Day 9
"Santana, wake up!" Quinn's rather frantic voice made its way into the brunette's ears. "Wake up!" This time it was a little louder.
Santana started to stir. Her head was pounding. Maybe she shouldn't have drunk so much booze yesterday. Because now she was paying for the consequences. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes, letting out a sleepy groan in the process.
"What's the matter, Quinn? Is it time for my shift?" Santana said groggily. She really wasn't ready for a shift. If she was to guard Quinn and Brittany she probably wouldn't do a good job. She'll probably tell Quinn as much and apologise in the morning for making them sleep-deprived.
"No!" Quinn hissed desperately. "The door is open!"
That caught Santana's attention. Her sleepiness instantly cleared and she sat up straight in her bed. The room was a little too bright for her liking, but her eyes adjusted rapidly. The light was on. This meant that it was still night-time.
"What do you mean, the door is open?" Santana asked, her voice still a little low as she just woke up but fully alert.
"Look there!" Quinn pointed at the door. "It's open! And Brittany's not here!"
Santana's blood ran cold as she turned her gaze towards where Quinn was pointing towards. The door was wide open. She could see the corridor from here.
"No," Santana gaped. "No, it can't be. Where's Brittany? Brittany!" Santana called.
"Shush!" Quinn hissed. "Brittany's not in this room. And… the door is open. That can only mean one thing, right?" Quinn said fearfully, seriously hoping that she was wrong.
"No," Santana gasped. "No!" She got out of her bed and put on a jacket rapidly. "Where the hell is she?"
"I don't know!" Quinn's voice trembled. "We need to find her!"
"Stick with me, Q," Santana ordered, trying her best to stay calm but failing miserably. "She will be fine. She has to be."
Together, they ran out of the room.
"There!" Quinn pointed towards the far side of the corridor, where there was a little bit of light coming out of the left-hand turn. "The light's on!"
Without giving a response, Santana nearly sprinted towards where the light was, Quinn following closely behind. The bathroom light was on, but the door was slightly closed. Santana made a move to go and open it, but Quinn's arm stopped her.
"Santana, I don't think that's a good idea!" she hissed. "What if it is a trap?"
"I don't fucking care Quinn, my girlfriend's in there!" Santana hissed back harshly. "If the killer is in there they will be more scared of me than I am scared of them!"
Quinn's grip on Santana loosened, and Santana barged into the bathroom.
What she saw next was something that would traumatise her for life, however much she had left.
Brittany was submerged in the bathtub. Her eyes were closed, and her skin was extremely pale and slightly blue.
"No," Santana clapped a hand over her mouth. "Brittany!" she shouted before rushing forward and lifting Brittany's head out of the bathtub.
Brittany's head flopped back, her entire body was dead weight. She was completely limp.
"No!" Santana cried, tears harshly stinging her eyes. "NO! Brittany!" she shouted into the blonde's face. There was no response. "Please! Wake up!"
Santana started to shake Brittany in her arms. Brittany's head lolled from side to side, body fully compliant with her motions. Santana desperately clawed her hands into the water, lifting Brittany's entire body up and out of the water. She was extremely heavy, as she was completely dead weight, and the water had soaked into her clothes, but Santana managed. She felt Brittany's face with her hand.
"Her skin is really cold," Santana rasped. She then shook Brittany harder. "Please! Don't do this to me! Wake up! Please! I beg you, wake up!" Tears streamed down Santana's face and landed on the floor, but Santana could not care less.
Quinn hesitantly stepped forward and placed a hand on Santana's shoulder. "Santana, I don't think she's –"
"Shut the fuck up Quinn!" Santana shrieked hysterically. "Brittany!" Santana planted a hard kiss onto Brittany's ice-cold lips, in the wild hope that she would wake up. Brittany did not reciprocate at all.
"Santana, she's not Snow White," Quinn said tentatively. "I think she's –"
"I cannot give a flying fuck what you think Quinn!" Santana cried. "Shut up! Shut up!" She turned her attention back to Brittany. "Britt!" her pleas and calls were losing power. Santana's throat hurt.
Brittany was still hanging limply in Santana's arms.
"Ahhhh!" Santana screamed at the top of her lungs. "AAAAHHHHHHH! NOOOOOO! AAAHHHHH!"
"What the hell is happening?" Mike rushed into the bathroom.
Quinn looked at Mike sadly as Santana continued to hysterically scream and cry in the background. She gestured to the girl in Santana's arms.
"Oh shit," Mike gasped, mouth open in pure shock. "No," he rushed over to Brittany, who was still in Santana's arms. "No!" he choked back a sob, but he couldn't keep the tears from coming. He tucked a strand of wet blonde hair behind Brittany's ear. "No!" Mike wept, completely breaking down.
Quinn really wanted to cry too, but she didn't. Santana really needed her right now. She needed to be strong for her, strong for everyone.
"What happened?" Sam burst into the room. Santana's screams ceased as soon as she heard Sam's voice. She set Brittany down gently onto the floor with the utmost care, then turned to fix Sam with the most murderous stare that Quinn had ever seen her have. It was absolutely terrifying. There was so much fire in her eyes and hate that it could set everything around her ablaze.
"You," she seethed, her voice dangerously low. "You did this. What the fuck? WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK? I'M GOING TO KILL YOU! YOU'RE GOING TO WISH YOU WERE NEVER BORN!" Santana stood up and with incredible agility spun around so that she was facing the entrance where Sam was standing at. She sprinted towards Sam and rugby tackled him onto the ground. She started to throw heavy punches into Sam's face. "Fuck you! FUCK YOU! YOU FUCKING LONELY CUNT! YOU KILLED HER! YOU FUCKING WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT! I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"
Sam wasn't in good shape when Quinn and Mike grabbed her by her waist and yanked her back. He was groaning on the floor in pain, face a mixture of blue and green and red, and his arm was bent at an awkward angle.
Santana was fighting so hard against Quinn and Mike's hold that even they were struggling against the small fiery brunette. Santana thrashed violently, intent on getting back at Sam.
"Stop it!" Quinn shouted into Santana's ear. "STOP IT! You're going to kill him!"
