Page 31 of My Wife

He was going to find the killer and neutralize the psycho himself. I tried to get him to change his mind, but when Chase offered to go with him… when Chase ducked into his cabin andcame back with a six-chamberedrevolver… the most I could do was agree to lock myself into the cabin white Chase and Tommy went looking for a monster.

Do I want to know why Chase has a gun? Not really. Right now, with someone hunting us, I’m just glad he does. Same for Tommy’s switchblade. We need to be able to protect ourselves.

Then again, maybe that’s what Chase has been doing. After getting jumped as a teen, beaten so badly that both of his legs were broken, carrying the gun on him was his way to get over it.

To move on.

Why is it so hard to move on?

That’s what’s I’m thinking at this very second. Alone in the cabin that’s quickly beginning to feel like a cage, I’m pacing the front room, waiting for Tommy to come back.

Night fell about an hour ago. It’s dark. As beautiful as the weather is, the island itself is foreboding. It hungers for blood and it’s already been fed at least once. Maybe twice if my suspicions about Vee’s fall being more than an accident are valid.

I’m alone. If Tommy had it his way, I wouldn’t be. The guys tried to convince us girls to hunker down in one of the cabins together. Safety in numbers, I guess. But when Summer conveniently had another mute attack, shaking her head while leaving Madison to explain that they’d prefer to stay together without me, I didn’t argue.

Tommy locked me in. He kissed me goodbye, promised he’d be back as soon as they killed the creep killingus, then made me swear not to open the door to anyone. The cabins might be rustic-looking on the outside, but these aren’t the type of doors you can kick in. You need a key which is why Tommy took ours with him, but just in case, I move the couch up against the door.

I can’t watch another movie. When it seems like I’m living in a horror film all of a sudden, most of the cabin’s collection is a huge turn-off.

Besides, I’ve spent the last couple of hours obsessively checking the window. I don’t think I’ll be able to breathe again until I see Tommy and Chase returning in one piece. They have to. There are two of them, each with a weapon, and I don’t know what the killer wants with us or what they’re doing out there, but I have faith in… well, Tommy, at least.

And a gun.

I have faith in the gun.

So why aren’t they back yet?

For the hundredth time, I move next to the window, peering out in the darkness. Only one other cabin has a light one: Madison’s. I see a light in the window, plus the one over the porch that wasn’t on before. They must’ve flipped it so that could see easier outside, too.

That’s not all the light does.

The gauze yellow reach of the porchlight illuminates a shadow figure standing right in front of Madison’s cabin. Something catches on the item they’re holding in their right hand. It flashes, like a reflection, but from this distance, I can’t see what it is.

I also can’t seewhoit is.

Is it the same figure from last night? Something in the way they move makes me think so, but it’s familiar in another way. Almost like Iknowwho that is?—

I press my forehead against the glass, cupping my eyes to see better. I’m not too worried about the figure noticing me watching them. We have one window made of bulletproof glass, plus two impenetrable locked doors.

Who is that?

I can’t tell. Their face… it’s still shadowed.

Their steps started out slow. Easy. Leisurely. Like they have all the time in the fucking world, but they decided to stroll on down tomycabin. As soon as their pace picks up, I’m sure they caught me staring.

They can’t get me. I tell myself that again as the figure eats up the distance between Madison’s cabin and mine.

They can’t, and because I’m so sure I’m safe in here, I don’t move away from the cabin as the killer comes to a stop right in front of it.

He tilts his head.

I stop breathing as I get my first good look at the killer on Halo Island.

No wonder I couldn’t pick out their features from the shadows.

They don’thaveany.

The killer is wearing a mask. A matte black plastic one, with holes for the eyes, slits for the nose, and nothing for the mouth. With the hood of hisblackhooded sweatshirt—not blue, I think, notblue, but does it matter—up over his hair, I can’t see if their curls. The shadows make it difficult to tell if his eyes are brown or blue or green. I don’t even know if itisa man that’s out there, just on the other side of the window. The only spot of him not covered in black fabric or a mask is his hands. At the very least, I can tell our killer is white.

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