by Adan Ramie
“Cindy, Riley, let me introduce Jolie, Sara, Veronica, and Bethany,” he said, indicating each woman as he said her name.
Of the group, Bethany was the only one who didn’t glare at them, but even she didn’t look welcoming and friendly. Riley wasn’t surprised, but she also had been more hopeful that politeness would win out.
Cindy was the first one to speak. “Okay, so, we’re all together now. Time to party, Final Girls style.”
“I am not a ‘Final Girl’,” Sara said without a hint of irony.
Nick glanced over at the table at which she sat, and each of them could tell he was staring at the placard in the middle that read, “Slasher Girls, True Crime & Horror Con: The Final Girls Speak!”
Sara huffed. “I know what that says,” she said, flicking the placard with one finger. “But I don’t go around calling myself that horrible nickname. I have a little more class than to be associated with a horror movie ideal of the broken, beautiful heroine.”
If Cindy caught the dig, which Riley was certain she did, she didn’t let on. “I figured since we all know who the others are, we could skip the formalities. No one needs to talk about how she’s a survivor not a victim. We don’t have to say this doesn’t define us or hide our scars.”
As much as she had initially disliked Cindy, Riley had to admit to herself that she agreed with her. She didn’t love the title any more than any other survivor, but the fact was that they had earned the moniker by being exactly that – the last people to survive a massacre.
“What scars?” Sara asked. She tugged at the neck of her blouse and showed off an impressive silver scar near her collarbone. “Like this one? You don’t have any scars because you didn’t survive anything.”
“Would you ladies like me to send in your dinner?” Nick asked loudly, his announcer voice engaged and a bright, fake smile on his face. “I hear it’s going to be delicious.”
“It’s about time,” Sara said. “I’ve been here four hours, and no one has offered anything to eat. I’m starving.”
He nodded, gave Riley a pat on the shoulder as he walked by, and headed out to arrange for their dinners. Riley stood awkwardly at the door until Cindy moved forward and claimed a chair; Riley followed and took one of the remaining two, leaving one open beside her for Nick when he returned.
“So, what’s your damage?” Sara asked Cindy over the table.
Cindy pursed her lips and gave the other woman an appraising look. “I thought you knew all about me. Didn’t you read all the bios on the website?”
Sara’s expression went even more sour than before. “I don’t spend my life on the internet like so many other people. I have better things to do than rot my brain staring at a screen.”
Cindy made a show of rolling her eyes. “Well, if it isn’t Little Miss Snow White, proving us all inferior with her purity of mind and body.” She snorted, then continued under her breath, “Probably a virgin, too.” She turned to Jolie. “What about you? Do you avoid the internet, too, or did you read all the sordid details of our lives?”
“Yes, I did read them,” Jolie said.
She didn’t elaborate, so Cindy looked around at all the other women. Each one nodded that she had, and Riley was the last. Cindy turned a smug expression back at Sara. “I guess you’re the odd girl out.”
“I am not a young girl,” Sara said through her teeth.
Cindy raised her manicured nails in front of her like she was fending off an attack. Riley appreciated the way those nails were curved and sharp; they were almost like claws.
“Oh, excuse me. You are obviously a woman. My mistake.”
“Thank you so much,” Sara said without a hint of appreciation.
Cindy opened her mouth to reply, but Nick walked in at that moment with a big, relieved smile on his face.
“Dinner is served,” he said, and made a sweeping gesture at a man and a woman behind him with two dinner carts.
“Finally,” Sara said.
“Thank you,” Riley said as the female server handed her a plate. It wasn’t what she thought it would be – a salad with a croissant on the side – but it would do.
“What kind of dinner is this supposed to be?” Sara asked loudly.
“It isn’t. It’s the appetizer,” the male server answered as he moved away from her.
Riley was glad she hadn’t said anything and thanked the female server again as she handed her a glass of water.
“Would you like anything else to drink? Champagne, soda?”
“No, thank you.”
Cindy clucked her tongue beside her. “No drinks? Come now, Riley. You should live a little while you’re still young and pretty.”
“No, I shouldn’t have anything.” Riley shook her head to make the point. “I don’t like the way it makes me feel.”
“I don’t either,” Sara announced with a pleased look on her face.
“Well, you could knock me over with a feather,” Cindy said to Sara, and pretended to faint.
“What does that mean?” Sara asked with narrowed eyes.
Before Cindy could answer, Nick sat down beside Riley and cleared his throat. “We should probably hurry. I’ve arranged for lobster for the main course, and I would hate for anyone’s to get cold while they finished their salad.” Jolie raised her fork, and Nick nodded to her. “I told them about your allergy, and they’re bringing you a steak.”
“What if I wanted a steak?” Cindy asked playfully.
Nick smiled at her placatingly. “I’m sure they have some more in the kitchen. Would you like me to arrange for one to be brought to you?”
“No. I hate steak,” Cindy said, and gave him a wink. “But I’m glad to know you’re so obliging.”
As much as she wasn’t used to such blatant advances in front of her, Riley couldn’t help but smirk at Cindy’s teasing of their host. He blushed, then got back up and ducked out again. Cindy leaned in close to Riley.
