- Part 1 -
Arrhythmia
I've got this feeling that there's something that I missed.
(I could do most anything to you.)
Don't you breathe, don't you breathe.
(I could do most anything to you.)
Something happened that I never understood.
(I could do most anything to you.)
You can't leave, you can't leave.
(I could do most anything to you.)
-Snow Patrol
The dining room door slams shut.
Everyone erupts into a state of confusion.
Aubrey's breath hitches in her throat, and she looks for another exit.
The bullet of a shotgun shatters a window somewhere behind Aubrey with an ear-splitting crash, and everyone starts to scream.
"Chloe, get down!" Aubrey yells over the deafening carnival music. She shrieks as another bullet smashes into a drinking glass on the table, and drops to the ground, covering her head with her arms. She backs herself up on her elbows and knees, trying to hide herself underneath her chair as whoever is shooting reloads their gun. It's an over and under double barrel shotgun, the same as they used for trap shooting – she can tell by the sound. And they know how to reload and use it, because it's only a matter of seconds before two more shots overpower the chaos and panic. People run past her, but Aubrey doesn't know where to. There is nowhere to go.
Aubrey reaches into her pocket and pulls out Chloe's phone, hitting the home button. No Service. She unlocks it anyway and dials 9-1-1, keeping her head down as she presses the phone against her ear. Silence. She ends the call and tries again, this time dialing her father's number. He has saved the lives of several people in bombings and active shooter situations. He would know what to do. The phone doesn't even so much as ring once. "Fuck," she hisses and shoves the phone back into her pocket.
There are more shots and Chloe yells, "Stop!" at the top of her lungs.
Aubrey looks up and across the room at her.
Chloe is on the ground – her legs tucked under her and her arms covering her head. A bullet hits the wall behind her. And then another hits the ground only a few feet away from her. The shooter stops to reload. Then shoots the ground beside her again. And again. Beca flings her arm over Chloe, covering part of her with her own body. "Beca, no!" Chloe yells and tries to push her off, but Beca doesn't budge. Another bullet hits the wall behind Chloe. She and Beca are sitting ducks against that wall, and it would only take one well-aimed shot to fatally injure them both. But as another bullet hits the ground next to them, Aubrey realizes the person shooting isn't trying to kill them. The person shooting at them is purposely missing them to screw with Chloe. And it's working; Chloe has dissolved into a fit of loud sobs.
Aubrey looks around and tries to put herself into her father's shoes. In a situation where his men could not fight back, he would take it upon himself to get them to safety. She needs to get Chloe and Beca out of the direct line of fire – regardless of whether or not the shooter is trying to hit them. She wipes at her eyes to clear her vision, and refuses to allow new tears to blur it again. The buffet table is positioned against the side and back walls – and it's covered with a table cloth. If they were under it, and in the corner, not only could they not get hit at that angle from the window, they would also be completely out of sight. It's the only option they have. She looks at Beca and tries to get her attention with her eyes.
Beca glances at her, then looks back once she realizes that Aubrey is staring at her. She looks at the carpet and then back up, subtly giving Aubrey her attention.
Aubrey points at the buffet table.
Beca glances at it. She looks back at Aubrey in confusion.
Aubrey doesn't know how to get across what she's thinking to Beca. She makes a running motion with two of her fingers then points to the table again.
Beca looks up at the broken window then down at the carpet, flinching as another bullet flies above her. She shakes her head so subtly that Aubrey almost misses it.
Someone makes a break for the door – a tall, hefty man, dressed in a Candlewick uniform. He smashes himself into the door, but it doesn't budge. The gun cracks and a bullet hits him in the middle of the back – slamming him into the door. He slides to the ground.
Beca leans over Chloe, blocking her view of everything happening around them, and looks at Aubrey again as another bullet hits someone else.
Aubrey holds up five fingers. They have to run. She swallows hard, lowering one finger as the shooter sends a bullet into the wall.
