Final Cut, page 19
“Hazel Dupre,” he mutters to himself.
He recognized her as soon as she walked in. That nose and chin, her father’s sharp angles. That spark in the eyes, hungry as any beast.
Of course, he realizes, Hazel must go by Lejeune now—her mother’s maiden name. But back then, when Skeet used to mop past Cal’s desk, that raven-haired girl in the pictures was all her father’s.
That’s my Hazel, he said once when he saw Skeet notice her. My little girl.
And here she was, appearing like a ghost on Skeet’s doorstep with the other boy—that handsome face just as familiar, like all those boys at the high school, the ones who traced KILLER on the back of Skeet’s mucked-up truck before he sold it.
Skeet liked Hazel more than the boy. Trusted her. Or maybe “trust” is the wrong word. It wasn’t a confidence, a kinship, so much as the recognition—this girl whose life would never be right again, just like his, and all because of the same scum of a man.
Wind howls at the window, rattling the screen door. Skeet shudders, even in the heat. He’s had a bad feeling ever since those kids left. He knew they were up to something as soon as the boy snuck off so conspicuously to the bathroom, not even smart enough to run the sink or flush the toilet to keep up the charade. And then that yearbook missing …
Guilt roils deep in his gut as he thinks of those pictures, that poor girl, Susie, closed between the pages like a coffin. Skeet had swiped them impulsively from Cal’s desk on the same day he took that camera, but for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to destroy them, too.
Maybe because he wanted evidence, just in case he ever needed it. Even after Cal went to prison, Skeet was still half afraid the police or an angry mob would come banging down his door, start this nightmare all over again. He could have just brought everything to the cops, he knows, but Skeet didn’t want to get wrapped up in all that again. The whole town thinking he killed Bella and Beau was bad enough. Better to leave it alone, keep to himself, he thought. But now …
The beast must be fed. Skeet chuckles darkly to himself, thinking of the terror on Hazel’s face when he told her the story. Despite Mawmaw’s tall tales—and what small-minded people might expect from an old man who lives out in the swamp—Skeet never believed in any monsters. He just needed something to scare Hazel away—to get her out of this place before it sank its claws into her like it did him.
He hopes she listened—that it isn’t too late.
Somehow, he doubts it. Now, as the shadows stretch over his floor, creeping into his little sanctuary, the stories feel all too real.
Something moves outside—a splash of water, a creak of old wood in the wind. Or maybe something else. Skeet’s heart thuds as he reaches for his gun, propped up against the futon, and clicks off the safety.
If the beast is coming, then he sure as hell won’t let it catch him without a fight.
24
When I cut the engine just outside the nature trail, the silence lands heavy and hard, pressing up against the windows like it could break them.
“We should wait here, right?” Nina whispers, glancing at her phone. “Until the cops get here. I don’t have service, but they should be here soon.”
I open the car door.
“Hold up,” Cameron says. “Where are you—”
“Just going down the road to see if I can get a boat.”
“What happened to don’t split up?”
My heart thuds in my chest. Cameron’s right. I’m being unbelievably stupid right now, but I can’t ignore the tug in my chest, an invisible spider’s thread pulling me in deeper. If I wanted to be safe, I’d wait in the car for the cops to get here.
But if I do that, Kyle could die.
“Kyle is in there,” I argue. “If I paddle out there and get inside, I can distract Skeet long enough to save his life until the cops get here.”
“Oh God,” Lucas whimpers.
Cameron shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. No way.”
“Haze, that’s literally the worst idea I’ve ever heard,” Nina adds, completing the trio. “Skeet has a gun, and you’re empty-handed.”
I get out of the car and close the door before I can think too hard about how right she is. Cameron follows me out.
“If you’re going,” he says, “I’m coming with you.”
“This is a bad idea,” Nina says, opening her own door. “The cops will be here any minute. We should wait.”
Lucas sticks his head out of the open back-seat door, petrified. “You’re not actually going, are you?”