“Don’t worry about these goofballs. You stick with me, and you’ll be okay. I’ve got you, girl.”
Riley didn’t question how Cindy knew she was uncomfortable. Since she was a child, all her emotions had been written all over her face in every situation, good or bad. She smiled and nodded her thanks.
Less than an hour later, all six of them had finished off an expensive dinner. Nick walked in the room with a slightly less peppy smile and handed out a stack of fliers. “I know you all got these in your email,” he said, and pointed at Sara. “Or through the postal mail. I hope you have all had a chance to look over the itinerary for the next couple of days, but I wanted to go over it with the group to make sure everyone was on board with everything.”
“What if we’re not ‘on board with everything’?” Sara asked.
Nick sighed but smiled. “Then I will do all I can to accommodate you.”
“Always so accommodating,” Cindy said, and gave him a lascivious smile.
He nodded her way, then powered on a projector Riley hadn’t noticed pop out of the table in the middle of them all. He pointed to the projected screen, a duplicate of the paper he had handed out.
“The first panel is ‘What is a Final Girl?’, and I know some of you take exception with the moniker, so you can feel free to substitute your preferred term whenever you hear or read it. Basically, what you’ll be talking about during the first panel is what makes a single survivor of a multiple homicide. I have done extensive research of real-life and pop culture events, and as I present that research, I hope to get your comments on the subject.”
The idea of the first panel made Riley’s skin go cold and her vision blur, but she reminded herself that it was what she needed to do. She had survived for a reason, and facing this fear was a lot easier than facing the boy who murdered her family had been during the trial. She had done that, and she would do this.
Again, Nick was looking at her, and Riley hoped she hadn’t missed another cue to speak. Before she could open her mouth, he turned his attention to Sara.
>
“How many men and boys will be in the audience at this event?” Sara asked.
Nick flipped through his slides to one with projected numbers. The smaller number in the range wasn’t bad, but Riley’s skin crept when she read the farthest value.
“I’m estimating 600, but it could be anywhere from 100 to 800 depending on how people react to this weather.”
He nodded to the woman, Bethany, who had yet to say anything but now had her hand raised in the air, her tiny, black-banded wristwatch the only adornment on her body.
“Is there an emergency plan in place should the tropical storm turn toward us?” She clutched the high, tight neckline of the black dress she wore.
“There is,” he said, and flipped a few more screens down. He pointed to the building plan. “The entirety of this building is heavily fortified against a severe weather event, and in the case of the tropical storm making landfall anywhere near us, everyone will be evacuated as expediently and safely as possible.”
He looked around for other questions, then turned back and went back to the second slide. “The next panel is one you can decide whether you want to participate in or not. None of you are expected to attend if it makes you feel uncomfortable, though I do hope at least some of you will have thoughts on the content. We will be showing a few true crime films selected for the Crimey’s Prize in the past five years.”
“Really?” Sara asked. She crossed her arms and sneered. “Please tell me you’re joking. Crime exploitation films are little more than pornography to the kind of people who attend your events. Do you really want to show them in public? It might get messy.”
Even Cindy had the good sense to look repulsed. Nick made a disgusted face, but quickly rearranged his features back into something resembling concern.
“I have showed similar films at every convention I’ve arranged so far, and we have yet to have any... incidents of the untoward variety.”
He looked around the room with a hopeful, if fake, smile. “Does anyone else have any questions?”
CHAPTER
4
After dinner and the run-down of the next few days’ schedule, Riley had wilted. She knew she still had to get to her room, check it again, and try to force herself to sleep in a new environment, but the idea of locking herself up in a hotel room wasn’t a pleasant one. Still, she went.
She was halfway to the elevators before Nick caught up to her with a sympathetic smile. He took a long while to catch his breath after they boarded, and Riley wondered how out of shape he was under his nice clothes and friendly smile.
“I’m sorry that your other panelists aren’t...” He waved his hand as if trying to snatch the word out of the air.
“Nice girls?”
He blushed and went quiet for a moment, then turned to face her.
“You remind me so much of a girl I used to know that I feel like I know you. I realize we aren’t close, and I don’t expect you to suddenly want to be my best friend, but I want you to know that I understand, and I’m here for you if you need someone to talk to.”
He looked away into their reflections on the shiny metal doors. He sucked in a deep breath, reached in his pocket, and pulled out a business card. She turned it over between her fingers.
Nick Serling, Author and Event Coordinator. Below that was a business number and his email address. On the back was scribbled a three-digit number.
“I wrote my room number on this card. If you find yourself having trouble getting along or you need anything, please call me.”
Before she could answer, the doors opened, and Nick dashed off the elevator like a man chased by demons. She glanced back at the card; the room number was three digits, one floor below hers. She tucked the card into her back pocket and pushed the button to close the doors.
On the next floor, she got off, walked down the hall past her room and to the ice room, then flipped around to be sure she wasn’t followed. Feeling sure she was alone, she doubled back to her room and went in. Her second search of the room turned up nothing.
