“Samantha.”

I woke, my heart pounding, and bolted upright in bed. When had I gone to bed? But I looked around. Mason was sleeping next to me, his eyes closed, his chest lifting up and down at a steady pace. I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the exhaustion pulling at me. It wanted me to lie back down and let it take over, but no. I heard my name. That’s what woke me up.

I moved to the edge of the bed, and started to stand up, when he showed up in the doorway.

I could only stare at first.

There was no scream. No gasp. Just the view of a man in a black robe with white all over his face. There were no eyes. No mouth. It was like he wasn’t even a person.

I froze.

Ice-cold fear ran down my spine and chilled my entire body.

Run, Sam!

Tell Mason!

Wake Mason!

Get Mason to safety! Get yourself to safety!

All of those thoughts raced through my mind, but I couldn’t do a goddamn thing. I could only gape at him, and he stepped into the room, showing a knife in his hand now.

A choked gurgle came out of me, and I felt Mason move in the bed. “Sam?” he murmured, the same exhaustion I’d felt seconds ago evident in his voice. “What’s going on?” He ran a hand down my arm.

I was shaking.

That’s what woke him up.

I was making the entire bed tremble beneath us. He felt the quaking tremors in my arm and sat up.

“Sam—” The words died in his throat. He saw him too. Unlike me, Mason didn’t freeze, but almost levitated out of the bed. He lunged for him, but the guy was gone. Mason fled the room, and I heard the door slamming shut seconds later. I still couldn’t move.

He’d been here.

He was standing over us.

He could’ve killed us. One plunge, one swipe at the right angle, and Mason would be bleeding out on the floor right now.

Now I felt the bed shaking. It was like an earthquake.

“Sam?” Logan appeared in the doorway, pale and wide-eyed. He braced himself, resting both hands on the doorframe. “What’s going on?”

“Ma—”

Finally! Words came out of my throat, but Mason returned, saying, “The killer was here.”

“What?!” Logan’s mouth dropped, his hand fisted into his hair. “He was here?”

“He got away.” Mason shouldered past him and stood over me, his eyes narrowed. “You okay?”

I bounced my head up and down. That’s all I could manage. The fear still had a paralyzing hold on me.

He waited for my answer, then closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. “Fuck.” He sank onto the bed beside me, catching his head in his hands. “Fuck! He was here!”

“We have to move.”

“No.” Mason stopped Logan, reaching for the phone. “We have to call the cops.”

“What for? The fucker’s not getting caught. He keeps showing up.” Logan clipped his head from side to side. “No way. We take care of him ourselves.”

“What are you saying?” Mason asked.

“That we take care of the fucker ourselves. We set a trap. Catch him, then call the cops.”

Mason didn’t reply, not at first. He stared at his brother. The two were embroiled in some form of stare-off, but I knew Mason was contemplating Logan’s idea. Logan was waiting.

Call for help, to those who hadn’t helped us so far, or do the deed ourselves.

Fear like I’d never felt before pooled at the bottom of my spine, but I already knew what we were going to do. It was what we always did. We fought.

And a moment later, Mason said what I knew he’d say. “Let’s catch the fucker.”

Logan dipped his head in a nod this time. “Good.” He pounded the door frame. “I’ll wake Nate up. We should—”

Mason finished for him. “—move locations. I’ve already got an idea.”

I waited to see if Logan would look at me before he left. He didn’t. This killer was here because of me, I was sure of it, and he’d murdered Taylor, and then Heather. We never had found out anything about Channing. The killer could’ve taken him out too, but I was feeling the weight of both of my friends’ deaths. It was like they were with us in that room, they were beside me, breathing down my neck.

It was my responsibility to avenge them.

“What’s wrong?”

Mason had been watching me, and his hand came down to rest on my knee.

My insides were twisting together. I felt the need to purge myself, throw everything up, but I just stuffed the urge down. “Nothing.”

“Sam.”

“No. I mean it. I’m fine.” I wanted to get this asshole. I wanted to take the knife and plunge it into his heart.

“You’re pushing me away. Don’t do that.”

“Why not?” I couldn’t hold back the bitterness. “You might stay alive that way.”

“Come on.”

“No, I mean it.” My voice rose in volume. “You want to catch this killer? Let me go. He’ll follow me. You can follow him, or better yet, just tell the cops. They’ll follow me.” But not before I killed him. He’d appeared to me tonight. I saw his hand before he killed Heather. He was showing himself to me more and more. I felt like there were unspoken rules. He could have a knife. I wasn’t supposed to have anything, but screw that. I’d take a gun. He’d show himself and this time, instead of freezing, I’d just raise that gun and pull the trigger.

