“What are you going to do with that, dolly?” I ask, a mocking smirk on my face. This should be over quickly.
“I’m going to kill you, monster.”
I don’t have time for this shit.
The longer I’m trapped in a room with Chucky’s Bride, the more opportunity handed over to Mark. If the men notice I’m nowhere to be found, and Addie is left vulnerable, nothing will stop them from seizing the moment.
She’s more interested in talking, and time is ticking. I charge at her, but I’m surprised by how much fight she has in her.
I humor her, the sloppy attacks beginning with a knife and ending with her fists. The entire time, she rages like a petulant child. Throwing a fit because she can’t land a strike.
I see the desperation leaking into her expression, just as antsy to take me down as I am her.
Finally, I land one good sucker punch to her nose, causing her to lose her footing and go crashing to the ground.
She screeches out some idle threat, but my focus is on the door. I storm past her, whipping out the door and charging down the hall.
“Jackal!” she screeches from behind me, but I pay her no mind. I don’t know who the hell she’s talking to, but I don’t give a fuck.
I stop short when I look to my left and see the four men of the night packed into a room.
I breathe out a sigh of relief, a small weight lifting off my shoulders with the confirmation that they didn’t get the chance to trap Addie.
Until I hear the words that come out of their fucking mouths.
“Where did she go?” Miller asks, staring at Mark. “The van is already set to go. They just need to know their location.”
I snap straight, and my body stiffens like cement being injected into my spinal cord.
“We’ll find them,” Mark placates. “Zack wasn’t with them, so he must’ve lost them in the chaos. It’s the perfect time.”
“You do realize you’re going to have to handle him, right? When he finds out Addie is gone?” Robert cuts in. “With those nasty scars on his face, I have a feeling you’re underestimating him.”
Mark waves a hand, dismissing Robert’s concerns. His very fucking valid concerns.
“He got those scars because he was weak, Robert.”
I laugh silently, my head thrown back and shoulders shaking as I let his very ill-minded assumption wash through me. And then my laugh bleeds out, rocketing through the small space and blending with the other creepy noises pinging around this house.
The four men’s heads snap towards me, and bleed dry of whatever color was left in their faces. The four of them are sweaty and look like they have watched their worst nightmares come to life. They’ll soon realize that I sit on the fucking throne, and their nightmares bow to me. I’m far worse than any monster they could ever imagine.
I walk into the room, the grin on my face widening when they flinch away.
“Za—” Mark starts.
“You know how old these scars are, Mark? Very old. My opponent was a formidable one, but do you want to know who ended up on the floor with their throat slashed and holes where their eyeballs used to be? Certainly wasn’t me, fucker.”
Mark tries to brush off my story with a laugh, the sound choked and broken. “Zack, please, we weren’t speaking of your girlfriend.”
“Mark, the last thing you want to do is lie to me.”
Just as Mark opens his mouth, a little door in the room springs open and out crawls the biggest fucking nuisance of the night.
“For the love of God, please leave me alone,” I snap. Mark and his friends turn to find the doll straightening, a determined gleam in her eye.
Her face brightens. “God has nothing to do with this, silly.”
Chapter 29
The Manipulator
“I
think if I don’t go sit the fuck down, I’m going to collapse. You’ll have to peel me out of this mud.”
I point towards a bench. “Go ahead and relax. I’m going to go through the House of Mirrors real quick.”
“Fine by me, it’ll take you forever to get out of that thing, and it’ll be time to go.”
The House of Mirrors has always been one of my favorite places. It’s an elaborate maze of mirrors, and very difficult to find your way out of. It’s one of the biggest buildings at the fair, and they fill every inch of it with mirrors.
The fair will close in about a half-hour. It’s pushing it, but it should be just enough time to get through it if I concentrate.
The house is painted all black—no array of colors, flashing of lights, or smoke. I’ve always thought it was trippier like this. Sometimes it feels like being in a silent room, left with nothing but your thoughts as your own image haunts you.