"That's the fucking point!" Santana shouted back. "Let me go!"
"However much you want to kill him," Mike said. "You still have no proof. You can't be 100% sure it's him."
"Who else can it be then?" Santana screamed. "Me? You? Quinn? No! IT'S FUCKING SAM! It's always been him! I knew it from the start!"
"I would never kill Brittany!" Sam shouted back, now sitting up and resting against the wall. "Never!"
"Well you did!" Santana shrieked. "You did and you are going to pay!"
"Stop it!" Mike ordered. "Quinn, help me take her back to her room."
"No!" Santana screamed as Mike and Quinn started to carry her away from the bathroom and towards her own bedroom. "Britt! BRITTANY!" she managed to sneak a last peek at her now late girlfriend, who was still lying limply on the floor much to Santana's despair, before Mike and Quinn dragged her out of the bathroom.
Santana felt exhausted. Her throat felt like it was on fire. She had no more energy to scream. She had no more energy to fight. She had no more energy to live.
Santana huffed and began to cry defeatedly into Quinn's shoulder. It was heart-wrenching.
Mike and Quinn reached the entrance of their bedroom.
"You take Santana and go get some more rest," Mike said. "I'll deal with Britt's body."
"Okay," Quinn sighed. Mike nodded and left, heading back towards the bathroom. "Santana, come lie down on the bed okay?"
Santana had no more energy to protest. She let Quinn guide her to the bed, where she laid down heavily and Quinn tucked her beneath the covers. Quinn then joined her.
"I promised I would keep her safe," Santana wept. "I promised."
"It's okay, San, it's okay. She's in a better place now. She's watching over us," Quinn whispered.
Santana kept crying into Quinn's chest until she had no more energy and fell asleep. That's when Quinn's tears started to come. Quinn cried silently, stroking Santana's dark brown hair until she ran out of tears. She quickly fell asleep after, holding on tightly to Santana.
Quinn rubbed her eyes as she finally woke up a few hours later. By now the sunlight was seeping through the curtains, illuminating the otherwise dark room. At first, Quinn was surprised to find that the door was open, but after recalling what had transpired a few hours ago she wasn't surprised that neither her nor Santana cared to close and lock the door. After all, they had just lost one of their best friends. Quinn's heart constantly hurt at the thought of the bubbly blonde, and she could not bear to imagine how the loss of Brittany must feel for Santana. After all, Brittany had been Santana's one and only love, they were each other's soulmates and were probably destined to grow old together, where they would die together peacefully on their deathbed. Quinn had never been in love before but judging by what Brittany had told her yesterday it was an absolutely awesome feeling. Having it shattered due to your loved one's tragic death will be unbearable. For once, Quinn was glad she hadn't found love at this stage in life. Because she wouldn't know how to live with herself had her other half died. Quinn sat up, blinking out the remains of sleep in her eyes. Her eyes felt really swollen and puffy, and she could imagine how horrible she looked right now. Glancing to the body next to her, Santana looked no better, if not worse. Her eyes were closed, but they were swollen so much they were bulging, and you could see the tear tracks along the length of her face, primarily in her cheeks. Her nose was red, and she sniffs every so often in her sleep. Quinn felt sympathetic for Santana, so she laid back down and hugged Santana close to her.
Santana started to wake up too, as soon as Quinn's arms came in contact with Santana's body. When her eyes opened slightly, Quinn was a little surprised at how horrible she looked. Her eyes were completely bloodshot, and there were dark circles under her eyes. She must not have slept well. However, as Santana started to give small groans as she rose closer and closer to the surface of consciousness, she smiled into Quinn's chest.
Wait a second.
Smiled?
"Britt," she mumbled contently, snuggling closer to Quinn. Oh. That made Quinn's heart break all over again. Santana thought that Quinn was Brittany, probably because she saw some blonde hair. Her eyes must have been so swollen that she could not see very well, as Quinn and Brittany didn't exactly look similar or had the same body shape.
"Hmm, you don't feel like Britt," Santana frowned, eyes squeezing closed tighter. She shifted a little bit, trying to get comfortable before she realised that she was not cuddling into Brittany.
Her mocha eyes opened again, but this time they cleared and Santana squinted a little to get a closer look at who she was snuggling into. Her head rose to look at Quinn's face, and Quinn did her best to offer a small smile, make everything seem like it's okay, like Brittany's just at the other side of the room, if only for a split second. However, as nothing was okay, Quinn couldn't quite manage a smile.
"Q-Quinn?" Santana muttered, frown a little deeper than before. A few seconds passed while Santana regained her bearings. Then everything that happened hours ago came rushing back to Santana.
"N-no," Santana choked. "My Britt-Britt," she started to sob again. "My love…"
Quinn did her best to shush Santana as if she was a little kid whose ice cream dropped onto the floor. "Come on now, please don't cry, you'll make me cry as well," Quinn whispered.
"My eyes hurt," Santana gasped. "Brittany…"
Quinn really wanted to say something that may make Santana feel even a tiny bit better, but no ideas popped into her head. She wanted to say that everything was going to be okay, but no, everything was not okay, and wasn't going to be okay. For one thing, the killer could be going for them next, so they didn't have much time in their lives left. Also, even if they miraculously manage to escape this wretched house and go back home, Brittany's death would haunt them for eternity. Santana would never be the same again. She would probably become some kind of empty shell, not doing anything with her life. Probably become one of those people who drink their life away. She will never become a successful lawyer. This 'vacation' has ruined their life, no matter what happens.
"W-Why her?" Santana whimpered. "Why didn't they take me instead…" Another choked sob escaped Santana's lips, except no more tears fell out of her eyes. Quinn guessed that Santana had ran out of tears to cry. "I promised I would protect her… Why did I get so drunk? I should've been with her for her shift… I'm an idiot!" Santana's voice trembled a lot as she spoke, so Quinn had a little trouble making out what Santana was saying. "My Brittany… my Britt-Britt… no… no…"
Quinn didn't know what to do. She held on to Santana tighter as Santana continued to mumble incoherent things into Quinn's chest. Quinn rocked them back and forth slowly, stroking long lines across the brunette's back, but she knew that it wouldn't help with how Santana's feeling. She didn't want to insult Santana by trying to empathise with her, because she could never know how Santana's feeling. Quinn already felt immense sadness at the passing of her best friend. Santana was probably feeling a hundred times worse.
