Chapter 12
THE SHOE THUDS AGAINST CUPID’S MASK. THEN IT FALLS on top of Leighton’s body, rolling into the large pool of blood. It feels wrong that it hit her corpse, as if we had somehow defiled it. I’m sure there has to be some sort of exemption for moments like this, though.
Jesus, this would make a really bad horror movie.
I was nine years old when I became interested in the genre.
I stumbled upon an incredibly gory splatter film.
I knew I wasn’t supposed to watch it, but I was too hypnotized by the violence.
I couldn’t sleep. It didn’t matter how hard I tried.
Unable to remove an image from my eyes, perpetually burned into my retinas.
It’s happening with Leighton’s death.
I blink fast, processing Carmen’s attack.
Gulping, I lift my gaze to the killer.
Cupid fixes the mask over his face to keep us from seeing his identity. It takes only a few seconds, but Cerys acts fast, pulling me backward through the hall.
“Wait,” I mumble, looking at Leighton.
I don’t want to leave her alone.
“We have to move. Now!” Carmen pushes me, looking over her shoulder.
“Your shoe, Carmen,” Cerys tells her, slowing her pace. “Throw your other shoe at him!”
Carmen looks down at her hand where she’s clasping her remaining heel. Turning around, she halts and lobs the shoe at Cupid. It hits him in the chest, makes him startle and trip over Leighton’s body. He slips in her blood.
While the shoe doesn’t stop him, it slows him down. It’s enough to give us a solid head start as we run away. Cupid doesn’t immediately come after us. I peek over my shoulder to see him almost skating over Leighton’s blood.
My heart speeds up.
We can get away. I know we can.
Gaining distance from him, we run into an open room.
I can’t completely make out where we are, but it seems to be a lounge. Something I’ve always found incredibly weird with Greek houses is how many rooms they have in which to just sit and do nothing. Some have a trophy room where they display the chapter’s awards.
“I need a moment,” Cerys begs, sucking in big gulps of air. “I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”
She’s not the only one.
“Over here.” Carmen ushers us toward the back of a couch at the far end.
We slide into the hiding spot. It’s not the place I would’ve chosen, but we don’t have a lot of options. We still need to find the kitchen and a weapon, now that Carmen has lost both of her shoes, but this is enough to let us catch our breaths.
I press my hands to my chest, feeling the rapid thumping of my heart. The image of Leighton’s death flickers back to me. The crunch of her brain being pierced ripples through my skull. I touch my cheek and feel the blood plastered on it.
I want to peel the skin off my face where her blood has begun to dry.
I feel sick.
Saliva pools in my mouth, and I hold my breath. I can’t throw up. So I count to twenty and take another deep breath.
Poor Leighton.
She had just found us before her fate turned sideways. I wish we could’ve done more for her, especially considering we let a shoe drop on her fresh body. Dios mío, why did we let that happen?
“Is he coming?” Carmen whispers.
I focus on trying to locate the noise of his steps.
The sound travels down the hall, echoing around the walls.
I notice every creak in the house, our uneven breaths in the room, the faint hum of Kappa’s music.
But I don’t hear the steps anymore. They’ve silenced to nothing, and I worry he’s doing it on purpose.
It’s the one clue I have at the moment: the killer knows how to walk in the house without making any noise, which means he has probably spent a lot of time in Greek Row.
He also knew to trap us with the storm shutters.
Knew our phone numbers and exactly which names to use to get us to come to Theta house.
It means he knows exactly where to find us. There’s no place to hide in here. We can only run and hope he doesn’t catch us. The realization falls deep in my stomach like a boulder, spreading a wave of pain through me.
“We have to get those knives,” I mutter.
“No shit,” Carmen spits back. “How are you planning on getting through Mr. Psychokiller?”
I open my mouth and then close it. I don’t really have a plan.
“Maybe we should split up,” Cerys suggests in a whisper.
I choke back a groan. “Have I taught you nothing?” I ask. “People die when they split up.”
This is one of the golden rules in horror: never split up. If you want to ensure the group’s survival or maximize the efforts, you should never part ways with your inner core. Going separate ways means someone ends up dying. It’s usually the person who suggests it.
I want both Carmen and Cerys to have the best odds of making it out of here, but not like that.
“People are dying regardless!” Cerys exclaims.
“Lower your voice,” Carmen hisses. “You’re going to get us killed. Blondes already have a hard time staying alive in horror movies.”
