Eye Candy

A gurgled gasp came from Logan. He began spasming, his back and entire body twitching, and somehow he worked his way farther onto the knife.

Like with Mason, I felt the knife in me. It was like I was impaled on it, and my body was shaking and trembling. I was sinking farther onto the knife, past the part where I could come out of this at all.

I was dying.

If I felt I was dying, that meant Logan was dying.

No.

Ignoring all the pain, I raised the gun.

If I was dying, so was he.

He twisted back to me, weaponless, and it was my turn.

I undid the safety, my finger went to the trigger, and I pulled it.

The bullet slammed into him—

*

Gasping, I surged upright.

Everything was bright. It was too bright, and oh my God. The pain. It was everywhere. It was seeping from me, and I whimpered, my mouth muffled. I closed my eyes, wishing that brightness away. I wanted to go back where I was. I didn’t want to be here.

It hurt.

My insides were being pulled out, one scoop at a time. I could feel them, feel how they were raw and exposed, how they protested individually.

I couldn’t—please God. Take me away. Take me back. I’d take those woods again, not this.

Tears slipped down my face and they felt like scalding burns.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Samantha. Wakey, wakey.”

No, no, no.

I want to go back to where I was. Please.

“No, no.”

I could hear his enjoyment. It was sick and twisted. He was enjoying this, whoever he was. I didn’t recognize his voice.

“Come on. Wake up.” More of a clipped tone now. He snapped his fingers, nudging me with a knife that had something wet, something warm on it.

My stomach rolled over.

I knew what was on that knife, but I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to comprehend it.

“Come on!” He knelt in front of me.

He poked me—and I screamed, bucking under his touch.

I opened my eyes, and he pulled back a bloodied finger. It was mine, not his. My blood.

I began writhing around on the floor. I wasn’t consciously doing it, but I couldn’t stop myself. I was flailing all over, like a fish on a hook.

“Come on. Stop that.” He kicked my side. “You were just doing that before too. Don’t know why. I didn’t cut your tendons or anything. Stop it. We’re about to move on to the second stage.”

A breath.

A second one.

A third.

I was able to stop, on my stomach now, with my head turned toward him.

He wore large black boots, but regular jeans, and a blue shirt. I angled my hand back, blinking against how bright it was. Blasts of sheer pain exploded in my head.

“Come on, come on.” He tapped his knife against the side of my skull. “You’ve been out of it since I got you. I don’t like to wait this long for some fun, and the best part is coming.”

God.

I opened my eyes wider to see better.

I was on a bathroom floor.

There was no killer in a black robe or white mask.

The white wasn’t him, it was the light behind him. The black had been the shadow of him as he bent over me. It had all blended together, and the pain—I gazed down.

I was covered in blood.

I was dressed in jeans and a shirt, but I didn’t remember putting them on.

Was it all a dream? A lie?

“Yeah. Yeah.” He knelt in front of me, the same knife from my hallucination in his hand. I couldn’t see his face. I could only see the knife. His face was blurred, and he was waving it back and forth. It was covered in almost-black blood. “Are you starting to get it? You’ve been whimpering and saying all sorts of weird shit. I finally had to muzzle you because I couldn’t get any sleep myself. Your friends aren’t dead. None of them are.” He grinned. I saw the whiteness of his teeth, how his lips pulled back, but I couldn’t see him.

He was still a blur to me.

Everything else was in stark detail.

He let out a deep sigh. “You’re not going to get it. I can see that. I don’t have time to wait another day. I’ve got a job to get back to, but we’ll have to finish this now. Okay, Samantha. No, I’ve not touched your friends. Heather, Taylor, whoever else you were saying. Channing? Nate? Logan? You were especially concerned about Mason, and Logan. He only got a knife wound in your dream. That babbling was entertaining at times. He got sliced, right? I heard that right? Sometimes it was hard, deciphering what you were mumbling. You weren’t the clearest. That was all in your head.” He tapped the knife against my temple again. “Your friends are fine. They aren’t the ones dying.”

I was.

I was dying.

And I couldn’t move. I was still on the bathroom floor. I tried to move my hands, but they were twisted behind me, soaked and covered in blood. I could even feel it between my fingers. I was even beginning to recognize the texture and weight of blood.

A mangled cry ripped from my throat.

I didn’t want to die, but I couldn’t move. My legs were tied together too. He was half-kneeling over them now.

“You ready?” He sounded disappointed. “I thought you’d be a better fighter than that. You spent the whole time trapped in your head, but okay. I have a date. Gotta get another girl, so here you go.” He brought the knife up, his mouth twisting into an ugly smile. “See you on the other side.”

He brought the knife to my throat.





Chapter 16


I sat upright in bed, and déjà vu settled over me.

My third time in a row of suddenly waking. This time there were no woods, there was no bathroom. I was in bed—my bed.

I heard deep breathing next to me, and looked.

Mason was curled toward me, his hand on my thigh. He’d been holding me.

My heartbeat was stampeding inside of me, but I felt myself over.

No knife wounds.

No blood, just sweat.

I could move my hands around. I could move my legs.

I looked over Mason. He was peaceful, and he rolled to his back, his hand leaving my leg. The bed cover slipped down his chest, and I could see all his muscles were intact. He hadn’t been stabbed.

“Sam?” He opened one eye, squinting up at me. “What are you doing?”

“What day is it?”

“It’s Friday.”

“You came home last night.” I was breathless. The relief brought tears to my eyes.

He opened both eyes now and lifted his head up. “Are you okay?”

“You carried me from the bar, right?”

“Yeah. You drank too much. You were out of it.” He reached up and cupped the side of my face. “Heather said the girls’ night was a lot, but are you sure you’re okay?”

I patted myself down again, just once more, and flicked those tears away. “I had a nightmare.”

“A nightmare?” He curved an arm around my waist again, bringing me down to him. “I’m sorry.”

I started to melt back to his side, but a nagging feeling wouldn’t settle. I had to know. I had to make sure.

Reaching over, I grabbed my phone and texted Taylor, Heather, and Logan all the same text. Are you okay?

Mason’s hand rested just under my breast. I could feel him starting to fall asleep again, but I wouldn’t be able to go to sleep again, not until I knew.

I only had to wait a few seconds before the replies starting filtering in.