"My love… Brittany… why didn't you wake us up? No…"
Quinn decided that while she couldn't make Santana stop dry crying or make her feel any better, she could offer a distraction so that Santana would momentarily forget her late girlfriend's death.
"You p-promised that we w-would grow old together," Santana wheezed. "T-That we would get married and have a f-family. Oh, Britt, why can't I protect you? I d-don't deserve you…"
"Santana?" Quinn started tentatively. Santana didn't hear her, she kept sobbing and mumbling things into Quinn's chest. "Santana," she said a little louder. Santana stopped and looked up with crestfallen eyes.
"What Quinn?"
"You want to go eat some food?"
"I don't really have an appetite," Santana groaned.
"Well just eat something with me anyway," Quinn said.
"Fine," Santana sighed dejectedly. She got up shakily from the bed and stalked towards the exit like a zombie.
"Are you not worried that you are out there alone?" Quinn asked as Santana walked into the corridor, barely looking at where she was going.
"If Sam wants to get me, let him," Santana croaked. "I don't even care anymore. I'll get to see Britt again." With that, Santana turned and disappeared to the right-hand side. At first, Quinn was confused as to why Santana went that way, as the staircase was on the left-hand side, but Quinn then realised that Santana was going to the bathroom. Maybe she thought that Brittany was still there and she wanted to see her for one last time? Maybe she didn't know that Mike and possibly Sam had carried her out to put her with the other dead bodies in the yard.
Quinn followed Santana into the bathroom, where the brunette was on her knees next to the bathtub.
"She's g-gone," Santana whimpered. "Where did they take her?"
"Mike put her body in the backyard," Quinn replied slowly.
"Let's go to the backyard," Santana said immediately, getting to her feet, seemingly with a lot of effort.
"Um, San, I don't think that's a good idea," Quinn said tentatively. "There are also a lot of other dead bodies there. Some have been dead for a week now. They'd be rotten."
"You make a point," Santana sighed. "I just want to see her again, you know? Tell her how much I loved her. I love her so much it hurts…"
"I know Santana. But she is watching us from above right now and I know for a fact that she would want us to keep going with our lives. Never give up, okay? We can make it out of here."
"It won't be the same…" Santana dipped her head. "Not without my Britt-Britt…"
"Come on Santana, let's go get some food," Quinn said.
Santana didn't respond, she simply trudged past Quinn and towards the staircase.
Quinn bit her lip to stop any tears from coming out of her eyes and left the bathroom, following closely behind the broken brunette in front of her.
Santana was wordlessly munching on a slab of rather hard bread when Mike came into the dining hall and sat opposite them. While he didn't look nearly as bad as Santana right now, it was evident that he had also been crying. Quinn didn't really know how she looked herself, as she hadn't looked in the mirror yet, but she would imagine that she looked about as bad as Mike. She was sat next to Santana, eating her own really hard and probably stale bread, and Mike got a rather bruised banana out and started to eat it.
None of them spoke for a few minutes. There simply just weren't any words to be said.
Mike finally broke the deafening silence.
"I'm really sorry San, um, about Britt," he said quietly. Santana merely continued to eat her bread. It didn't even seem like she heard what Mike had said.
"Um, did you take her body?" Quinn asked.
Mike nodded. "Yeah, I put her in the backyard." It was silence after that. No one had anything to say.
"I think that we can all agree that it was Sam who killed Britt, right?" Santana suddenly croaked. "It is Sam, right?"
"Um, well, I'm not entirely sure, but it is definitely looking like him right now," Mike said, rubbing the back of his head.
"I d-don't understand why he went for Britt-Britt," she choked. "I thought he had a crush on her. He should've gone for m-me. He hates me. W-Why not go for me? Why did he g-go for Britt?"
"Yesterday, I don't think that Sam had a very positive reaction to finding out that you girls got back together," Mike noted. "Didn't he just leave the room?"
"Yeah, maybe he went for Britt because he realised that he had no chance," Quinn said carefully. "He probably did it out of spite. Maybe make you hurt, Santana. If he killed you he would've seen a broken Brittany and I don't think that he would've wanted to see that."
"I don't know what I want more," Santana mumbled. "Me to kill Sam with the most painful death that I can imagine, or him to just kill me and get life over and done with. I just want to see my Britt-Britt again. Is that too much to ask? Just see her again."
"We'll figure out a way," Mike said gravely, feeling a bit bad for Santana. "We will take out Sam, together, and I'll find us an escape route, okay?"
"I'm not sure I want to escape anymore," Santana muttered. "There's nothing for me outside. A part of me died when I found out that Britt died. I don't want to live without Britt. I can't."
"Yes you can," Quinn said. "You still have me."
"You're not the same, Quinn. You may be blonde, but you're not Brittany. She has no replacement," Santana said.
"You're right," Quinn said. "But I can help you get better. You will get over her eventually."
"Do you have any idea how insensitive you are being right now?" Santana snarled. "Maybe I don't want to get over her. She is the only one for me, I can't see myself with anyone else. There's nothing left for me in life."
Mike sighed. "We are not going to let Sam win this. I don't know why he suddenly decided to come and kill all of us. I know one thing though. Good always beats evil. Sam will not win. We will."
"Mike's right," Quinn said, trying to be encouraging. "We will make Sam pay for what he did."
"I don't see how that matters. I don't want to get Sam back anymore. His death won't bring Britt back," Santana said despondently.
"It won't, you're right. But I will still try to find us an escape. I'll let you girls know if I do, okay?" Mike said, throwing the banana peel into the bin. "Just remember this, Brittany will live on inside us. She's not gone. She will never be gone. Live your life for her." With that, Mike left the room, leaving Santana and Quinn at the dining table.
"Brittany would want me to live my life," Santana sighed.
"Yes, she would," Quinn agreed, feeling a spurt of hope.
Hope. Hope was what Quinn and Santana desperately needed.
