12. Run

TWELVE

RUN

H ow did they get it?

I give myself two seconds— one, two —to wonder how the masked figure outside my window got the key that only Tommy had before realization slams into me. He has the key. That means the killer can get into the cabin.

They can get me .

Fuck, no.

I only agreed to stay put because Tommy assured me it would be safe. I could grab a makeshift weapon from somewhere in here, but does that mean I'm as strong as this masked killer? He has a knife.

I wish I had Chase's gun.

I don't. I don't have Tommy's switchblade, either, but you know what I do have? Two good feet and a pair of running shoes that I am so fucking grateful that I didn't take off earlier.

I guess, deep down, I expected that the guys would find something and I'd have to dash outside at a moment's notice. I definitely didn't expect that I'd become the masked killer's next victim—and I'm not planning on it, either.

The couch should buy me some time. Even if the killer opens the door with the key, he has to climb over it or move it or something. Unless he goes to the back, but since that's where I'm dashing to, I really hope not.

In the horror movies, the heroine's hands stop working right when they're fleeing for their lives. Doors they've opened a million times seem to get stuck, or if you're carrying your phone or your keys, you're going to drop them inevitably.

Not this chick. I didn't grab my phone, I don't have any keys, and thank fucking God, the door unlocks easily. I turn the knob, fling it out, and jump down the three steps that lead up to the back porch before I'm flying .

I feel a teensy bit bad that I'm leaving Madison and Summer to the mercy of the killer, but as long as they were smart enough to keep their doors locked and not go off into the woods, they should be fine. I asked Tommy if all the keys were the same; after all, that would defeat their purpose. They're not. Each key is for a different cabin, so either I was his next target—or the killer had someone else's key and used it to spook me into fleeing.

It's possible. I sure as hell didn't stick around to see if the cabin key worked. Right now, I have to save my own ass. Two people are dead?—

My hands fly to my face as I burst into a copse of trees and find another broken body on the ground.

Three people are dead …

This one is worse.

I know from the faint blonde stripes in her hair that I'm looking at Summer Kaye. She's on her belly, and from the distance, I could pretend she had passed out after a night at one of Gullhaven's local watering holes. Summer could never hold her liquor, but she hasn't had a sip since we've been on the island.

She's also immovably still.

In the back of my mind, I hear Chase saying that I shouldn't touch the body. That's for the cops, and any tampering of the crime scene could make us all look suspicious. Screw that. I'm being chased by a maniac in a mask. I need to know what I'm up against.

I should've listened to that little voice.

Summer is dead. Like, I knew that, but when I grab her hand, she's already cool to the touch. When did I last see her? A couple of hours, at least, and she could've been dead nearly as long.

She's heavy, too. I have to use both hands to grab her and flip her over, and when I do?

I regret it.

There's a gaping hole in her throat. Anything from chest down seems untouched, except for the stray blood drops that cover her blouse. It's clear that that's what killed her, but while she's clean from chest down, her eyes are wide and gaping, and her chin…

Her chin is coated in blood.

What the…

That's not all. Her lips seem sunken in, and when I make another mistake and lower my head to get a better look, I can tell that the source of the blood on her chin is coming from her mouth.

You know what they say about curiosity killing the cat? In this case, it has Cyn's stomach churning because, when I gingerly open her mouth to understand why there's so much blood, I gag and fall backward when I get it.

Her tongue is missing .

The masked killer must've pulled her by her highlighted hair, bared her throat, slit it, and for a little coup de grace, that insane fucker cut out her tongue .

I've got to go. Summer Kaye was a bitch, but with all that blood… he did it while she was alive .

If he did that to her, what is he going to do to me?

As if my fear managed to summon him, right as I pull myself back up, he's here. He's here . He steps out of the trees, stalking toward me, and I'm so fucking scared, I nearly piss myself.

Then he says one word, and I think I might have.

" Cyn ."

Oh my God. Oh my God.

He knows my name.

How does he know my name?

Did he stalk us? Learn everything about us? Discover our dark secrets and decide we needed to die one-by-on on Halo Island?

