ꜰɪɴᴀʟ ɢɪʀʟ- B.L

CHAPTER NINE

As the night wore on, a peculiar blend of seconds and hours passed, casting an enigmatic veil over the party. The departure of many attendees brought an unsettling revelation—news of the principal's murder. Ruby found herself caught in a maelstrom of emotions, unsure whether to feel fear, contentment, or a myriad of other sentiments. The realization should have propelled her to leave, to escape the vicinity, yet the looming specter of the killer kept her tethered to the crowd.

Seated amidst a sea of revelers, she sought refuge in the illusion of safety that the gathering provided. While logic dictated she should have left, the fear of the killer's presence held her in place. She nestled herself between the intoxicated and slurring Randy, his words blending into a drunken symphony. Her body sprawled across the couch, eyelids heavy with the weight of the night.

The group's dynamics shifted as Sydney, seemingly in a different state of mind, ascended the stairs with Billy. An underlying worry lingered, exacerbated by the absence of Tatum. The usual camaraderie between Sydney and Tatum made their simultaneous disappearance peculiar. The uneasy feeling gnawed at Ruby's consciousness, triggering an urge to rise and search for Tatum. Yet, her weakened body resisted, succumbing to the intoxication that permeated the room.

The ambiance oscillated between dim reality and vivid scenes of horror depicted on the TV, where Randy, engrossed in the gore-filled narrative, remained oblivious to the lurking danger. Unbeknownst to them, concealed in the shadows, the masked killer patiently awaited an opportune moment to strike. The night unfolded, a tapestry of uncertainties, with Ruby entangled in a web of fear and anticipation.

Ruby's body, burdened with a leaden weight, felt as if composed of bricks. Her mind, a void filled with nothingness, yearned for the comfort of home. The desire to leave gripped her, yet her weakened state rendered even the act of lifting herself off the couch a formidable task. Legs glued to the fabric, she languished in a haze of alcohol-induced lethargy.

Randy, now inebriated, slouched on the couch, a half-empty beer bottle cradled in his hand. As the house settled into solitude, the only audible sounds were the rhythmic chirping of crickets. Ruby lay there, her body a vessel devoid of emotion.

Amidst the quietude, a voice pierced the stillness – Sydney descending the stairs, denim jacket gripped anxiously, and a readiness to depart etched across her face. Ruby, understanding the shared apprehension, yearned for the simplicity of home. Yet, the looming uncertainty of the killer's presence and the haunting events of the night clouded any semblance of clarity.

"Ready to go?" Sydney inquired, her words carrying a mixture of concern and anticipation. However, the call for Tatum yielded only silence – an emptiness that hung in the air, cold and stark. Frustration edged Sydney's voice as she repeated the call, yet the response remained elusive.

"I want to go home," Ruby uttered, a plea laced with weariness. The concept of home, once a sanctuary, now appeared shrouded in uncertainty. What if the killer awaited them, cunningly concealed within the familiar walls? As doubts and fears converged, Tatum's absence became an unsettling enigma. Amidst the murkiness, Ruby, driven by an unspoken instinct, inadvertently grazed Randy's leg, a subtle motion in the midst of the disquiet.