"Have you ever wondered how it feels to die?" Santana asked, fiddling with her fingers. She and Quinn were sat on the bed in their room. They decided to leave the door wide open because they simply couldn't find a point to lock it anymore. It takes too much effort and energy which Santana didn't have and also she didn't believe that the killer would try and attack them in broad daylight, with both of them fully awake.
"Yes, actually I have," Quinn answered. "And after a while, I realised that there is no way to know for sure. I'm not sure if I even want to know. So I gave up trying to figure out how it feels to die. Although I did talk to Britt about it yesterday."
The mention of Brittany's name made a lone tear come out of Santana's right eye. "And what did she say?"
"She said that it would be like falling asleep. It would be painless," Quinn answered.
"God, she's such an angel," Santana chuckled softly. "I don't think that is necessarily true, however. Rachel's death looked like it hurt. So did Mercedes'. Do you think that Brittany suffered?"
"I don't know," Quinn mumbled contemplatively. "She was most likely drowned. I don't think there was any evidence of struggle, like bruises or water spilled onto the floor, it seemed like a very peaceful death. If there was struggle I think that she would've tried to wake us. I think she was already unconscious when she got put into the bathtub."
"I really hope she didn't suffer. She was so pure, so innocent, so kind. She didn't deserve any of this," Santana sighed.
"I don't think she suffered," Quinn answered. "Brittany is a strong and independent woman. She would've gone out with a fight. But seeing as there had been no fight I think that she was probably drugged with anaesthetics, or she drank a spiked drink that made her pass out."
"I guess. Thinking about this hurts," Santana said, another tear making its way out of her eye. She turned to look at Quinn, straight into her eyes.
"Do you think that I deserve to die?" she asked, in a dead serious manner.
"No one deserves to die, Santana," Quinn replied firmly.
"Really?" Santana sighed. She took a deep breath. "I failed her. I failed her as a girlfriend. All I did in our time here was push her buttons. I knew she was bipolar but I still tested her temper. I accused her of murder. God, why did I do that? She broke up with me. I made her so angry so many times. On the last day of her life I was drunk, for heaven's sake! Why am I such a horrible person? I failed her. I didn't protect her, even though I promised that I would. I didn't tell her how much I loved her, how it would be impossible for me to live without her, how living without her would be like living without a heart. It's impossible. I need her in my life. I failed her. I deserve to die."
"Do not say that Santana."
Santana ignored her. "Have you ever considered suicide?"
"No, that's it Santana," Quinn's voice was stern and disapproving. "No more pity talk about yourself. Suicide? That's the most fucking stupid idea I have heard you spout out of your mouth. Do you think that Brittany would want you to commit suicide? Say you did and you saw her again. Can you imagine how disappointed she would be?"
"You don't know what she would want," Santana argued.
"I think it's pretty obvious that she wouldn't want you to commit suicide," Quinn spat, the word 'suicide' like poison in her mouth. "You are an idiot, Santana."
"I just don't want to live anymore," Santana mumbled defeatedly, starting to break down into sobs. "Breathing is too hard for me. I just want to let go. I just want to see my Britt-Britt again."
Quinn shook her head. She slapped Santana across her face.
"What was that for?" Santana asked, shock colouring her face.
"I'm slapping you to your senses. There will always be a reason to live. Think about me. What would I do when you're gone? Losing Brittany was bad enough. Now losing you too? I can't believe how selfish you are, Santana. You are selfish, always putting your own needs before others'. Am I not reason enough for you to live on? Am I not good enough for you?" Quinn demanded.
Santana took a shaky breath and looked down in shame. "You're right, Quinn. I still have you. I won't leave you behind, Quinn, I promise. I know I'm really bad at promises, but I promise I won't take my own life. I have you. I can get through this. I have you."
"Yes you do, Santana. You have me. I won't leave you behind either," Quinn said sincerely, wrapping her arms around Santana in a hug.
"Quinn, you're, um, a really good friend," Santana mumbled as she sipped on a can of coke. She along with Quinn were sitting on adjacent chairs in the studio. This time they left the door wide open. If someone wanted to join them they could. Quinn also decided to set up the stereo and play some music. Despite Santana's requests, Quinn insisted that they played some upbeat and happy songs as some kind of attempt to cheer the broken brunette up.
"Thanks, S. You're not so bad yourself," Quinn teased, trying to lighten up the situation.
Santana simply shook her head and continued drinking her coke. No more words were said for several minutes, as the girls just contemplatively stared into the distance.
"It feels so different without her here," Santana mumbled. "She's like the glue that holds all of us together. Without her, we're kind of nothing."
"Is that all you think of me?" Quinn asked, offended. "We're 'nothing'? Yes, Brittany may have been the person that kept us all united, as a group. But that doesn't mean that without her, we're nothing! Am I not good enough for you? Am I not enough of a friend?"
"I'm sorry," Santana said, voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know, it just seems like we're both closer to Brittany than we are to each other."
"That can easily be changed," Quinn replied. "I think that right now, we need each other the most. Although, yes you are right, I think I was closer to Brittany than with you. But that's probably because we were bitter rivals more times than I care to admit."
"That's true," Santana mustered a small smile. "I'm not surprised that we were both closer to Britt though. She's an angel. She's close to everyone, everyone likes her. I just feel so lucky that I got to share a part of me with her."
"Yeah, you two were made for each other," Quinn smiled softly. "I knew it as soon as I laid my eyes upon you two. I knew I was third-wheeling the whole time."
"Did you feel left out? When… Britt and I got together?" Santana asked.
"Honestly? Yes. I was really jealous of you guys. You always did things together without me, spend nights at each other's houses without inviting me. But I got over it eventually. I didn't want to intrude on your guys' happiness," Quinn said, somewhat sadly.
"Don't worry about that now," Santana said. "It's just me and you. Don't think of yourself as a consolation tool, you're not. I'm so glad I have you. Without you, ugh, I don't know what I would do with myself."
Quinn just stared into the distance. She didn't know what to say. She didn't want to get closer to Santana because of a tragedy.
The girls sat in silence again, the occasional sound of slurping breaking the silence, for a few minutes.
