“Looks like we found your ‘On’ switch, Thirteen.”
Payton turns. Folds forward, face pressed to the altar. Not pretending. Just … still.
As if she’s already gone elsewhere. Somewhere I can’t follow.
Another swipe. Another squeeze. One last stroke.
Then the bitch finally lets go and steps back.
I force my breath steady. Willing Payton to do the same. To trust me. Believe I can fix this. Stop it.
Except it hasn’t even fucking started.
I step behind Payton. My hands hover over her hips.
She’s trembling now. The kind that begins deep in the ribs and rattles outward.
Derek taps the knife against the tablet. “Problem, Thirteen?”
Payton’s fingers flex against the stone. Her shoulders stay locked. The way she’s breathing …
She’s terrified.
And I’m about to be the reason it gets worse. Way worse.
Derek tsks. “Clock’s ticking, Thirteen.” He lifts his chin. “Dollface. Bring the butcher.”
Amanda stalks down the pews.
Leatherface jerks upright, twisting against the zip ties. “Nonono—fuck—please—”
She levels the taser at his chest, eyes dead behind the mask. “Move.”
He scrambles to his feet.
“Josh, don’t—” Wesley lurches after him.
“Please,” Josh pleads over his shoulder, boots scrabbling against gore-slick stone. A dark stain blooms between his thighs.
Behind him, Amanda nods. “Keep walking.”
“Josh, stop!” Wesley staggers halfway into the aisle. He folds to the floor, choking on spit, maybe blood.
The rest watches. No one dares to move—not while the taser crackles in Amanda’s grip.
“Leave him alone, you sick fucks,” Wesley shouts.
Derek twirls the knife. “Feeling left out, Death?” A chuckle. “Come on and join us. Give the afterlife something to gossip about.”
Wesley pushes to his feet, sways—then crumples beside Kristy with a groan.
Derek tilts his head, his knife catching the chapel’s light. “No? Guess it’s back to our leading man.”
Payton’s fingers twitch on the marble—like they want to curl into fists but can’t quite remember how.
Now.
I whirl. One moment I’m diving for the scythe—