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Gemma doesn’t question me further. Her arm loops through mine and we stride for the entrance. There’s a rickety fence surrounding the large house. Dense fog spews across the overgrown lawn. Warning signs attempt to deter us. It’s all part of the production.
“Stay in front of me,” I murmur as we traverse the cracked walkway.
“Gladly.” Her pace is glacial.
When we approach the darkened doorway, her back is glued to my front. The air is thick and hot. Sweat gathers on my hairline, but the heat doesn’t bother me.
Gemma jumps when manic laughter and blood-curdling screams bleed through the invisible speakers. It sounds like a torture chamber. I tighten my hold around her waist, smirking as her muscles go lax. She’s relying solely on me to keep her safe.
Other than the disturbing playlist and smoke swirling around our ankles, the place is eerily calm. The hallway seems to narrow further as if swallowing us. Rusty weapons and peeling paint decorate the wall. It sets the stage for monsters to find us.
“Where is everyone?” she whispers.
“Hiding.” My fingers coast along her sides. “They’re gonna leap out at any minute.”
She shivers and elbows me in the gut. “Knock it off.”
“Don’t be afraid,” I coo.
Her spine snaps into a steel rod. “Are you warning me?”
“Maybe…”
I’m practically pushing her forward at this point. Strobe lights distort our path. A wall of mirrors appears in front of us. Our reflection is distorted, but I still admire how small she is compared to me. She needs me to rescue her. Especially for what comes next.
One second, I’m standing behind Gemma like a protective wall. In the next, I disappear from view. I watch from the shadows as she spins in a fast circle.
“Chance? What the hell. Where did you go?”
The scarecrow mask I had tucked in my pocket slips over my face as I change roles. I shuck the jumpsuit, unveiling my second costume. A tattered flannel and ripped jeans were easy enough to wear underneath.
When Gemma spots the dark unidentifiable figure I’ve become, a gasp slips from her parted lips. She backs herself into a corner. It’s difficult to see, but I watch her chest rise and fall with frantic breaths.
“Chance?” Her voice is a frightened quake.
“He’s not here to save you,” I taunt. The voice modulator makes me sound creepy as fuck.
This night is full of purpose, more so than I initially planned. One of the last times Gemma confided in me, back when we skirted the line between friends and more, she had a dream about being chased by a masked stranger. There was no mistaking her excitement and curiosity as she replayed the scenario. It was very specific and I listened to every detail. I’m recreating the illusion for her.
And that was before I knew she suffered real fear in this house without me. It pains me that something else she once enjoyed was stripped away. My hope is to reverse that damage too.
“Do you want to play a game, pretty girl?”
She squints into the short distance separating us. I could grab her in three strides. The bobble in her slender throat must reach the same conclusion.
“Not with you.”
“Are you sure? Someone told me that you like to pretend.”
Understanding coils around her defensive stance. Her expression shifts from flight to fight. That’s how this is meant to unfold. It’s not like I actually want to traumatize her.
My boot takes a menacing step toward her. “Better run, pretty girl. If I catch you, I get to keep you.”
Gemma lifts her chin. “You can’t touch me.”
The voice modulator tweaks my laugh, turning it into a mocking tune. “Wanna bet?”
“No! Leave me alone.” She whips around in another circle. “Help! Where did everyone else go?”
