LAYNA STOOD OUTSIDE the administrative building, near a stone time capsule from 1888. It was etched with a name that every student heard time and time again: Cadogan Trask. She wondered what secrets were hidden inside, and could they possibly be graver than what was happening. If she could, she’d have busted it open to see. After all, she had already defaced school property. What could they do at this point?

Layna hurled the rock in her hand and it smashed through the window of the records office. It was the second window she had broken; the first to get out, and now, to get in.

She stepped up to the building and pulled her sleeves over her hands as makeshift gloves. She hoisted herself up and shimmied her way through. It was never as easy as it was in the movies, she thought, where characters easily leapt up, slid in, and landed on their feet without making a sound.

Layna grunted as she tried to maneuver herself in a way that would not only be safe, but quiet. The leg of her jeans caught the edge of the window casing, yanking her back. She tumbled onto the floor. Her hands, still covered by sleeves, felt the crunch of glass, but it did not pierce through to skin.

“Dammit!” she yelped. The impact hurt. It would bruise.

But she was inside.

She rubbed her clothed hands together to rid them of any small shards, then brushed off her legs and butt. Reaching for the light switch, she found it did nothing. She tried again, but the power was out. It worked in the other buildings, and the storm had passed, so someone wanted to keep things in the dark. Literally, she thought.

She had things to do, and fast, so she started toward a set of file cabinets. She scanned the small placards on each, looking for the one with last names that started with G. She found it, and was ready to yank it open and rifle through its contents, but something stopped her. She caught herself still believing in the lie.

Her hand went down to the drawer marked K. Kincaid was her real last name. She was not a Curtis. The school knew it. And now so did she. She grasped the handle; her thumb pressed the little knob. She clicked and pulled and hoped it wasn’t locked.

It wasn’t. That took Layna by surprise, but she kept going, ravenous to learn more about herself. She flicked through manila folders, dingy with age, their stickers creased and peeling. She hoped to find a file on her mother, but there was nothing. And then she found her own. It was as if there were an electric charge when her fingers touched it, like the folder wanted to be in her hands. She ripped it out and slammed the drawer shut.

With one swift turn, she laid the folder on top of the cabinet. She flipped through page after page, seeing her grades, letters of recommendation, certificates, and awards. Everything she already knew about the girl she was. Or once was. She flipped another page and saw small tabs behind it. She went right to the one labeled, “Official Records” and pulled it out.

Dingy yellow greeted her, but there was nothing under the tab.

The papers had been ripped out.

Her birth records were gone. Her real identity was gone. Not gone, she thought. Stolen. She wasn’t even real on paper.

But there was no time to mourn the loss, or wonder who could have taken the records. She heard a noise. Her body jolted with fear. She could feel the rush of acid in her stomach. Who would be in here besides her, unless they were there for her? She closed the file and decided to worry about the missing records later.

As she grabbed the folder at its edge, she accidentally bumped it. It took less than a second for her mind to understand what was happening before her body could react, and she watched the folder slide backward and fall behind the cabinet against the wall. The whoosh and thunk felt like a slap.

“Dammit!” she cursed, looking around as the noise came closer and closer. There was no time to pull the file cabinet from the wall, squeeze her arm behind it, grab the folder, and pull it back in one piece.

A shadow appeared in the hallway, just outside the door. Layna ducked, out of instinct, and frantically scanned for a way out, a place to hide, something.

She found it a few feet away, a side door that connected the Records Office to the next office, whatever it was. More administration, probably. She hoped the door was open and that the adjoining room had an exit. She scurried on her knees to the side door, reached for its handle, and turned. It gave, and she opened the door just enough to squeeze through. When she was on the other side, she heard the clicking of her escape door latching as the stranger opened the entrance door to the room she had just left.

Layna let out a muffled sigh. Thinking. Planning and plotting. She needed to do something, and fast.

With the lights out, she knew she could quietly move toward the other door. As she scuttled across the floor, she looked behind her but could neither see nor hear anyone, so she moved toward the next door until something on the floor caught her eye. It was a piece of torn paper, sitting near the edge of the desk. It looked blank, so she turned it over. Scrawled in handwriting she did not recognize, it said:

When the bough breaks the cradle will fall

The paper picked up the sweat from her hand as she rolled the words in her mind. Was it meant for her? Was it about her? She turned her head and saw that something reflected the tiny bit of moonlight that came through the casement windows. It was under the desk, so she ducked her head and peered below, but the space was too small to make anything out. She shifted herself past and around the far side of the desk when her hand landed on it.