"Um, guys? Can I join you?" Both girls whipped around to face the door, where the voice came from. It was Sam. He looked absolutely terrible. His face was swollen and bruised, probably courtesy of Santana, his left hand was limp at his side, probably broken, and his eyes were puffy and bloodshot probably because of crying. Although why he would be crying, Quinn didn't know.
"Um, I'm not sure that's a good –" Quinn started.
"It's okay," Santana sighed. "Let him join."
"Really?" Quinn asked, surprised. Santana nodded. "Um, okay then." She gestured for Sam to come in.
Sam looked a little wary. "This isn't a trap or something, right?" he said, cautiously taking a single step inside the room.
Santana gave a hollow chuckle. "No, Sam. Just come in. We can talk."
"Okay…" Sam drawled, taking slow steps inside the room, eventually settling down on a chair quite far away from the two girls.
"Have you been crying?" Quinn asked. It was pretty obvious that he had, but Quinn thought that it would be a good starter question that she could lead to asking why he was crying. It confused Quinn. Wasn't Sam the one who killed Brittany?
"Yeah," Sam mumbled, shifting heavily in his seat to try and get comfortable.
"May I ask why?" Quinn followed up.
"W-Why?" Sam replied. "What do you mean, why? You know what happened this early morning, right? I'm devastated."
"Why would you be devastated?" Santana said. Quinn was surprised that she didn't sound hostile, or challenging. Just… defeated. This wasn't good. Had Santana given up?
"Why wouldn't I?" Sam sniffed. "I know that you are not going to like hearing this, Santana, but I loved her. She was such a great person. She didn't deserve any of this. Even if she doesn't like me back, and I've come to accept this a long time ago, she's still a great friend to me. Of course I'm devastated."
"W-Why did you kill her then? If you loved her so much like you said, why did you kill her? Why did you kill everyone here? Why?" Santana demanded. Her voice wasn't very powerful at all, and she looked like she was going to break down again. There was a slight waver in her voice, and her eyes were glazed.
"I beg you, Santana, just stop accusing me," Sam said, voice breaking. "I swear on my life that it wasn't me. I have no motive. I would never kill Brittany. Never."
He looked incredibly sincere, but Quinn didn't believe him.
"Who do think killed Brittany then?" Quinn asked.
"I don't know," Sam gulped. "I swear it's not me. I don't want to point fingers at anyone. It just isn't me."
"There's no point in pushing this," Santana sighed. "But tell me this, Sam. Why do I always get the feeling that it's you? I've thought it was you the whole time. I thought it was you as soon as Finn died. Why does my head keep telling me it's you?"
"I don't know," Sam mumbled, putting his right hand over his left and then instantly wincing. "I guess I've been very distant recently. I, um, have a lot of family problems. So that might be why I've been acting really strange. I stay distant and quiet as I don't want to be noticed, don't want to be targeted. I sneak around looking for things that might help me escape, just like what I think Mike is doing. I don't know," Sam said, rubbing his eyes with his good hand.
"What kind of family problems?" Quinn pushed.
"I don't want you to think that I'm pitying myself. But since you asked, I'll tell you. I probably won't get another chance," Sam broke his gaze on Quinn and stared into the distance, taking a deep breath. "My family used to be perfect. Then one day my mum died of cancer and everything changed. Long story short, now I have an abusive father who is always drunk, I spend more time working than I spend sleeping, I try to keep my family afloat. Now I'm moving away to Kentucky, and I'll never see you guys again."
Quinn sighed. "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault. I don't want pity. I don't want sympathy. Sometimes, I just wish that the killer would go for me next. Just end all the suffering, you know? Why do you even think I'm still alive? All the suspicion is directed to me and away from the killer, so as long as I'm alive, I'm the main suspect," Sam said.
"I still think it's you," Santana said after a while. "But honestly? I don't even care anymore. Even if it was you, I don't want to kill you or anything anymore. It doesn't bring Britt back. There's no point. There isn't a point in anything."
"That's what I think too," Sam sighed. "Hopefully, my end is swift."
"Mine too," Santana mumbled.
"Oh, come on, guys! Where's your incentive to live? What about me? You can't just leave me behind! You promised!" Quinn nearly shouted.
Santana turned her gaze onto Quinn, eyes dull and defeated. "I said I'm not going to commit suicide. I can't prevent the inevitable though. Soon, the killer will get me. I just hope that my death is swift."
Quinn had no answer to that.
Sam's rather difficult family situation remained in Quinn's mind long after he left, leaving Santana and Quinn alone in the studio. Was there a possibility that it wasn't Sam? What if what he was saying was true – the killer was directing all the suspicion towards him, just a convenient scapegoat? Sam had explained why he acted the way he did, but that didn't explain why he had such a calm reaction to moving dead bodies. Now come to think of it, Mike didn't really have a strong reaction to moving dead bodies either. Maybe there was more to Mike than the kind, mild-tempered man he is? What if he killed Brittany? Quinn couldn't think of a reason why he would do that though. Mike and Brittany were really close, Brittany trusted Mike with everything she had, but now come to think of it, Brittany trusted everyone, even Sam. Thinking about who could be the killer hurt Quinn's head. She didn't have enough information to be sure it was anyone. It was highly likely that it was Sam, but Quinn wasn't sure.
Then a horrible thought popped up into her head.
What if it was Santana?
If it really was Santana, why would she have such a strong reaction to Brittany's death? Plus, she was asleep when Brittany got taken. Quinn didn't think that Santana would kill Brittany. She loved her too much for it. However, was that why Brittany was killed in the least vicious way out of all the other deaths, apart from Finn's maybe? Maybe Santana had intended to kill everyone, so she got Brittany out of the way first so that suspicion would be directed from her. Was Santana acting suspiciously in any way? She was very adamant that the killer was Sam from the beginning, that's for sure. She has a strong reaction to dead bodies: she tends to not look at them. No, Quinn didn't think that it was Santana. Although, in these times, she had to keep her eyes open to all possibilities.
Should she trust Santana? Should she trust Mike? She didn't trust Sam before, but after what he said in the studio, she was rethinking everything.
