A deep exhale leaves me as I glare at the ground, truly irritated he outed me in front of my mother and not wanting to finish that thought.
This is why nobody likes you ... except Noah and Goldie and my mom ... whatever.
I look up suddenly, wondering how crazy I appear to anyone watching, but my steps slow to a stop as I glance around.
The hallway’s empty and much darker than I remember from when we first came in. But it was close enough to sunset to be dark. It’s just this old theater was a lot less spooky in the daylight.
I look up and down past the vintage garnet velvet walls banked in old, out-of-date movie posters framed in tarnished gold.
A shiver hits me. I swear there were people here earlier.
The swallow in my throat feels thick because I’m surrounded by the kind of silence that makes your heart beat a little bit faster and the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.
At least, it does ever since ...Un-uh, don’t even think his name.
My brows draw together. “Where’d everyone go?”
I pull the sleeves of my crewneck over my hands, shaking off my unease with a deep inhale as I start back toward the lobby because that’s where I remember seeing the bathrooms.
But with each step, I can’t help the growing anxiety. I hate moments like this, ones where I feel afraid. Like someone’s watching me, just waiting to get me alone.
I swallow, crossing one arm over my chest to hold my other, now walking a bit faster as I gnaw at my bottom lip.
You’re fine. Stop.I let out a held breath. But a loud slam makes my shoulders jump and my head whip around. I’m barely blinking, frozen in place, my lips parted by small, quiet breaths as I stare into the darkness.
My chest begins rising quicker as I search the blackness beyond the theater I just left.
“Hello?” I call out with much less of a spine than I’d like.
But only silence bounces back. It makes my skin prickle with goose bumps.
“Is anyone there?” Nobody answers, but shadows are cast in too many places, and that makes me grip my sweatshirt tighter. “This isn’t funny. Who’s there? Come out.”
Maybe it was a door? Or someone leaving?
Rational thought’s trying to make a good impression, but it’s ignored as my eyes shift around the space and I wait. Almost holding my breath, warring between the fear that’s growing and reality.
But that’s the thing about knowing what could happen just might. I can never unsee that reality. There’s no Uno Reverse for living through what we did.
The memory of the glint of a knife forces my eyes to half blink because I can almost hear myself gasp again the way I did when Billy reached up and removed his mask. Staring back at us before his voice was burned into my brain.
“Gotcha.”
I shudder, breaking free from the past.
“Fuck, get a grip,” I say under my breath. “The movie’s over. Billy’s dead, ya weirdo.”
I walk backward a few steps before I turn around, still staring into the darkness. Because I just need to make sure nobody’s there. Damn, being almost massacred really fucks you up. I mean that sarcasticallyand literally because it’s left me in a headspace where I can’t help but always thinkwhat if.
Usually, the thought’s so far back in the recesses of my mind I almost don’t hear it. Except when I do. Then it’s inescapable.
Like now. Because the thoughts are so loud they’re making my pulse thrum fast enough to warrant me running, but I’m standing still.
It’s all ...What if Billy comes back from the dead looking for revenge ... He did it once. What if someone wants to become Billy part deux. What if, what if, what fucking if.
I really should’ve gone to therapy for more than a month.
Goldie did it right. She went and stayed, worked out the trauma by writing a movie.Still hate/love that for me.Still, she’s definitely not where I am.