A black shoe, shined to perfection. Her hand felt the softest wisp of fabric. A pant leg. Her eyes trailed upward to meet another pair of eyes, staring at her. She sucked in air, and as she let it out, a small, pained bleat came with it. She covered her mouth as tears fell from her eyes and collected at the tops of her fingers.

Her head shook back and forth, and she squinted, knowing she would not be able to hold back the scream that bubbled forth, waiting to cry out in madness because of the thing staring back at her.

The sawed-off head of Dean McKenna.

It sat perfectly in his own lap, and the dead man’s hands cradled it like a small child. Sinews of flesh splayed out in a jagged mess that suggested, however impossible, that it may very well have been ripped off his body. The dean’s dark pants glistened with blood which soaked through to his pale, old man skin.

She stared in shock. The dean, first a suspect, then a threat, was now a victim. Layna’s scream erupted and rumbled through the tiny room, just as the door behind her opened, as if the sound of her terror were the catalyst.

The killer filled the doorframe.

Layna scrambled to get up, her blue Chuck Taylor’s sliding in the slaughtered dean’s blood. As her pursuer took a step closer, she found traction and bolted through the door connecting the offices. In the next room, she saw timecards scatter from a table to the floor as she flew through. Another door awaited, and she prayed it would open like the first.

It did. As she burst through it, she looked back and saw the attacker following. Not as fast as she might have thought, but rapidly enough.

Layna went from door to door and room to room. Four rooms later she had reached the end. There was nowhere to go but through the main door to the last office. Somehow, she knew it would be locked, and when she checked, it was. She grabbed a chair behind the only desk in the room, and a cardigan sweater that reeked of stale cigarettes fell off the back. The scent made her gag as she flung the chair at the glass. Broken lucky window number three. She let the chair drop back to the floor and grabbed the sweater, wrapped it around her arm, and used it to clear the jagged shards still stuck into the frame. Unraveling the material from her arm, she threw it to the floor, climbed through the window, and stretched her legs taut so she could land unhurt.

Once inside the hallway, Layna looked back into the room but saw nothing. She gazed back toward the hallway and barely missed the swinging knife. She pulled her head back, and the knife stuck in the wood frame.

Mere inches away, the killer yanked on the blade and worked it free. Layna forced her foot into their groin, and they went down with a grunt. The knife fell free from the doorframe and clanked next to the masked face of the attacker.

Layna wasted no time in using the advantage. She bolted for the end of the hall, pushed open the double doors, and left the building.

She panted as she ran to the adjacent dance hall. When she looked back and saw no one, she pushed open the front doors, and entered the darkness. She tried the lights, but they were out. She sensed something was wrong when she felt herself slipping, ever so slightly. Allowing her eyes to adjust, she bent down and saw blood. A lot of it. She stood slowly, and turned to face another stare, this time from the slit throat and intact head of a very dead Daniel.

This time a crying gurgle of defeat came out instead of a scream. It was all she could do when she suddenly thought Alice must surely be dead. And then it hit her.

Nancy.

Layna found the strength to shake off the nightmare of Daniel and look for her friend, assuming she was even in the building. She rushed down the hall, tugging on whatever doors she could find. They were all locked, so she rounded the corner and saw that the entrance to the main studio was not only unlocked, but propped open.

She entered the room of mirrors, the only light coming from the reflected moon through a skylight, bouncing to and fro. One of its beams shone down on Nancy. Layna ran to the crumpled girl.

“Nancy? Thank God!”

But when Layna made it to her, it was too late. She looked down at the brutally slain girl, stabbed to death with shards of broken mirror.

“No!”

Layna’s tears fell as she stroked her friend’s hair, moving thick, bloody strands from Nancy’s face. Her eyes were still open, but Layna dared not touch them. She wept until her hand snagged something underneath Nancy’s head.

It was a crumpled, blood-soaked piece of paper. Layna pulled it close, unraveled it, and studied the words scrawled on it.

––––––––

It will take more than seven years to counter

the broken mirror of my heart

––––––––

LAYNA THREW IT DOWN and got to her feet. She was exhausted, and her mind felt like it had been jumbled.

“What—what do you want?” she asked as if the killer had arrived for conversation.

She sobbed and wiped her eyes with her sleeve, careful not to smear blood on her face. She felt the fight leaving her body. Looking down at her friend, she backed away.

And stopped when she bumped into somebody right behind her.

Layna screamed, jumped back, and fell over Nancy’s dead body. Her hands were inches away from jagged shards of mirror. She looked up, breathless.

It was Max. “Layn, come on, we have to go.”

Layna wasn’t sure what to do. Her eyes darted from Max, to Nancy, and then back to him. Max extended his hand to her. She reached out, but it felt as if she grabbed the hand of a stranger. So many questions ran through her head. So much terror, betrayal. She wasn’t sure what to do. Or who to trust.