Holy shit. I thought I was in a horror movie. Have I found myself in Agatha Christie's infamous murder mystery instead?

It doesn't matter. I outpaced him this far, and the only reason the killer caught up to me was because I couldn't bring myself to leave Summer behind.

But I have to. Besides, I can't help her now. She's gone, and before the killer can make a break for me, so am I.

Do I go back to the cabin?

I want to. The killer is in the woods, and there's a chance I can beat him back to the shore. I don't know if any of the other cabins are locked—or if Madison stayed behind while Summer went looking for the guys—but he had one key. What are the odds he has more than one? Six cabins… I could take my chance.

And just as I'm debating whether I should turn back, I hear a crack behind me and pour on as much speed as I'm capable of.

I keep seeing him behind me. I thought I was outpacing him, but I have admit the reality is he's fucking toying with me. He lets me see him when he wants to, and after how easily I stumbled on Summer's body, I'm thinking that had to be on purpose.

I'm one hundred percent sure I'm right when, about ten minutes—that seem like ten hour—later, I find another body.

The fourth one.

This one is testing my stomach. I thought it was made of iron. I've seen some gnarly shit in my time, and after both Tyler and Summer's murders, I thought I was numb to anything .

And then I found what happened to Madison Powell.

She's not in the cabin. Whatever brought the two of them out into the woods to be slaughtered, they came together—and died separately in two very brutal ways.

Madison's naked. The twisted part of my brain that responds to dark humor—like how, if anyone asks how my mom is, I'd tell them she's in a box because I got her cremated and couldn't bring myself to pick out an urn for her—thinks: Huh. She probably would've enjoyed knowing that she got to go naked.

Her legs are spread, but they're the only part of her not touched. I'd like to think the psycho masked killer didn't stop to rape her before he strung her up, but who the hell knows? She's naked, her body an ‘X', with both arms and legs tied between two trees about six feet off the ground.

And her body…

Ribbons. That's the only word I can think of right know. She's been stabbed so brutally, cut up so expertly, that hunks of flash are spilling over like fucking ribbons . Maybe she was wearing clothes before the killer got to her. They probably got sliced to bits as someone peeled her apart.

Don't puke, Cyn. Puking will just slow you down. Get away, I tell myself. He knows Madison is here. He put her here. He found you by Summer's body?—

Because he wanted me to see his handiwork? Because he wanted me to know what I should expect to happen to me next?

I don't know. I don't know . But he was there when I stopped to gape in horror at Summer, and while this is even worse, I have to go.

I can't stay?—

He steps out from the shadows. His knife is high, and I strangle my scream.

"Don't run from me?—"

Too late, psycho. I'm already gone.

Summer's dead. Madison's dead.

And if I can't escape the masked slasher chasing me, I have no doubt in my mind that I'm next.

I run. With every step, with every turn, I sense him at my back. Because of his dark clothes, because of his black mask, I can't see him until he's too close. He seems to be everywhere, or maybe I'm running in circles. I'm careful to avoid the spots where I found Summer and Madison's bodies, but what if I stumble on Chase next?

What about Tommy?

I can't go back to the cabins. I have to outrun the killer, but when my adrenaline isn't enough to support my flagging legs, I know that that's unlikely.

I was never an athlete like Clay and Tommy. I haven't willingly gone for a run since high school ended, and that was more than ten years ago. It's a miracle I made it this far, but despite my best intentions of being like Sydney Prescott, I really am Casey Becker instead.

And just as I have that thought, he appears. Like Ghostface, but not, he gets me from behind so I don't even see him coming before I'm snared.

He grabs my arms, lifting me off the ground. I found a renewed burst of adrenaline, but it's worthless. His grip—and it has to be a man from the voice I heard before—is so strong, I wouldn't be surprised if I have bruises in the morning… and then I realize: I've been caught by a masked killer. There won't be a tomorrow morning for me.

At least I died around the same time as Clay, I think; depending on the time, it might even be the same day. October 28th.

Of course it's October 28th.

I'm resigned to death. There's no use in trying to fight. He's holding onto me like he's afraid I'll start running again. I would. Of course I would. But his hold is like a vice, even as he manhandles me, maneuvering me around so that I'm forced to look up at that terrifyingly blank mask.

