Day 10
"Ugh, yes Sanny, there, yes!" Brittany's cries echoed in the confines of Santana's room.
"You like that, baby?" Santana husked, which elicited an eager nod from Brittany.
"Ah!" Brittany threw her head back into the pillow as Santana dug her fingers into where Brittany needed it the most. "Ah, San, I can't, ugh!"
Santana latched her lips onto Brittany's neck and began sucking onto her pulse point. Her left hand was still working its magic between Brittany's legs, and her right hand was now massaging Brittany's breasts. Brittany's already erratic breaths got even more irregular, and soon Brittany was writhing underneath Santana, occasionally letting out expletives in pleasure.
"Sanny, I'm going to – I'm going to, aah!" Brittany screamed as Santana curled her fingers. Her eyes opened again, becoming slightly unfocused for a brief while, whole body trembling underneath Santana, before becoming completely limp and spent.
Brittany sighed contently, eyes hooded. "I love you so much, Sanny."
Santana planted one last sweet kiss onto Brittany's lips. "I love you too, Britt."
"That was amazing," she gasped still regaining her breath.
"It was," Santana agreed. She studied Brittany's face, which was giving a nice post-coital glow. "You're so beautiful," Santana cooed, stroking the contours of Brittany's face, making Brittany blush and smile bashfully. Brittany laid there for another minute or so, before her innocent smile shifted into a devilish smirk.
"It's time for me to return the favour," she grinned. With incredible strength from someone who was supposedly exhausted, she flipped the two of them so that Santana was now pinned under Brittany.
"Brittany Pierce, are you trying to top me?" Santana teased.
Brittany continued to smile seductively. "You know that you are a bottom, Santana." Brittany's fingers started to trail lower, between the valley of the brunette's breasts, down to her stomach, eventually hovering over the sensitive bundle of nerves between Santana's legs that were now throbbing in anticipation.
"I'm going to make you come so hard," Brittany whispered into Santana's ear.
"Please," Santana gasped.
Brittany's mischievous eyes were the last thing that Santana saw before everything went black.
Santana groaned as her eyes began to open. She stretched a little as her arms were aching. She breathed out in contentment when her sore muscles no longer became sore. She rubbed her eyes and as she did that she realised that her panties were completely soaked. That dream had been so… real. So vivid. Waking up without Brittany by her side just reminded Santana of everything that happened yesterday.
Just thinking about the bubbly blonde made tears come out of Santana's eyes again. Honestly, she was so exhausted that she no longer had any energy to cry. She just laid there, silent tears streaming down her eyes, too spent to try and wipe them away. She closed her eyes again and hugged a pillow next to her close to her chest. In her mind, she was hugging Brittany. She could smell her sweet scent already. She leaned her head in so that it touched the pillow in her chest. She breathed in deeply. Imagine her scent, Santana, imagine her scent.
Wait a second.
Why was Quinn not next to her? She thought that Quinn slept with her for the night but judging by the pillow that Santana was hugging right now which was Quinn's, Quinn was not in the bed.
Suddenly alert and fully awake, Santana sat up in her bed. Her head looked frantically around the room for any signs of the short-haired blonde. She wasn't in the bed, she wasn't anywhere in the room. Was she dragged out like Brittany? Santana slipped out of bed and walked towards the door. It was still locked. Santana tutted in confusion. Quinn was not in this room, and the door was locked. Was she outside? Did the killer get her? If so, why was the door locked? Only Quinn and herself had the key.
Then she remembered what Quinn did yesterday. Her blood ran cold.
No. It can't be. Quinn gave the key to Mike. Did Mike use the key to grab Quinn, and lock the door behind him? Quinn trusted him with her life. No. Did her plan backfire?
Santana scrambled to the bedside table and dug around the items on it for the key to the room with trembling fingers. Within a few seconds, she found the key and she rushed towards the door. It took her a little longer than she should to unlock the door, as her hands were shaking so much in fear. Eventually, the door clicked open and she stumbled through and into the corridor. Where could Quinn be?
Santana whipped her head around. She sprinted through the corridor, looking in every room that she passed. Quinn wasn't in any of them. She then looked in the bathroom. Quinn wasn't there either. Santana racked her head. If Quinn wasn't upstairs, then was she… downstairs?
How did the killer even manage to get her downstairs? Why did they even bother? If the killer had intended to kill Quinn they would've just got it over and done with in a room upstairs.
Maybe the killer didn't get Quinn. The thought makes Santana relax a little bit.
Why would Quinn be outside of their room, alone then? Santana thought for a few seconds before a possibility popped up in her head. Quinn is addicted to food. Maybe she just went into the kitchen for some breakfast. She locked the door behind her because she didn't want to put Santana in danger. Yeah, that made perfect sense.
Santana sighed in relief.
Well, in that case, she better go downstairs and probably get breakfast with Quinn, or just keep her company. Being alone in a house like this was not the best idea anyway, especially for someone who is determined to get out of here alive, like Quinn.
Santana made her way downstairs, the sound of her steps echoing with every stair she descended. It was actually quite tranquil. She could get used to this.
As she walked past the lounge, however, she saw something out the corner of her eye.
She looked at it a little closer. It was a body. She didn't know who it was yet, as her vision was a little blurry since her eyes were so swollen. The body was facing from her, and through the blurry haze of her vision, she saw a bit of blonde hair. Was it Sam?
Santana's heart rate increased. If it was Sam, she didn't know if it was a good thing or not. If he was the killer, and she thought that he was, then that would be excellent news as either Mike or Quinn had finally got the killer and no more of them had to die. She was just sad that they were a day too late though. If they managed to get Sam the day before, Brittany would be standing next to her right now. Her vision would not be blurry with tears. She would have someone to hold onto at night.