“Now!” Max yelped as he yanked Layna up.

She felt her shoulder pop when he pulled, and she got lightheaded. She turned back to Nancy and let out a scream, then grabbed onto Max, pushing her face into his muscled shoulder. It felt good when he held her tight.

“Oh, God, Max. What is happening?” she asked, the words muffled and buried in his jacket.

Max pushed her away gently. “Layna, we have to leave here, right now.” He didn’t wait for a reply, leading her out of the room and down the hall. She did not, could not, turn back to look at Nancy again, even though it would be the last time she’d ever see her friend.

As they made it outside, Max cautiously looked both ways, as if the two were crossing a street of horrors.

“The dean is dead,” Layna said.

“I know,” Max said, too nonchalantly for Layna’s liking. He pulled her, but she yanked her arm back, and he whipped around. “What are you doing? Come on!”

Layna stood firm. “Where? Go where? How did you know the dean was dead? And where to find me?” She saw he knew what she was insinuating.

Max softened, and his shoulders dropped. “I was at the security office with Parker and Dillon. Parker didn’t have any answers, and Dillon wasn’t talking, so I left to find you.”

“When?” Layna asked.

“When what, Layn? Jesus.”

“When did you leave there?” Layna was trying to hide her worry, but wasn’t doing a good job. She shook her head. “And how did you know about the dean?”

“I saw the window to the records building was smashed, so I went in,” Max admitted. “I found him. It looked like something else had gone down, so I followed the open doors to the window and, like you, came to the dance building.” He edged closer, but Layna backed away.

“Layna, it’s not me,” Max said. “I’m not hurting anyone.”

She looked at him. Her pupils dilated as she took in his face, wanting so desperately to believe him.

“I love you. It isn’t me!” Max insisted.

His answer seemed fair enough to Layna. True enough. Then her eyes suddenly went wide. Behind Max, the familiar, horrible mask of the killer came into view as the person wearing it raced wildly their way.

Layna screamed loud enough for the entire island to hear. To shake the very trees bare. “Max, behind you!”

Layna knew she should have yelled for them to run, or just started running, because Max just turned around. Too late. The knife arced over him and came slashing down across the front of his body.

Max turned back to Layna, shock splayed across his face, a thin line of crimson growing under his torn shirt. It grew wide fast. Max glanced down at it, too.

“Run!” was all Max got out.

And they did. Just as the knife came slicing toward Max again, he grabbed her arm and they took off.

Layna ignored the burn in her legs, not sure if she could keep Max’s pace. A look behind her confirmed the killer was giving chase.

She and Max ran across the quad and darted around the corner of the arts building. The jingle of a student-crafted wind chime, forged from steel and bigger than the two lovers combined, greeted them.

Layna bumped into Max when he stopped. “What are you doing? Keep going!” she hissed.

Max spoke fast, so fast that Layna seemed to catch only every other word. She tried to focus on what he was saying as she watched him bleed heavily, the blood pooling at his skinny waist and trickling to the ground. To his sneakers. It crushed her, and she clutched at her chest as if she felt his pain.

“Leave me, just go,” Max pleaded.

“What? No, Max—”

“Just do it,” Max ordered. “They can’t get us both if we’re not together. Please, Layn.” He bent over in pain.

Layna softly touched the top of his head, not even trying to hold back tears. “Jesus, Max, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

“Just go!” he said, and pushed her.

Layna knew, hoped, it was because he loved her. That’s what she told herself. Right then she remembered the Ali MacGraw movie, Love Story. It had been one of Nancy’s favorites for its melodrama. She always went around saying love meant never having to say you’re sorry, but now all Layna could think was love meant never having to get your boyfriend killed. But she backed away from Max slowly. “I love—”

The killer appeared around the corner. Layna watched as the knife hovered over Max again, about to lower. This time she did not let tears flow. Instead she used the anger collected deep inside her. “Hey, Asshole!” she yelled.

The attacker stopped and raised their twisted mask to her. She stared into the deep blackness where eyes should be.

“It’s me you want. And this.” She waved the manuscript tauntingly. It was a risk, but it was the only card she could play. She turned and ran. She did not see the killer hesitate, or Max’s broad shoulders heave as he slammed a fist into the attacker’s stomach, causing them to drop the knife and stumble back. Max moved awkwardly as well, losing more and more blood, but he managed to grab the knife.

When Layna thought she was far enough away, she looked back. Ready to tease with the manuscript, to scream at the killer to come take it.

But Max and the killer were gone.