I should be horrified with myself and my actions. I really should. But the more I stare down at him, the more I come to terms with the person this place is slowly turning me into.
Someone who won’t blink twice when it comes to killing to save those I care about.
I reach down to grab the bow he shot me with, only to find it snapped under his lifeless body. A small meow comes from my duffel bag, breaking the spell that Travis’s corpse has over me, and painfully reminding me I was shot with an arrow just minutes ago. Even though the arrow only grazed me, it still stings like a bitch when I move it. My arm explodes with pain when I try to lift it to get a better look. I grit my teeth and ignore it when I see it isn’t as bad as it feels. My arm will heal, but the traumatic aftermath of this place will linger forever in my soul.
Paws lets out another panicked yowl. “Oh, Paws! I’m so sorry, sweet girl.” I rush to the bag and open it, pulling her tiny little body out carefully, nuzzling her until she purrs. “It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay. No more crazy bald killers are coming for us today.”
I refrain from telling her that there’s still a psychotic author out there waiting to punish my friends if I fail for reasons I’m still unsure about. He can’t really be doing all this because we talked shit about his books.
Then again, that fragile white male ego can make a sane man do some unthinkable things.
As much as I’m enjoying the slight reprieve of knowing thereshouldn’tbe another person out there hunting me down, I still need to find Quinn, and quickly if what Travis told me was true.
And thanks to Travis, I know how. I just need to follow the trail he left behind. I look over at his body and smile. Another gift he didn’t think he was leaving for me when he came to end my life.
“Come on, Miss Paw Prints. Let’s save our friends,” I tell her in my calmest voice, placing her back into my bag. She meows in protest before she lies down and gets comfortable on top of the tuna packets.
I walk about a hundred feet before I spot the first arrow buried into the trunk of a tree. I don’t know how Quinn missed this if Travis was leaving this trail while following him. I don’t know where Travis found an endless supply of arrows, either. Maybe he found them somewhere in the lighthouse before he found Quinn upstairs. I didn’t stick around long after we discovered I was the target of this twisted game.
There’s a second arrow just ahead, and a third. I find an arrow about every hundred feet. Even without the arrows leading the way, Travis’s heavy footprints going toward the lighthouse are very noticeable on the damp earth of the forest floor.
I spot the next arrow just as a scream from nearby erupts into the air.
I freeze.
It sounded like a woman. Do I risk Quinn’s life to help a stranger? What if Pierce is playing games with more of his guests, and not just me?
The woman screams again, and I rip open a bag of trail mix before taking off in the direction of her panicked voice. Taking a page out ofthe un-dearly departed Travis’s playbook, I drop bits and pieces of the trail mix behind me so I can find my way back to the last arrow.
When there’s a break in the trees, I step through, finding myself in a clearing filled with six single-person tan tents. There’s a fire pit in the middle of them that looks like someone dumped water on it not long ago. The earth is wet, but the coals are still smoldering.
“Hello?” I say, trying not to yell, but loud enough to let whoever is hiding in the tents know that I’m out here. “Is anyone here?”
I reach the first tent and slowly lift the flap to the entrance, and gasp at what I find waiting inside.
The tent holds the body of another guest I vaguely recognize from the dinner party—Stephanie, I think. Her orange dress is much too bright and cheery against the deadly angle of her neck. Her eyes are lifeless as they stare at the ceiling of the tent.
I stumble as I back away from the murder scene, earning another meow of protest from Paws. I look over at the next tent, already knowing whoever is inside didn’t make it out either, based on the spray of blood peeking through the opening.
A loud gunshot rings through the air. I throw myself to the forest floor and cover my head. I need to get out of here. Whoever was screaming earlier is clearly long gone. Crawling across the damp earth, I hurry back toward the tree line where I left my trail. I take off running as soon as I’m deep enough into the woods to feel safe.
What the hell is happening in this place?
I need to reach Quinn and get us both to safety before we become the victims of another guest’s survival game.
I quickly find the arrow I left and don’t stop running until I see the tall, ominous gates of Windermere looming just ahead. The sun has almost set, which helps cover me as I sneak in. I just wish it didn’t leave the grounds cast in a shadow that makes my skin crawl.
It’s not safe here, but I need to help Quinn. After that, we can decide the best route to getting my friends back, since I may need his help.
I’m so glad I paid attention as Henry drove through the gates when he picked us up from the airport. I’m able to easily make my way to the entrance of the garden as quickly as possible.
The assault on my senses as the floral scents hit my nose nauseates me. I’ve been surrounded by so much death, blood, and decay that it feels wrong to take a breath of something so sickly sweet.
I take the same path that Quinn and I took. How long ago was that? For all I know, we could have all been knocked out cold for days before we woke up in those cages. I don’t even know what day it is now. I wish I had my phone so I could check the date, but Mr. Pierce took that away, along with my former self, when he forced four men to try to murder me for his own sick form of amusement.
There is movement in the bushes just ahead. I hoist my machete up, ready to attack whatever or whoever is lurking. The blade is still stained with Travis’s blood. I creep forward, quiet on the balls of my feet while holding my breath.
The first thing I see is a pair of legs sticking out from a rose bush. The second is Quinn’s face, matted with blood as he tries and fails to sit up. The rose bush is nothing but thorns and roses, marring his handsome face with thin cuts and scratches.
