He doesn’t have to elaborate.I had a front-row seat to the start of this madness.
“I think so.”
It’s hard to tell with so much adrenaline running through my body.
“If I just pretend it’s a scene from a movie and not actually happening in real life, I can make my legs move.”
The side of his mouth tilts up a little, and even though we’re armed with DIY weapons and my hands are sticky with someone else’s blood, my heart beats faster at the sight of it.He really is drop-dead gorgeous.
“Keep thinking that then.We’re gonna get out of here, okay?”
It’s funny.I believe him.
“Okay.”
“And Jamie?”
“Yeah?”I need to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact, and he’s not looking at me with that guarded expression anymore.Nor has he gone back to the gratifying appraisal from the good part of our date.This look is new, and I hope it’s not wishful thinking that has me interpreting it as something better.
“You… the way you’re handling this… Like, with Laurie… it’s—”
“Sociopathic?”I say without thinking, and he grins.Maybe the true crime talk wasn’t as big a turnoff as I’d initially thought.
“I was going to say it’s impressive,” Wes says.“It’s the kind of thing that’s gonna keep us alive.”
Keep us alive.That’s the goal of every survivor in a slasher, isn’t it?And I’ve seen enough of them to know that the choices characters make either lead to their demise or land them a spot in the sequel.I know the formula.
I just hope I know it better than the killer.
It’s too easy.
Our path up the stairs, around the boundary of the dance floor,into the entrance—it’s far too easy.The first level is such a stark contrast to the devastation beneath us (completely undisturbed, as clean as a nightclub can be) that I know something isn’t right.It’s too quiet.Too still.
The men try to push open the heavy front doors, but they don’t budge.Then they turn to grasping the huge ornate handles and pulling.Again, fruitless—they’re giant, heavy, and don’t have a visible lock.Then John spots something on the wall next to the coat check window and strides over to it.He digs his fingers into the top of a black rectangle and it flips open.I spot a red light, buttons that probably are numbered, then he slides in front of it and blocks my view.I don’t need to see it to come to the right conclusion, though.That box is our way of unlocking those doors.Even before his shoulders droop and he turns back with a frown, I know what he’s going to say.
“It needs a code.”
The killer always isolates their victims and makes it impossible for them to escape.
So that means that all those daters who ran up here had nowhere to go with a guy who just killed four people on their tails.
I do the math, subtract Curtis from the equation, and figure there are eleven people who made it up here.Then I remember the scream we heard… More likely ten.Plus the killer.While there’s always a possibility some stranger crept in during that first blackout, I don’t know if they could’ve left the room again before the lights came back on.Returned to their seat, maybe.Hidden a knife, sure.But somebody would have mentioned an unfamiliar face.Then when you consider the proximity they had to have to Curtis before the blackout, the way they targeted the host and the bartenders… Whoever did thishasto be one of the daters.
So, nine.Nine terrified people who are strewn across the club.
“Where’s the girl who was on coat check?”Stu asks, and it lookslike he has half a mind to click his fingers in the air to conjure up her services.It makes me frown and I can’t help but look at Laurie, quirking an eyebrow when she meets my eye.
Really?This guy?
She glances at him, tilts her head to the side to try and see him from my angle, and then just shrugs.We will be having a serious talk when we get home.
Colette is the closest to the entrance of the coat check.It’s cordoned off by a velvet rope the same color as the stains on her dress, and when she unhooks it, she makes it three steps into the room before stopping short, her gaze drawn to something on the ground.
“Oh.”
“What?”Campbell, the Norman Bates lookalike, asks.Now that he’s away from the bloodbath downstairs, he’s become more talkative.Not by much, though.He’s skittish, flinching at the most banal sounds.Maybe if we’d had our date, I would’ve had a chance to have a more neutral first impression of him, but I’m still keeping an ear out for any mention of his mom.
“She’s here.”