However, what if Sam wasn't the killer? That would be pretty bad news. They just killed Sam, the scapegoat for all the murders. That meant that the killer was stepping up their game. They don't mind being caught now, as no one was going to make it out of here alive.
But what if it wasn't Sam altogether? The only other blonde alive was… Quinn.
No.
Quinn can't – Santana cannot bear to lose another one. Quinn can't be dead. She can't be.
Santana rushed forward into the lounge and crouched next to the body. With every step, it was looking more and more like Quinn. Her petite frame, the shoulder-length blonde hair. With trembling hands, Santana flipped the body to reveal the victim's face.
Santana would've screamed that instant when she saw who it was, except her throat still hurt from all the screaming she did yesterday and was physically incapable of screaming.
Quinn was pale as a sheet, some strands of messy blonde hair covering her porcelain face. Her eyes were closed. Her lips were dry and a weird shade of pink. All over her throat, god, Santana could not bear to look at it. It was a mixture of purple and blue and black. There were vague handprints there as well.
Santana started to sob for the umpteenth time the past few days. The angry ligature marks started to blur as her eyes clouded with tears. She couldn't lose Quinn too. Not after she just lost Brittany. She was now all alone. She had no one to talk to, no shoulder to cry on. What on earth was she going to do now?
"Q-Quinn…" Santana choked, pulling at the blonde's shoulders and setting her head on her lap. "N-No… why?" She brushed a few tendrils of hair from Quinn's face and set it behind her ears. She looked… so peaceful. If it wasn't for the deep lines scarring across the blonde's throat she could have passed for someone who was simply sleeping.
Santana turned her head to look at the ceiling. "Why would you do this?" she cried. She didn't care who listened. She didn't even know who she was addressing. She just needed to get it out. Let it all out. "Why would you kill Brittany? Why would you kill Quinn? Why would you kill anyone at all? Why?" Her throat started to burn again, so she couldn't voice her anger anymore towards the skies.
Santana looked back down at Quinn's form. A tear dropped down from her eyes and onto Quinn's cheek. Santana wiped it away with her thumb. Quinn was most likely strangled, if the bruises on her neck were any indication. Strangling hurts like a bitch, so Quinn's death most likely was very painful. Strangling also wasn't a fast process. It probably took Quinn minutes to pass out, her final minutes of pure agony. Why would anyone do this to such a sweet girl? A girl with a bacon addiction, a girl who had big dreams, a girl who did nothing but be Santana's rock, support her and Brittany all the way? Why kill her so brutally? Quinn was so scared that her death would hurt. It turned out that her deepest fears turned into reality, didn't it?
Santana wondered what Quinn was doing right now. Was she watching Santana from above, with Brittany? Or was she just in an endless, empty void? Another tear fell onto Quinn's face. Santana wiped it away with her thumb. How did Quinn react when she found out that she was going to die? Oh god, she must have been so scared. So petrified. Why didn't she just scream for help? Why do none of the victims call for help? Why does everyone just die silently, at the hands of the heartless killer?
These questions were making Santana's head hurt. Quinn probably didn't call for help because of her fear of getting cut by the knife, as it would obviously be painful, and Quinn had a huge fear of pain. The killer probably threatened her with a knife. Why else would she not scream for help, and either her or Mike would come and save her?
Mike.
Could it be Mike? It was very possible. What was Quinn thinking, giving Mike the key to her room? She just gave herself a death sentence! Mike was the very person Quinn trusted. He had the perfect opportunity to get Quinn. Santana didn't think that it was Sam anymore. She hurt Sam really badly. She doubted that Sam had the physical strength to strangle Quinn, as his left hand and arm were really messed up.
Santana broke away from her train of thought and looked down at the girl in front of her. Yes, she didn't love her like Brittany, but she still loved Quinn so much. They had known each other for about a decade, and most of the time remained the best of friends. She lifted Quinn's head from her lap a little, stroking more blonde hair at the back of her head.
"Y-you promised that you wouldn't leave me," Santana whispered. "Y-you gave me hope that we were going to get out of here alive. Now, without you, how am I supposed to believe that?" Santana let out another choked sob, tears falling down faster. She gingerly set Quinn's head back on her lap, and that's when she realised that there was blood on her hands.
Wait, did Quinn get cut?
She lifted Quinn's head up again and that's when she saw that the back of Quinn's head was cracked. The killer probably threw her head on the floor when she tried to resist.
Why are you so cruel, killer? Strangling her was bad enough, you had to crack her head open too?
Santana didn't know what to do. Her hands went lower on Quinn's body, to her waist. With some effort, she hoisted the blonde up and hugged her close. Quinn felt really heavy on Santana, but the brunette didn't care. She hugged her tight, tears landing on her shoulder, while Quinn's motionless body just laid limply across Santana's front, her chest, her shoulders.
Santana wasn't really sure how much time passed, her just holding onto Quinn and weeping. She didn't really care either. Time had no value. It wasn't like Santana was going to do anything now anyway. She had no one to talk to. What was the point of living on? Santana could not care less about anything anymore. Her time was limited. She'd rather just die now and then she could see Brittany and Quinn again.
She wouldn't commit suicide, though. Brittany would not be proud of her. Quinn made sure that Santana knew that.
It is just that, when she finally dies at the hands of the killer, she will have a content smile on her face. Even if she got tortured. She would pass out eventually, into the abyss of death, where everything was beautiful and nothing hurt anymore. She would finally be able to let go. She would see her favourite girls again.
Santana didn't know how much more time had passed, just her holding onto Quinn, when Sam came into the room.
"Um, Santana, are you alright?" Sam asked quietly.
Santana turned her teary gaze onto Sam. "What do you think?"
