Page 72 of The Weekend Getaway

Opening one eye, Sarah tried to focus.

Where was she?

Outside somewhere. It was humid, the air heavy and oppressive. Something crawled along her arms and legs, over the thin sheen of sweat on her skin. Struggling to swallow, trying to breathe through the pain, Sarah tried to focus.

Wherever she was, she wasn’t alone.

Someone was sitting next to her, several inches away.

She moved her head, trying to see?—

Jason.

Her heart lurched, panic and terror racing through her as he crouched in front of the person sitting in the dirt next to her.

Part of her still couldn’t believe Jason was a killer. That he’d murdered four people. Alex, Grace, Mia, and Chris. His friends. People he’d spent most of his life with. It didn’t make sense. Seemed ridiculous. Unfathomable. And yet, considering what happened fifteen years ago, Sarah supposed it made all the sense in the world.

Jason was talking now, saying things she barely understood, that she couldn’t comprehend. Her attention focused on the voice that spoke back to him.

Phil? Was it really him?

Something in her chest constricted, then sank into her gut.

Hours ago, she’d thought Phil was homicidal. Creeping around the island, lurking and watching, hiding in the shadows, lying in wait. Ready to pounce. Eager to cut off the heads of everyone who’d betrayed him.

But then … after Jason had guided her to the room where Alex and Mia had stayed, and she’d seen Mia’s bloody, severed head, Sarah had gone back to her room, eager to pack, anxious to get away before she and Jason were next.

As she threw her clothes into the suitcase with frantic disregard, Sarah heard someone call out to her …

“Sarah …?”

Terrified, she’d turned and seen him …

Chris stumbled forward, one hand clutching his stomach, the other holding a knife …

Sarah stumbled back. “No, please … don’t … “

Chris lunged toward her.

Raising her hands to protect her face, Sarah turned away, and?—

Something heavy and hard crashed against the floor. Gasping, Sarah lowered her arms, glancing over her shoulder. Chris lay sprawled on the ground, struggling to breathe, gurgling with each inhale, expelling blood with each exhale.

Sarah stepped toward him, cautious, careful. “Chris …”

“Not going to hurt … “ Chris gasped, staring at her. “You … “

Dropping to her knees next to Chris, Sarah stared at him, her gaze darting from his pale, sweaty face to the dark, bloody stain soaking the fibers of the dingy gray T-shirt stretched across his stomach.

“Chris!” Sarah stared at him, confused and shaking. “Oh my God! What happened to you?”

“Insane … “ Chris whispered. “Stabbed me … “

“What?” Sarah reached a hand toward the bloody shirt, unsure of what to do, or whether she should try to stop the bleeding. “Who stabbed you? Chris, who did this?”

“Crazy … “ Chris said, eyes unfocused, lids fluttering. “Didn’t know he was … crazy. Hated us … didn’t know …”

“Chris, what are you talking about?”

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