Beca whispers in Chloe's ear, continuing to talk even as Chloe starts violently shaking her head in disagreement. She says something that causes Chloe to look up at Aubrey. Aubrey lowers another finger as a bullet knocks a picture frame off the wall. The person is mostly just shooting at random; it seems like a scare tactic, with a few victims to prove he isn't all bark. She's down to three fingers as he reloads.
He shoots again.
Two.
Another shot.
One.
Aubrey bolts out from under the chair as he reloads, and she makes a break for the buffet table.
Beca and Chloe both scramble after her, half running, half crawling across the floor. Two shots break out, one right after the other, but the all three make it under the table unscathed.
Chloe presses herself against the wall, pulling her knees up close to her chest. Her chest heaves with each gasp for air, and she sobs on every exhale, her entire body quaking. The moment Beca sits down, Chloe is practically crawling on top of her, trying to cram them into the corner. "Aubrey…"
Beca is gasping for air as well, tears rimming her eyes, but she seems to have herself under better control than Chloe does. She backs them up into the corner, looking around underneath the table.
Aubrey looks underneath the table cloth, her eyes scanning the room for any sort of exit she might have somehow missed. She sits up, ducking so her head doesn't hit the top of the table, and backs up next to Chloe and Beca. "We should stay here," she says, raising her voice over the music and gunshots. Eventually, he has to run out of ammo.
"I don't understand what is happening!" Chloe presses her hand against her forehead. "Why is someone doing this?! It doesn't make sense!"
Aubrey wants to tell her it's going to be okay, but there is another shot, and someone starts screaming in pain, and she knows it would be a lie. Chloe is right – it doesn't make sense. Something isn't adding up. She runs her fingers through her hair, and tries to think of what her father would do next, but the only damn thought running through her mind is that she doesn't understand why she has been so against making Chloe happy and just letting her have a fucking cat. They're going to get out from under this table, and the first thing Aubrey is going to do when she gets home is take her to get her stupid cat. She stares at Chloe, realizing that she's going to pass out if she keeps hyperventilating like she is. She can't even blame Beca for not trying to help her - not after Beca just used herself as a human shield and looks like she's putting all of her effort into controlling her own breaths.
"What kind of cat do you want?" Aubrey blurts out, grabbing for anything that might distract Chloe and calm her down. She ignores the look she gets from Beca. "Tell me what kind of cat you want, and we can get it."
"I don't know," Chloe mouths. Her head lulls against Beca's shoulder, and she covers her eyes with her hand. "I'm going to throw up."
Beca gets her shit together and places her hands on Chloe's shoulders, forcing her to sit up straight. "Come on, you're not gonna throw up." She adjusts them so Chloe is sitting between her legs rather than directly on top of them. "Puking is Aubrey's job."
"I am." Chloe leans forward, hiding her entire face behind her hands.
Aubrey ignores the jab. "Don't tell me you don't have any idea what kind of cat you want," she says, knowing way better than that. "For serious, tell me what you want, and it's yours, Chloe."
"Yo, Aubrey is literally offering to go out and get you a cat," Beca says, "I'd take the offer before she changes her mind."
"I don't want one." Chloe shakes her head.
"What? Chloe, you ask me for a cat literally every single day. Every time you write the grocery list, you write cat directly at the top and at the bottom." People dying around them or not, Aubrey knows better than to think Chloe has changed her mind and suddenly just doesn't want this ridiculous thing. "For all I know, we probably already have one, and I just haven't noticed yet."
That gets Chloe's attention. Aubrey can see it. She can see it in the way Chloe's shoulders tense for the briefest fraction of a second. This isn't possible, because Aubrey would notice if they had a cat running around in their apartment. She might spend more time at work lately, but she isn't clueless. But she can read the new kind of apprehension in Chloe's posture. "Chloe…" she says slowly, "Do we have a cat?"
Chloe starts to rope herself back in, but doesn't lift her face from her hands.
Aubrey taps her fingers on the wall.