"I would guess… no," Sam sighed. "Need someone to talk to?" Sam asked.
Santana merely shrugged. Sam took that as a yes and sat down on the floor about a metre away from Santana. Sam made sure to avoid the bloodstains that were still on the floor, most likely Puck's. He didn't really know who those bloodstains belonged to anymore. Too many people have died in this house, in too harsh ways, and he had long forgotten who died how and when. He no longer cared anymore. It was a matter of sooner or later.
"I'm really sorry Santana," Sam mumbled.
"For what?" Santana replied tiredly. Quinn was starting to make Santana's shoulders sore, so she set the blonde down on the floor gingerly.
"For, um, you know, Quinn," he said, gesturing to the girl on the floor. "I know how much she meant to you."
"Yeah," Santana simply said. She didn't really want to say anything more. Her throat hurt.
"Um, do you still think it's me?" Sam asked hesitantly. "Who killed everyone?" he elaborated.
Santana met Sam's eyes with a dull, tired look. "Honestly, I don't know anymore. I don't really care anymore either. My time is nearly up anyway. It doesn't matter."
"Well, um, just for the record, it wasn't me," Sam said. "I can't, um, strangle her with the state of my left arm," he gestured to his left arm, which was still hanging limply on the side.
"Yeah, about that, look Sam, I'm really sorry," Santana mumbled. "I shouldn't have exploded on you like that."
"No, it's okay, you just found that Brittany died, and you thought it was me. What you did made perfect sense," Sam replied.
"I just feel a bit bad," Santana sighed. "Do you think that Mike killed Quinn then?"
Sam thought for a moment. "I don't know, actually. I don't think that Mike is the sort of person who would things like this, but who else can it be? It's not me and it's not you, so it must be Mike."
"I think it's Mike," Santana said quietly. "Quinn gave him the key to our room yesterday."
Sam's eyes widened. "Why on earth would she do that?"
"Quinn didn't say," Santana replied. "Although my best guess is that she was hoping that Mike would save her because she knew that she was being targeted that night. I don't actually know how she knew she was being targeted, but she trusted Mike. She gave Mike the key because she thought that if it was me, then she would be able to hold me off while screaming for Mike and he would use the key to come into our room and save her," Santana let out a heavy sigh. "I don't understand. It hurts to know that your best friend doesn't trust you completely."
"I guess," Sam said contemplatively, "So are you saying that Quinn trusted the wrong person?"
"Yeah," Santana mumbled. "I wonder if she hadn't given the key to Mike, would she be sitting next to me right now? Or would the killer get her anyway? They have never failed before."
"Well," Sam drawled. "Quinn is kind of sitting next to you right now," he pointed to the girl next to Santana.
Santana let out a mirthless laugh. "Funny," she rolled her eyes. "Alive I meant."
"I know," Sam sighed. "Just trying to make light of this situation. Bad joke, I'm sorry."
"Whatever," Santana scoffed.
Santana and Sam sat in silence for a while, with Quinn also keeping Santana company, even if she was just lying motionless by Santana's side.
"What was the last thing that Quinn did before she died?" Sam suddenly asked.
"Um, well the last thing she said to me before I fell asleep was how much she loved me, as a friend," Santana replied.
"Interesting," Sam mumbled. At that moment, Mike walked into the room.
"Who's died this time?" he sighed. It seemed like at this point, he has accepted the fact that the killer was going to get someone every night. He knew that it was impossible to stop the inevitable.
Santana whipped her head around and stared at him harshly. "Well, Sam and I are alive right now, who do you think died then? Huh? I thought you were meant to be smart."
"Alright, tiger," Mike held up his hands. "Just trying to make conversation."
"Yeah, well, you are doing a shit job," Santana growled. "You promised to protect her. You promised!"
"How was I meant to know? She didn't scream. Was I supposed to be on corridor watch the whole night, and take the killer on myself?" Mike asked incredulously. "You were next to her, Santana! I would assume you two slept in the same bed! How the hell did Quinn get abducted and you didn't even know about it? Impossible!"
"Oh, shut up Mike, you know there are ways," Santana snarled. "The killer got us when we were both asleep. They probably drugged me in my sleep so that I wouldn't wake up until much later! As for Quinn, they probably covered her mouth so that she wouldn't scream! There were many ways!"
"You still could've protected her," Mike narrowed his eyes. "Why was your room so easy to break into then? Why could the killer get to you so easily?"
"Because Quinn thought that you could save her!" Santana shot back hotly. "I suggested that we barricaded the door. She refused because she thought that it was me! If it was me then you would be her knight in shining armour!"
"Now you mention it," Mike's eyes glowed dangerously. "It could be you, Santana. You were next to her. You could've easily gotten her, because she clung onto you the whole night! You killed her in her sleep!"
"Fuck you, Mike. Do you honestly think it could be me? You think I killed Brittany? I loved her! No, I love her! I would never hurt her, let alone kill her!"
"And you think it's me?" Mike shot back angrily. "You think that I would kill Tina? I loved her too! You think that I'm even capable of murder?"
Both eyes suddenly turned to Sam.
Sam felt self-conscious as all pairs of eyes were on him. "Um, yes?" he gulped.
"It could also be you, Sam," Mike said. "You had nothing to lose. You don't have a girlfriend. You loved Brittany. So you killed her thinking, if I can't have her, no one can right? Then you killed Quinn to spite Santana, because you hate her!"
"What the fuck?" Sam nearly shouted. "Look at my freaking arm. Santana probably broke it! You think that my arms have the physical strength of strangling a person? A person who was determined to live, and would probably try her best to fight me back? It can't possibly be me!"
