Because the holes around his eyes aren’t circles.
They’re hearts.
CHAPTER 15
“You make me want to be a better murderer.”
—NotAs Good as It Gets
“Run!”
The word rips from my throat, a strangled command as I turn the corner and catch sight of Laurie and Jennifer waiting for me.Laurie takes off as soon as she sees me sprinting out of the corridor.She dashes past the booths, glancing over her shoulder every now and then, her hand thrown back like she’s running one of those relay races we were forced to do on track-and-field day at school.When I reach her and she grabs hold of my wrist, pulling me in line with her instead of bolting forward on her own, it’s clear I’m the baton in this race.Jennifer doesn’t need to be told twice, either, and in an instant the three of us are almost shoulder to shoulder, sprinting along the carpet in our best date outfits.With the red velvet surroundings and our hair flying behind us, it’d make a perfect album cover for a girl group if we weren’t absolutely terrified.
The hall makes a sharp left, and we have no choice but to follow it around the corner, jostling each other like bumper cars.
“Ah—” I grit my teeth as a hot, sharp pain cuts across my arm.White sparks burst in front of my eyes.My steps falter.
Fuck.
“Shit—” Laurie pants, the Kahlúa bottle falling out of her hands when she sees blood on the jagged edge and then the corresponding red gash splitting my bicep.She goes to circle back to pick it up, but I use my good arm to grab her jumpsuit, wrenching her back into line.I’mreallykicking myself for giving Wes the bracelet now.
“Don’tstop,” I grit out as we keep running down the hallway.The stairs come into view just beyond Jennifer’s shoulder, but by the time it hits me that going back downstairs is an option, we’ve already passed them.Stopping, turning back, making for the stairs—all things that lead to death in a slasher.
So we keep running.Right down dark, scary hallway number one.
As we head deeper into the club, flashes of past adventures down these corridors come to mind.This is where we spent most of our time in Cravin’—hours of drinking and dancing and giggling and screaming in glee every time we came across a friend we’d thought we’d lost.Unlike the people we’ve lost tonight, they always returned, armed with a cocktail and a new story to regale us with in one of the seating areas.
The rooms in the VIP section are larger than the alcoves downstairs.Some have private bars, others are fitted with dancing podiums or stripper poles.We pass one and I spy a promising feature, so I stop in front of it, grabbing Jennifer’s and Laurie’s shoulders and wrenching them back.
“In here.”
Laurie hits me with a “What the fuck are you doing?”expression before I hop over a velvet rope in front of the entrance and look for a place to hide.
The middle of the room is occupied by dark wood chaises coveredin burgundy velvet.They circle a low table set up with an ice bucket and champagne flutes ready for the next VIP group to drop some serious cash on bottles of Dom.But it’s the recessed arches built into the back wall that caught my eye.Each arch is crowned with two smaller versions of the gas lamps from downstairs and covered by a heavy velvet curtain.I remember them.I remember throwing up in the one on the far left, and I remember making out with a guy who tasted like blue raspberry vape in another.Unlike the alcoves downstairs, they aren’t deep or wide enough to hold a couch or a booth, but they can definitely hold two women shoulder to shoulder.I stride over and pull back one side of the curtain in front of the middle arch and—Yes!—it’s empty.
“Get in.”
I push Jennifer ahead of me and she slips easily into the corner, planting her back against the wall.My heart is beating so loud, and the pain from the wound in my arm is throbbing like a Bernard Herrmann composition, but I gesture to the other side of the archway as warmth trickles down into the crook of my elbow.
“Go,” I say, pushing Laurie in next to Jennifer, but she already knows what my intention is: get her out of sight while I act as lookout.She shoots me with that stubborn, intense stare she gets when she refuses to watch my Matthew McConaughey–themed double feature withThe Return of the Texas Chainsaw MassacreandThe Wedding Planneragain.The one that ends up with me having to suffer through a three-hour documentary about coral bleaching.
“No.I’m staying with you,” she hisses, and we allow ourselves one moment to stare hard at each other.The “who didn’t replace the toilet paper again” glare.Her gaze drops to my arm, her lips pursing in remorse at the sight of it.It’s not a deep cut—at least I hope it isn’t—but that doesn’t stop heat from flaring up under my skin or blood pouring down my arm.
“Jamie—”
I cut her off.“It’s fine.”It’s not her fault.We don’t have time to worry about my accidental cut when someone is on a mission to give me a much deeper, purposeful, life-ending one.“Jennifer, do you want to hide here or stay with us?”
“What do you think?”she yelps quietly, stepping back out of the archway and wrenching the curtain closed.
I don’t know how much time has passed or how close the killer may be to finding us.He wasn’t in a hurry when I left him, and at the very least, I’ve learned he’s a slow-stalking killer.That doesn’t put my mind at ease, though, because he sure as hell was quick in the basement bar.His lack of urgency means he’s either overly confident in his ability to kill us, or he knows there’s nowhere for us to escape.And if we can’t escape, we need to be out of sight so what happened at the end of that hallway doesn’t happen to us.
Turning back to the empty room with a new, shared task at hand, my eyes hone in on the bar that takes up most of the left side of the room.Red neon lights outline the edges of the bar itself, and though it’s off-brand with the replica period pieces in the rest of the room, it may as well be a neon arrow pointing to sanctuary.
Laurie spots it the same time I do, and we both take hold of Jennifer and pull her along with us, circling the corner of the bar and dropping down onto the rubber mat with a soft thud that I hope hasn’t echoed into the corridor.The shadow of the bar covers us, reaching a good foot away from where I’m sitting with my back flush against a mini fridge, and I think it’s enough to conceal us.
I’m closest to the edge of the bar, positioned so I can see the entryway.Laurie crouches beside me, and when I glance over my shoulder I see her head tilted back against an ice bin.She has a hand pressed across her mouth, her shoulders rising and falling rapidly as we wait.Jennifer is in the farthest corner, her arms wrapped aroundher legs, head dropped into her knees.Her hair is draped on either side of her face, like it’s enough to shield her from the threat that looms outside.Once I know they’re not going to be moving anytime soon, I turn and watch the corridor.My eyes lock on the bottom of the velvet rope as it swings.It’s subtle, but I hope it stops before anyone comes down the corridor.
Beforehecomes down the corridor.