"Dude, if you snuck a cat into your place, I think this would be the best time to say it," Beca says to Chloe, looking at Aubrey, "Right now, when she can't get mad at you."
Chloe lifts her head. "Well, he doesn't live inside!" she defends herself, still quietly sobbing.
Aubrey blinks. "Well, then where the hell does it live, Chloe?" she asks disapprovingly, trying not to snap at her.
Chloe swallows thickly. "In the alley," she answers.
"So, it's an alley cat?" Aubrey confirms. She freezes. "Chloe, are you talking about that mangy cat with half an ear that lodged itself under the hood of my car last winter?" She doesn't know why she bothered asking. She already knows the answer.
"It's our cat," Chloe corrects her.
Aubrey has to take a deep breath. If anything, she has distracted herself from their surroundings – as much as possible anyway. Screams are ringing in her ears, and her emotions have numbed themselves out. She doesn't feel scared. She doesn't feel anything. She just knows how she would feel about this conversation under different circumstances. "That cat does not want to be a house cat." This is not what she was thinking when she agreed to this just a few moments before. She thought Chloe would want to go to the shelter and pick up a cat that had been abandoned, not pull one off the street herself. "It would destroy everything."
Chloe shakes her head. "It already lives in the apartment when you're at work," she says.
So much for it not living inside. Aubrey keeps taking deep breaths. "Does our cat have a name?" she asks.
Chloe looks up at her – still looking absolutely terrified. "Catsy Cline," she answers, "I named him that so you would like him more, but you always say no to having a cat."
"You named our male cat Catsy Cline?" Aubrey asks, then looks at Beca. "Do not say anything about this being catastrophic," she warns her, knowingly, looking away before she provokes any sort of reaction.
Chloe shrugs, the color draining from her face. She rests her forehead against Beca's shoulder, and Aubrey worries that she might actually throw up. "I don't want to talk about this, Aubrey. You can't distract me from the fact that there are people dying all around us. There are people dying!" She picks at the skin on her lower lip for a moment, then closes her eyes and places her hands over her ears. She stretches out one of her legs across Aubrey's lap, and uses the heel of her foot to pull Aubrey into sitting shoulder to shoulder with Beca.
Beca places of one of her hands between Chloe's shoulder blades, rubbing small circles with her fingers, as Chloe just cries silently into her shoulder. She shifts so her arm is pressed Aubrey's and looks up at her. "Hey, Aubrey, if we die here -"
Aubrey quickly angles herself sideways to see her better. "We're not going to die here, Beca." She will not let Chloe be shot to death. Chloe will not die under a buffet table on some god-forsaken island. "Everything is going to be fine for us." She has to force herself to believe it.
"If we die here," Beca says again, completely serious, "I should have believed you. I just…" She shakes her head and looks straight ahead at the table cloth. "I don't know. Dude, I don't know why the hell it's so hard for us."
Aubrey knows it's partially her fault. A bullet flies by the table, too close for comfort, and she has to remind herself they're out of range. She slouches back against the wall, and leans her head against Chloe's, fighting the urge to pry her off of Beca and pull her closer to herself. "We're not going to die here," she repeats, the idea of nothingness creeping back into her chest. She turns her head slightly and focuses on the smell of Chloe's shampoo, her mind trying to comprehend how in a matter of seconds, she could just never smell it again. Dying isn't possible. It's not logical. It doesn't make sense to just not exist. Only, she can see someone's blood soaking into the carpet from under the space where the table cloth doesn't quite meet the floor, and it makes sense for that guy. She sniffles and can't stop a few tears from rolling down her face.
Beca's hand accidentally brushes against Aubrey's, and Aubrey jolts back like Beca is on fire, unable to forgive her as easily as Chloe can. Beca might be sorry, but Aubrey is still hurt. Not just from the previous night. From a lot of things at this point. She flexes her fingers. Apologies can't just take away Beca's words. And while Aubrey might be sorry, it is only for not telling Beca about the mirror and her previous encounter with the deer. She huddles next to the two of them, determined to figure out a way out. Her father would not accept death here.
