He remembered.It makes my stomach do a little somersault.
“Yeah, those ones… we just have to be smarter than—” The killer?Stu?The other daters spread out across the club?“Than whoever is doing this.You just have to keep your cool.”
I don’t think John has ever been anything other than cool.He’s been so polite and levelheaded this whole time.He certainly hasn’t let anger, or fear, or panic overcome him since Curtis was killed.He seems to think over my advice, glancing up at me from under some very nice lashes, then holds his hand up in front of me.It’s as steady as Colin Firth’s eye contact.
“What do you think my chances are, seeing as you’re an expert on all this?”
I smile.“They’re looking pretty good.”
“Well, if you think so, Jamie, then I think I can put my faith in that.”
That makes me blush.Over his shoulder I can see the groups are split, prepared to leave.We’re the final members they’re waiting for, and I realize Wes is watching us.He looks away when our eyes meet, but that doesn’t detract from the fact he was looking.Watching.I return my gaze to John and try to instill some confidence in my voice.
“I’ll see you soon, okay?”
“We still need to have that drink, right?”
“Right.”I scoff at the obvious joke, and then with one last look at the doors, I move to Laurie’s side and walk deeper into the club.
CHAPTER 9
“People who truly killed once are far more likely to kill again.”
—NotSleepless in Seattle
Our group takes the left side.We need to cross in front of the dance floor again to get there, and the contrast between the times when I had to squeeze myself through sweaty swaying bodies and now does not escape me.There are four of us creeping around a space that is meant to hold two hundred.
We don’t talk as we walk close to the booths, forming a tight diamond shape with Wes at the front and Campbell at the back.Conversation doesn’t factor high when you’re trying to avoid the attention of a killer, and I hope everyone is using the silence to keep an ear out for some preview that we’re going to meet this psycho face to face.The departing footsteps of the other group echo behind us and I try not to let my attention go with them, straining instead to hear sounds coming from the dimly lit alcoves ahead of us—shuffling shoes, scraping metal, a nondiegetic ominous tone that would signal impending danger.
It takes a lot of effort to keep my trembling fingers tight around the neck of my bottle when we’re halfway across the room.The cool, dim white light that shone down on the stairs bathes the entire open space of the dance floor.A glimmer catches my eye, and I shoot a glance up to a disco ball on the ceiling.Intermittent gusts of air from the vents keep it moving, even if it is at a glacial pace, and faint diamonds of light spray across the mezzanine level above our heads.The slow, unhurried revolution should be calming, but it isn’t.Who’s to say the killer isn’t going to switch the light off and we’ll be stuck with no way of shielding ourselves?It was a possibility with eight people escaping the basement, but it becomes a lot more concerning now that we’ve halved our numbers.
We make it back to the stairs, and I try not to think about what—and who—still lies beneath our feet.But trying not to think about the bodies in the bar just makes me think about the very real possibility of finding even more bodies up here.
We round the brick wall and come to another hallway.The gas lamps, intended to foster a seductive, panty-dropping effect, look eerie tracing the wall, especially when the alcoves set into them on our left makes the crimson hallway look like toothless gums.
The first alcove contains deep-set booths, more velvet curtains, and a mini chandelier that is still and glistening.Once Wes has checked it for a threat, we continue down the corridor.As we’re heading for the second alcove my heel gets caught in the strands of the plush carpet.The tangled red threads threaten to drag me into the mouth of the seating niche, and flashes of Ripley inAliensand Katie inParanormal Activitycross my mind as I lose my balance.
I grab the frame of the alcove, pulling myself away from the knot that’s latched on to my heel, and try not to stab myself with the Kahlúa bottle as I swallow a gasp that wants to escape upon my death drop.
The “clumsy girl” trope has never been my favorite in rom-coms,and in a slasher, unsteady feet is a sign you’re not going to make it to the sequel.
Wes, Laurie, and Campbell all freeze, as I land/sit/fall onto the cushioned seat, so practiced in keeping quiet at this point that their only reaction is a collective flinch.Once I’ve accepted I haven’t fallen onto some hidden buzzsaw and nothing is going to descend from the ceiling and drill through my stomach, I push off the surface of the couch, balancing on my elbows, and notice…
I’m sparkling.
The bare parts of my body that hit the couch arecoveredin red glitter.The last-minute cleaners really did do a terrible job.
“Fuck,” I spit.
Wes checks the space around us and then steps into the alcove.
“Are you all right?”
Glitter stays with youforever.So, no.If silver sparkles were glistening across my bare shoulders instead of red, this would be the perfect moment to turn to him with a tortured look on my face and announce that “This is the skin of a killer.”But then again, we’re trying to get away from anactualkiller, so I tamp down any impulse to make aTwilightreference.
“Yeah.”I hand my Kahlúa bottle over to him and slip my shoes off, fastening the straps around each other and hanging them in the crook of my elbow; they’re heavy and the heels are pointy, and that’s enough of a criterion to make them a weapon.When I’m on my feet, I immediately feel more grounded, more capable.Confident I can stay upright and outrun the killer… maybe even throw my shoes at him to slow him down.
“Huh…” I hear Wes let out an amused exhale, and when I glance up at him, he looks like he did at the beginning of our date.Surprised, pleasantly so.
