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She blinks, sees stars shining in the dark.
Her hands slip from his, then slap against the floor, limp.
One final tug of rope.
Gigi relaxes.
It takes a few seconds, but life starts to leave her red bulging eyes, filled with the tears that are eternally trapped there, her wild heartbeat slowing down to a final stop.
Then… Gigi is dead.
In the dark.
But not alone.
Heavy black boots step back from the banister.
Creak,
Creak,
Creak.
The rope that hands Gigi’s corpse is still settling with the weight of the body. Took a while to hang it from the ceiling beams.
But it’s done now.
Almost—
The boots retreat, leave the body to hang.
But they don’t leave the cabin. The boots thud, thud, thud back into the bedroom.
A gloved hand reaches out and pushes the wardrobe door shut. It creaks louder than the rope still does.
Then the boots turn, wander to the edge of the bunk beds.
A man in all-black lowers himself down to a crouch. Reaching out a black leather glove, he flicks the loose wood slab free, and with the other hand, reaches into the floor for the plastic bag hidden there.
He takes it out.
A journal of secrets, wrapped in plastic.
The gloved grip tightens on it. He studies it for a long moment, eyes hidden behind holes cut out of a bloody hood.
Then—
He stands. Kicks the panel back into place.
And leaves.
13
“Ugh, what the fuck is he wearing?” Kate’s mouth is all twisted with disgust. Her eyes glimmer with the lights from the TV. “Can’t believe he even gets an invite to these awards.”
Smoke vapors curl and snake their way up Billie’s nose—and it burns. “It’s the MTV Awards,” she says with a strained voice, joint pinched between her fingertips. “Not the Oscars.”
Scrunching her face, she exhales a cloud of smoke with a cough and passes off the joint to her left, where Kate is parked on the floor beside her.
