Chapter 16
THE HOUSE IS SILENT WHEN I LEAVE THE ATTIC. NOW THAT Carmen is safe—or as safe as she can be after being stabbed and with a psychokiller running around downstairs—I can focus on finding Danny and Cerys without torturing my brain with dreadful scenarios.
Glancing down at the floor, I make sure there aren’t blood traces that could lead to Carmen, and aside from the spot near the staircase, I don’t find anything. She might complain, but using the bra to stop the bleeding wasn’t a bad idea. Regardless of the boob sweat.
If Carmen hadn’t walked in on me almost naked in her room, I wouldn’t have shoved my bra into my pocket in my haste to get dressed.
Blessings in disguise.
Riding the high of having the upper hand against Cupid, I scout the right wing of the second floor. I check every door, attempting to find a way out while I search for my friends.
Where could they be? I haven’t seen any traces of Cerys on the ground floor since we last saw each other, and she wasn’t with Carmen either.
A bundle of nerves clumps in my stomach.
I hope she didn’t stumble upon Cupid while we were busy.
I can only pray that Danny found her, and they’re hiding somewhere safe together.
Because the alternative is daunting.
A gruesome image forms in my brain, of Danny’s body in a pool of blood, similar to the one that surrounded Zelda when we found her. A shiver runs down my spine. I can’t bear the thought of finding his dead body.
Don’t think about it, I chastise myself.
Nothing good will come of letting those intrusive thoughts cement themselves in my brain, so I redirect them.
Where I’ve been to, the doors I’ve checked, listening to see if I hear Cupid’s steps.
Anything that might give me a hint of where my friends are and where the killer might be—so I can find them and avoid him.
I also try to keep a mental note of any possible escape routes.
Cupid has been thorough, but even the greatest minds have been known to make mistakes. I know there has to be a weak spot. There’s no such thing as a perfect crime, and while so far we’ve been outsmarted, I’m sure there must be something.
I can feel it in my bones.
That’s what makes a good slasher. The certainty that the killer always slips up, one way or another.
Even when it seems like they’ve got it all figured out, their motive ends up being part of the reason why they become sloppy.
The first kills are great, but after they’ve been hunting for a while and tiredness and exhaustion begin to take over, they become desperate.
I’m sure we’re nearing that point after three bodies.
Three bodies—that I’m aware of.
There might be more by now. We still don’t know if he managed to catch up with Sophia after he left Zelda to succumb to her injuries alone.
How long has it been since the massacre began? I guess that’s the proper term for what’s happening now: massacre. It’s what they’ll call it once it reaches the news outlets and media. They’ll use it as a cautionary tale for why you should never join any college’s Greek life.
At least someone will end up making a lot of money once they decide to turn it into a movie in the next few years.
The sound of someone panting cuts through my line of thought. I attempt to tread softly to avoid giving up my location. I stop near a corner and spy around it to see who’s responsible for the noise.
My heart skips a beat.
On the floor, Jaden lies in a pool of his own blood, his fingers buried in his throat.
Gnarly gashes slit across his neck, the lines jagged along the flesh like it went through a kitchen slicer.
His mouth, tainted with red, hangs open like he had been trying to scream when the knife cut his throat.
Empty, lifeless eyes stare into the void.
A blond man stands with his legs on either side of the body. He’s the guy from the party, the one who had no reason to be in this house, the main suspect from my list.
Shane. I recall his name from my conversation with Zelda.
His shoulders heave with his heavy breaths as he steps closer to the body. Leaning over Jaden, he picks up something from the floor. The blade’s reflection gives away what it is: a knife. Blood drips from the point, and Shane wipes it on his stained pants.
The weight of the world falls on me when I realize what’s happening. I’ve accidentally discovered who’s the killer behind the mask.
I release a shaky breath and, as I back away, the guy spots me. Time stops moving as our gazes connect, sending a panic alert to my brain.
I’ve seen Cupid without his mask, and now I’m in danger.
A drop of sweat slides down my spine as adrenaline charges through my system. Quick, shallow breaths force my chest to heave. I’ve faced Cupid before when he was just a faceless killer. It was easier to confront a mask than an actual human being.
Shane lets out a chuckle.
“This isn’t what it looks like,” he says, lifting his hands in the air, attempting to feign innocence.
I jerk at the movement. It’s hard to believe when he’s still holding the knife.
“Why don’t you tell me what it looks like?” I ask. My wobbly voice betrays the fear rushing through my veins.
Shane looks at Jaden’s body and shrugs. The nonchalance of the act doesn’t build a strong case in his favor. He doesn’t need to be sobbing, but he doesn’t appear to even feel respect for the person who died.
“He was dead when I found him,” he explains, dropping his hands to his sides.
I stare at his blood-soaked shirt.
If Jaden was dead when Shane found him, why is his shirt covered in blood?
Every cell in my body urges me to run. But I can’t. Where would I even go? I can’t run back to the attic. It would lead him to Carmen.
I need to come up with a sneakier way to get out of this. Carajo, how am I going to survive this? I glance around and notice my only way out—the stairs at the end of the hall. I’m not sure if they’re a good choice, but they’re all I’ve got.
I just need to figure out how to get there before Shane does.