"Just shut up about your arm," Mike said. He stalked over and gripped onto Sam's arm harshly. Sam winced a bit. "See, you didn't even scream out in pain or anything. It clearly doesn't hurt as much as you let on. Of course you can strangle a person with that. Heck, you can probably strangle Quinn with only your right hand. You're strong enough, right? Quinn is a petite girl. Quinn isn't very strong herself. You could've easily overpowered her."
"Why is everyone shifting the blame onto me?" Sam cried exasperatedly. "You know what? Fuck you guys. I'm not the killer. One of you, just kill me tonight and I can get life done with. I know it's one of you." With that, he got up to his feet and stormed out of the room.
Mike and Santana sat in silence in the lounge for a few minutes. Quinn was still immobilised on the floor.
"Do you, um, want me to take her away?" Mike asked tentatively, gesturing to the blonde next to Santana.
Santana shook her head. "No. I'll do it myself. You already took Britt from me. You are not taking Quinn too. I just want to spend a bit more time with her, say goodbye you know? I didn't get the chance to do that with Britt."
Mike sighed. "Yeah, I respect your wishes. I'll be off now then." He waved his hand weakly as a gesture of parting before getting up and leaving the room.
Santana slipped her arms around Quinn's waist and lifted her up again, where the blonde rested on her aching shoulders.
"Oh, what do I do now?" Santana started to weep again. "What do I do now, Q?"
Santana wasn't really in the mood to do anything. But since she had a lot of time on her hands, she decided to revert back to one of her old habits: if you're bored, eat.
Santana doubted that she would be able to get any food in her stomach. She had been the first one to witness the dead bodies of her two best friends, the people who she had nearly spent her whole life with, people who have been by her side at all times since she could remember. She could hardly believe that they were dead. She always thought that denial was a stupid thing when someone deals with their grief, as her abuela's initial reaction to her abuelo's death was denial. Now she understood why people first go into denial when they lose a loved one. Deep inside, Santana still hoped that Brittany and Quinn were still alive. Brittany could still be alive, actually. A tiny sliver of hope sparked in Santana's chest. Did Brittany have a pulse? She wasn't breathing, and her skin was really cold, but she could've just been unconscious? No. If Brittany was alive, then she would've made her way back into the house when she woke up. Even if she wasn't dead then, she would most definitely be dead now. Fuck! Why didn't Santana try and save her? She could've been saved! How did she think that kissing Brittany was going to wake her up? This wasn't a fairy tale!
As for Quinn, well, how on earth could she still be alive? She had held Quinn for longer than she should have today. She felt no breath on her shoulder, no rhythmic beating of the heart. Quinn's skin was ice-cold, just like Brittany's. Quinn's neck probably snapped as well, with the sheer force exerted on it. The scary bruises on her throat told Santana that.
Were Brittany and Quinn cheering her on from heaven? They could see everything, right? They must know who the killer was.
Please, Brittany and Quinn, talk to me in my dreams or something, Santana pleaded. Tell me who it is, you want me to live my life right? If not, well, it would be nice to talk to you again. Just please, I need to talk to you guys again.
Another tear fell out of Santana's eye. Santana wiped it away instantly. No more crying. No more crying. Crying is not going to bring them back. Deal with your grief another way, Santana, live your life for them.
Suddenly, Santana is starting to feel like there is hope in life again. There were still things out there for her. Her family. Her little brother. They all need her. She needs to live.
She will live.
Even if she lost the two most important people in her life.
Santana got out more bread from the pantry. There wasn't really any food left in the pantry, wait actually there was, there was food in the fridge and the freezer. Except the refrigerator broke down and all the food had gone bad. Santana was not stupid enough to eat warm raw chicken.
She walked into the empty dining room and took a bite of the rock-hard bread in her hands. It hurt her teeth to chew it, but she persisted. Starving to death was a pathetic excuse for dying. Santana had by now established that she would not die in vain. She couldn't just give up when things got hard. Things got hard with Brittany once, when Santana consistently refused to go public as she had fears of being outed and labelled as a lesbian. That was when things were the rockiest with Brittany. They nearly broke up, or rather Brittany nearly had enough of Santana and decided to move on. But Santana begged her to stay and decided to come out to her family and become a public couple. Her family, with the exception of her abuela, took her outing really well, so did her friends, who kind of already knew. Brittany was literally glowing with pride and happiness the next few days, as they swung their conjoined hands in the halls of school. It was probably the proudest Santana had felt in her whole life, the happiest.
Brittany taught her one thing. When things get hard, persist, persevere. It will all work out in the end. Her relationship with the bubbly blonde was the perfect proof of how Brittany was right. Brittany was always right.
She was going to live, for her family.
She was going to live, for Quinn.
She was going to live, for Brittany.
She was going to live, for herself.
She continued to munch on her bread. Adrenaline surged through her system.
Santana was going to get out of here. She would live for her loved ones.
With newfound determination, Santana chewed on her bread, much to the dismay of her teeth, eventually finishing it. That was when Mike walked into the room and sat opposite her. He looked excited.
"Santana," he hissed, grinning. "I have some good news."
"Go on, enlighten me," Santana merely replied, uninterested.
"I have found a way for us to get out of here."
That caught Santana's attention. She raised an eyebrow and raised her head, making eye contact with the Asian boy. "Go on."
"Well," Mike's eyes glinted a bit. "It's a bit hard to explain. I just need your help, and I can get us both out of here."
"What do you need help with?" Santana asked.
"It's a job easier done with two people," Mike said cryptically. "Hey, why don't you meet me tonight at eleven at the front gate and I'll get us both out of here."
"Why tonight? Why can't we just do it now?" Santana asked.
"Well, um, it's broad daylight. I don't exactly want to be seen when I'm doing it. So help me tonight? We will be out of here and we should be back in Lima by morning."