Eventually, she decided that Santana could be trusted. She would never bring it upon herself to kill Brittany. If Quinn stuck with Santana at all times, she should be fine.
Except Brittany stuck with the Trinity at all times, yet the killer still got her.
It was a scary thought. Dying. Quinn had always been so scared of dying. By now, Quinn had accepted her fate. She wasn't going to get out of here. The only chance of survival for her was that either the killer decided to not kill anymore, or they managed to kill the killer and escape. Except escape was impossible. She along with Santana and Brittany have spent endless hours looking through the house for keys to the front gate, looking through the bushes for any holes that they could escape through.
Quinn shuddered a little bit. Who was going to go down tonight? Was she going to be next?
Quinn tried her best to be rational and analyse the situation. If the killer was Sam, who would he go for? He just killed Brittany. He probably wouldn't kill Mike just yet as Mike would probably see it coming and judging by Sam's rather injured state the odds were probably not in Sam's favour. He would probably be going for either Santana or her. He probably wouldn't go for Santana either, because even though he doesn't show it explicitly, he hates her and would probably want to make her suffer more. The only way he could make her suffer more would be either to manipulate her into thinking that Brittany's death was on her hands or to keep her alive for a little longer, as she is already suffering living without Brittany. If he took out Quinn tonight then Santana would be absolutely broken, and Sam would relish it.
Quinn shivered. So if it was Sam, and it most likely was, she was dying tonight.
No, Quinn scolded herself, stay positive. Stay positive.
What if it was Mike? Mike would not kill Sam as the suspicion could keep being directed towards him. So as long as there were people alive, Sam would also be alive and Mike would kill him last. Would he kill Santana? He might. He really likes Brittany, so he would probably honour that by reuniting her with Santana in the afterlife, if there even was one. However, the killer seemed like the sort of person who would take pleasure in other people's suffering. He probably wouldn't end Santana's suffering just yet. That meant, that Mike was going to go for Quinn tonight, with the same philosophy as Sam going for Quinn. Remove the other best friend and make Santana suffer even more.
Desperately, Quinn tried to grapple onto the only other possibility, hoping that she had a chance of seeing the sun rise tomorrow. What if it was Santana? It was really unlikely; Quinn had already established that. But if it was, who would she kill now? She wouldn't kill Sam, as he is the main suspect. Would she kill Mike? Mike would probably overpower her as he is quite strong. He would also probably find some kind of makeshift weapon and considering Santana's broken state Mike would probably win. So Santana would go for… Quinn.
Quinn tried really hard not to panic. She tried really hard not to hyperventilate. Whoever the killer was, she was dying tonight.
Who could save her? Santana was in no shape to save her. Sam was injured, he wouldn't save her either. Mike was her only hope. She should probably try and befriend him, or just talk to him. Explain her predicament, and hope that Mike would help her. She needed him desperately, or she would die.
Quinn really didn't want to die. Her heart was beating so fast at the thought and some bad feeling settled into her stomach. She wanted to throw up. She really didn't want to live what was likely her final hours in fear. But she couldn't help it. She was beyond terrified.
Santana next to her seemed to sense her distress. "What's on your mind, Q?" she asked.
Quinn turned a fearful gaze to the brunette next to her. "I need to talk to Mike."
Santana frowned a bit. "Why?"
"Please, Santana. I need to talk to him," Quinn pled.
"Okay then," Santana said, too tired to push or try and convince Quinn otherwise. "Let's go talk to Mike."
It didn't take the girls too long to find Mike. They first looked downstairs but didn't find Mike anywhere, so they decided to look upstairs in the rooms. Quinn was worried that Mike was outside looking through the bushes or something. If that was the case then finding him would've taken a very long time as this property was very big. However, Santana told her that Mike wouldn't be hard to find as all of them had already looked in the bushes and found nothing, so if Mike was outside he would be in the open. They decided to look upstairs first anyway.
They didn't know which room Mike resided in after the death of his group, so they knocked on every closed door they came across. If there was no answer they would go inside and see if Mike was in there, maybe looking in drawers. Some of the rooms had not been inhabited for a while. Quinn could still see the dried blood on the floor and on the wall in Rachel's room. There were also some black things on the floor, that Quinn desperately hoped were not her intestines. Seeing Rachel's room again made another wave of fear spike into her system. Was she going to die like Rachel? Have her throat ripped out and her entire body cut open? Quinn tried to get those images out of her head. She did not need any more fear in her system right now.
Mike was in the room that he had stayed with Tina, it turned out. It was the same one where Mercedes had slept in for a short while when she joined the Asian couple as a trio. Quinn could see a dent in the wall behind the door. She assumed that it was from the knife. The thought of a knife made her shudder again. No! Do not think of the knife!
When the girls opened the door, Mike sat up and looked at them. Quinn didn't know what he was doing, he was just lying down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.
"Hey Quinn, hey Santana," he mustered a small smile. "What are you doing here?"
Santana looked at Quinn. "This is all you." With that, she took a step back, clearly a signal that it was not her idea to come here, it was all Quinn's idea, so Quinn would be doing all the talking. Quinn didn't blame her. Santana probably didn't trust Mike, and it was Quinn's idea, so it was fair enough that Quinn did all the talking.
"Um, I need your help," Quinn mumbled.
Mike raised an eyebrow. "Okay," he started slowly. "Um, what with?"
"Can you protect me?" Quinn asked meekly. "It's just, um, I think that I'm going to be targeted tonight. So I may need some extra protection."
"Huh?" Mike said. "Why do you think that you'll be targeted tonight?"
"Well," Quinn stuttered. She didn't really want to go over the analysis that she did a little earlier again with Mike. The thought of it was morbid, it made her want to puke, it made her insides squirm in fear. "I don't really want to go over it again," she said. "But, um, I think that the killer will go for me today. Do you mind protecting me so that, um, I don't die?" she finished, her voice trailing off into a whisper.
Mike thought for a short moment. "Okay, sure. How would you like me to help?"
"Look Mike, I can trust you right?" Quinn said.
"Of course," Mike furrowed his brows a little bit.
