Page 5 of The Killing Game

I say nothing. She’s right. I have no way to talk myself out of this. “I wasn’t actually going to sleep with him. He picked up some weird Jedi mind tricks while modeling and he thought he could convince me into bed.”

“Ashe, I’m not going to tell you whose disco stick you can and cannot take a ride on. I know the shit you get into on your book tours. You’ve told me. All I ask is that you keep yourself and your soul safe. You, me, this group; we’re more important than some crazy weekend fling. I don’t want you to lose a friend because you started thinking with lust instead of logic. Keep that in mind next time Master Jason tries his mind tricks on you.” Sam hugs me. Her touch is gentle and comforting. I return the hug, breathing in her perfume of candied vanilla spice. She’s right. I know better than to ruin a good thing. I know it’s just my lack of excitement in the bedroom lately. Still, the chaos gremlin in the back of my mind wants to know what it would feel like if I gave in.

I release her, thankful for the pep talk. Sam never judges me, but she definitely puts me in my place when need be.

“I’m going to go pack a lake bag. Finish up your meditation, we can go find the boys in a bit. I want some lake time before dinner.” I smile at her as I get up.

Sam returns to her mat and settles into child’s pose. I hear her yell at me over my shoulder, “You better have packed a moo-moo in that bag of yours or Jason is going to be a lot harder to ignore this weekend.” I chuckle, she’s such an asshole sometimes.

It’s mid-day and the sun is blistering overhead. The humidity clings to my skin, making it damp and sticky. It’s damn near impossible to cool off by sweating alone and, right now, I’m covered in it. Perfect time to hop in the water. Sam and I find the boys on the dock. They’re already set up for fishing, a beer cooler between them, and folding lawn chairs on each side of the dock. A small duffle bag overflowing with discarded clothes sits next to the cooler. Colton has ditched his shirt for a black pair of swim trunks with sharks eating donuts. He’s posed in his chair ready for a nap with the rod tucked safely between his legs, hand on the reel ready to pull when he feels a tug.

Jason wears a black tank top with a matching pair of black swim trunks. The tank is skin tight, showing off every ripple of ink and muscle Jason has acquired over the past three years. He’s not the boy we met in high school, anymore. I remember he started lifting around the same time he started taking his fashion seriously. He stated it was to get a better chance of getting signed by a talent agency. It worked. He’s now the face of every independent alternative magazine and clothing company. I watch as he reaches down to grasp the fishing rod with his right hand. The way the muscles in his forearm constrict when he grasps the pole makes me daydream what his hand would look like wrapped around my neck.

Everything inside me is screaming. My mind continues to wonder about all the dirty things I would let Jason do to me. My eyes follow the bulging vein in his forearm up to his broad shoulders. His chest is chiseled like a superhero. After the incident in the kitchen today, I’m confident he could probably pick up my curvy frame. My eyes flicker to his face and he’s watching me again, knowingness lingering in his eyes. He winks at me before turning to his chair and sits down without another glance. Again, I’m left defenseless and sexually frustrated. He should not have this effect on me. It’s not like I’ve had a dry spell recently, all the current simps just don’t do anything for me. It’s so boring being worshiped all the time, and to be completely honest, most of them can’t find the clit with a well drawn map.

Sam breaks my inward spiral.

“Ashe, wanna go kayaking?” She’s looking at me through narrow eyes. It’s like she can read my mind. I blanch in response and mentally wipe the drool from my face. I’m so fucked this weekend. Literally. Jason is going to be my downfall. I quickly shake my head to remove any other dirty thoughts and square my shoulders.

“You better check the haul first. I bet you $20 Colton put a dead squirrel in there for us to find.” I send a pointed look to where Colton is sitting.

“I would never do such a thing,” Colton mumbles under his hat, not moving from his napping position.

Sam giggles as she walks towards the wooden structure. I roll my eyes and follow her. He’s right, it wouldn’t be a dead squirrel. That’s more in my territory. Still, I’m wary as we open the door to the shed. Sam steps in first, knocking down cobwebs as she finds the light switch. The overhead bulbs flicker to light as the dull buzz of incandescent fills the space. This is the setting of every lake horror movie in existence – you cannot change my mind. We weave through the piles of junk collected over the years until we reach the garage door. Sam unlocks the door and I slide it up until it clicks into place overhead. The clear blue lake invites us into its watery depths.

I turn to help Sam pull down the two orange kayaks from the ceiling. The first one slips out easily from the hooks it rests on, but the second one gets stuck as a hook catches on the lip of the haul opening. We both shimmy and pull the kayak until it comes tumbling down on top of us. A small yelp escapes Sam’s lips while I’m laughing underneath the kayak before we roll it off. A small clinking sound rattles around the inside of the kayak. We look at each other. Sam jiggles the front of the kayak. The rattling persists. There’s definitely something inside that shouldn’t be there.

“I fucking told you the guys were going to mess with us,” I whine as I watch Sam grab one of the paddles from the wall.

“It could be a screw or an old beer can. Don’t be so negative, Ashe. Happy thoughts. Put happiness into the universe.” Sam takes the paddle and digs inside the kayak. She’s digging for a few seconds before the paddle catches on something. She starts pulling the paddle out with whatever is stuck inside scraping against the bottom. Once the paddle is out, Sam picks up the kayak and flips it over. A dirty skull mask drops out of the opening and lands directly between us on the floor.

Sam drops the kayak and neither one of us speaks. Neither one of us moves from our place on the ground. We’ve seen that mask before.It’s been plastered all over the news for most of our lives. When everyone started disappearing. When Mackenzie was found. There’s no denying what’s in front of us. Despite similar masks being sold every year for costumes during Halloween, this one is different. Anyone who knows about the Graveslake murders knows the killer’s signature calling card wasn’t just a skull, it was personalized. Crudely carved into the forehead of the mask and painted with dried blood was a deadly promise: time to die. That same phrase is right in front of us.

The haunting, empty eyes stares back at us.

FOUR

3:45 P.M.

Sam is in a fury, running out of the shed with the mask in hand. I barely catch up to her before she’s chucking the mask at the boys. It hits Jason square in the back of the head. She’s fuming.

“Bro, what the fuck was that?” Jason coddles his head where the object made contact. He gets out of his lawn chair to turn towards a very angry Sam. The mask lies between Colton and Jason on the dock.

“You think this is fucking funny?!” Sam points to the damning evidence between them.

Jason follows Sam’s finger to the spot she’s pointing on the dock and his body goes rigid. I watch his face as a wide array of emotions run through his mind until anger is the one he lands on. When he looks back up at Sam, his eyes are heated.

“You really think I would prank you guys like that? Joke about all those seniors who didn’t make it to graduation. I’m crude, sure, but I’m not that demented, Sam. This is how you think of your friends?” Jason demands. He’s not yelling, but I know he wants to. He’s raging underneath that calm demeanor, both hands clenched at his side as evidence. His knuckles are white with how tightly he’s digging his fingers into his palms.

Sam turns up her nose at him. I know that look – she doesn’t believe him. “Sorry, not sorry. I don’t believe you.”

See? Told you.

“After all those photo shoots you’ve done recently with GoTHICC clothing line at The Baphomet Temple, maybe you picked up a few messed up ideas.”

“Fuck you, Sam. You know damn well TBT doesn’t actually believe in Satan or evil. Ashe is the horror freak. She’s the one who takes pranks too far. Why don’t you ask her?!”

If I could roll my eyes any deeper into my skull, I would. Of course, he’s going to try to change the subject. Placing blame on me is easy, except for the fact I haven’t been down here yet this trip.