"Look, as appealing as your 'idea' sounds, if you want my help, you have to tell me more," Santana demanded. "You can't just expect me to obediently turn up and meet you alone at night. I'm not that stupid."
"Well, that's the problem," Mike rubbed the back of his head. "I don't want to jinx anything. Anyone could hear us right now, and if I tell you what my plan is, they could prevent it from happening and we're both stuck here."
"Who could be listening?" Santana scoffed. "Sam is the only other person here."
"And he could be listening," Mike hissed. "Just trust me on this. I promise you that this would work. We can get out of here, get help, and go home and see our families again before midday tomorrow."
"Mike, how can you expect me to trust you?" Santana raised an eyebrow. "After what happened to Quinn? She trusted you. And look at what happened to her."
"I know, but this time you can trust me for real," Mike said, speaking quite fast. "I'm really sorry about Quinn, I really am. But I trust you, Santana. It really would be great if you could turn up. We can both get out of here. We can both survive."
"I'm sorry Mike, but your idea is really sketchy. Inviting me to meet you alone in the dead of night? I'm literally giving myself a death sentence," Santana said.
"I know how this sounds, but trust me. Please?" Mike pleaded.
Santana thought for a moment. Could Mike be telling the truth? But look at what happened to Quinn. Whoever killed her had the key. They also had a knife so that they could threaten her into silence. Mike had both. The killer could easily be Mike. If Santana really wanted to survive, and by now she actually did, she would not blindly go to something that is most likely a trap.
Santana shook her head. "I'm sorry. I can't know if your intentions are good for sure. Especially when you wouldn't tell me how you need my help, or how you are going to escape. You're going to have to escape by yourself."
"It will be quite hard by myself," Mike sighed, seemingly crestfallen. "I promised you guys that I would keep you safe and find an escape. I failed Quinn, I failed Brittany, I don't want to fail you too. This is our chance. We really can get out of here, I'm positive."
"I'm sorry Mike. But I guess I will have to take care of myself. Good luck in your escape," Santana said.
Mike looked down. "Alright. But, if you change your mind anytime during the day, turn up at the front gate at eleven. I will wait for you for fifteen minutes. If you don't show up, I will try and escape myself."
"Okay," Santana shrugged. "Well, I wish you the best of luck getting out of here. But I don't think that I'll show up."
"I won't make you do anything that you don't want to do," Mike whispered before standing up and leaving the room.
Santana sighed. Should she consider Mike's idea? She didn't know what it was, but what if he really was telling the truth? Then Santana would be able to see her family again. She would be able to live her life on, just like what Brittany and Quinn wanted. What was the right move? Mike could also be the killer. Actually, it was quite likely that Mike was the killer. He killed Brittany first, then killed Quinn because he had the opportunities. He is smart, he is quick, he has the traits of what a killer of this calibre would have.
Santana thought that the survivor's move would be to not turn up to meet Mike one on one in the middle of the night. She decided that she was not going.
After a while of just sitting in the dining room, staring into blank space, letting her mind take her to random places, and allowing random thoughts to pop up in her head, she decided to just get up and deal with Quinn's body. She didn't really want to leave her in the lounge, as dead bodies tend to rot really soon and Santana didn't really want to deal with the stench that would soon come from Quinn's body. She left the dining room and walked the short distance back into the lounge.
Quinn was still as Santana left her, except her skin had now taken a nasty bluish-purple tone, which was a huge contrast to the pale porcelain skin that Santana had seen before she left her. Seeing Quinn in this state made Santana want to retch again. She probably shouldn't have left her in the house for so long, but she couldn't help it.
Santana crouched down next to Quinn's body and scrunched up her nose a bit as some pungent smell invaded her nostrils. She wasn't disgusted by it, not at all, as it came from Quinn, her best friend; it was just a bit unpleasant. She dug her hands underneath Quinn's body to hoist her up. By now, Quinn had probably been dead for over half a day so her body was quite stiff to hold. She was also quite heavy. Santana initially tried to carry Quinn in her arms and take her to the backyard, where her body would be deposited with all the other bodies. But soon, she changed her mind as she didn't think that her hand would've been able to withstand all that weight for so long, so she opted to drag Quinn across to the backyard.
As she started to drag the body across the carpet, she felt a sharp sting of pain in her chest. It hurt her to see Quinn deposited in such a disrespectful way. Had she been stronger, Quinn would've been lovingly carried and buried in the ground, where she would have laid to rest. Santana didn't know if Brittany had the same treatment. She most likely was not buried, but at least she didn't get dragged a hundred meters to be chucked with the other bodies like a piece of trash.
Santana dragged Quinn all the way to the back door, where she momentarily let go to open the door. As soon as the door was open, she grabbed Quinn's arms again and started to drag her outside, then across the concrete.
An unpleasant sound was made as Quinn slid through the floor, leaving a trail of some kind of liquid behind her. Santana didn't really want to know what it was.
Her arms were becoming sore with all the effort she was making dragging Quinn. You would think that someone of Quinn's figure would be quite light. After all, she was at the top of the pyramid for a while. But when that person is completely uncooperative, as they were completely dead weight, they were a complete nightmare to drag.
The grass was uneven. This meant that there were times when Quinn's leg or some other part of her body got caught in some uneven surfaces or some holes. When that happened, Santana had to go over and first figure out where she got stuck, then reach out and remove that part of the body from the hole. It really wasn't a good experience. Her body was a little sticky, probably from decomposition. Santana would make sure to wash her hands afterwards.
Santana knew vaguely where all the other dead bodies were put. It was put at the far side of the back garden, as far away from the house as possible. That came with its good and bad. The good thing was that the rotting smell of dead bodies did not reach the house. The bad thing was that it was a complete pain in the arse to take the dead body there.
