BABYSITTER'S GUIDE TO SURVIVING SLASHERS

3 - Reagan

I love this girl, but she just doesn't fucking get it.

"I tried to tell you Billie!" I repeat. "And you just wouldn't listen."

Silence for a moment because she knows I'm right. I've been scolding her over the phone from the comfort of my bedroom floor for almost fifteen minutes now. Nancy hasn't returned a single message from her since Billie posted tonight's episode.

"Did you even listen to it though?" Billie asks.

"No." Of course I did but for the purposes of this conversation I'm not letting her know that.

"Well, if you did then you would know I did my best to pay respect to Laurie." This I have to admit is true. "I mean Nancy even gave me some of the information that I used." That would explain how after moving into town only seven months ago and never having met Laurie, Billie somehow had details that only Laurie's close friends could have known. "Can you please just talk to her?"

I check my phone. Nancy still hasn't answered the message I sent when Billie first called me.

Billie on phone in panic mode cuz she thinks you hater her. You better give Ms. Girl a shout or she'll finally realize she crossed a line.

Not a peep from Nancy on socials either. To be fair though, if it were me, I would be nonexistent too, which is why I wasn't so hard on Nancy for dodging plans tonight. Nobody was closer than those two girls.

"You know I'll talk to her for you." Sure, Billie having her nose in everyone's still open wounds frustrates the hell out of me, but we are still close friends at the end of the day. If you can't call even your best friends out on their shit, then you're probably not that good of friends at all. "Quite honestly, she is probably just taking some her time in peace to just deal with today. We all know she's been going through it and holding it together better than anyone expects."

"Well, she learned by example didn't she."

"No comment." I can't count how many times I've said that to Billie. "Look I'll call her back and scope out her vibes. It's about time for her check-in anyways. Stay tuned."

"Love you, thanks." Billie hangs up.

I push myself up off the floor and dial Nancy's number. It rings to voicemail. "Not cool sister. Call me back so I can tell Billie she still has friends."

I slide open our SittersCrew<3 chat and send a random meme from my saved photos. A poor attempt to get some pity responses but the chat has been comatose all day. Even our retiree Stacey hasn't said anything, and that girl is always on her phone.

It is almost midnight. I won't go to sleep until I hear back from Nancy, but I can at least get ready for bed.

With a gentle toss, my phone lands on the bed playing Lana Del Rey's latest. Her music has become a surrogate for the cigarettes I had to give up smoking. A much better habit I suppose.

In the bathroom I start the ritual skin care routine. The cold lotion soothes as I rub it into my shoulders, even across the damaged tissue just above my collar bone. I stop my hand on it. That slim yet larger than me mark I've done so well to hide for so long.

I'm not allowed to call it a scar Mom says. It's a mark. A mark of a survivor. As faded into me as I wish the memories of that night could be. Eventually it'll be gone, but they won't be.

I'm the lucky one, I guess. But Laurie wasn't lucky. None of them were.

Screw this. I'm just going to go both Nancy in person. The Kinley's won't care and I'm certainly not falling asleep anytime soon.

I throw on an oversized hoodie and head downstairs. Mom is on the couch with her eyes glued to the tv. I make it out the front door without a peep from her. Years of family counselling healed the disease that is the helicopter parent.

Once in the car I have the GPS give me the directions to Nancy's location and let Lana blast through the speakers so I can't hear my own voice as I sing along. It is only a four-minute drive since their house is just a few streets over, but I'm not dumb enough to walk alone this late at night, even with my taser.

My phone starts vibrating in the cupholder like its having a malfunction as I'm about to pull onto the Kinley's street. A million people are snapchatting, texting, everything all at once.

Billie's calling me now too.

I'm turning onto the street and it all becomes clear. My foot slams on the breaks at the sight of the colors bouncing off the houses down the road. Blue and red. Red and blue. My fingers find their way, turning off the music. Now I hear them. That sound I know all too well, the sirens.

Please, no. Not again.

Billie's call goes to voicemail, but she calls again. I don't pick up. Instead, I leave my car parked in the road, still running as I hurry towards the thing I have dreaded most. I come into view of the swarm of cop cars and ambulances in the street. I clear the two blocks between in no time, passing all the neighbors out on their doorsteps watching with horror and familiarity. This is nothing new, not here.

Shoving my way through the crowd of people, I see an ambulance take off, speeding down the opposite way. The front lawn of the Kinley's house is taped off and littered with police, but the Sheriff's car is nowhere to be seen.

Everyone around me keeps saying the same thing.

It's happening again.

Ed, one of the officer's I do know, passes by. I reach and grab his arm firmly. His eyes widen with recognition.

I can barely formulate the words. "Is she-"

"They took her to the hospital." He says quietly. "It didn't look good, but there was a pulse." I release his arm and take off back to my car. "Reagan, wait!" But I can't wait.

My legs give out just as I make it to the car, and the vomit erupts, spewing across the pavement.

This can't be happening. This fucking town. The pain returns all over again, as if he is here with me on the street, reopening the wound with his knife.

No. I can't do this now. Get your shit together Reagan. I have to get to the hospital. I have to know she is alive.