Better safe than sorry.
Doubting she could sleep, she nonetheless dressed for bed in the same clothes she had since she was released from the hospital – a t-shirt and thick pajama pants, socks, and full underwear – and pulled her hair up out of her face.
If there was one fact she was certain of, it was that she would never be caught with her pants off again. She flipped off the overhead light but left the lamp on the bedside table on, then climbed into bed and told herself tonight would be the night she wouldn’t wake up in the middle of sleep from nightmares.
She reclined stiffly in the comfortable bed that wasn’t her own and watched the light play off the insides of her eyelids. In a little more than an hour, she was finally asleep.
CHAPTER
5
She wasn’t right about the nightmares. They plagued her until she woke up, panting and clutching at the fabric of her shirt, covered in sweat.
By four AM, she was awake and fully dressed again. As per her personal routine, she went against the convention’s strange rules to check her phone for news and the whereabouts of her remaining relatives. It made the scar on her neck tingle with resignation, but she rubbed it and went about her way despite it.
She brewed coffee that smelled better than it tasted and waited with dread that ebbed and flowed over her.
Two hours later, the phone beside her bed rang and she snatched it up before it could finish its first trill.
“Hello?”
“Rise and shine, Riley.” It was Nick. “I hope you’re ready for breakfast, because it looks like it’s going to be a good one.”
“Ready as I will ever be,” she answered. “Where are we supposed to meet?”
“Come back down to the same room as dinner was served in. Do you remember it?” She indicated she did. “From what I just heard, breakfast should be ready by the time you get here. Do you need anything?”
She declined, thanked him, and hung up the phone. As much as she didn’t want to, she liked the man. The way he made his living was dubious, but he seemed genuinely kind, not like some of the scumbags she had encountered since her life had been split open and laid bare for everyone to see its inner workings.
“You can do this,” she told herself in the mirror, then squeezed her brick of a phone in her pocket. “You are in control. You are the master of your own fate. You choose hope.”
She checked around the room, then took a few pictures so she could check all its contents and their respective places against them when she got back. Then she hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the outside of the door and went around to the opposite bank of elevators.
A few minutes later, she entered the same room downstairs, and this time she was the last woman to show. She smiled at the assembled women; Cindy, Jolie, and Sara smiled back. Jolie and Veronica did not. She tried to ignore the feeling of confusion at Sara’s seeming change of personality and settled down in the seat Cindy saved for her.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Cindy said, and gave her a hug. Riley hugged back weakly, and Cindy looked her over like a mother does a child. “You have a uniform, huh?”
Riley looked at her clothes. She wore a fitted but not tight t-shirt that covered all her scars, a pair of leggings that were as comfortable for air travel as they were for jogging, and shoes that were as versatile. The whole outfit looked different to her from the one she had worn the day before.
Cindy gave her a sympathetic, pitying look. “Oh, honey, I’ve seen it before. You wear clothes you can run in, right? Clothes that won’t snag on trees, that no one can grab you from behind in, but nothing too provocative; wouldn’t want to catch anyone’s eye.”
The feeling of intense scrutiny wasn’t new to Riley, but she wilted under Cindy’s friendly gaze.
“You never show your scars and you always carry your phone. You even have an app you can press to send a message to the cops,” she paused, looking Riley up and down again.
> “What else? Let me see… Your pretty, brown hair. You don’t want to cut it short, probably because your mama liked it. But you don’t want it to interfere with getting away from another psycho, so you keep it tucked back and out of the way.”
She flicked Riley’s ponytail with a grin. “Does that about sum it up, sugar?”
Riley hated to admit what she got right, but she smiled back. “You got me.”
She didn’t mention that the underwire in her bra was loose so she could use it in case she was locked in somewhere or that she wore tall socks that were the perfect place to stash her polycarbonate dagger.
“I like to come prepared. How did you figure it out?”
Cindy gave her another hug and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “It’s good to have another smart girl here. The rest of these dumbbells are lucky to be alive.” Then she popped back up and clapped her hands together. “I’m ready for breakfast. I’m so hungry, I could eat a horse.”
It turned out they only had to wait another couple of minutes. The breakfast was as sumptuous as the dinner, and Riley left it feeling warm and satisfyingly full. Their next step was to migrate to the panel room. One of the servers led them through a series of passages that reminded Riley of tunnels before they came out behind a stage.
“Mr. Serling is going to call your names, and you walk that way,” the woman said, pointing to a location beyond a curtain where the murmur of hundreds of mostly male voices could be heard.
Riley’s throat closed on itself and her skin went damp, then cold. The amount of people out there was simply too vast, and she stopped walking. Cindy was almost through the curtain before she noticed Riley wasn’t beside her. She walked back to stand beside Riley.
The other four moved forward through the curtain, and as they did, Nick announced them as they made their way onto the stage. Riley couldn’t move her feet, not even with Cindy beside her with a knowing but kind smile.
“I know this isn’t your first time on a stage. I’ve read about you, and you were never a shy girl,” Cindy said. “Bless your heart. Are you scared of them?”