Santana was about fifty meters away from where the dead bodies were supposedly put before her arms screamed out in pain and she had to stop. She let Quinn's arm drop limply onto the floor and crouched down, panting. Santana squeezed her eyes shut as she willed herself not to cry. She had cried way too much over the past few days.
"I'm so sorry, Quinn," Santana mumbled. "I'm so sorry. I should've saved you," Santana crumpled to the ground, laying back on the grass, where her eyes opened again. The sight of the bright blue sky met them. It was slightly cloudy. Laying on the grass reminded Santana of what she did with Quinn and Brittany some days ago, before Sam found the bloody shirt. It didn't actually seem that long ago. She still couldn't believe that in that short amount of time, both girls that were beside her have died. It made one lone tear come out of Santana's right eye, trailing down her face, past her ear, and onto the grass. Santana didn't really care anymore. She turned her head to the left, where Quinn was lying face down on the grass. Maybe, if she pretended hard enough, she could imagine that Quinn was still alive next to her, just enjoying the sun beaming down upon them as they laid on the sun-baked ground beneath them. Santana sighed. No matter how hard she tried, reality still hit her like a truck. Quinn wasn't alive. She wasn't coming back. Neither was Brittany. Santana looked back up at the sky again. This time, a single cloud blocked the sun, so she was momentarily in the shade. She wondered if Brittany and Quinn were above the clouds. Could they see her, lying helpless in the back garden? Could they see her every move?
She really wanted to talk to them again. Even if it was for one last time. Maybe they would come and talk to her in their dreams. She vaguely recalled abuela telling her that abuelo had come to visit her after he died in her dream, before Santana outed herself to her. She didn't know if it actually was abuelo's spirit coming to talk to her, or just a figment of abuela's imagination. Santana really hoped that it was the former, as then she had a chance to talk to her favourite girls again.
She just laid there on the grass motionless for what felt like an eternity. She was tired. The vague stench of Quinn's body beside her made its way into Santana's nostrils, but she didn't care. She closed her eyes for a brief moment. If Sam hadn't chosen this time to come and talk to her, Santana probably would've fallen asleep.
"Do you need help?" Sam's voice called. Santana opened her eyes again and sat up. "Um, with the body?" Sam gestured to Quinn, who was still face down on the grass.
Santana sighed and groggily got up to her feet. "Yeah, that would be nice."
"Alright," Sam walked the short distance over to where Santana was standing. "I'll grab her feet, and you can grab her shoulders. We're nearly there."
"I thought that your arm was injured," Santana frowned.
"Not injured enough to not be able to carry a body," Sam replied, gripping Quinn's feet.
Santana grabbed Quinn's shoulders. "Okay, one, two, three, up," Sam said, voice grunting a little at the end as he, along with Santana, lifted Quinn up with effort. "All right, you walk backwards, we're nearly there." The two of them started to walk towards the far end of the backyard.
Neither of them spoke to each other during this time: there was simply nothing to say. They walked in silence for a minute or so until Sam's expression suddenly changed.
"What's the matter?" Santana asked, confused.
"Um, put her down for now," Sam ordered, and the two of them lowered her gently onto the ground. Santana turned her head to look at where Sam was looking at.
All the bodies were gone.
"What?" Sam gasped, walking over briskly to where the dead bodies were. "The bodies were definitely here, you can smell it and you can see the bloodstains."
He was right. There were patches of red grass, and there were a few flies nearby, presumably attracted by the smell of the decomposing bodies.
"Were they moved?" Santana frowned.
"Yeah, I think so," Sam replied. "Probably recently as well. But I don't get why."
"You think that Mike did it?" Santana asked.
Sam wiped some sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "I don't know. I don't think that it matters anyway. Where should we leave Quinn then?"
"I don't really want to go and find the other bodies, it seems pretty ghastly," Santana shuddered. "Should we just leave her here? Or should dig a hole and bury her?"
"I don't have the energy to dig a hole, Santana," Sam said apologetically.
"Yeah, me neither. Well, let's just leave her here, I guess," Santana said.
"Yeah," Sam sighed. "You want to stay and say some final goodbyes or something?"
"I think I will," Santana replied. "I didn't get the chance with Britt. I think I should with Quinn."
"Okay," Sam nodded. He straightened his shirt. "Well, I'll be off now."
"Bye," Santana said. Sam nodded again and made his way back across the back garden towards the house.
Santana looked back at Quinn. She flipped her over so that she could see her face. Her face was now more of a brown colour than bluish-purple, most likely because of all the mud that collected on her face as she got dragged through it. Santana crouched down next to her and brushed a tendril of blonde hair from Quinn's face. She decided to also wipe away the mud on the blonde's face, because she felt that it would be quite disrespectful to leave her all dirty, like something disposable.
"You've been a really good friend to me, Q. I'm so sorry that I couldn't protect you, I know you really wanted to live. Sometimes that I wish that the killer got me and let you live. It would work out for both of us, wouldn't it?" Santana chuckled a bit, tears starting to sting her eyes again. "You would live and I get to see Britt-Britt again. But life doesn't work that way, does it? Anyway, thank you, Q, for all the years of love and friendship. I will honour your wishes, and Britt's wishes, and try my best to make it out of here alive. I know that Mike has invited me to escape with him, but I don't think that I will go. I don't know if he has good intentions or not." Santana exhaled deeply. "Well, this is my final goodbye, Q. I can't thank you enough, for being such a loyal friend to me. Pay me a visit in my dreams just like my abuelo did for my abuela, okay? Also, bring Britt with you. I love you guys." Santana blinked a tear away. "Rest in peace, Quinn." Despite Quinn's still rather dirty face, Santana brushed more hair away from her face and kissed her on her forehead. Then, she turned and trudged her way back towards the house.
