Page 118 of One Killer Night
I look up and see Remus, the enthusiastic camp guy from last night, holding a brown paper bag. “May I join you?”
He’s smiling directly at me, although he’s standing next to Russ. My sister nods happily. She says “Absolutely” and gestures for him to sit.
I smile tightly.
Actually, he’s probably a super-nice guy who likely gives to children’s charities, but everyone here is an enemy to my state of mind.
Remus smiles, then pulls an apple out of his lunch bag, making my mouth water. God, it’s so shiny and plump. I stare down at my food again, moving it around with my fork, before I look back up.
“Hey, where’d you steal the meal?” I shoot out, grinning.
Evie laughs. “Dino nuggets aren’t for her.”
She’s being nice. I would 100 percent demolish nuggets over the slop I have.
His eyes lower before he slides his lunch over to me. “Peanut butter and jelly with the crusts.”
“No,” I say, half laughing, and slide it back. “You don’t have to do that. I was just holding out hope there was another option. No offense.”
“None taken.”
Remus leans over the table, beckoning us with his hand so we can hear a secret. Like a bunch of little kids, we follow his lead.
He keeps his voice low. “I think the cafeteria lady is acting suspicious ... Yesterday, I saw her making tonight’s chili with rat poison on the counter, talking to herself about her sister.”
My eyes pop open, but Evie and Russ laugh as they sit back up. But I’m still leaning in. What the hell is happening?
Evie pats my arm with the back of her hand. “It’s from a movie, Golds, calledCobweb.”
Remus winks at me. “Gotcha.”
I grin, feeling tricked as I sit back up. He holds his hands up in case I’m mad. “Sorry, you make it so easy.”
Yeah, I don’t like him. Evie pipes up, maybe feeling my vibe. “What do you know about the camp? Like its history and stuff.”
He grins. “I take it you’ve heard the lore.”
Evie’s fork hangs midair as her eyes widen. “Wait, so it’s true?” She looks at Russ, who seems just as riveted.
Remus shrugs. “Who knows, but it was good marketing either way.”
Russ chuckles, and so does Evie, but not me. I shiver.
“You don’t agree?” he says, opening his paper bag.
All the eyes at the table land on me. Shit. I clear my throat, ignoring how my sister is discreetly shaking her head, trying to tell me to be quiet.
“I think Stephen King’s shown us the dangers of messing around in burial grounds. And if what everyone thinks happened actually did happen, then it’s kind of creepy to be here. Movies are fun because they’re fiction. Real life is full of consequences that hurt people. So no, I don’t agree.”
The table is silent, and I know I’m probably going to get a lecture from my sister about my loyalty to her and my fake role in research and development, but I don’t care. If people died, that’s not marketing for a spooky Coachella.
He tilts his head, our green eyes locked. “Well, you know what they say about art imitating life ... The inspiration has to come from somewhere.”
Goose bumps blaze a trail over my arms under the long-sleeve camp shirt I was give upon arrival.
But before too much silence passes, he chuckles and says, “Gotcha ... again.”
Everyone breathes at the same time, all the smiles tainted by how freaked out we all were.