I would've preferred a hockey mask. A painted version of William Shatner's head, like Mike Myers had in Halloween . A skeleton mask. The Purge . Any of those would be better because then I could pretend that I'm in a horror movie, and that there might still be someone coming to save me.

But I've never seen such a featureless mask before. It hides everything, giving nothing away, and the flat, matte color of the black mask makes me feel like I'm looking at death.

This isn't a movie. This is real life. I'm going to die on Halo Island, and as I close my eyes, waiting for the knife to plunge into my chest, I can't help but admit that that's kind of fitting.

The killer shakes. It takes a second for me to realize that he's… he's laughing .

I open my eyes a crack and see that the mask?

It's gone.

And that's not all.

I know that face.

I know that fucking face.

He grins at me.

I know that grin, too.

"Silly Cyn. You should've known better than to run from your husband."

Husband?

Husband ?

Clay.

The image I have in my head of Clayton Rivers is a fresh-faced twenty-two-year-old boy with thick sandy brown hair and pretty green eyes. He was the boy next door. Handsome. Hard-working. Mine .

He was the man who worshiped the ground I walked on, who loved me, he denied me nothing, and who simply disappeared one terrible October morning.

Dead, I tell myself. I thought he was dead.

But though Clay looks older… harder… damn it, sexier … he's not dead.

He's also not my husband anymore.

Once he's sure that I recognize him—once he can sense that I'm not about to run… yet—he sets me down. I take a few hurried steps away from him, and then I stare .

His eyes are darker than I remember. He's not as scruffy as Tommy, though my Clay was always clean-shaven. This man looks like he hasn't seen a razor in a week. His hair is longer. Shaggier. There are hard lines that weren't there before.

He never had any freckles, either, but beneath the moonlight, I see a few stray dots.

My stomach lurches.

Blood.

That's blood .

He has a knife. Between the black outfit and the weapon, I knew he had to be the one responsible for killing Tyler.

And Madison.

And Summer…

Only… Clay's dead . Or he's supposed to be. I thought it was Tommy if anyone, or maybe a stranger, but I know that face… that body… this man intimately.

It's Clayton Rivers, and I have no idea how this is possible.

Do I run? Faint? Throw myself at him, sobbing? Scream?

No. I stand there and stare as he waits for me to do something .

When I can finally speak again, I say the most obvious thing I can: "You're dead ."

"Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated," he quotes, a hint of a smile softening his features as he lifts his knife, pressing the tip of the blade against his bottom lip. "Surprise, Cyn. Did you miss me?"

I don't answer that. I can't. If I admit that I missed this man every single fucking day after he disappeared and he was alive the whole damn time … no. No . He doesn't get to ask me questions. He left me. Now he wants to reappear and fucking terrorize me?

I don't know who this man is, but he's not my husband.

"Who are you?" I demand. "What are you doing here? There isn't supposed to be anyone else on the island. How did you get here?"

The Clay I knew loved it when I was inquisitive. He was even more pleased when I made demands, showing him my dominant side—so long as he could still take control in bed, of course.

So when he smiles and my hard nearly fucking breaks agin to see that it's tainted, it's cruel, but it's still Clay's smile… I don't want to believe that I know this man. That it's him . I don't want to… but how can I, especially when he knows my name—and that's not all?

"Easy, babe." Babe… why does he think he can call me babe? Here, on Halo Island, where… "I took the first ferry over at ten. I gave him Aaron's name." He chuckles, and it's dark, shivers run down my spine. "Fuck knows he wasn't going to need the ride."

What? We didn't get the message from Aaron that he wasn't joining us until two . " How did you know he wasn't coming?"

Another chuckle, even darker. "I made sure he wasn't. Then I handed his phone to some drunk waiting for the bar down the street from the harbor to open. Gave him a hundred bucks to send the pre-typed message and dump the phone. Told him there was five hundred more if he did it and that me and my buddies were playing a game so I'd know." His eyes light up. "Looks like I owe him the five hundred, huh?"

I made sure he wasn't …

"You… you killed Aaron?"