“What happened to your shirt?” I ask, because if he’s busy explaining himself, then he’s not thinking about killing me. I’m so tense, my muscles are struggling not to cramp.
Shane rubs his forehead and unknowingly smears more blood over it. The stain on his face makes him look even more disheveled and scary.
“You’re not going to believe this,” he starts, laughing once again. Where’s the joke? None of this is funny, but he seems to find it hilarious. “I didn’t see him at first, and I . . . well, I tripped.”
He breaks into loud cackles, and I pretend to join him.
My gaze drops to the knife.
I’m at a huge disadvantage here. I don’t know Shane, but he seems to be in great shape. He’s tall and lean, athletic given the way his muscles stretch the fabric of his shirt. And he’s wielding a knife like it’s not a lethal weapon.
“You tripped?” I mumble, my voice sounding pitchy.
Shane tilts his head. “Why? You don’t believe me?”
“Yeah,” I rasp out, moving my head in a nod to match my words. “I believe you.”
He squints at me quizzically.
“You don’t sound so convinced about it.”
“I am.”
“Bullshit,” he spits out. “What do you think happened here? That I saw Jaden, waited for the perfect moment, and slashed his throat? Do you realize how insane that sounds? C’mon.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But that’s what you think, isn’t it?” There’s a note of desperation shaking his words, making them sound more intense, turning my blood to ice.
With every second, he becomes more desperate, his eyes moving frantically, losing the little humanity that was there to begin with.
Pushed closer to the edge, Shane fidgets with the knife, turning the handle between his fingers.
His knuckles pop out with every turn, exposing his firm hold on it.
Saliva dries in my mouth, leaving me unable to swallow, let alone utter another word. My gaze focuses on the blade, knowing he’s close to snapping, and I move my body backwards.
Shane takes a step forward, carelessly stomping on Jaden’s arm and stumbling. He doesn’t fall, but it’s enough to give me a head start. I take a left, running down the hall as swiftly as I can to head down the stairs, but Shane recovers fast.
Too fast.
His legs are long, and he’s motivated by the fact that I’ve caught him without the mask. I’ve become an eyewitness in the case against him.
Shane’s hands catch up to me, grabbing a handful of my hair.
The sharp tug sears my scalp as he pulls me down to the floor.
I fall backwards, my butt taking the first impact as I hit the ground.
Pain spreads through my hips, but I ignore it as adrenaline pumps like crazy in my system, pushing me to defend myself from the sudden attack.
Shane’s fingers are still twisted in my hair, holding me in place.
I shift on the floor and bite his hand as hard as my jaw allows me.
A metallic taste floods my mouth as I cut his skin with my teeth.
Shane lets out a loud yelp and slaps me across the face with his other hand, releasing me from his hold.
“You bitch!”
White spots dance in my vision as the burn from his slap extends over my cheek. Blinking, I spit out the mouthful of blood and shake my head. It’s a battle to clear my senses as I roll on the ground away from him. The stairs, I need to make it to the stairs, I tell myself.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he snarls, kicking me.
A muffled moan escapes me when he hits my hip. Panic has taken over me, shielding me from feeling the pain. I’m numb to the touch. I can’t feel anything other than the desperate urge to flee. Thrashing and kicking, he struggles to use his knife on me.
He groans at my blows, sounding more inconvenienced than pained. He drops his entire body weight on me, leaving me breathless as he traps me underneath him. He must be at least fifty pounds heavier than me, completely crushing any chance I had of overpowering him.
The knife seems to shine in his hand as he lifts it high in the air, poised to slam it deep in me. This is it. This is where I meet my end. I should close my eyes as I brace myself for the blow, but it never comes, the moment suspended in time.
A hatchet buries itself in his head.
Blood sprays across my face as I lie frozen in place.
Shane’s body jerks and twitches, the hatchet lodged deep in his skull, piercing his brain.
With a strength usually only seen in movies, he turns to face his attacker, and I scoot from under him, putting as much distance between us as I can, but without tearing my eyes away.
I couldn’t stop watching, even if I tried.
Cupid stands behind Shane. It’s difficult to tell how he feels about someone else wanting to take credit for his kills, but I’m sure Cupid’s not happy with Shane.
He yanks the hatchet from Shane’s head and delivers another blow.
The edge of the hatchet sinks into the upper half of Shane’s face, splitting it apart.
Nausea rolls in my stomach as I gasp for air.
Taking advantage of the distraction, I push myself off the ground until I stand on wobbly legs.
Shane must’ve hit me harder than I thought because I can’t run without feeling like I’ve pulled a muscle, making me limp down the hall.
It takes its toll on my speed, but I’m less than two meters away from the stairs.
I can do this.
Behind me, I hear Cupid drop Shane to the ground and head after me. Quickly. His gloved hands reach me before I can get to the first step. His fingers graze my back and when he’s about to grab me, he trips and pushes into me instead.
The fall happens in the blink of an eye. Vertigo twists my stomach as I plummet down the stairs, hitting my ribs and back.
My head receives the hardest impact as I roll onto the ground floor. Black dots haze the edges of my sight, swallowing the image of Cupid at the top of the stairs, hatchet held at his side, watching me fall.
I urge my body to move, to do anything other than lie here. But it’s pointless.
Darkness spreads in my vision as my mind disconnects with my body until I can’t see anything other than a void.
I lose consciousness.