"Well, um, I would like you to sleep close to us today," Quinn started. "Not in our room, um, there isn't another bed for you. You can sleep in the room next to us? And uh, here, you can have the key to our room," she handed Mike the pair of keys.
Santana surged forward. "Quinn, what are you doing?"
"Trust me, please, Santana," Quinn begged. Santana looked reluctant, but she backed off anyway. Quinn feared it was because Santana didn't care anymore. She didn't voice her fears, however. She turned back to Mike. "Tonight, when the killer comes for me, do you mind coming to my rescue? You're the strongest out of us, I think that you can take them on," Quinn brushed her hair with her hands nervously. "If you need to, you can use the key to enter our room. I'll try my best to scream or something so that you know." The real reason that she gave Mike the key was because of the off-chance that the killer was Santana. Santana was going to sleep with her tonight, so if Santana was going to attack her, she would fight her off for a short while, whilst screaming for Mike, and he would be able to use the key to come to her rescue.
Another thought popped up into Quinn's head. She didn't know if it was good or bad, but Mike had a knife. It was the one that his group had taken from Quinn a few days ago. It could be good as Mike had a weapon to attack the murderer with, or it could be bad as Quinn just gave herself a death sentence.
Mike can be trusted. Mike can be trusted.
"Okay," Mike simply answered. He gripped onto the key tightly. "You'll be fine tonight, Q. Don't worry."
"Thank you so much Mike," Quinn walked forward a little and engulfed the Asian boy in a hug. "I knew I could trust you."
"Don't mention it," Mike replied. "I'll keep you safe, Q. You too, Santana. I'll get us out of here. I promise."
Quinn gave him a grateful smile. "Well, that's it from me," she whispered. She squeezed him one last time before letting go. She put an arm around Santana's shoulders and led her out of the room.
Quinn could swear she saw a figure lurking in the shadows, but she knew for a fact that it wasn't real.
"I'm really tired," Santana sighed. "Let's just go to bed now."
"But San, it's only nine," Quinn noted. "It's still really early."
"I don't care," Santana replied. "Sleeping is the best part of my day now. I can forget everything, lose myself to my dreams, if only for a short while. Sometimes I just want to sleep and never wake up. Being awake is too painful."
"What did I say about saying things like this?" Quinn asked angrily.
"Whatever," Santana mumbled. "Should we even bother sleeping in shifts anymore? It obviously doesn't work."
"No, it doesn't," Quinn sighed. "Do you have any ideas that would help us survive the night?" Internally Quinn meant 'help me survive the night', but she didn't say that aloud.
"At this point, I don't care," Santana simply stated. "Let them come. You can only delay the inevitable."
"Please stop saying things like this!" Quinn pled. "I don't want to die! I actually want to live! Please help me think of ways that will help us survive the night?"
"Well, if you lock the door, it will just get picked. If we sleep in shifts, the person awake gets killed. I guess the only way we can prevent is to barricade the door heavily."
Quinn's mind raced at what would happen if they did that. If they barricaded the door, Mike would not be able to get in and save her, if Santana was the killer. She would be completely at Santana's mercy, and she was not okay with that.
"No, that's not a solution," Quinn shook her head.
"Well, that's all I got," Santana shrugged. "I'm going to sleep now." With that, she trudged off towards the bed and slipped in.
Quinn contemplated what to do. She thought for a few minutes before seeing Santana underneath the covers in their bed. Tears were silently streaming down her face, and that just made Quinn's heart hurt again. She eventually decided to just lock the door and forget her fears.
She slipped into the bed next to Santana. Santana scooted over and buried her head into Quinn's chest.
"I just want my Britt-Britt back," she sobbed. Quinn could already feel the wetness in her shirt.
"I know," she whispered back. "Santana, just know this, you have been a great friend to me. We may have had our differences and we may have hated each other sometimes, but I still love you."
"And you say you aren't gay," Santana smirked through her tears. It warmed Quinn's heart to see that upwards curl of Santana's lips for the first time that day, however brief it was, even if it was at her expense.
"I love you like a little sister," Quinn clarified.
"I'm not little," Santana frowned. "You're like a centimetre taller than me."
"Still littler than me," Quinn teased. "Sleep tight, Santana."
"Sleep tight, Quinn. And also, I love you too. You're my best friend."
Quinn gave a small smile. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
Quinn kept stroking Santana's hair as silent tears continued to stain her shirt. Eventually, the brunette's breathing slowed. The fear started to settle in Quinn's stomach again. Tears started to fall out of Quinn's eyes, but she wiped them away instantly with her sleeves. She took some deep breaths, calming herself down, telling herself that she would survive the night. Eventually, she couldn't help but fall into the endless abyss of sleep.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
Rhythm. I thrive on rhythm. Rhythm is my life.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
Get yourself together, you fool!
Breathe.
Breathe.
Ugh, I really don't want to do this.
You fucking idiot! Do it!
No!
You have to!
Okay, okay! Don't scream at me. I'll do it, okay? I'll do it!
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
It's that time of day again. Or… should I say, night.
My teeth chatter. It's really cold.
Breathe, you fool, breathe!
Get yourself together and get this over and done with!
I slap myself to my senses. Let's do this.
But I don't want to!
Shut the fuck up! Just do it!
Okay okay! I'll do it!
Give me a second.
Apologies, for my indiscretions. Let's get this going.
You may be wondering who I am targeting today. Honestly? Targeting isn't that hard. Not when you know the person you are targeting back to front.
Quinn, it is time to say goodbye.
I know that you know that this is coming to you sooner or later. I just want to end your suffering. No more living in fear. It's time for you to go.
I know you are really scared of death. It's okay. I can use that to my advantage.
I know it is unethical, but I have to do what I came here to do. Everything that can help me, I will take advantage of.
Quinn is sleeping right now. They're not even doing shifts anymore. I guess they finally realised that shifts don't work. After what happened to my, um, previous victims, it is pretty evident that sleeping in shifts is not going to save you.
Nothing is. I will always find a way.
Because I am smart.
My teeth chatter again.
I get out the key to Quinn's room from my pocket. I don't even need to pick the lock! How nice.