I could do it.

Sickening waves of disgust rolled down my back.

I could do it. I could kill someone, especially someone who was killing my friends.

Not Mason. Not Logan.

He would not get them too.

“We’re not using you as bait.” Mason stood and began to change clothes, pulling on dark sweatpants and a black shirt. It fit snugly, molding to his physique. He called to Logan, “You ready?” He began stuffing clothes in his bag. “Sam, get up. We have to get going.”

I nodded, sliding off the bed. “Sure.” Even my voice sounded normal, but I wasn’t normal. This was not happening how they wanted, and my mind was racing. Could I go with them, wait till they’re somewhere safe, and then go on my own? As I was contemplating it, I already knew it wouldn’t work. We might go somewhere I couldn’t leave on my own, or worse, the killer would follow, and instead of leaving them, he’d kill them first.

I had to go now.

That was resounding in my head.

Now, Samantha. Now.

I dressed as Mason grabbed the little we’d left in the room. I could hear Logan doing the same. I was sure Nate was too.

I put my sneakers on, and stood at the door.

This felt wrong—no, it didn’t. That wasn’t what I was feeling. It was ice-cold fear, spine-chilling, but this was right. I had to finish this.

I’d run.

That’s what I’d do. It was what I did best.

I’d run, and I’d force the killer to run too. I could best him or her at that. I bested almost everyone I knew, but I needed a gun. As Mason and Logan were moving around me, a tentative plan began to formulate in my mind.

I need a reason to leave.

I looked around the room, but there was nothing I ‘needed’ to get badly enough that they wouldn’t think twice before letting me leave the room. I didn’t smoke. Wait—I felt my pockets and looked around. My phone was gone.

Where’d my phone go? I couldn’t remember where I’d put it last. “I gotta find my phone.”

“What?” But Mason ducked into the bathroom.

NOW!

Logan was in his room too, and Nate’s door was still closed. It was now or never. Hurrying to the door—my phone was on the counter. I snagged it and slipped out of the room. Once that door was closed, I picked up my pace, speed-walking away from it, and when I didn’t think they’d be alarmed by the sounds of my footsteps, I took off.

Sprinting to the end of the hallway, I crashed through the door and fled down the stairs.

The killer was around. He was watching. He would know.

I pushed through the exit door, and after that, nothing held me back.

The hotel was in front of the woods, and I knew those woods well. A few running paths wound through them, connecting to two parks. I headed for those paths, tearing past the first trees. I didn’t let up, going the fastest I’d ever gone. This asshole could try and catch me.

No car.

No bus.

Nothing. Not even a Segway could work on these paths. Dirtbikes, maybe, but even those would be hit-or-miss. This fucker had to go on his feet. It’d be the only way he could follow me, and I didn’t let up until I came to the first park.

I needed that weapon. I couldn’t sit and wait for him without one. If I did, I would lose. It was my only chance to fight back.

I looked around, my breathing shallow, my heart pounding. Cold sweat trailed down my back.

Gun, gun, gun. Where would one be?

I needed one.

A car—nope.

A little Toyota like mine. No.

I looked at the people in the park.

A pair of mothers pushing strollers—no.

No.

No.

NO! I wasn’t seeing anyone who might have a gun.

The pressure was building. I needed to find something. A house? Could I break into a place? A gun store? I almost started laughing. I’d get arrested. The killer could kill me off when we were cellmates.

I was going to die.

I wouldn’t be able to defend myself—wait. A truck pulled into a parking spot and a guy and girl got out. Yes. He had Texas license plates. I began heading for the truck. They walked farther down the hill. The guy turned back once, and I flattened myself against a tree. If his suspicions were raised, yes, yes yes. As I watched, he turned back. His girlfriend was going to a farther section of the park. If he followed her, he wouldn’t be able to see his truck.

Maybe there’d be an alarm.

If I broke his window, I’d have to grab the gun and get out before he could follow me too, or send the cops to where I was hiding.

Shit. This was getting complicated.

Okay. I relaxed a little bit. The guy kept going forward, following behind his girlfriend.

I moved closer to his truck. A gun rack hung off the back of his truck. Chances were good he’d have some type of weapon in there.

I stood on my tiptoes, cupped my hands around my eyes, and tried to see inside his truck. Nothing. Some beef jerky, a scented decoration hanging from the rearview mirror . . . but wait! I began to look in the back, but a black bulge between the two seats caught my eye. I zoomed back, and yes. I thought it was a gun. I was pretty sure.

