That captures my attention.
“You—you wrote that in the card.You left it in the room after you…”Gutted another human.
The memory makes him smile, like I’m recalling a quirk from a first date that’s going to star in our “how we met” anecdote.“The Police.‘Every Breath You Take.’?”
Oh.Of course.It’s a certified stalker anthem.
“We thought it was Taylor Swift.”
It’s not a very pertinent comment, but it’s out of my mouth before I can stop it, and it just makes his smile turn placating as he moves closer to kiss me again.
“I admit, I don’t listen to too much of her music, but I will for you.There’s no limit to what I’ll do for you, Jamie.You’re my dream come true.”
He wants to end his romantic musings on just the right note before the film fades to black.I’ve been in this kind of situation before.In this very club, in fact.Backed up against a wall by a guy who thinks persistence makes the heart grow fonder, and if it were as simple asthat, I’d do exactly what I would’ve done back then and shove him out of my face.Choose violence.But I have no weapon to be violent with.Even if John didn’t have the advantage of being, you know, amurderer, he is physically larger and stronger that I am.He could go mano a mano with any of the Big Bads, and even if I try to push him away, I don’t think he’d budge.I can’t go on the attack yet, not when the only reason I’m standing here now is because he thinks I’m going to stop playing hard to get and give into my feelings.So I wait until his eyes are fully closed, his eyelashes splayed against his skin, his defenses are down, and then, for what might be the thousandth time tonight, I run.
CHAPTER 36
“What I really want to do with my life—what I want to do for a living—is I want to murder your daughter.I’m good at it.”
—NotSay Anything
I don’t look back.
John calls after me.His confusion and concern are palpable in the echo of my name, but it just propels me down the corridor.My muscles scream out in protest, every inhale is sharp and piercing, but I push past it and just run.A body splices into sight again when I pass the hallway where I first spotted John in that mask.It’s become a permanent fixture, a landmark to determine my location, and I start to head for the janitor’s closet.It’s the only room I know of that has a lock and I might just be fine with living out the rest of my hours there.
When I sprint past the open air above the dance floor, I catch a glimpse of a slumped figure near the corner of the railing before it’s replaced by red walls and a deeper feeling of regret.
Jennifer.
She liked John, too.So I guess I can’t kick myself too much forbuying into his nice-guy routine.She had all the necessary qualities to be both a Leading Lady and a Final Girl, but he’d already made his choice based on a few seconds of long-distance, partially obstructed, badly lit observation.And clearly he made the wrong choice.
I know I should switch back into Final Girl mode and try to find a weapon rather than a hiding spot.I should wear my pain and trauma like a Harry Winston necklace at a “Frost Yourself” gala and place myself on the middle of the dance floor for a final showdown.But I’m all out of Leading Lady optimism and resilience.Everything hurts, and everything sucks, and if tonight were a film I’d give it zero stars.
I’m so done with this drawn-out narrative, the exhausted escape options, the ridiculous stakes that have been set, and the reveal that doesn’t have the same kind of entertainment value when it’s someone you know.Someone you once thought you could—
I almost run past the closet as I try to avoid spiraling down that dangerous, shame-ridden path.I have to reach back for the handle of the door like it’s a hand reaching out of the water and I promised I’d never let go.It turns easily, but when the shadows at the end of the hallway start to shift I release my grip.Not out of fear.The shadows extend and bend in reaction to a light source, and when the shards of darkness turn gray, lighten, and a clear beam of light splays across the carpet, I run down the hallway toward it.
My muscles still throb.My breath still feels serrated in my throat, but the promise of what—who—is holding that flashlight pulls in my chest and overshadows it all when I turn the corner and see him.See Wes.
We both freeze.He blinks.I blink.The sound of my relieved sigh blends perfectly with his, and then I collide with his chest, forgetting about his injured ribs and his fresh cuts until he grunts in pain.Wes doesn’t let me go, though.He wraps his arms around me, pulls me in tighter, and it’s my turn to hiss from the ache that resonates through mybody, but there’s no way in hell I’m moving away.Not when the feel of his cheek pressing to my temple and the pressure of his knife’s handle at my back is the safest I’ve felt since coming face-to-face with John.
Wes starts pulling me back the way he came before I can even think of the right words to convey how sorry I am for thinking he was Heart Eyes.I ran away from him when he was injured, innocent, and if I thought word vomiting about murder in the final minutes of our date was bad, that was much, much worse.
“I found them,” he says before I can apologize, heading for the darkness we’ve been doing everything to avoid.
“Found who?”
“The others.There’s six of them.”
The other names on the match cards.The people unaccounted for and presumed dead based on the trend of the evening.
“Alive?”
Because, given how the night has played out, I have to clarify.
“Alive.Remember how Stu said he couldn’t get into one of the rooms?”
We pass the broken sconces, and he tips the flashlight down to the ground to aid our steps through the minefield of glass.I still catch the lift of his shoulder, the grimace when the action pulls at his ribs, before he says, “I had a hunch.”
