Loser II || WlW

Thirty-Four

     I don't have a plan. I don't know what to do so instead of thinking about it too long, I run through the main house, kicking any locked doors open and checking every closet, corner, and crawlspace but, in the end, I still don't find Brittany or Kyle. Lucky for me, I don't find Zachary or his little gang of murderers either.

Donna's sitting in the living room, cleaning up the blood on her arms with a wet paper towel.

"Where is everyone?" I ask and toss a small first aid kit to her.

"I don't know," she answers as she digs through packets of Neosporin.

I sit next to her, attempt to get her to look at me. "What happened while I was locked in that office?"

She swallows and scoots further away on the couch. "No offense, Jordan, but I don't particularly trust you." She struggles against the tiny plastic packet of antibiotic ointment with shaky fingers. "It's your brother attacking us."

"I," I shake my head, "Donna, I'm the person who got him sent to prison."

I can't help but feel like a kid again when my mother's mental illness was tied to everything I did. Every time I saw a therapist, they asked about her first. Every time I made a new friend, their parents would quickly learn about my family's history and start coming up with excuses to keep their child from hanging out with the "schizo's kid" and none of it was even true. Besides making terrible judgment calls, my mom has pretty sound mental health. Flash forward to now, and I'm still fighting the stigma of my family, only this time it's about my brother and it's true. He's a murderer.

She forces a smile but she can't keep her lips from twitching into a frown. "It's all a big game to them." She wipes at the tears on her cheeks and continues pulling at the packet.

I take one of the packets of ointment and rip the top off, hold it out to her.

She stares at it, glances at me.

"You saw me open it, Donna. I didn't do anything to it."

She takes a moment to consider this before she takes the Neosporin from me. "What's that number?" She nods at my arm where I scrawled the phone number Zachary gave me in thick ink.

"Zachary said he got a text from this number with a coupon code for the resort," I explain.

"That's how he found us?"

I nod. "Supposedly."

"Have you called it?"

I shake my head.

Donna looks at me funny. "Maybe you should?"

I nod, look at the ground. I haven't felt like this since my senior year of high school when I was being accused of murder and everyone in town was skeptical of my sanity.

"Sorry," Donna says. "I've never been through something like this and I can't," she pauses, wipes at her tears again, "I can't stop thinking I'm already supposed to be dead."

I look at her curiously.

"Grace said something about it when we first got here. You guys are the original three. The three that got away." She lets out a hopeless chuckle. "If he's trying to replicate that night, I'm next."

"We'll get you out of here," I tell her. "I promise."

She scoffs. "Don't make promises you can't keep." And then, to change the subject. "Let's call that number."

She pulls her phone out and twists my arm so she can dial the number.

I wait as it rings, mostly expecting it to go to voicemail when a soft ringtone begins to play from the other side of the room.

Donna's head snaps to the noise.

I'm frozen to the spot on the couch, but she's quick to dig through the backpack where the sound is coming from.

"Donna, maybe we shouldn't—"

I can't finish the sentence before she pulls the phone out and forwards the call.

She clenches her jaw, shakes her head. "Fuck," she mutters.

I move to my feet, unable to sit with the nervous jitters in my hands. "What is it?"

She looks at me, lets out a long breath. "This is Grace's work phone."

"That doesn't mean anything."

She raises her eyebrows at me. "No?" But she doesn't care about my answer. She shoves the phone in her back pocket and starts toward the garage. "I knew this trip was bullshit."

I grab her wrist before she can leave. "What does that mean?"

She crosses her arms over her chest and rolls her eyes. "Grace has been going on and on about how she needs a big story to land some promotion at work," she explains. "She did this."

"Donna," I call but she doesn't stop this time, just makes her way into the garage.

I wish I had the time to explain to her that Zachary is better at playing mind games than anyone I've met before. That he can turn all of us against each other if he wants and he probably planted the phone or looked up her work number to feed to me when he saw Grace was here. But, I don't. Every second wasted is another second Zachary could be hurting Brittany so I leave Donna to sort through her anger on her own as I start toward Zachary's cabin.

It's time to face this head-on. If I'm going to find Brittany, I need to take some risks.

The door isn't locked and at first glance, it seems like everything inside the cabin is normal. Just an average room with some duffel bags at the foot of the bed and winter clothes sprawled across the desk in the corner. I feel like a kid for expecting anything worse. Did I think I was going to walk in on a pentagram and torture devices?

It's not until I'm ruffling through Zachary's bag that I notice something is off. His bag isn't full of clothes. It's full of newspaper articles about the night he killed our dad and photos of me and Brittany and Grace. They must have been watching us for weeks, maybe even months.

They know where I work, where I train with Boss, where I go to school, and even my class schedule.

My heart drops into my stomach as the severity of the situation settles. I've been underestimating Zachary this entire time. If Donna's right, if he's taking a second shot at killing Brittany, Grace, and I, he's made sure he isn't going to screw it up this time. My mind races back to Grace. Is she helping them? Is that he got all this information on us?

I'm so deep in thought about the photos that the sound of the window shattering behind me makes my heart jump into my throat. Goosebumps ripple up my arms as the clap of the gunshot registers in my head and I hit the ground for cover. There's a bullet lodged in the wall, maybe a few inches from where I was standing. I stay low, allow myself a peek through the window and find Roger rushing toward the cabin with a hunting rifle.

"You've got two options, kid!" His lips pull into a slow smile as he chews on the end of a toothpick. "But either way you're coming with me." 

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Wow, oof I am super late today. Sorry about that guys. I've been kind of bad at adulting the last couple of days.

Hope you guys have a great Monday!

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