Hold up. Was I really sure? I had to be sure.

My phone was buzzing. Mason and Logan were probably calling.

Yes. I had to go. Even now, the killer could be on me.

I drew a deep breath, grabbed a rock and lifted it. I was ready to throw it against the window, but I glanced at the driver’s side door. It was unlocked. No way. I couldn’t be that lucky.

The passenger side door was locked. His wasn’t.

This guy—I sent up a prayer and ran to his side, opened the door, and reached forward. My hand wrapped around the black shape and I pulled out a handgun.

God.

My hand was shaking.

Bullets? Was it even loaded?

I pushed on the chamber, pulling it out, and yes. Three bullets were in there. I put the chamber back and breathed out slowly to steady my nerves. Logan had insisted on going to the gun range a few times. I’d thought he was nuts, but I went later with Mason a few more times. He’d helped me learn how to shoot. I just needed to remember his words.

I swallowed a lump in my throat. It was time.

It really was just me now.

Making sure the safety was on, I held the gun in a tight grip and began running again. I went deeper into the woods. The forest could extend for miles and miles; I didn’t care. The farther away from civilization, the better.

I ran for two miles.

When I stopped, I was far in the woods.

It was then, and only then, that I stopped and bent over to gasp for breath.

My phone had been continuously buzzing. I pulled it out, seeing twenty-eight missed calls from Mason and almost the same number from Logan. Forty text messages filled my inbox.

Please, forgive me, I thought as I turned my phone off. Then I sat.

It was just me and the forest.

We were waiting for him.

* * *

I heard the first footstep crunch over the gravel.

Everything in me was primed for action. I was sitting at the base of a tree, twelve feet off the path. I was already dressed in dark clothing from before, but I tucked my sneakers under my legs. They were neon yellow and they were my weakness, or one of them.

Another footstep.

He was being so quiet, slinking along, but I kept my breathing even. Years of marathon training were helping me out now. I couldn’t see him, not yet, but a third footstep wasn’t too far away.

I was searching the path’s shadows for him. He’d have to stick out. He should have the mask.

I was waiting.

I was looking.

A fourth footstep. Gravel crunched beneath it again.

It was like he wasn’t there, but I knew he was. He had to be. That’s what made sense, if he followed me instead of them.

A flash of light, moving.

He was on his phone, and that’s when I saw him. It was him. I couldn’t see him that well, but it was him. I knew it. He was in all black. I couldn’t see the mask, but it was him. I felt it. He was standing right in front of me on the path, punching numbers on his phone, and then he waited.

God.

I bit down on my lip, closing my eyes for one agonizing moment.

A dial tone rang, then my voice sounded from his phone. “This is Samantha, leave your—Logan, I was recordin—BEEP!”

The killer was calling me.

I sat there, stunned.

I’d turned my phone off, but he would’ve found me in two seconds if I hadn’t. Fucking hell. He knew my number. I . . . A ton of bricks landed on me.

The killer knew me.

I knew the killer.

“SAM!”

No!

I froze again.

No, no, no.

That was Logan.

“SAM!”

He was coming down the path. I turned—the killer vanished.

Who was he? Who could he be? I kept trying to think, but then Logan was coming fast. He was almost to us.

If I said something, I would be exposed.

If I didn’t, he could be dead.

I held my breath, waiting. I didn’t know what to do.

“SAM! Where are you?”

But he didn’t stop. He soared right past where I was sitting.

I almost sagged from relief, but I heard a rustling sound. A black shape began to grow in size until he was standing up. The killer had stepped back out onto the path from where he’d been hidden.

My teeth sank through my lip, breaking skin. Something warm and liquid seeped out, but I wasn’t paying attention.

The killer turned to follow Logan.

He was going after him.

I wanted to yell, scream, stop him.

Calm, Samantha. Think.

If I revealed myself now, he would kill me here. He could go after Logan anyways.

Where was Mason? If Logan was running down this path, was Mason on a different path? Did Logan say he would cover the running paths and Mason would search somewhere else?

My time for sitting was dwindling, and fast.

The killer was farther away.

I had to go now.

I didn’t feel my legs. Everything was becoming numb, but I reminded myself to be quiet. He couldn’t hear me. If he looked back, he’d see me. My shoes were my weakness. I needed to make sure he had no reason to look back.

Silently, I stood and stepped out onto the path. I crept forward, spying the killer’s black shape in the darkness around us. When he moved, I moved. I tried to time every step to his.

I gripped the gun tightly against my leg.

If he looked, I’d shoot him—or try—but I didn’t want to risk the shot from where I was. I had to make sure I got him. I had to draw closer.

