some sort. I don’t know. Whatever it is, it’s making a sound like gunfire and lighting up the room.

“Fuck,” Kenai barks, jerking Marlie to a corner protected by a wall.

Oliver pulls me there, too.

“What the hell is that?” Oliver yells over the popping sound.

“Don’t know unless I see it,” Kenai bellows.

Frantic shuffling and voices can be heard from the room everyone is in. We’re not going to be able to contain them much longer if we don’t control this situation soon. The evil laugh I heard from the hallway comes out over some sort of speaker system, probably the one we use, and fills the now-quiet space. Going on and on, the horrible sound makes my skin crawl.

“I’m callin’ the cops again,” Kenai growls, pulling out his phone. “Fuck me, I don’t even have my gun.”

“I don’t feel safe, Kenai,” Marlie says. “This doesn’t make me feel good, at all . . .”

“We’re goin’ to sort it. I promise. It’ll be okay.”

The laughter stops, and I tuck myself into Oliver’s side, trembling. He puts an arm around me.

“I think we need to go look again,” Oliver says. “Whoever it is is in here.”

“Yeah, I agree,” Kenai says. “Find a weapon of some sort first, maybe something heavy. I don’t know who the fuck is out there.”

“I’m coming with you,” I say to Oliver.

“And I’m coming with you,” Marlie insists to Kenai.

“No,” both men say at the same time.

Marlie and I huddle closer, not bothering to argue. The two men disappear and we stay close, listening to shuffling sounds, scurrying, and strange noises. We sit like that for over twenty minutes, and when they don’t come back, I get nervous. “They’re not back, Marlie,” I whisper. “I don’t like it. What if they’re hurt?”

“Me, either. We need to go and check.”

“Is that safe?”

Marlie shakes her head. “I’ve had worse, and to be honest, I have forty people in there. If anything happens to any one of them . . .”

“Okay, I know, let’s go.”

“You can go in the room, Jade. You can help Kaity. You don’t have to be out here.”

“No,” I say, reaching for the phone she hands me that has a flashlight. “I’m coming.”

“If anything happens, anything at all, scream as loud as you can and run.”

I nod, swallowing the nerves building in my belly.

“I’ll take upstairs,” I whisper.

“Okay.”

I’m not entirely sure this is a good idea, but I move anyway, heading up the stairs and toward the top floor of the building. I try to avoid fallen decorations as I climb the stairs as quietly as I can, keeping the flashlight low. I reach the top without drama, and flash my light down the hall, left to right. I walk toward the storage closet when I see Oliver running down the hall. He charges at me and throws us into the storage closet, the door slamming closed just before I hear the thumping sound of what could honestly be a bowling ball coming bounding past.

“Ah,” I shout before he covers my mouth with his hand.

It’s deathly dark in here, and Oliver keeps his arms around me, panting, his breath tickling my ear as we listen. I don’t really know what we’re listening for or even waiting for, but Oliver is dead still. He doesn’t move; he just hangs on to me. More crashing sounds happen outside, and then dead silence. After a few minutes, Oliver takes his hand off my mouth. “You okay?”

“What just happened?” I whisper.

“Someone threw a bowling ball at my damned head.”

I blink. I thought as much, but I guess I didn’t want to believe that’s actually what it was.

“A bowling ball?” I squeak.

“Yep. I just saw you get to the top of the stairs and turned around to see someone lifting one above their head. I ran toward you, as fast as I could, and they threw it. Just missed us.”

“Did you see who it was?”

“No. Whoever it was, they were fully dressed in a costume. I’d say that’s how they got in here without any suspicion.”

“Do you think it was someone who comes here regularly?”

He shrugs, still keeping his arms around me. “I honestly don’t know. None of it makes sense. It seems like a prank, but if that ball had hit me on the head . . .”

“Yeah. You’d be hurt.”

He shudders a little and pulls me closer.

“We’re stuck in here now,” I say. “This door doesn’t open from the inside.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Probably the safest place to be right now.”

“Not if they know we’re in here . . .”

He squeezes my arm gently. “I don’t think they care. They probably think it’s funny.”

We hear some more screaming coming from below, and I clutch Oliver’s arm. “What do we do?”

“Nothing we can do from in here except call the police again?”

“Yeah, let’s do that.”

Oliver dials the police station and we’re informed officers are currently locating the key and will be on their way. He tells them the situation has become dangerous and they need to hurry. When he hangs up, he shifts us around until his back is pressed against the wall and I’m leaning with my back against his chest, sitting between his legs, his arms around my waist.

“Just think, this is how we first started talking,” he tells me in a soft, husky tone.

“Yes, it is. We had to be locked in a closet to make conversation with each other.”

He starts rubbing his hand on my belly, making small circles with his finger. “I wanted to talk to you, but you always looked away when I made eye contact so I didn’t figure you wanted to talk to me. I didn’t want to freak you out, so I let you be.”

“Yeah,” I say, my voice still trembling from the events. “I get a little bit shy.”

“Nothing wrong with that. I’m glad you fell into this closet.”

We stay quiet for what seems like hours, but in reality is probably just a minute.

“Do you think everyone is okay?” I ask him, so

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