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But Billie manages one more before Blood Hood is behind her. She only knows it when Tonya screams a muffled noise behind the duct tape and there’s a sudden searing hot pain on the back of her head.
Blood Hood grabs a fistful of her hair right at the scalp and, in one strong pull, throws her right out of the closet.
Billie smacks onto the floor in the corridor. Her head knocks off the edge of the railing, hard enough to static her ears and blur her sight.
Blinking through the tears, the blood still spilling down her face, the blur of her vision, she pushes up from the floor and looks ahead.
It’s dark again through the closet door. Hard to see. Hard to make out the moving figures beyond it.
But as she pushes herself shakily to her feet and sways for that moment on the spot, she realizes what’s happening.
Blood Hood, his back to Billie, faces Tonya. And the hunting knife is slick with fresh blood. It’s then that Billie knows it’s not just her blood that the knife glistens with.
It’s Tonya’s. From the crimson streak down her chest that wasn’t there just a moment ago. He stabbed her… right beneath the heart…
Billie staggers back until her spine connects with the wall. Her teary eyes are dazed as they flicker to the side. She can’t save Tonya.
If she’s even still alive, she’ll be dead in minutes. And Billie is standing at the stairs, the ones that lead down to the lobby—the ones that lead to escape.
That’s the only thought she gives it before she’s grabbing onto the railing and staggering down the steps. Her legs buckle beneath her, threatening to give out under her weight. Fingers slick with blood slip over the railing. But she holds on and near-falls the last few steps before she’s clambering into the lobby.
Behind her, there are no bounding bootsteps or songs of the knife. But she doesn’t take the chance to stop and look to see if Blood Hood is chasing her or not.
She just bolts for the front door across the lobby. It’s already open, letting in the sharp windy breeze from the night.
“Kate…” Her voice doesn’t carry on the winds. Too weak, too strangled and choked. Still, she tries again as her blood-soaked slip over the wood of the porch. “Preston—”
Just as she calls out for him, she sees him.
Preston is not where she last saw him. Now, he’s tucked away on the far left side of the porch, where there’s nothing but shadows. He’s propped up against the railing, his lashes low and eyes confused. He wears a frown as he touches his head, right where a red mark is above his eyebrow—a smear of blood.
“Preston!” she croaks, and she scrambles for him. She’s falling at his feet, and her hands snatch up his frowning face, in mere seconds.
He’s been hit. Hard. Knocked out, she thinks.
“Preston, get up!”
He looks up at her with tired eyes. His brow knits together as he sweeps his gaze over her, from one blood spot to another. Then, his attention lands on the meat of her thigh, where the thick gash oozes blood that’s much too dark.
“Bambi,” is all he says before he blinks awake and pushes up from the porch. Like a bolt of life shoots through him, he’s the one grabbing at her now. He snatches her by the arms and hoists her upright to stand.
A light flickers over them, a sudden and random blue beam.
Billie squints and looks out to the long, winding driveway. Through the thicket of dark trees, another blue light gives a quick flash. Then another but this time it’s red.
Cops.
“Go,” Preston grips her by the shoulders. “Billie, run!”
Run towards the lights.
Don’t stop.
Don’t look back.
As though she needs it, he shoves her down the porch steps, holding tight onto her shoulders. Preston practically pushes her all the way to the bottom of the steps—
She turns to him, to grab onto him, but just as she does, Blood Hood comes barreling out of the doorway.
