Page 27 of Kiss Slay Replay

It lasts so long. It goes on for-fucking-ever. All I will ever hear from this moment on is this screaming.

The doors to the reception hall are open, and people swarm to get inside, flailing and shoving and shouting. There’s a blockage. Not everyone can get through all at once. Vicky, weighing her options, decides to take off in the opposite direction, dash across the lawn.

It’s the wrong decision.

The masked figure is there, emerging calmly from the cover of night, unhurried.

I should look away. Or try to stop it. But there is no stopping it. What can I do? The masked figure grabs Vicky by her magnificent salon blond hair and wrenches her toward us, into the brightness emanating from the reception hall. At the foot of the steps, the body of the eyeless man now lies horribly still.

“Willa!” Danny wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me back. My spine wilts, head lolls, my body suddenly forgetting how to support its own weight.

Vicky screams at a pitch that liquefies my brain.

I look up.

She’s being held up by her hair. Her feet are off the ground, stilettos kicking the air. She reaches back, clawing at her assailant with her acrylics. It’s no use. I can hear the throaty wheezing noise. The laughter. His laughter. He’s laughing at her the same way he laughed at me. He keeps laughing even after she gets loose, her extensions ripping out of her head and allowing her to drop. She lands awkwardly on bent ankles. She does her best to hobble away.

“Willa.” Danny tightens his grip on me, and I know I should be cooperating, be moving, be something other than deadweight, but I can’t. I’m detained by terror. I can’t see this, what’s about to happen, but I can’t not see it.

Vicky’s twisted ankles give out. She’s face down in the dirt. She attempts to crawl forward on her elbows but he’s already on top of her. He tosses her extensions aside and wraps a giant gloved hand around her forehead, then drags his knife across her throat. Once. Twice. Her head tips so far back that now I know what’s inside of a neck.

Danny spins me around and pushes me through the doors. He shuts them behind us. Locks them.

I trip into the reception. It’s stunning. It’s art. Long dining tables set parallel to the checkered marble dance floor. Taper candles, flower arrangements, lace runners, neutral tones, fairy lights. The ceiling is high with exposed wooden beams wrapped in flowering vines.

It’s whiplash—how can I accept what I’m seeing now after what I just saw? How can I experience beauty with my best friend’s blood on my dress?

There’s a table across the dance floor with two seats. A massive marquee heart sign glows pink behind it. It was meant for Steph and Jace, for them to sit there together. How can it be that they’ll never be together again? This doesn’t make sense.

“Willa?” It’s Evan. He comes toward me, Wyatt behind him with his hands firm on Ev’s shoulders. I’m so relieved to see them alive. I scan the room. Cassie and Luke are crouched down, her eyes shut tight, his alert, wide open. I look for Ravi. The candlelight casts shadows that I don’t trust, turning everyone here into a stranger. Turning everyone here into a killer. Into a threat.

“Willa, are you okay? You’re bleeding.”

“It’s not my blood,” I say, toppling into him. “It’s not my blood. It’s…”

“What happened? Where did you go?” He’s angry with me. Evan’s so angry. So confused. So frightened. I’ve never seen him this way. We’re embracing but we’re not here. It’s not us anymore. We’re doppelgangers. We’ve been body snatched by versions of us who know the worst fear possible.

“Jason? Jason!” Danny calls, full of false hope. “Hey! Anyone seen Jason? Where’s Jason?”

“He’s with Steph,” Evan says. “She went to change.”

Danny buries his face in his hands, folding into himself. “No, no, no, no, no, no…”

“What the hell is going on?” someone shouts.

There’s a DJ booth, but the DJ is MIA, so there’s no one to stop the soundtrack of background music, the base layer of noise that acts as a significant contributor to the turmoil. Everyone has to raise their voices to be heard over the music, over the screaming and crying, but I’m trying to listen, listen carefully, because that monster is still out there and he wants to kill us.

“Is anyone’s phone working?” I’m hoarse. I’m not loud enough. I try again. “Is anyone’s phone working?”

Evan and Wyatt both get their phones out. I watch others follow suit. I watch them all try in vain. A man in the back stands on a chair.

“I’ve got one bar,” he says. “Everyone, quiet!”

No one is quiet.

Evan pulls away from me and takes a cautious step toward the doors. They’re rattling. The knobs spin.

“Don’t,” I tell him.