Frenzied (2 page)

Bodies littered the foyer, staff and customers of all ages. Each one shredded in some way, and all with dead eyes that seemed to be staring at her. Blood puddled across the grey tiles, mingling with spilt popcorn and drinks.

Lucy tried to scream, but her throat was blocked. She couldn’t move. Her body froze in position.

What happened to them?

It took her some time to gather her wits. She realized she was in shock when her teeth began to chatter, and her body continued to shake. She put her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket in an attempt to stop them trembling.

She paused when she felt a plastic bar inside the left pocket of her jacket and pulled it out, staring down at the bar of milk chocolate as it shook in her hands.

Sugar. That’ll get rid of the shock
.

She ate it as quickly as possible while telling herself that now was not the time to lose it.

I’ll flip out once I’m safe
.

Her mouth was dry, and the big lumps of chocolate were hard to swallow. She forced them down, closing her eyes and hoping it would kick in soon.

Once the bar was gone, she stood up on trembling legs.

Time to get out of here.

She held onto the wall as she staggered towards the large double doors of the entrance. There were at least ten bodies between her and the way out. She had to navigate around them while trying not to look down onto the faces of the dead.

Flashes of horrific expressions and gory red wounds caught her eyes as she stumbled past the corpses. There was nowhere to avert her eyes to. Death surrounded her. She felt the chocolate coming back up her throat and swallowed it back down. She needed to be out of shock if she was going to get out of here.

She almost cried with relief when she passed the final corpse and neared the thick metal doors of the cinema. She hurried past the ticket booth, trying not to pay too much attention to the thick wash of blood dripping down the inside of the glass, but unable to keep her eyes away from it.

What the fuck happened here?

She gripped the door handle and turned it, pushing the door. The door didn’t budge. She frowned for a moment.
Not again.

The shaking in her limbs had mostly gone, and she was feeling a bit stronger, so she slammed herself against the door with all her might. It didn’t budge.

No! Why is this happening?

She tried twice more, but with the same result. The doors were locked. There was no way out.

She heard a scratching noise behind her and spun around, only to find a room full of corpses. She stared at the bodies, hoping to find a survivor, but only saw empty stares and shredded flesh.

Feeling exposed in the open foyer and exhausted by the events, her eyes settled onto the neon blue sign for the ladies’ room. The idea of hiding in the toilets, although ridiculous, seemed like a good one. She could clean the blood off and figure out what to do next.

On less shaky legs, she hurried towards the sign as if it was her last vestige of hope. Rushing past the bodies, she tried not to notice them, but had a feeling that their faces would be burned into her memory forever.

She warily pushed open the restroom door and peered inside. It was a long room lined with mirrors and sinks. At the end of it were four stalls, all with closed doors. She studied the small gap beneath each door. There were no feet in any of the stalls, and no bodies in the room. She hurried through the doorway and closed the door behind her, breathing a sigh.

Okay, clean up, and then try to get out of here again.

She walked over to the nearest sink and stared at her face in the mirror. There was a gash across her forehead. It was ragged, but not too deep. It appeared to have stopped bleeding, but it still looked raw and far worse than it felt.

I need to find out if any of this blood is mine.

She glanced down at her bloodstained cream blouse and denim skirt. She slipped her tan leather jacket off her shoulder and dropped it onto the floor. Next, she pulled off her boots and dropped them next to it.

At least the blood will wash off leather.

She peered back at the door to the restroom, feeling exposed in an unlocked room. There was a white plastic chair beside the door. She strode barefoot across the cold tile and wedged the chair under the door handle.

After walking back over to the sinks, she pulled her blouse over her head and dropped it onto the pile on the floor. There were reddish stains on her white bra, but no cuts or marks on her torso. She turned around and checked her back in the mirror. It was smooth and tan with no marks on it.

Okay, just a head wound so far then.

She unfastened her skirt and slid it over her hips, relieved to see no blood had got through the thick denim, and her underwear was unmarked. Climbing up onto the counter, she sat uncomfortably between two sinks with her bloody legs inside one of them. She turned on the hot tap and rubbed liquid soap down her legs, washing the blood off her hands and limbs. Frothy pink water rolled off her skin and into the white porcelain before disappearing down the drain.

Removing the stiff feeling of drying blood from her body seemed to calm her nerves, and the warm water soothed her. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to forget everything she had seen since waking up.

A loud clank caused her to jump and lose her balance. She tumbled off the sink, rolling sideways onto the floor and banging her elbow on the counter as she fell past it.

She jumped up from her sprawled position on the floor and rubbed her elbow, instantly alert and staring towards the stalls while adrenaline pumped through her veins. The noise had come from this room. She was certain of it.

She left the tap running as she silently stepped towards the stalls. She scanned the room for a weapon while rubbing away the goosebumps that had appeared on her upper arms and shivering due to her naked wet skin.

Dumbass! Why did you get undressed?