The gunfire and music both come to an abrupt stop, and Aubrey's ears are left ringing. No one moves. No one talks. No one is even left screaming in pain. And Aubrey is left with a sinking feeling that the three of them may be the only people left.
"Is it over?" Beca asks, her voice just above a whisper. She looks around and switches her hand from Chloe's back to the back of Chloe's head as she tries to sit up straighter, without hitting her head on the table.
"Don't move." Aubrey sits up, quickly placing her arm in front of Beca to prevent her from going anywhere. It could be a ruse to get them out from underneath the table. She relaxes her arm as Beca slowly slouches back against the wall again.
"We can't stay under here," Beca says, "Eventually, someone has to go out there."
Aubrey knows she's right. Someone has to get help. "I'll go," she volunteers herself. It only makes sense for it to be her. She has more basic knowledge of what to do here, thanks to her father. She's in shape to run as far as she needs to to find the sheriff. And sending Beca out there would just be sending her on a suicide mission - especially if the shooter is just waiting for one of them to show themselves.
"Aubrey, don't," Chloe reaches to grab her arm, but Aubrey moves out of the way.
"Do not leave her," Aubrey commands Beca. Especially if I don't come back.
"Aubrey!" Chloe rebukes her.
Beca holds up her right hand.
Aubrey takes a deep breath and slowly crawls out from under the table. She thinks she's prepared for the amount of carnage she's about to see, but the sight of bodies scattered across the floor and blood everywhere on the walls and carpet makes it hard to stand up. She has to grab the buffet table and pull herself to her feet. She's still out of range where she's standing, and she suddenly isn't sure she can convince her feet to carry her anywhere else.
"Aubrey," Cynthia-Rose hisses.
Aubrey quickly turns around to where Cynthia-Rose, Fat Amy, Stacie, and Lilly are all huddled under their breakfast table – unharmed. She looks around again and two things occurs to her. The first is that of all the people strewn across the floor – she doesn't personally know any of them. They're just random faces she saw on the ferry on the way in. The second is that the only people left alive are Bellas. It's not a coincidence. The table where they were eating breakfast is in shooting range from the window.
"Are Chloe and Beca okay?" Cynthia-Rose whispers.
Aubrey manages a silent nod. She looks out the window. Whoever did this, it looks like they're gone now. "Did you see who it was?" she asks Cynthia-Rose. Cynthia-Rose looks the least shell-shocked. Something occurs to her the moment she asks if Cynthia-Rose saw the person shooting. It never hit her in the midst of the chaos that someone else had to have shut the door. It wouldn't be possible to do both. This is more than one person.
"They had on a mask," Cynthia-Rose answers. "It looked like a guy. What are we gonna do?"
"I'm going to get help from the sheriff." Aubrey looks at the body of the first guy shot blocking the door, and she debates climbing out through the window.
Cynthia-Rose crawls out from under the table and gets to her feet. "I'll go, too," she says, "It'll be better if there's two of us – in case somethin' happens."
Aubrey nods in agreement. The statistics of someone getting help are better if more than one of them go.
Cynthia-Rose leans over and whispers in Aubrey's ear. "We need to find Donald and Sophia, too."
Aubrey glances back at Stacie, who has her face buried in her hands. She nods and tells herself if The Bellas are fine, they probably are too. At least they weren't here to witness this. "Let's go."
There is a crash against the door, and Cynthia-Rose freezes in place as Aubrey takes a few steps back, crashing into the table. She grabs the edge of it to steady herself. She picks up an empty glass and gets ready to throw it, even though she knows full well it's useless against a gun. She still isn't going down without a fight.
"This is the sheriff," Mills yells from behind the door. He pushes against it again, struggling to open it with the body in the way. "Open up!"