I look at Cameron. He’s still standing there, insistent, and something inside me melts.
“Cameron and I will go. Y’all stay here and wait for the police.”
Nina looks around at the shadowy road before letting out a breath and getting out of the car.
“Stick together, remember?” she says with a scared but hopeful smile.
Lucas curses under his breath, shaking himself like he’s revving up for a fight.
“Stick together,” he echoes, joining us.
I can’t help but smile at them, even as fear tangles up beneath it. This plan may be ridiculous, but we’re in it together.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s see about this boat.”
“Um, Haze?” Lucas is staring at something just behind me.
I turn, and we all see it: The green canoe is already waiting at the front of the trail, like it was left there just for me. Like he knew I was coming.
Taking a breath to fight the uneasiness, I march toward the boat and reach for the edge. Cameron takes the other side.
“Look at us,” he teases with that crooked smile. “Portaging pros.”
I smile back. “Whatever you say, Boy Scout.”
We lift the canoe and start down the path, Nina and Lucas following behind us until we reach the river. As we set the canoe down, I realize we have a problem.
“So,” I say, wiping grime off my hands. “Realistically, we can only fit two people.”
I know I was just insisting on going alone, but now that we’re standing at the water’s edge, uncertainty swirls in my gut at the thought of leaving anyone behind. Like it’s catching, Nina hugs her arms close to her ribs, glancing around at the leaves as they rustle in the breeze.
“Not to be a downer,” she says, “but how exactly do you plan to stop him, Haze?”
In her question, I hear traces of my mom, my teachers, everyone who’s ever seen me do something impulsive and stupid and wondered what the hell I’m thinking—and, like always, it’s a good point.
The thought creeps in like the smell of algae on the breeze: Is that something I get from Cal? The recklessness?
I set my jaw. “I’m Skeet’s ‘final girl,’ right? He’s doing this for me—because I’m Cal’s daughter. If I go in there now, I can get him talking long enough for the cops to get here. But if we wait, he’ll kill Kyle, and—” My voice breaks, surprising me with my own desperation. The sharp, stinging truth of it. “And I’ll never know the truth about Cal.”
Cameron stares back, something burning beneath it. Something grinding, clicking into place. And then he picks up a paddle.
“Okay,” he says. “Let’s do this.”
“Wait,” Lucas cuts in, his eyes darting from tree to tree. “I don’t like this. If y’all go out there, then me and Nina are here by ourselves. Doesn’t that make us sitting ducks?”
“Not when the killer’s in there,” I say, gesturing out at the river.
“Someone should stay back and wait for the cops,” Nina adds, though she doesn’t sound entirely convinced.
I give my best hopeful look anyway. “Buddy system, right?”
Actually, I realize, this might be our best plan. If Cameron and I go together—and I can convince him to let me talk to Skeet alone—then everyone is safe. No one’s at risk except for me.
Nina lets out a shaky breath. “For the record, I still think this is a bad idea, but if you’re serious about this … we’ll wait.” She gives me a hard look. “But if anything happens in there, Haze—if he even reaches for that gun—you guys are turning right back around.”
“Deal.” I stick out my hand, and Nina takes it. As we shake, though, doubt stirs low in my stomach. I don’t know if I can hold up my end of the bargain. Even if I’m staring down the barrel of Skeet’s gun, I can’t be sure I’ll do the smart thing and bolt. Not until I know the truth.
I swallow the feeling down, turning to Cameron. “Let’s go.”
We climb into the canoe, and Cameron pushes off from the shore. As we glide out onto the river, I steady myself with a breath.
We’re doing this.
And we better not fuck it up.
As we float deeper into the water, I turn to give Nina and Lucas one last reassuring look over my shoulder. Nina’s watching us intently, lips pressed into a hard line, while Lucas looks around, flinching at every croak and rustle.
Fear slithers in as we row farther from shore. It crosses my mind that this could still be a trap. What if Skeet’s been out here listening, watching? And now we’ve left Nina and Lucas vulnerable.