There was a mop resting against the wall near the first stall. She unscrewed the handle as quietly as she could, holding it like a staff as she nudged open the door of the first stall with it. The stall was empty. She did the same on the second stall. It was also empty.

Two down, two to go.

She nudged the third door with the mop handle, and it didn’t move. She peered down at the lock. The green mark was showing it to be unlocked.

Someone’s in there.

She stepped back into the second stall and glanced up. There was no one looking over the stalls. She climbed up onto the closed toilet seat as quietly as possible, bending low so she didn’t appear over the stall. Her heart hammered, and her pulse raced.

What are you going to do when you find a psycho killer in there, wave your mop at him?

Lucy gripped the mop pole in her hands.
It’ll have to do.

She quickly stood up straight and glared down at the handsome face of a dark-haired teenage boy. He yelped and fell backwards from his crouched position of standing on the toilet seat in the next stall.

She looked down, and her blonde bangs fell forward over her face as she watched the boy struggle from his awkward landing to get back on his feet.

He didn’t look like a serial killer. He wore jeans and a black t-shirt. Judging by his muscle and size, he was about her age, around eighteen.

“What are you doing in the ladies room?” She demanded, scowling down at him with more bravery than she felt.

“Did you kill all those people?” He stood up and backed out of the stall.

She spun around as the door to her stall burst open, and he filled the doorway. “No. Did you?”

“No!” His muscles tensed in his shoulders as if he was about to charge her.

“What are you doing here?” She raised the pole, planning to smack him on the head with it if he came any closer.

He eyed the pole, stepped back and studied her. His biceps relaxed as a grin appeared on his face. “What are you doing in your underwear?”

He chuckled, his grin firmly in place as he stared at her with bright green eyes. “Why on Earth would I want to do something like that? Since we’re probably going to die here, I think you should take more clothes off, so I can die happy.”

“Just because we’ve been dropped into a horror movie, it doesn’t mean you can start acting like a pervert. We’re still in England, you know.”

“Yeah, because England is so classy, give over.” He rolled his eyes at her.

She jumped off the toilet and picked up her pole, pointing it at the boy. “Move back and turn around.”

“What, so you can hit me on the head with that thing? I don’t think so.” He folded his arms, his biceps bulging as he blocked the doorway.

She narrowed her eyes and whacked him on the top of the head with her stick.

“Oww! Jesus!” He stepped back, rubbing the top of his head.

She slipped past him with her back to the stalls, facing him as she edged around to the sinks. She walked backwards to her pile of clothes, keeping the pole aimed at him. “Keep back and turn around, or I’ll do it again.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, okay, I’ll turn around, but know that you’ll be making a dying man suffer because of vanity.” He turned his back to her.

“You don’t look like you’re dying.” She stepped into her skirt and reached down to snatch it up off the floor, pulling it up with one hand while trying to keep hold of the pole with the other.

“Well, it’s only a matter of time. Need a hand?”

She shot a glance at him, relieved to see he was still turned away from her. She shook her head and tugged the skirt up her legs, wriggling to get it over her hips with one hand.

“It looks kind of difficult. Are you sure you don’t want me to help? I have fast hands, especially when they’re near hips.”

She paused and frowned at him. His back was still turned. “How do you know what I’m doing?”

He pointed to the mirrors in front of him, and she saw his reflection wink at her. 

Son of bitch!

She rested the pole against the wall and finished pulling her skirt up before angrily snatching her blouse off the ground and pulling it over her head. By the time she’d pulled the top over her head, he’d turned to face her.

He shrugged as she dragged the blouse down her torso. “I might as well turn around now, yes?”

She shot him a dirty look as she tugged her long blonde hair out of the neck of her shirt to free it before letting it fall down her back.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?” He slouched back against the counter, resting his hip against it.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She picked up the pole again and held it close to her body.

“I don’t know. I woke up in the cinema surrounded by dead bodies. All I know is my name.” He plucked a wallet out of his back pocket and waved it at her. “Assuming this thing is even mine.”

“Which theatre?” She frowned. The same thing had happened to her.

He pulled a ticket out of his jeans pocket and glanced at it. “Number three.”

“I was in number two,” she said. “The same thing happened to me.”

He frowned as an incredulous expression passed over his face. “Group amnesia in different rooms.”

“Well something happened to me.” She pointed to her forehead.

“You don’t remember what?” He peered at her head, and concern filled his eyes. “Have you cleaned it?”

“What? No. It only just stopped bleeding. And no, I can’t remember anything either, but I found my name on my driver’s license.”

“What’s your name?” he asked. “You should clean it and bandage it.” He nodded to her forehead.

“Got a first aid kit, have you? I’m Lucy Carlton. Who are you?”

“Fair point.” He flipped open his wallet. “According to this, I’m Ben Harris. I have a shitty Visa Electron and a battered National Insurance card. Oh, and exciting stuff, let’s not forget the whopping five quid and out of date condom in here. I hope this isn’t my wallet, or my life must truly suck.” He shook his head before glancing back at her. “What does yours have in it?”