Santana was sat on a chair in the dining room, when Mike came into the room and joined her, sitting opposite her.
"Are you sure that you don't want to come tonight? I promise you, we will get out of here. It will literally be a safe passage to safety," Mike pleaded.
"I'm really sorry Mike, but I already told you that I'm not coming. Please just tell me how we are going to escape if you want me to change my mind," Santana said.
"Look," Mike whipped his head around rapidly from side to side to make sure that no one was listening. "I'm still worried that someone will hear my plan and will attempt to stop it. But I can tell you this: we are going to climb. I'm not going to tell you where right now in case someone's listening, but I found an exploit that we can climb over."
"And how did you find that 'exploit'?" Santana questioned.
Mike still looked on edge. "By thinking outside the box," Mike replied. "Please tell me that you'll reconsider? Climbing is a lot easier with two people. We can help each other."
Santana looked past Mike for a few seconds, thinking. Did she trust Mike enough to meet him in the dark alone? Did she trust Mike enough that he wouldn't sabotage her when she was climbing, making her fall to her death? She didn't even know how high the climb was. It was probably quite dangerous if Mike needed Santana's help. Mike was a very athletic person. He should've been able to do the climb by himself. If he couldn't, then Santana had no chance. Why would he call Santana over then, if neither of them had a chance? It was a trap. A trap for Mike to get Santana alone, where she would be killed in cold blood.
Being killed is bad. She had already promised Quinn that she would live her life. She had promised herself that she would live her life.
But what if it wasn't a trap? Santana was being given a free pass to escape. She would be able to make it back to her family safely. She would be able to start her senior year in a few weeks, graduate, and pursue her dreams of being a lawyer. For herself and her loved ones. It was too tempting. Could she trust Mike? She needed to ask him something first.
"Tell me this, Mike," Santana leaned forward on the table and laced her fingers together. "Why were the bodies moved?"
"What bodies?" Mike looked confused at first. Then he widened his eyes in realisation. "The dead ones? They were moved?" Santana nodded. "I didn't even know that they were moved."
"Say you were telling the truth," Santana followed up. "Why do you think that they were moved?"
"Honestly, I have no idea," Mike sighed and turned his head to look out the back window, most likely contemplating. "Maybe something is being done with the bodies? I don't know what they could be used for, though. Are you sure that the bodies are gone?"
"Positive," Santana nodded. "There were bloodstains and flies all around it. The bodies were definitely there. Probably removed recently."
"Why did you go there?" Mike frowned. Then he knew the answer. "Quinn."
"Yeah. I couldn't take her all the way there. Sam turned up halfway through and he helped me carry her," Santana said. A lightbulb seemed to light up in Mike's head.
"Did you say Sam? I think that he moved the bodies. He is probably setting up something grotesque, something that will haunt us as we die. He is probably going to go for manipulation or torture. He is going to dangle Tina's head or something in front of me while he gets me. He probably will dangle Brittany's in front of you," Mike said gravely.
"That's horrible!" Santana gasped, feeling like she wanted to vomit. If she saw Brittany's decapitated head she would probably faint. The thought of it was simply unbearable.
"I trust you, Santana," Mike said sincerely. "Please tell me you'll think about it?"
Santana thought for a while. Was she going to take the risk? If Mike was not lying, they would be out of here in no time. If Mike was lying, however, she was dying tonight. It was a hard decision. She didn't know yet.
"I'll think about it," Santana confirmed.
"That's all I need to hear," Mike gave a small smile. "I'll be at the gate at eleven sharp. I'll wait for you for fifteen minutes, then I'll climb. I'll wait for you for five more minutes when I'm on the other side, okay? If you come then I'll help you get over, and we can get away. Otherwise, I'm leaving by myself."
"Sounds fair," Santana nodded. "What if Sam comes for you before then though, while you are waiting for me?"
"I'll make a run for it," Mike replied. "I'll climb if I can, and I'll run away. If not, then I'm coming back into the house and I'll come and get you. We'll take him on together."
"Sounds like a plan," Santana said. "I can't guarantee that I'll come though. If all goes well and you manage to escape, don't wait for me for longer than you should. Just leave without me."
"Okay," Mike sounded reluctant. "Well, thank you for reconsidering. You won't regret it." He stood up, giving Santana one last look before leaving the room, leaving Santana sat alone in the dining room to think about her choices.
It had been hours since Mike had talked to Santana and she still hadn't made up her mind. She was perched on top of her bed, staring at the wall opposite her. This was the room that she had been sleeping in for a week and a half now. It used to be so… jubilant. Lively. Now it was just cold. Empty. Barren. This place used to buzz of chatter at all times. She would hear her girlfriend's voice, babbling away at what Santana would think to be the most amazing things, or she would pick up small arguments with Quinn just because she felt like it. Now, it was just her. Silence. Nothing.
Did Santana really trust Mike? Mike had the key to Santana's room now. He still hadn't given it back. This meant that Santana was not safe in here, if Mike was the killer. Mike had strongly suggested that it was Sam, but didn't Sam say that he was the scapegoat for everything? He always took the blame?
She didn't feel safe in this room anymore. Not when her two best friends got plucked out of here without anyone's notice.
If she wanted to survive, she was going to have to move rooms.
Grabbing some of her things, which wasn't much as Santana didn't really feel the need to put on makeup or anything now, she made her way across the corridor. She went over to the bathroom first, however. To be honest, she didn't know why. She was just letting her legs lead her to wherever they pleased.
When she made it to the bathroom, the girl at the other side of the glass stared at her. Santana stared back. She didn't recognise the girl on the other side. Yes, she had the same hair colour. Same eye colour. Same skin tone. But that girl was completely foreign to Santana.
