Page 26 of Kiss Slay Replay

I anticipate a knife in my back at any second, a gloved hand grabbing my ankle and dragging me into the darkness. It’s coming. Violence. Pain. Death. The end of everything.

Instead, I find Danny’s hand, and he pulls me through the doorway, over the threshold, onto the porch. He gets me to my feet, and the two of us sprint down the steps and onto the path.

I do the thing you’re not supposed to do and look back.

The figure now stands on the porch. They pause for a moment before pursuing us.

They walk. They don’t run. We run.

“We have to get to the reception hall,” Danny says. “We have to warn everyone.”

My bare feet throb as they smack against the hard ground. My dress is damp with sweat and my best friend’s blood. My lungs seize. I can’t run any faster. Danny gets ahead of me. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’m not going to leave you,” he says. “I’m not going to leave you.”

I turn back again, peering over my shoulder to see how close they are. But they’re not there. The path is vacant, the night appearing deceptively innocent.

“Danny,” I say, slowing down. “Danny, they’re gone.”

“What?”

“They’re not behind us anymore. They’re not following.”

“We shouldn’t stop moving,” he says.

I spin around and around, searching, making myself dizzy. “Where did they go? Where are they?”

“He let you leave,” Danny says. “I saw him through the porch window. He was in the back of the room. He was watching. He was watching the whole time. Willa. Come on. Let’s go.”

We pick up our pace again. There’s faint music coming from the reception hall. Voices.

Life.

8

The reception hall is perched on a hill, so I can see light through the windows, passing shadows, but nothing inside. The music gets louder as we round the building. There are a few people gathered out front on the wide steps, drinks in hand, chatting, blissfully oblivious that the bride is dead.

Stephanie is dead.

I just watched her die.

“Is that Willa? Oh my God! Hi!” It’s Vicky Moldando—her disconcertingly beautiful fake plastic face frozen in a sort of smirk. If she notices we’re breathless and bloody, her expression won’t allow her to show it. “I was so sorry to hear about you and Ravi. What happened? He gave you such a gorgeous rock. I love a cushion—”

“Where is Jason?” Danny asks. “Have you seen Jason?”

“Relax. Someone just went to go find him and Steph. I said they’re probably, you know, consummating. Lost track of time.” She chokes on her giggle. “Um…is that blood?”

We don’t get the chance to answer her question.

A woman nearby starts to wail, this ghastly cry of pure anguish that gets the attention of everyone outside. There’s a moment of confusion as we spin around, trying to figure out why she’s screaming.

She points into the darkness. A man wanders out from the shadows. He’s a guest, but I don’t recognize him. He doesn’t have any eyes.

“Everyone inside!” Danny shouts as the man collapses on the lawn. His suit jacket is soaked through crimson.

I’d never thought about what violence sounds like. I would have assumed it was loud and succinct, like a gunshot or an explosion. But it’s not like that at all. It’s not one thing. It’s chaos. The disorder of nature: what was inside, out; what was whole, in pieces; what was clean, dirty; what was good—all that was good—irrevocably defiled. The reaction to that disorder: more disorder.

There’s nothing succinct about it.