Surprise ripples through me. I always rambled on about horror movies at home, but I never thought my sister was actually paying attention to what I said.
“What else can we do, then? At least that way someone can distract the killer and the others follow the plan,” Cerys questions, her voice muffled by a sob. I bite the inside of my cheek. When I don’t answer, she says, “See? Even you think it’s the only option.”
I hate that my determination to stay together decreases with every second that passes.
A ball of anxiety rolls in my stomach, making my muscles tremble.
Splitting up is a stupid idea. While it means someone can stay behind to distract Cupid, it also increases the risk.
What if someone else gets hurt? What if he’s not working alone?
But Cerys’ words drill into my head. It’s a stupid plan, but we have nothing else.
I force my spine straight and take a deep breath.
“You guys go together, and I’ll distract Cupid.”
The nickname rolls off my tongue naturally. They don’t seem to notice it, caught off-guard by my statement.
Carmen’s hand clasps tightly around my wrist, refusing to let go.
Her fingers almost cutting off my blood flow.
Almost as if she feared I was going to run away immediately before giving them a chance to think about it.
But I wouldn’t do that. I know she’d try to follow me.
The entire purpose of splitting up is to increase her odds of survival, not the other way around.
“No, you’re crazy,” she spits out roughly.
“Mabel, no,” Cerys says. “I’ll go. I’ll distract him.”
“No, I have to do it,” I cut her off, shaking my head though I doubt she can see me. “I owe you.”
My throat closes up for a second, and I struggle to clear it. This is counterproductive. We can’t waste more time bickering about the logistics or my reasoning for splitting up. We simply have to do it.
“What are you talking about? You don’t owe me anything.”
“We’re not splitting up. Both of you, cut it out,” Carmen orders us. “We had a plan and we’re sticking to it. Find a weapon and a place to hide. We’ll do it together.”
I want to protest, but Cupid’s steps thump down the hall, nearing the doorway.
My first instinct is to cover Carmen’s mouth with my hand.
I feel her breath hitch on my skin, but she doesn’t make any noise.
Adrenaline pumps at a rapid rate in my system, flushing through my bloodstream and heightening my senses.
Time seems to stop as Cupid’s steps stop abruptly. The sound too near for comfort.
He’s found us.
I can feel Carmen shaking under my hands, her body jolting silently with fear. I just want to hold her and tell her everything is going to be okay. That I’ll protect her.
Cupid paces around the room, the floor creaking under his weight. He’s close now. His labored breathing hushes behind the mask as he walks slowly. A heartbeat passes by, and he moves away from the couch. The steps fade away. He’s leaving.
Before I let Carmen go, I count to fifty to make sure he’s not coming back and then let my shoulders sag with relief. By some miracle, we evaded death. I release my sister and sigh, feeling like I can finally breathe again.
“Can we go—” Cerys’ words are cut off by her own horrified scream.
From above us, Cupid pulls Cerys’ hair, hoisting her to the couch. Screaming, she kicks and tosses, trying to break free from his hold.
Both Carmen and I jump to our feet, springing into action.
I check my surroundings to find something I can use to defend Cerys.
My hands grab the first thing I can reach, a trophy of sorts, and I swing it at Cupid’s head at the same time Carmen tries to smother him with a pillow.
The trophy hits the back of Cupid’s head, breaking apart, and I hear a muffled oomph as he slouches from the impact.
Cerys takes advantage of the attack and manages to wriggle away from Cupid’s hold. She falls to the ground, sobbing as she crawls away from the couch.
“Let go!” I yell at Carmen, taking the pillow from her while I try to push it against Cupid’s face to keep him distracted. “Take Cerys with you. Now!”
Carmen’s bravado shatters in front of me, hesitant to follow my request. Her silence worries me for a second, fearing she will tell Cerys to screw herself.
But I know Carmen’s heart. She might be a little mean—quite a lot mean, actually—but deep down she cares.
There’s goodness in her soul, I’ve seen it.
Even if she’s not as fond of Cerys as I am, she’s aware of how important Cerys is to me.
Because of my loyalty to her, Carmen will follow through.
“Mabby,” she mumbles in a little voice that makes my heart ache.
“I’ll find you later. I promise.” I shouldn’t be saying these words, I’m not sure I can keep them. But, for her, I’ll try my hardest. Cupid pushes against the pillow, and I struggle to keep him down while I urge Carmen to go.
Carmen grabs Cerys by the hand and tugs her to her feet, despite her cries.