Chapter 13
EVERY CELL IN MY BODY STOPS WORKING. ICE CRYSTALIZES in my veins, freezing my muscles, paralyzing me, even though I should shield myself from the imminent danger.
I don’t want to die young. But it appears this is my fate. My heart feels heavy. I haven’t gotten to unlock my real potential.
I squeeze my eyes shut and brace myself.
But the impact never arrives.
The piercing blade doesn’t come anywhere near my body.
Instead, I hear the closet door shutting as someone steps inside. Even with my eyes closed, I sense a bright light flickering on, illuminating the tight space. Fearing that I’ll see the blood-stained cupid mask mocking me, I flutter one eye open.
I don’t trust the first glimpse I get of the person in front of me.
Puppy eyes. I’m afraid it’s part of a hallucination, something my brain came up with as a coping mechanism to give me a slice of heaven before I meet horror.
A lot of people, at least in movies, tend to hallucinate beautiful images before death meets them, so this must be one of those occasions.
It’s what my heart desires the most, I guess.
Just some peace of mind before I die.
Sweet caramel staring back at me.
“Mabel.”
A sob escapes from my lips before I can hold it back when I hear Danny’s voice, confirming I’m not just imagining things.
Unless my brain has the cruel capacity to trick me like this.
The tears I’ve been holding back tonight finally spill free, probably washing away the blood staining my face.
I throw myself at him, burying my face in the familiar chest as I fall apart into a million pieces.
His intoxicating scent sends a signal to my brain, letting it know I can let my guard down. Just for a moment.
“Oh, baby, are you okay?” he asks, wrapping his arms tightly around my body, so comforting it only makes me want to cry harder.
There’s something about feeling safe after spending time guarding myself that makes me feel like I’m a child wanting to be cradled by a parent.
I was never the kid who got to be protected by my parents.
Not because they were neglectful, but they always considered me to be independent.
Call it the oldest-daughter curse. Always having to be the toughest person in the room while also yearning for permission to be vulnerable.
And that’s exactly what Danny is offering me when I need it the most.
I press myself harder against his chest, drowning the noises that threaten to come out of me.
I don’t want to make any sound, so I bite my lips and choke every sob and whimper.
Not daring to look at Danny, I remain with my face hidden in his clothes.
My tears must be wetting the front of his shirt, but I don’t care.
Not right now.
I’ve seen death, been chased by a maniac with a knife.
He almost stabbed me. It’s a miracle I managed to find this spot just in time.
I got away. Somehow, I got away. I don’t know what superior forces are guarding me tonight, but I surely must’ve been doing something right.
When I thought I was meeting my end, I escaped, and it led me to Danny.
God, Danny.
More tears spill from me, but they’re not carrying sorrow.
Instead, they wash out of me with relief.
When Danny didn’t make it to the living room when Cupid killed Elodie, I thought the worst. Usually, the first kill doesn’t happen when the main group is gathered in a room.
No, in films, the first death takes places before the chasing begins.
Just a scene or two before, so it can set the mood and tone for what’s yet to come.
And I thought . . .
I shake my head, brushing it away from my mind.
It doesn’t matter now what I thought when he didn’t make it back. Somehow, Danny made it back to me in one piece. That’s all it matters.
“I’m so scared,” I whisper in a choked voice as I hug him tighter.
The confession drags out of me in a breath, and I’m almost ashamed to verbalize it.
Does it make me weak? A part of me thinks so.
If today is anything to go by, I’m not final-girl material.
I’m not doing crazy stunts or making badass moves against the killer.
I barely even made it into this closet, and even then it was by pure luck, and I’m still not sure it wasn’t because Cupid allowed me to.
Maybe he was saving me for a more impactful death later on.
“It’s okay to be scared, baby,” Danny assures me, rubbing circles on my back to calm me down.
I don’t know if it’s because he’s the one doing it, but it seems to work.
My crying softens to silent tears with only the occasional hiccup shaking my shoulders.
“It’s more than okay. This is . . . fucked-up. ”
I almost laugh.
Yeah, fucked-up is one way of describing it.
