better safe than starry-eyed
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Eddie opens his mouth, not sure what’s about to tumble out, when a noise reaches their ears over the hush of the box fan, an echoing thump from somewhere out in the auditorium. It’s quiet and far away, but it grabs their attention. One hand again supporting his back and the other pressed to his stomach like he’s trying to stabilize his insides, Eddie says, “Uh, about those outside forces…” Buck shrugs. “Probably just the school settling.” Eddie can feel another wave of pain ramping up, slowly creeping around his middle like a ratchet strap, and he swallows an incoherent noise of his own. “Can we go?” he manages, bending slightly at the waist. “I’m sorry, but my stomach is killing me, what the hell.” Buck looks at him, strange noise forgotten. “What? Why?” Eddie huffs. “Your guess is as good as mine.” “Okay, yeah.” He spins in place, hands out. He grabs his lunch tote and the flowers. “I didn’t think food poisoning came on that fast…” “It’s not food poisoning,” Eddie says. “My back hurts too.” “Your back?” Buck wrinkles his nose. “That’s weird. Did you hurt yourself at work?” “No, Buck. I didn’t want to say anything, but—" There’s another echoing thump that’s closer than the last, and this time it has them both jumping and not just turning. And like they’re in an episode of The Twilight Zone, the box fan chooses that moment to short out, plunging them into a sudden, ringing silence. The thump is followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps, heavy and slow. A pair of boots on an old wooden stage. The hair on the back of Eddie’s neck stands on end. Buck’s mouth works, unsure. Finally, he whispers, “Definitely not the school settling.” “Janitor?” He shakes his head. “Missy promised me we’d be alone.” Pain and fear are not a good mix, Eddie knows this from his years as a first responder and his preceding ones in the army. One usually tends to make the other worse. “I think we should go.” “Yeah, yeah, let’s get out of here.” They’re about to leave when a flash of black catches Eddie’s eye, just like in the bathroom. He skirts around Buck and tiptoes to the square hole in the wall that acts as a crude viewing window. Half-hiding behind the lighting rig, he peeks out at the stage. There’s a man. Dressed in head-to-toe black, combat boots included, and a burlap sack mask that Eddie hasn’t seen since the Valentine’s Day sting, he’s just standing there, watching. Looking up at the tech booth. Directly at them. And in the man’s hand is a knife. Eddie backs up and presses himself against the wall beside the window. Buck is still standing, staring out at the man in total, unobstructed view. Eddie grabs his arm and tugs. “Get down.” Buck drops into a crouch at Eddie’s feet and looks wildly up at him. “Who the hell is that?” Eddie grabs his stomach and sucks in a hiss between his teeth. “You’re the one who works here, you tell me!” Buck springs to his feet for another quick look. When he comes back down, he says, “It’s him.” “Who?” “The—” He glances up at the window. The tote and the flowers lay forgotten on the floor between them, the whole date forgotten. The déjà vu is whiplash-inducing. “The Killer Cupid.” Eddie’s knees go weak. He grabs Buck’s shoulders to steady himself. “What? He’s— But he’s in jail.” “You should really start watching more horror movies.” “I really shouldn’t.” “But there’s— There’s rules, Eddie. A formula. Of course the Killer Cupid escaped prison! It makes sense!” Eddie slides down the wall, cringing as his shirt rasps along the old plaster. He slaps a hand over Buck’s mouth. “It doesn’t fucking make sense, Buck. Lower your damn voice.”
or, the triumphs and defeats, the epic highs and lows of dating while a serial killer is on the loose.
(read on ao3)
