, tugging at her hand to encourage her to stand up.
She doesn’t have much of a choice. If it had been any other time, I would’ve let her stay on the floor for as long as she wanted, but we’re in a vulnerable position.
The corner isn’t safe, someone could be hiding against the wall, waiting for the perfect moment to attack.
I know because I did a film with Aidan where the killer ends up sneaking up on the group from a corner and then kills someone.
“Elodie’s dead,” Leighton repeats, withdrawing her phone from my hand. The flashlight is still on. “And you hit me with a shoe.” She looks at Carmen like she should be ashamed of herself.
Carmen groans. “I thought you were the killer,” she excuses herself.
“Do I look like the killer?” Leighton’s voice rises half an octave. “I—bleurgh!” Her words get cut off, drowned in her throat.
Because just like in the movie, the killer sneaks from around the corner and plunges a knife into Leighton’s head.
The blade disappears through her temple.
Her eyes widen, the capillaries in them bursting.
Red tears spill from them, mixing with the mascara on her cheeks.
Her body spasms, the phone falling from her hands to the floor.
The light shining from that angle creates grotesque shadows under her horror-petrified expression.
The killer withdraws the knife and blood—probably some brain matter too—splatters over my face, catching me off guard.
I flinch, staggering back.
And then, when the killer drops Leighton to the ground as the life spills from her, Carmen’s shoe flies past my head, hitting him straight in the face.