Page 120 of Camera Stays On

“I’m impressed, Andi. If we were giving out points for creativity, you’d be in the lead. I never would have thought to use the disposal. That’s brutal.” He whistled. My gaze switched from the knife to his eyes, then back to his knife, back and forth.

“Are you going to get creative, or just go for it?” I asked, my voice wavering. I was scared shitless. He wasn’t Juliet, who was a similar size and build to me. Mick was massive. There wasn’t going to be any outrunning him. Even outsmarting him was a long shot, as his brute strength would most likely conquer anything I tried.

“Well, I have no real beef with you, so it doesn’t feel fair to make you suffer. I’m just trying to get the fuck out of here, and if Sawyer says—”

Mick was cut off as an axe slammed into the middle of his skull. I screamed as he dropped to his knees. His jaw went slack as his eyes widened and rolled into the back of his head. His entire body went stiff and relaxed at the same time, causing him to rock slightly, the axe holding him in place.

Sawyer pushed down on the handle, every muscle in his body tense. The veins in his neck and face bulged as he pushed the blade deeper into Mick, splitting his head in two.

My scream drifted off as I stared in horror at the scene in front of me. This was worse than Gavin’s gunshot. Worse than little Asher killing Ray. Worse than Juliet and the fucking garbage disposal.

My stomach tightened and then rolled.

I turned quickly and threw up all over the couch. Any food I’d had left in my stomach violently exited.

“Oh God,” I groaned as I stood up straight and reached for a pillow, wiping my mouth. The couch was ruined anyway.

“Sorry you had to see that,” Sawyer said, laughing a little at the end. I turned back and stared at him. He was beaming, despite being covered in blood and brains. “Sawyer said what now?” He leaned down and put his hand over his ear near the right half of Mick’s face. “Oh, man, gotta be careful about speaking for me. Anyway, you ready to go?” He stood back up and looked at me.

I blinked. He. Was. Smiling.

I recoiled. This man was sick. Unwell. Insane.

“Go where?” I gulped. I didn’t want to go anywhere with this man. Ever. I reached behind me for something, anything, landing on the couch arm. “Sawyer, where’s Ash?”

“He’s watching some more of my home movies. Come on.” Pushing Mick’s body, he stepped over it and reached me in three steps. He grabbed for me, I tried to dodge him, but he caught my wrist and slid down, cupping my hand. He lifted it and cocked his head. “Where’d your ring go?”

Fear rose up my spine.

“Juliet has it.”

His eyes dimmed, then he nodded.

“It was your old one anyway. When we get back to town, I’ll take you to the jeweler and you can pick out a new one. Bigger, with more diamonds. Five, for each year you were gone. He gripped my hand and dragged me through the living room. I nearly tripped on Mick’s corpse as I went, but that didn’t stop Sawyer. He kept onward, pulling me all the way outside, onto the porch, and then down the stairs.

“Where are you taking me?” I fought his grip the entire way. He squeezed me tighter as he continued in the direction of the woods. “Sawyer, please! I can’t move this fast!”

Not only was my thigh on fire, the shackles around my ankles were digging into my skin. I winced, and he paused.

“What’s wrong? Did one of them hurt you?”

“One of who?”

“The body count padding?”

My blood chilled. The what?

Why would he call them that?

In a horror movie, the people that died needlessly were just to raise the body count.

“No,” I said sharply. “The shackles you put on my ankles are hurting me.”

He blinked. “Oh. Hold on, let me get those.” He dropped to his knees and lifted my skirt, diving under it. I swallowed, conscious that I’d lost my underwear some time ago and was still going commando. Sawyer pulled a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked me swiftly. The shackles clamored to the ground, and he stood. I spun around and took a step to run, but he quickly caught me by my waist, dragging me back to him. Forcefully, he took my hand, continuing to lead me toward the trees.

I glanced upward. The weather was overcast, so I couldn’t tell what time of day it was. The clouds above us rumbled, and a cold mist fell, hitting my cheeks. I shuddered, and he paused, pulling his coat off and putting it around me.

“I love my jacket on you. What is the old saying, something borrowed?” He looked back, smiling, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Any anger in his expression was gone—which was chilling. “What’s the rest of it, Purdy Doll? Something old...”