It took her a while to realise that she was looking at a mirror, that she was looking at a reflection of herself. Except it wasn't really a reflection of herself anymore. It was a ghost. A shadow. A shell.
Giving a heavy sigh, she tore her gaze away from the mirror. The girl on the other side did the same. Santana turned her back and walked straight out of the bathroom. There was nothing that she needed here.
Which room should she reside in? There were really so many. She guessed that it didn't matter. It was best that she couldn't be found throughout the night.
Eventually, she decided to not sleep in a bedroom tonight. Whoever the killer was could hunt her down and find her. She decided to sleep in the study. There was an armchair inside. There was also a couch. She could sleep on the couch. It would be better than the bed she slept in for the last week or so anyway. That bed contained too many memories. The times where she made love with Brittany inside. The combined scent of Brittany and Quinn. The time they spent time alone together in that room. No. She was not sleeping in that bed tonight.
She closed the door to the study behind her. She didn't have the key to it, but it didn't even matter. It would just get picked if she locked it. She saw the armchair sat at the corner, so she went over and pushed it until it was against the door. The tip of the chair was leaning against the bottom of the circular handle. It would be hard to get in now.
It didn't feel like it was enough. She might need some kind of trap for the killer. Something that would turn out to be a nuisance, giving Santana a chance to wake up and take the killer on, instead of being caught off guard. She dug through the study. Whilst looking for things that may help her, she glanced towards the windowsill. There was a terracotta pot. That could help. Looking over to the shelf she spotted a vase made of china. That could also help.
She went over to get them and set the vase and the pot on the floor. She tilted the armchair back so that she could put the fragile items under each leg. When the killer tries to force their way through the door, the armchair would be pushed down with enough force to crush the pot and the vase, making it break. That should make a sound loud enough for Santana to wake up and not be helpless.
The security in this room was not perfect. But at least it was something; it was satisfactory. Santana looked at the watch on her wrist. It was nine forty-five. She still had a little over an hour to decide. She sat down on the couch.
Still considering whether or not she should go and meet Mike at eleven tonight.
It is time for what has become the least favourite part of my day.
Used to be my favourite. But honestly? After what I did to Quinn, I hate myself. With passion.
I hate myself so much that I just want to scream.
But I shouldn't.
Screaming won't help me. It won't help anyone.
Anyway, I have resigned to whatever evil is brewing inside of me. It is too strong. I have no more self-control.
If I refuse what it wants to do, it punishes me. I don't like being punished.
Anyway, who am I targeting today?
I don't even know. There is literally no one left. I don't know what I should do. Does it even make a difference who I kill first?
I've killed so many people. I hurt so many people. It's all I do nowadays.
And I can't stop.
Oh well. I'll just close my eyes and pick a person at random.
The lucky winner is… or should I say the unlucky winner is… Mike.
Alright, Mike is a really good person. He is kind. He really doesn't deserve what is coming to him.
Talking of that, um, should I even go for him tonight? He will probably see it coming. He has a knife.
I know that I have a knife too, but I'm not sure that I would win a one on one fight against him. Not in my state.
I'll see how it goes. I'll bail if things get bad.
Yes, I will get punished. But I would rather get punished than die.
Anyway, Mike said that he would be trying to escape tonight. I'm still intrigued as to how he would do that. I've been scouring the whole place and I could not find an 'exploit'.
I look at my watch. It is ten-forty. Mike said that he would be at the gate at eleven. Better be there before he is, then, or he would escape, wouldn't he? Him escaping would be very bad.
All right, let's get moving. Mask on. Knife in my hand.
I still feel guilty about Quinn. She was so scared when she saw me dressed like this. I still regret killing her. She didn't deserve it. She will haunt me for the rest of my life, however much of it I have left.
I make my way from the back garden back round to the front. Mike should be here, right? I look at my watch. It is ten fifty.
The gravel makes a soft crunching sound as I walk towards the front gate. It is currently a little too dark to see much at all, but it's fine. The soft sound that is made with every step I take is soothing. The atmosphere is tranquil. The clear night sky, the soft breeze. It is nice.
I get close enough to the front gate to realise that Mike was not here. Okay, that's good. I'm here early. I can take him by surprise when he gets here.
Ugh, my mask is blocking my vision. I take it off. There. Much better. I can actually see now.
Oh wait.
What?
How is Mike at the other side of the gate already? How is he out of this property? How – what the hell?
Where did he climb? How on earth did he get out?
He said that he would wait. He didn't wait.
Oh shit. Mike sees me. I think that he sees the knife in my hand as well as the mask. Well, he knows that I'm the killer now. We make eye contact for a few seconds. I can't really see his expression, as he is quite far from me and it is quite dark, but he takes a few steps backwards. He bolts.
He disappears into the woods.
Fuck! He's gone.
Well, this is over. Mike escaped. He is going to get help, the police will come and… yeah. Bad things will happen to me.
This is all your fault!
No, fuck off! I tell you what to do but you don't actually have to do it! It's your fault!
I only do what you tell me to do because you punish me!
Ugh, I don't even want to argue anymore. How did Mike get out?
I stand there, thinking for a few seconds. Then the answer strikes me.
He climbed over the gate. The front gate.
Why did that never cross my mind?
The fences were unclimbable because it had spikes on top. The gate didn't. It was just so much taller than the fences that I never thought about climbing the gate.
Shit. Mike is smart.
But why didn't he wait?
I make my way into the house. The clock in the lounge catches my eyes.
It is eleven twenty-five.
What? I look at my watch. It says ten fifty-five.
Fuck. My watch is thirty minutes slow.
Mike did wait. I just came too late.
Well, he's the one that got away.