“Cameron…” I stop short when I catch movement from somewhere in the trees, not too far off from where Nina and Lucas are standing. Maybe just an animal, or … “Stop.”
“What?”
“Stop.”
He stops rowing, and I focus on the space where I thought I saw something. There was a shadow moving through the darkness—too big to be a harmless creature.
“We should go back,” I say. “Something’s wrong. I think—”
And then I see it: a hulking figure stepping out of the shadows like the trees come to life. His body is draped in dark, baggy rags and moss, and his face is covered in a burlap mask, just like the killer from the movie.
And in his hand, glinting above Nina’s and Lucas’s unsuspecting heads, is a knife.
25
If you believe the movies, a moment like this should happen in slow motion, but it doesn’t. Instead, it’s almost hyperspeed, a blink, as the knife digs into Lucas’s back.
A scream rushes up in my throat but chokes and dies before I can make a sound. Lucas is running. The knife didn’t hit him—it only grazed his shirt, the torn fabric flapping as he and Nina take off running the only way they can: into the water.
“Come on,” I urge Cameron, but he’s already spinning us back toward the shore. We row with all our might, my heart thudding so hard I can feel it in my face, as Nina and Lucas splash through the murky water, their eyes like wide, frantic flashes in the dark. It hits me again that countless dangers could be lurking below—gators, sharpened teeth—and I push even harder.
Finally, they’re close enough to reach us. Cameron holds out his paddle for Nina, and she grabs it as Lucas holds onto the side of the canoe. I spare a second to glance back at the shore, half expecting the killer to be paddling through the water like the swamp creature he’s pretending to be, but he’s gone.
I don’t know which is worse.
Nina hauls herself into the canoe, and then Lucas. He flops in face-first, and the boat tips dangerously, but Nina helps pull the rest of him into the boat before it can flip over. It’s definitely not meant for four people, but we make it work, at least for now.
“Keep paddling,” I say, slicing my paddle back into the water.
“Where?” Cameron asks, following suit without hesitation.
“Skeet’s. If that was him back there, Kyle’s unguarded.”
Cameron nods, rowing harder.
“Where are the cops?” Nina asks breathlessly, scanning the shore. “They should be here by now.”
“Try calling again,” I say.
Nina reaches for her pocket, freezing when her hands brush inside.
“Shit,” she says. “Shit. I lost my phone in the water.”
Lucas presses his forehead to his knees. “Oh God, we’re going to die. We’re really going to—”
“Here.” I reach for my phone in my pocket and toss it to Nina. As we round the bend, I turn back to her. “Anything?”
“Still no service,” she says hopelessly.
Fuck.
“Cameron?” I ask, trying to keep my voice level.
He digs for his own phone and checks it, his face falling. “Nothing.”
“We just need to get to Skeet’s,” I say, as the red houseboat comes into view. “We’ll figure it out there.”
We paddle and paddle, and just when I think my arms can’t take it much longer, we’re close enough for Cameron to reach out and pull us to Skeet’s dock. The motorboat that was parked here last time is gone now, and my heart beats with the tiny hope that Kyle could have taken it and escaped. Cameron hops out of our canoe quickly, pulling me up with him. I reach out to give Nina my hand as Cameron helps Lucas.
“Everyone okay?” Cameron asks.
We all nod weakly. A warm breeze blows Lucas’s shirt, flapping where the knife shredded through. I turn to the door, feeling like I’m moving through molasses as I march up and swing it open. Unlocked.
“Kyle?” I call into the houseboat.
It’s dark enough that I can’t see anything.
“Skeet?” I add, quieter.
Nothing. Fear burrows deep in my gut as I feel around on the wall for the light, waiting with every second for a blade to materialize against my throat. Finally, my fingers brush the switch. I flick it on, and a warm light buzzes overhead.
But when I see what’s in front of me, I go cold.