Aubrey places the glass back down. She races to the door, Cynthia-Rose hot on her heels. She stops in front of the body, and she and Cynthia-Rose share a look. She doesn't know what other options they have. Mills bangs on the door again. Aubrey feels like she's somewhere else, and someone is controlling her body for her. They both grab an arm and drag the guy across the floor as Mills pushes open the door. She pushes away the thought that she should feel something – fear, disgust, sympathy – and gratefully accepts the numbness that is engulfing her.
Aubrey stands up straight, breathing a breath of relief as Mills steps inside. That's one thing she can still feel - along with a dizziness that makes her feel like she might pass out.
The sound Mills makes upon first seeing the room isn't one that Aubrey can really describe in words. It's somewhere between a groan, a grunt, and a gag. He finds his composure almost immediately afterward and rests his hand on the handle of the gun sticking out of his belt. "I want everybody in the middle of the room with your hands up," he commands.
Aubrey puts her hands up near her head and slowly walks toward the center of the room, looking around as she goes. She has never seen anything like this – not even in the movies. She turns and watches Beca and Chloe crawls out from underneath the table and put their hands up.
Beca puffs out her cheeks and looks at the ceiling, rather than at the bodies. She walks halfway across the room then stops when she seems to realize Chloe isn't following her.
"Oh my god," Chloe whispers. She stares at the scene, her mouth wide open, and struggles to breathe again. She must forget that her hands need to be in the air, because she covers her mouth, then remembers and puts them up again, keeping them near her face. "Oh my god." She squeezes her eyes shut, tears streaming down her face.
Aubrey tries to make eye contact with Mills, silently entreating him to let her move.
Mills sighs and makes a vague hand motion toward Chloe.
Aubrey drops her arms and runs to her. She throws her arms around her, catching her just as her legs buckle. Rather than going down to the floor with her, Aubrey uses all of her strength to hold her up – ready to drag her out of the room the moment they're dismissed.
Mills grabs his walkie-talkie and holds it up to his lips. "I need backup at The Candlewick," he says, his eyes scanning the room. "Alert everyone on the island that they have one hour to pack a bag and be gathered at the chapel. This is a mandatory evacuation."
"Copy that," someone speaks back.
The sheriff looks at the seven of them. "You have twenty minutes to grab your things and meet me at the chapel. I will be questioning all of you." He looks back at the door. "There are bodies in the hall," he warns them.
"Beca." Aubrey looks back to make sure she's near them. The moment she starts to walk, Chloe stands up on her own two feet again. It feels like everything has flipped from slow motion to happening too fast for Aubrey to keep up. She pushes Chloe toward the door, steering her around bodies, blood, and broken glass. The metallic stench of blood clings to the back of her throat. She does her best to avoid looking at the two bodies on the hallway floor – only noticing a Candlewick uniform on one of them.
A strangled sob from Beca stops her in her tracks.
Aubrey turns around and realizes that Beca has stopped just outside the door and is standing with her back to them, facing the other body. "Beca, let's go." She's stuck between getting Chloe out the door and getting Beca out there with them. The other Bellas rush past them and toward the exit.
Beca lets out another sob, that sends a chill down Aubrey's spine, and slowly sinks to her knees beside the body – covering her face with her hands.
Aubrey stares at her back, her heart thudding in her chest. She has never seen Beca cry before. Sure, she's seen her shed some tears, but never cry. Her feet feel frozen to the floor.
Chloe makes Aubrey's decision for her and breaks away from her, doubling back down the hall to get to Beca. She drops to her knees and wraps her arms around Beca, pulling her into a tight hug that Beca doesn't even seem to acknowledge.
Aubrey takes a few steps toward them, coming to another halt when she realizes the body on the ground is Beca's dad.
Every second dripping off my fingertips.
(I could do most anything to you.)
Wage your war, wage your war.
(I could do most anything to you.)
Another soldier says he's not afraid to die.
(I could do most anything to you.)
I am scared, I'm so scared.
(I could do most anything to you.)
-Snow Patrol
