“From making that”—I jut my head toward the wall he had me up against—“a little more mutual.”
“Like I said.”He ducks his head and I’m already tilting my chin up to him without thinking.It’s instinct at this point.“Just wait till I get you out of here.It’s not going to be quick, or quiet, and it’s going to be very mutual.”
His lips fall onto mine, the most innocent of pecks to counteract the heady effect of his statement, and then I’m wrapping my fingers around his shaft… the broken one in his hand.
“Thank you.”I slide the stake out of his grip and survey his handiwork.“This is the nicest thing a man’s ever made me.”
And that’s true.Women don’t need flashy presents like intestine hearts and killing sprees; we just want somebody to make the effort.Cleaning a bleeding gash, fashioning a weapon out of a household item.It’s simpler.More personal.
Wes lets go of my waist and works at fastening the knife onto his wrist again, shrugging as he says, “I just want to spoil you, Jamie.”
I can’t help but laugh at that.At his sense of humor.The fact it’s still intact.We really are the same kind of crazy.Maybe that’s why we’ve made it this far.
When his knife is firmly gripped in his fist and the flashlight is in his other hand, I pick up the fire-starting bucket, tighten my hold around the rod, and turn to the locked door.A quick glance at him and I know we’re thinking the same thing.
Once we step out into the hallway, we’re back in the fray, back in the scene.Out of the frying pan, some might say, but this time the fire could save us.
When we navigate our way out of the janitor’s closet, we turn left and head for the back of the building instead of going right in the direction of the dance floor.This path leads to a corridor that runs the same length as the one at the front of the club.Each of the five dark and scary hallways end here, and it’s the farthest we’ve ventured into the club all night.Just like the other floors, there aren’t any clearly distinguishable exits, no glowing emergency signs, but before I can get riled up about the numerous code violations this building has, I get distracted by the blood.
So.Much.Blood.
We haven’t been down this hallway before and it’severywhere.On the walls, on the floor, even on the foggy surfaces of the gas lamps, the red blemishes flickering from the dim light source behind the glass.Some of the blood drags across the walls in intermittent patterns of five lines—five fingers—almost indistinguishable from the wallpaper except for the way it glistens in contrast to the matte finish of the wall.It’s not even shocking anymore, and I hope it’s not a bad sign about my mental state when I muse it isn’t any worse than what we’ve already witnessed tonight.
Still, it’s bad enough.
When the marks start to get bigger, heavier, wetter, the hallway becomes darker.The corridor that leads back to the VIP room where we’re supposed to meet Stu, Jennifer, and Dani is lit by the glow of two sconce lights, but past that there’s only heavy blackness.A click sounds near my hip and then Wes lifts the flashlight, pointing it ahead of us.The light isn’t bright enough to fully illuminate the hallway, but from what I can see it’s carnage.
Pure carnage.
Whatever happened down here was violent.Brutal.Deadly.
The cold beam of light picks up more bloodstains and a minefield of broken glass and destroyed furniture.That’s why, with a shared look, Wes and I forego walking farther into the darkness.We turn down the corridor that leads back to where we’ll meet the others, and Stu comes into view immediately, already standing in front of the doorframe.
Alone.
His knife is crossed over his chest, up near his shoulder like he’s ready to bring it down at any moment.He’s bouncing on his toes, on edge, and when we’re a few feet away Wes reaches out to pull me closer to his side.Stu jerks his head across to us, and that’s when I spot the blood spray on his face.It makes his beard glisten like he’s sprayed it with glitter.He holds his ground, as we do, but his voice still cuts across the distance between us like an accusation.
“Dani’s dead.”
Shit.
Wes mutters a stronger curse word as Stu turns and points his knife at us, his voice heavy with fury and frustration and… God, he’sterrified.
“We went to look for the control panel.There were only two offices, or rooms, or whatever down that corridor.”
His shoulders shake from the anger and adrenaline of someone who doesn’t know how to process something real and devastating that makes you consider your own vulnerability.He’s acting like we told him to go there, like he didn’t send Wes and me away because he thought we were the biggest liabilities in the group.I think back to when I was first talking to Curtis and recognized the kind of fuel that’s powering Stu right now.The kind that explodes.The kind that hurts people on the periphery.
I keep my voice steady as I try to remind him, “You were the one who—”
“This whole place is fucked.”His voice is getting louder, but I can’t tell if we should be worried or not.I don’t know if the killer is within earshot or if he’s standing right in front of us.“One room wouldn’t open.The handle turned but the door wouldn’t budge.Then the other room wouldn’t lock, so I told the girls to keep watch, but Jennifer said we should all go in together.”
I knew she was smart.Is.Is smart.
“And?”Wes asks.He stands on the diagonal, turns his head back and forth between Stu and the space behind us, making sure we’re covered on all angles.When I glance down, his grip on the flashlight has changed; it’s not overhand anymore.It’s not the kind of grip you’d use to direct the light.It’s the kind of grip you’d use if you wanted to bludgeon someone who has killed half of your most recent acquaintances.
“And I didn’t want to have an argument with her,” Stu snaps, and I can’t stop myself from lifting the rod from my thigh.Just in case he decides to use that knife he’s waving wildly in the air.“We all went in, looked around for-fucking-ever.There was nothing.You were wrong.”
“Or you were in the wrong room,” I say, but Stu is on a roll.
