We stand in silence as blood drains from their faces. Goldie starts shaking her head in tiny beats. “I don’t understand ... does that mean he’s back? That Billy ...”
But I don’t get a word out, because in answer to our questions, three spotlights turn on.
One at a damn time ... whipping our heads first to the north, directly in front of us. Then to our left. And the last to our right.
My blood runs ice cold. This isn’t happening. No. Not again ...
“Goldie,” I breathe out, needing someone to confirm I’m not hallucinating.
But I’m not. Standing in each of the spotlights is a man dressed in all black, wearing a matching hoodie. I hear Goldie’s stuttered breath and Noah’smotherfuckersomewhere around me, but I’m focused on the blocked pathways.
This is how he’s fucking with me. It was never the dark ... That was just the foreplay before he tortured me.
Because behind the hoodie, each of the figures is wearing a grotesquely distorted prosthetic mask ...
Of Remus’s face.
I feel sick. As if bile is crawling up my throat, because they all have a fake slit on the neck. Like the one we thought was real when blood spilled out over the floor.
It’s like they skinned him to wear him.
Goldie starts to cry, and it’s not unlike the first time when it was me who was spiraling. Noah tries to comfort her. But I take a step out alone.
I stare at each of them.
“He’s literally re-creating the whole night,” I level. “He wanted us back in the most horrifying moment of our lives.”
My eyes narrow as the handle of Chase’s knife circles around in my hand. Over and over, as I keep staring between them, feeling two years ago so viscerally that it’s hard to breathe.
But maybe that’s okay.
Maybe this is what it means to overcome something. You don’t forget the fear, or stop feeling it, you just figure out a way to use it.
I take a deep breath, thinking about what’s happening—time’s a-wasting.
Fuck that.You don’t get him.
Remus may have faked his death the first time, but I’m going to help him live more authentically this time.
“If this is like last time, that means only one of these is the real guy,” Noah grits out.
“But which one?” my sister whispers.
My eyes close, letting the memory take over. Not fighting it. Using it.
“Can you tell which ones are fake?” Goldie whispers.
I shake my head with both hands on the sides of my face as I look to the masked men and blow out a harsh breath.
“Do you have a designer tell? Look for that?” Noah urges.
“No,” I draw out. “I can’t tell. Fuck.”
“Come on, there’s gotta be something,” Chase adds.
But I start to cry again. “I don’t ... oh my god.” My breathing starts picking up pace as I keep looking between the paths. I’m panicking. I’ve never felt like this. Like I can’t stop the fear from getting the best of me. But it’s taking me under.
“I can’t tell. Oh my god. I just don’t ... I just don’t know.”