Now, there is the possibility that Quinn has barricaded the door so that I can't get in, but I doubt that's the case.
It's not. It only took the key to unlock the door and I'm in. Ah, home sweet home.
It is a good thing that Quinn is a deep sleeper. Did you know that people sleep in 90-minute cycles? Quinn went to bed at nine. Say she fell asleep at nine-thirty. If I have timed this correctly, she should be in the deep sleep phase. It is about forty minutes into her cycle. Right now it is… ten past one.
Let's do this. Hopefully, she doesn't wake up.
If she does, then, um… disaster. It's okay. I know Quinn. She won't wake up.
I lift her out of her bed and carry her in my arms. She shows no sign of waking. Good. My timing was correct.
She's a little heavy and I struggle a bit, but I'm doing great right now. I take her all the way downstairs and set her down on the floor in the lounge. She's still asleep. Perfect.
I make my way back upstairs and close the door to Quinn's room. I use the key to lock it.
Mask on.
I take out the knife hidden in my calf. I don't intend on using it, because I know how much Quinn wishes to not be cut, but I will use it to threaten her. Keep her quiet. If she doesn't I will just thrust it into her throat and be done with it already.
Please cooperate. I am begging you. I don't want to make you bleed.
I make my way back into the lounge. Oh god, I look so cliché. The mask, the knife in my hand. Quinn is still sleeping. That's okay. I have time.
I close the door to the lounge behind me and push a sofa to block the door. Yep, she's not getting out now.
It does take a little while, but eventually, Quinn realises that she is no longer in the comfortable bed and instead on the hard floor, so she is starting to stir. She groans a little before her eyes open. Now the light isn't on, so she doesn't suspect anything. Yet.
I reach out with my hand and switch on the light. Quinn's confused eyes squint at the light suddenly switching on, but they suddenly widen when she realises that she was not in her room. She turns her head rapidly to try and gather where she is, and when she catches sight of me, her eyes widen even more and immense fear can be observed in her beautiful hazel-green eyes.
Oh come on, I look scary. I don't normally, but with a mask and a knife? Serial killer.
She squeals in fright and opens her mouth. I am afraid that she will scream her lungs out, so I use her fear of knives to my advantage.
"If you scream," I hiss, holding up the knife higher menacingly. "I will cut you. Understand?" Quinn nods frantically, tears streaming out of her eyes. "Good," I say, lowering the knife slightly.
"Please," she blubbers, "Don't hurt me." Quinn seems to shrink back into herself, backing away from me until she hit the wall.
I advance slowly. I must look really scary, because Quinn curls into herself, whimpering and sobbing at the same time. Oh, God. Bless her heart. She must be really scared. It hurts my heart a little bit. I crouch down next to her.
"Please," she whispers, eyes focused on the knife in my hand. "No, please! I beg you!" she sobs, starting to get a little hysterical now. Looking at her in this state jolts me momentarily. This is the same person as the assertive, head bitch in charge Quinn we get in school. Over here, we have a petrified girl who is begging me not to cut her.
I wasn't going to anyway. I set the knife down, but it is still out of her reach. I need to make sure that her hysteria is not a façade and she would not grab the knife and stab me in the chest.
She lets out a deep sigh of relief when she sees me set down my knife.
An idea pops up in my head.
"Who do you think I am?" I ask her. It would be quite interesting to know, actually. May help me in my future conquests. I don't know if she could recognise me through my voice, though. I am guessing that she can't because when you are panicking your brain works a little weirdly.
"I d-don't know," Quinn whimpers.
I sigh. This is the moment.
I rip off my mask.
Quinn's expression is something quite amazing.
Confusion. Shock. Bewilderment. Surprise. Anger. Betrayal.
"W-Wha–" she stutters. "B-But Sa-... h-how… why…"
I give a small laugh and smile softly at her. "I will honour your wishes, Quinn. I won't cut you."
Quinn's jaw was still slack with shock. "I-I don't understand. Why would you –"
"No questions, Quinn, or I retract my promise," I say threateningly and lift the knife, edging it slightly closer to her.
Quinn squealed again. "No, please don't…" she gasps. "I promise… no questions…"
Oh, that poor girl. She is starting to hyperventilate.
She saw her end coming before she even went to bed. She is a smart girl. She probably should've prepared for this, though, so that she wouldn't be so scared when she dies.
"Okay," I say. I take a deep breath. "I'm really sorry Quinn."
"Wha–" she starts, but she never got the chance to finish. I surge forward, without the knife if you must know, and wrap both of my hands around her throat, pushing her forward so that I am pinning her to the ground.
"Ugh," she splutters. "No! Please! I don't want to die! Ugh," her words were a little incoherent, because I was cutting off her air supply and I know choking hurts a lot, so it was obviously difficult for her to speak.
"Ah!" she squeals, batting her hands towards my face, in a vain attempt to hurt me and get me to release my hold around her throat. However, her blows don't hurt and I keep choking her.
Tears were coming out of her eyes.
"I'm scared…" she gasps out. "I t-thought that it didn't hurt…"
That jolts me for a split second. My grip on her throat loosens, and she was able to regain one precious breath. I shake my head and tighten my grip on her again.
She groans and clenches her eyes closed, squeezing even more tears out of her eyes. By now, she had given up trying to hurt me, so she's futilely trying to pry my hands away from her throat.
Her body is moving so much. It's like riding a wild bull. It's constantly trying to shake you off.
I persist. I slam her head on the floor a few times so that she loses energy. Eventually, her grip on my hands loosens, and her writhing slows, eventually coming to a halt.
Her eyes flutter a few times before they remain closed. She becomes limp.
Ah, so that's what it looks like when the light fades out of someone's eyes. It is truly a beautiful thing. It only took so many kills to finally see it.
I let go of her and she remains sprawled on the floor, blonde hair tousled everywhere.
Wait.
I just killed a great friend. When she has repeatedly said that she didn't want to die, she wants to live, she is scared of dying.
What have I become?
Why is this monster inside of me so strong?
I feel drained. Physically. Emotionally.
I sit next to her body for a while. I bury my head in my hands and start to sob uncontrollably.
I can't control myself.