Page 31 of Wrong Turn

Palming a Sasquatch figurine on a table by the door as I watch her, I can’t help but think this room would’ve been much better suited to Savannah.

“You haven’t finished packing yet?” I ask, deathly calm.

She almost jumps out of her skin in fright, and I hold back the laugh rattling around in my chest. “Shoot, Summer! How long have you been standing there?” I don’t reply, just wait for her to inevitably blabber on. “I know, I should be done already, but I can’t stop thinking about Bridget. Who would’ve killed her? What kind of sick person does that to someone?”I know. Deplorable, right?“I’m so sad and scared, Summer! How can you be so calm?” I shrug, she doesn’t need to know anything about me anymore.

“I’m trying to pack, I really am, but none of this makes sense. Why isn’t Amber back yet? What if something happened to her too! How will we know? What will we do?”

I pick up the small statue, turning it in my hands. It’s no bigger than a football, but it’s heavy. I force a somber expression to my face as I find a good grip on the Sasquatch.

I step farther into the room, “Summer, are you even listening to me?”

I raise my eyes to hers, no longer able to hold that sullen expression as anticipation thrums through me.

I said no more fucking questions.

“S-summer?” she stutters as I encroach on her space, cornering her between the bed and I.

“No more fucking questions,” I snarl.

My hand swings up from where it was hanging loosely at my side, and Fallon screams. She turns, shielding herself from the blow, but it’s useless. I put all my strength into the hit, connecting with the back of her skull. Her head whips forward, blonde hair swinging erratically as her forehead smashes into the wall.Double hit, not bad, Summer.I give myself an internal pat on the back, watching as she flops to the ground in a heap.

I toss Bigfoot onto the bed, and dart out of the room, racing to the main door where Amber’s bags sit on the floor. I rifle through them quickly, looking for anything to tie up Fallon until my bestie returns. My hand brushes over a neatly bound coil of rope, and I snatch it out. Standing and turning, I race back to Fallon’s room. I cross the threshold but she’s not where I left her.

She’s gone.

Shit.

I drop to my knees, checking under the bed, but the space is barren.

I jump to my feet, rushing out the door and calling for Fallon.

“Fa—”

The wind is knocked out of me, and I crash back into the doorframe. Fallon stands before me, chest heaving, looking dazed, and a little worse for the wear.

Did she seriously just push me?

“There you are, I thought you got away from me.”

“What?” she replies, wavering on her feet. “Why did you hit me?”

“You don’t listen very well, do you?” Her eyes snap to mine in a moment of clarity, and I watch the panic grip her like a vice. “I said no more fucking questions.”

Her pupils dilate as the stress takes hold, her fight or flight kicking in, shooting adrenaline through her body. She takes off down the hall, turning into the kitchen, and I follow behind. She rounds the island, turning back to see me hot on her heels. She puts the counter between us, trying to buy her brain precious seconds to form an escape plan. The seconds tick on as I watch her fear swell and crest, materializing itself in the tears that start to leak from the corners of her eyes.

Growing bored with this stalemate of a stand-off, my hands dart out, grabbing the abandoned coffee mugs, and sending them sliding across the counter toward her. Her instinct kicks in, trying to catch them before they spill or shatter.

She fails.

Miserably.

It’s all the time I need to race around the island, and drive my knee into her stomach. Fallon drops to her hands and knees atop the broken ceramic, crying out in pain. Blood wells, smearing across the floor as I drag her by the hair, kicking and screaming, across the kitchen.

Her fingers grab onto a cabinet door handle, and hold tight. But I pull harder, ripping a chunk of her pretty blond hair out at the root. She cries out in pain, but still doesn’t let go. Pivoting her body away from me, she kicks out. Her foot connects with my weak knee, and I drop.How dare that bitch use my weakness against me, she’ll pay for that.

Fallon scrambles to her feet, but instead of running, she turns to face me. “Why!?” she cries.

I grip the counter’s edge, wobbling on my legs like a newborn deer as I try to stand. Giving her the false sense of security she needs to continue to be this close to me, demanding answers.

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