I sent up another prayer above for help.

Where was Mason?

“SAM!”

That was Logan, but farther away. It was quieter.

Keep going, Logan. Just keep going. Don’t turn back.

As if hearing my thoughts, the killer slowed.

So did I.

A silent gasp left me, and I didn’t dare move. Not. One. Inch.

I could hear Logan running farther and farther away, but this guy wasn’t moving. He cocked his head up, like a panther listening for new prey. If he turned around—I was gone.

I had no choice. I couldn’t keep trying to sneak closer to him. It was now or never.

I raised the gun, and I waited.

If he turned . . .

He did.

He turned halfway toward me, then stopped.

Shit!

My heart was pressed into my chest cavity. It was trying to work its way out of me. I could barely hear anything anymore. My heartbeat was deafening in my ears.

Then he . . .

I waited.

My finger was on the safety. I’d have to remove it, then quickly shoot him.

He’d hear the safety. I had to wait. I couldn’t unlock it yet.

One.

Two.

Three—he began to turn all the way.

Another half second and he’d see me.

But then someone ran ahead of us. Whoever he was, or she, they were moving fast. There was another path that ran across ours. I hadn’t known it was there, but this person was going fast.

Fuck. Mason? Could it be?

He hadn’t been yelling my name, but that wasn’t Mason’s way. He’d be silent, stalking, and dangerous. He would run like this.

Suddenly, they zipped past us.

The killer whipped back to the front, where he’d been facing before, and he brought the knife up, like he’d have to defend himself. He looked where the person ran, pausing, then he ran after them.

I couldn’t move.

Good God.

I lowered the gun, my arm visibly shaking. My knees were knocking against each other.

I had just missed my chance, but I hadn’t known for sure if I would’ve gotten him.

My legs were like jelly. I literally couldn’t make them move.

“Samantha!”

I turned around. Logan was behind me now? What?

It clicked at the same time that he hit me.

If I turned around—if I heard Logan behind me—so could he—and there he was.

He took me out, tackling me to the ground.

The breath was knocked out of me, his heavy weight anchoring me for a moment before I realized what he was doing.

“NO!” I screamed.

He was keeping me in place as he was reaching for the gun still in my hand.

Shit.

“No, you fucker!”

I had to fight for that gun, or I was dead.

The knife too—I looked for it. He was holding it in his hand. I twisted my arm between us, and tried knocking the knife out of his hand with my elbow. He was distracted for a moment, pausing to see what I was doing. The gun or the knife? He decided for me.

He tossed the knife to the side and rolled, his shoulder jamming into my throat as he began tugging the gun from my hand.

It was now a fight for that, and I cried out, feeling him clawing at my wrist and hand. He was tearing my skin apart, literally pulling it off in a desperate way. He was trying to get under the gun, to get a better hold on it.

“Motherfucker!” someone grunted, right above us.

I looked up, but they tucked their shoulder down and slammed into the killer. He was tackled onto the ground, caught and lifted off me in one motion.

I scrambled up, or tried. I was bleeding, I could feel it, from my arm, hand, my face. I could even smell it.

“Mason!”

I looked up and Logan was airborne over me. He launched himself into the wrestling foray—that was Mason fighting the killer.

No, no, no. The knife.

They were where it was. The killer knew it. Mason didn’t.

It was two to one. I sat there, dazed, before I could think of what to do to help.

I still had the gun in my hand.

I began to raise it, saying, “Stop . . .”

It came out a croak. He had hit my throat, and I tried again. A second hoarse whisper. I coughed, feeling blood spitting up my throat, and I yelled, “Stop!”

This one worked.

They did, freezing in place.

Logan twisted around, his eyes wide. “Sam. The gun.”

I had it pointed at him, and I gasped, correcting myself. I over-corrected. It pointed at Mason.

The killer had a second, and he dove for the knife.

“Mason! Get ba—”

Too late.

The killer grabbed the knife and brought it up, slicing the back of Mason’s knees.

“NO!”

But I felt it too.

The knife cut Mason, and it cut me too. I could feel it behind my knee, and I crumpled, still holding the gun, or trying to. It was beginning to fall from my hand. “No.” Another croak. This couldn’t happen.

I couldn’t lose everyone. I couldn’t lose my family.

“NO!”

The killer wasn’t done. He brought his knife back, at the same time Logan ripped out “NO!” and jumped at him. The killer rotated swiftly, the knife sticking straight out. Logan impaled himself on it.

No, no, no.

I was whimpering those words.

A gurgled gasp came from Logan. He began spasming, his back and entire body twitching, and somehow he worked his way farther onto the knife.