The room is a mess—fishing rods toppled over on the floor, kitchen appliances scattered. And in the center of the chaos are two shapes.
Kyle, slumped on the floor with his hands still bound, his T-shirt stained dark red by the gash in his neck.
And Skeet, facing away from us in his chair, his gun propped up beside him.
“Skeet?” It comes out as a raw whisper.
He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t move.
Slowly, I creep toward him, my heart so loud it roars in my ears. I reach out a hand, grasp his shoulder—
And Skeet’s head lolls back, the single bullet wound in his forehead glaring up at me as a fly crawls over one lifeless blue eye.
“No.” It comes out in a low, pained moan. “No.”
There’s something warm and slick on my hand, and when I look down, I see thick red staining my fingers. For a wild second, I think that somehow, I’ve done this—their blood on my hands—but then, when I turn around, I see the blood splattered all over the wall and around the light switch.
I try to scream, but it comes out as a choked rasp. We were too late. Kyle is dead. Skeet is dead, and I was all wrong. He wasn’t a killer—just another victim of the Pine Springs Slasher, one more casualty fifteen years later.
The Pine Springs Slasher, who’s still hunting us in this swamp.
The thought spikes my adrenaline enough that I march forward and pull the gun out of Skeet’s chair.
“What are you doing?” Lucas wails, raising his hands like I might shoot.
“We need to look for a phone,” I say, swatting at the fly as it buzzes away from Skeet. “The killer could still be coming.”
Lucas shakes his head, frantic. “We have to get out of here. We—”
“Shh.” I hold up a hand, turning my head toward the river.
Now we all hear it. It’s not just the fly—it’s the low rumble of a motorboat, getting louder.
Nina steps toward the window to peer through, but I put my arm out to stop her.
“Couldn’t that be the police?” she whispers. “Don’t they have boats, or whatever?”
“I don’t think there’s coast guard out here,” Cameron mutters, gravelly and dark.
The motor crescendos and then dies to a low purr, sounding all too close.
My eyes dart to the bathroom. “We need to hide.”
Lucas balks. “But—”
“We can’t outrun him in a canoe, and we sure as hell can’t swim away.”
Without waiting for them to argue, I step into the bathroom and hold the door open. They follow me in, pressing close. Too close. There’s no shower to hide in, and the four of us can barely fit in the tiny space around the toilet. But we don’t have a choice—the motor has died out under the chorus of swamp creatures. The killer cut the engine.
And now we all hold our breath as his boots step onto the houseboat dock, making it shudder.
I lock the bathroom door and click off the light, holding the gun close. In the silence, our breathing sounds way too loud. I’m almost positive the killer will hear my heart through the thin wood of the door. We just have to hope he doesn’t open it. But if he does, I’ll be ready.
Slowly, I aim the gun, my hands shaking.
“This is a bad idea,” Lucas whispers.
We all turn to him, eyes wide in a please shut up expression.
Boots clomp outside, moving slowly toward the houseboat door.
“He’ll find us,” Lucas persists. “He’ll break down the door, and then we’re like fish in a barrel. Our best bet is to run now and surprise him.”
I keep the gun trained on the door, even as my arms start to burn. “Be quiet.”
“We don’t need to outrun him if you can shoot him first.”
“Lucas,” I hiss.
He turns to look at me, but it’s not with the panic I’m expecting. Behind those big glasses, his eyes are steel—cold gray and sharp enough to cut.
“I know I’ve been basically useless this whole time, but I need y’all to trust me.” Lucas glances at the door. “When he gets inside, I’ll bolt. And then, when he’s distracted, you shoot.”
My heart pounds, my blood rushing in my ears. I’m stunned by Lucas’s sudden bravery, but I guess that’s what happens when you’re staring death in the face: you freeze or you fight. And Lucas grew up with a monster in his house, too. Maybe he’s tired of freezing.
Still, I can’t let him put himself in danger when I’m the only one with a weapon. The word “no” starts to shape itself on my lips, but then the front door of the house creaks open.
