Page 49 of Kill Feed

“We have to go to the haunted house first,” Amani chimes as she skips a few strides ahead in her weeks-long-planned outfit of a zombie costume.

“Can we eat first? I heard they have a stall where every food item is like pitch black.” Lucas says, eyes scanning the perimeter with enthusiasm, in his last-minute attempt at a matching zombie outfit to Amani’s.

“I’m here to work, remember,” I add to both of them, tapping on the base of the camera hanging from my neck. “You’re supposed to be my assistant.”

We fall deeper into the mouth of the event as layered screams, mechanical grinding, and distorted carnival music warp in and out of key. And that’s when the scare actors appear. They drift through the crowd uncannily: a woman in a tattered Victorian dress dragging an axe, a contortionist crawling unnaturally across a platform, a man with a fake chainsaw with blood that’s too glossy to be real.

I lift my camera and start shooting automatically.

Click.

There goes a girl in a clown mask.

Click.

A butcher with a pig's head rounds a corner.

Click.

A man in a ram skull mask.

My fingertips grow tighter around my camera, recalibrating as I steady the lens instead of lowering it. I keep him centered in the frame.

He’s just… standing there. Black combat trousers sit low on his hips. Boots planted like he expects the ground to adjust to him. Black paint drags across half his body in violent, uneven strokes, cutting over muscle, over the line of his throat, threading into his hair.

It’s him.

Fuck.

I lower my camera, never breaking eye contact. That is until Lucas shoves me with his elbow. “Bro, this is unreal. You have to get a shot of that,” he exclaims, pointing to a group of performers blowing fire in the air.

I shake my head at how easily amused he gets, and by the time I turn my head back toward the masked man, he’s gone. My attention falls back to the exits—even though I can’t see them from here, I know exactly where they are.

Should I make a run for it?

This time Amani taps on my shoulder, face beaming with glee as she points towards a hoard of zombies passing over a makeshift bridge that gives the illusion of a haunted lake beneath it. Perfect.

“You two should join them,” I deadpan, nudging my head towards the hoard, “it will make for a good shot.”

That is all the words I need to have Amani pull Lucas towards the zombies with so much vigor his shoulder almost dislocates. I follow closely behind, monitoring my surroundings like a wolf tracking shifts in the wind.

The air is cool in a way that shouldn’t matter, yet it is clawing at my skin. The lights are too bright as we near the bridge, and the laughter too sharp from the people around us. Every flash of red paint pulls at something old and unwanted.

My hand shoots up to my neck, fingertips rubbing over the old scar.

Both Amani and Lucas fall into line beside the group, acting completely ridiculously. I take a few shots.

“Adrian, loosen up,” she laughs, nudging my shoulder when she steps beside me. “You look like you’re documenting a crime scene.”

“Isn’t that the point?” I say with a forced smile, but my eyes are already past her.

I don’t miss the way Lucas is scanning the event either. His attention moves in short, deliberate sweeps. He looks wired like he always does, but there’s something more directed about it now.

Is he waiting for someone?

It hardly fucking matters. I don’t have the luxury of being curious.

I adjust my grip on the camera and tilt it down just enough to see the screen. My thumb flicks through the last few shots until it stops. And there he is. Clear, centered, and undeniable. Horns curling back in a spiral, and for a second, everything around me thins out.