Like with Mason, I felt the knife in me. It was like I was impaled on it, and my body was shaking and trembling. I was sinking farther onto the knife, past the part where I could come out of this at all.

I was dying.

If I felt I was dying, that meant Logan was dying.

No.

Ignoring all the pain, I raised the gun.

If I was dying, so was he.

He twisted back to me, weaponless, and it was my turn.

I undid the safety, my finger went to the trigger, and I pulled it.

The bullet slammed into him—

* * *

Gasping, I surged upright.

Everything was bright. It was too bright, and oh my God. The pain. It was everywhere. It was seeping from me, and I whimpered, my mouth muffled. I closed my eyes, wishing that brightness away. I wanted to go back where I was. I didn’t want to be here.

It hurt.

My insides were being pulled out, one scoop at a time. I could feel them, feel how they were raw and exposed, how they protested individually.

I couldn’t—please God. Take me away. Take me back. I’d take those woods again, not this.

Tears slipped down my face and they felt like scalding burns.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Samantha. Wakey, wakey.”

No, no, no.

I want to go back to where I was. Please.

“No, no.”

I could hear his enjoyment. It was sick and twisted. He was enjoying this, whoever he was. I didn’t recognize his voice.

“Come on. Wake up.” More of a clipped tone now. He snapped his fingers, nudging me with a knife that had something wet, something warm on it.

My stomach rolled over.

I knew what was on that knife, but I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to comprehend it.

“Come on!” He knelt in front of me.

He poked me—and I screamed, bucking under his touch.

I opened my eyes, and he pulled back a bloodied finger. It was mine, not his. My blood.

I began writhing around on the floor. I wasn’t consciously doing it, but I couldn’t stop myself. I was flailing all over, like a fish on a hook.

“Come on. Stop that.” He kicked my side. “You were just doing that before too. Don’t know why. I didn’t cut your tendons or anything. Stop it. We’re about to move on to the second stage.”

A breath.

A second one.

A third.

I was able to stop, on my stomach now, with my head turned toward him.

He wore large black boots, but regular jeans, and a blue shirt. I angled my hand back, blinking against how bright it was. Blasts of sheer pain exploded in my head.

“Come on, come on.” He tapped his knife against the side of my skull. “You’ve been out of it since I got you. I don’t like to wait this long for some fun, and the best part is coming.”

God.

I opened my eyes wider to see better.

I was on a bathroom floor.

There was no killer in a black robe or white mask.

The white wasn’t him, it was the light behind him. The black had been the shadow of him as he bent over me. It had all blended together, and the pain—I gazed down.

I was covered in blood.

I was dressed in jeans and a shirt, but I didn’t remember putting them on.

Was it all a dream? A lie?

“Yeah. Yeah.” He knelt in front of me, the same knife from my hallucination in his hand. I couldn’t see his face. I could only see the knife. His face was blurred, and he was waving it back and forth. It was covered in almost-black blood. “Are you starting to get it? You’ve been whimpering and saying all sorts of weird shit. I finally had to muzzle you because I couldn’t get any sleep myself. Your friends aren’t dead. None of them are.” He grinned. I saw the whiteness of his teeth, how his lips pulled back, but I couldn’t see him.

He was still a blur to me.

Everything else was in stark detail.

He let out a deep sigh. “You’re not going to get it. I can see that. I don’t have time to wait another day. I’ve got a job to get back to, but we’ll have to finish this now. Okay, Samantha. No, I’ve not touched your friends. Heather, Taylor, whoever else you were saying. Channing? Nate? Logan? You were especially concerned about Mason, and Logan. He only got a knife wound in your dream. That babbling was entertaining at times. He got sliced, right? I heard that right? Sometimes it was hard, deciphering what you were mumbling. You weren’t the clearest. That was all in your head.” He tapped the knife against my temple again. “Your friends are fine. They aren’t the ones dying.”

I was.

I was dying.

And I couldn’t move. I was still on the bathroom floor. I tried to move my hands, but they were twisted behind me, soaked and covered in blood. I could even feel it between my fingers. I was even beginning to recognize the texture and weight of blood.

A mangled cry ripped from my throat.

I didn’t want to die, but I couldn’t move. My legs were tied together too. He was half-kneeling over them now.

“You ready?” He sounded disappointed. “I thought you’d be a better fighter than that. You spent the whole time trapped in your head, but okay. I have a date. Gotta get another girl, so here you go.” He brought the knife up, his mouth twisting into an ugly smile. “See you on the other side.”

He brought the knife to my throat.