“I thought he killed you first. When you didn’t return—”
“I’m okay. I’m right here,” he mumbles and presses a kiss on my hair. “I thought I lost you for a second. I heard the screams when I found the flashlights and by the time I made it back, everyone had left. There was only Elodie . . . And Elodie was . . .”
He can’t bring himself to say it. I can’t imagine what he must’ve thought when he ran back to the living room and saw all the blood and Elodie’s gutted body. No one else to be found, not even the killer.
“Elodie was dead.” We have to say it. Otherwise, she might fade away in the madness of everything that’s occurred today.
We have to acknowledge she was the first one to fall among us and treat it with the respect she deserves.
“He appeared out of nowhere, I swear. One moment we were all arguing about Cerys because Seth was being an asshole. And then we heard the scream, and . . .”
My breath shudders as I sniff through the tears that return, even though I don’t want them to.
Why am I crying over Elodie? We weren’t friends.
I looked after her when she was my assigned little sister, but I don’t feel overcome with grief.
No, this is the shock of every horror I’ve witnessed tonight.
The gruesome deaths and frightful chases.
“What happened after that?”
I lick my lips, thinking about the events.
It’s hard to tell what happened first, what to add and what’s not worth mentioning.
Like all the screaming that unfolded, the panicking, not knowing what to do.
It’s not really like we were prepared for this situation.
Who would be ready to face a killer? Certainly not me, regardless of what people might think.
My association with the slasher genre is purely theoretical, so I would take my expertise with a grain of salt.
Especially after I ran away from the killer in a totally pathetic way.
I’m even more sure now that I’m not cut out to be a final girl.
Maybe a supporting character who somehow makes it alive to the end, albeit injured.
Or one of those characters who doesn’t have a confirmed death, and is revealed to be miraculously alive in one of the multiple sequels. I could settle for that.
“I grabbed Carmen and Cerys, got out of there as fast as we could. I think he killed someone else, one of the guys, but we were focused on getting away, so I didn’t check. The girls and I had a plan, but then the killer appeared again.”
Leighton’s frozen expression flashes into my mind.
No longer capable of conjuring up distracting thoughts, I relive the experience for the hundredth time.
Dios mío, will there be a moment in the future where I don’t think about Leighton being stabbed in the head? Because I can’t imagine it right now.
I’m afraid I’ll be stuck in a loop I can’t escape from.
I’ll need a lot of therapy if I ever make it out of this godawful place.
“Who else died?” His voice is low, wavering a little as if he’s afraid to know the answer.
“Leighton. He did it in front of us. Stabbed her in the head, I can’t .
. . I can’t stop seeing it . . .” The sobs make my voice crack.
My breathing becomes uneven. Violent images slash in my brain, tormenting me as I try to recall what happened.
I touch my face, and I grow nauseous again when I feel the speckles of drying blood on my skin. “Her blood . . . I . . .”
Danny grabs a hold of my face, forcing me to look him in the eye.
“Mabel, baby, it’s okay. We’ll clean this up, okay?
” he assures me. One of his hands abandons my face and goes to the front of his shirt.
He grabs the hem and uses it to scrub the blood off my face as he says, “I know you’re scared, and you’ve witnessed terrible things tonight, but we’ll make it out of this together. ”
I nod, accepting his sweet words of reassurance.
“Together,” I mumble back like a promise.
A vow that, no matter what happens tonight, we’ll make it out together.
This is probably a horrible time for me to remember we haven’t discussed what’s the label for our relationship.
But it’s nice to know he’s making promises.
Even if he’s only saying it because we’re in a life-or-death situation, but I can’t stop the butterflies fluttering in my stomach.
I hold on to this feeling because it’s the only thing keeping me sane tonight.
After everything, I can live in this bubble for a minute or two.
It will inevitably shatter soon.
No matter how much I wish for everything to be over by the time we make it out of this closet, I’m realistic.
Cupid wouldn’t have lured us here together and gone to all this trouble—leaving us without any source of communication, trapping us in the one house that uses storm shutters for parties, shutting down the lights—to get caught within the first hour or so.
No, this was meticulously planned. Perhaps over months.
Hell, I wouldn’t put it past Cupid to have been planning this ever since Brian’s murder.