Chapter 40: Fading

Sarah Miller stared at the crumpled paper in her hand, reading the simple instruction over and over: "Turn on the lights in the ladies' room." Such a trivial task, yet it felt loaded.

As the group scattered in different directions, Sarah couldn't help but think that this was all part of some twisted plan to divide them. Maybe that was their first mistake – not sticking together. But how could they, when trust was a luxury none of them could afford?

Red's words echoed in her mind: "One of the killers is among you."

The claim sent chills down Sarah's spine. It seemed impossible – they'd all arrived at the clubhouse together, save for one. Her thoughts drifted to Rocco, the newest addition to their ragtag band. Could he be the one?

Sarah paused. Had the previous recruits gone through this sick game too? And if the killer really was part of their group, who was supposed to be hunting them?

Sarah trudged down the hallway, each step punctuated by a frustrated stomp. She ran a hand through her messy hair, grumbling under her breath. This whole situation felt like one big, twisted puzzle, and Sarah had never been good at puzzles.

"I'm not cut out for this," she muttered, kicking at an imaginary pebble. Sarah knew she wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, and games that required too much brainpower always left her feeling lost and irritated.

Her mind drifted to simpler dreams – the flower shop she'd always wanted to open. It was supposed to be easy: find a way to get some startup money, and she'd be arranging bouquets for a living. But now, even that straightforward plan seemed to be slipping through her fingers like sand.

Sarah's parents had pushed her towards college, insisting it was the "right path." But the thought of drowning in textbooks and exams made her want to curl up and hide. She knew herself well enough to realize she'd probably flunk out before the first semester ended.

Despite her rough exterior, Sarah found peace in the delicate art of flower arranging. There was something soothing about coaxing beauty from nature, creating harmonious displays that spoke without words. It might not fit with her current tough-girl image, but it was the one thing that truly made her feel alive.

"If something seems too good to be true, it probably is." The old saying echoed in Sarah's mind, mocking her earlier naivety. How could she have been so blind? The promise of easy money should have set off alarm bells, but desperation had a way of drowning out common sense.

Now, as the reality of their situation sank in, that pile of cash seemed like a cruel joke. Was that really all her life was worth? The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Sarah's heart pounded so hard she could feel it in her throat. Each step forward felt like a gamble, as if the floor might give way beneath her feet at any moment. The ladies' room, which should have been a short walk from the entrance, now seemed impossibly far away. The journey here had been nothing compared to this nerve-wracking trek through what felt like a minefield of invisible traps.

"Please let me live," she whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them. Sarah had never been the praying type, but right now, she was willing to bargain with any higher power that might be listening.

As Sarah rounded the corner, her eyes locked onto the ladies' room door. A wave of relief washed over her, and she exhaled slowly, not realizing she'd been holding her breath. The sight of her destination made the task seem suddenly manageable, but a nagging voice in the back of her mind warned her not to drop her guard. Not when danger could be lurking around every corner.

She paused. "Hold on," she muttered to herself, brow furrowing. "Is there really a killer, or are they just messing with our heads?"

The question rattled around in her brain, but it did little to ease the knot of tension in her chest. If anything, the uncertainty made it worse. Real or not, the threat had taken root in her mind, growing like a thorny vine that wrapped around her thoughts and squeezed tight.

Sarah's hand finally closed around the cool metal of the ladies' room door handle. A wave of relief washed over her as she realized how simple her task really was. Just find the switch, flip on the lights, and she'd be home free. Piece of cake, right?

She couldn't help but wonder what kind of challenges the others had been given. For a moment, Sarah felt almost guilty about how easy her assignment seemed. She'd been bracing herself for some complex technical nightmare, given that this was an abandoned cinema. But nope, just a light switch. How hard could it be?

As she pushed the door open, the rusty hinges let out an ear-piercing screech that made her wince. The sound echoed through the darkness beyond, a darkness so thick it seemed to swallow up what little light spilled in from the hallway.

"Okay, maybe not so easy after all," Sarah muttered, squinting into the gloom. Was this the real test? Finding a tiny switch in this pitch-black room?

She stepped inside, and the door swung shut behind her with a soft thud. For a split second, panic flared in her chest. Then she remembered – most theater doors were designed to close automatically. Sarah found herself oddly grateful for those squeaky hinges. At least she'd have some warning if anyone tried to sneak up on her.

Sarah stood still, allowing her eyes to adjust to the inky darkness. As shapes slowly began to form in the gloom, her heart leapt into her throat. A shadowy figure loomed to her left, and she instinctively dropped into a defensive stance, fists raised.

A moment later, she let out a shaky laugh. It was just a mop, propped innocently against the wall. "Get it together, Sarah," she muttered, reaching for the cleaning tool. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing if someone decided to jump her.

As she gripped the mop handle, Sarah made a silent vow to herself. "This is it," she whispered fiercely. "Last time I ever take a sketchy job like this. When I'm out of here, I'm turning my life around. I'll make them all proud."

With renewed determination, Sarah turned her attention to the task at hand. Logic dictated that the light switch should be near the door – that's where any sane person would put it, right? But as her fingers skimmed over the rough concrete walls, she found nothing but flat, cool surface.

"Oh, come on," she grumbled, frustration building. "It can't be that hard to find a stupid switch."

Sarah paused, her frustration giving way to a moment of clarity. Of course the switch wouldn't be in an obvious spot. Whoever designed this sick game was clearly enjoying toying with them. Her eyes darted around the room, finally landing on the three cubicles lining the far wall. A lightbulb went off in her head – if she were setting up this twisted challenge, that's exactly where she'd hide the switch.

Gripping the mop like a lifeline, Sarah inched towards the leftmost cubicle. Sweat beaded on her forehead and trickled down her temples. The stuffy air in the cramped bathroom wasn't helping, but Sarah knew it was more than just the heat making her perspire. Fear and anticipation coiled in her stomach like a spring wound too tight.

With a deep breath, she extended the mop handle towards the cubicle door. In one swift motion, she pushed it open, immediately raising her makeshift weapon in defense. The door swung wide, revealing... nothing. Just an empty stall.

Cautiously, Sarah peered inside, scanning every surface for any sign of a switch. Finding nothing, she retreated, her heart pounding in her ears.

"One down, two to go," she muttered, turning her attention to the middle cubicle.

Again, she went through the motions – mop at the ready, a forceful push, and... another empty stall. Sarah let out a frustrated sigh. No switch here either.

As she backed away from the second cubicle, Sarah's eyes locked onto the final door. It stood there, silent and imposing, holding the last possibility for her escape. She tightened her grip on the mop, steeling herself for whatever might be waiting behind that last barrier.

Sarah's eyes locked onto the final cubicle. If there was a switch hidden anywhere, it had to be there. But a chilling thought crept into her mind – what if the killer was lurking behind that door, waiting to pounce?

She shook her head, banishing the fear. Her will to live, to chase her dreams and start that flower shop, burned bright. It gave her strength.

Tightening her grip on the mop, Sarah took a deep breath. This was it. Do or die.

"Here goes nothing," she muttered, then lunged forward with a yell. "Come at me, you—"

The words died in her throat as something suddenly enveloped her head from behind. A plastic bag, pulled tight and fast. Panic exploded in her chest as she realized what was happening.

Sarah thrashed wildly, trying to throw off her attacker. But she couldn't see, couldn't breathe. The bag was drawn so tight around her neck it felt like a noose. Each desperate gasp only seemed to make the air inside the bag disappear faster.

Sarah's survival instincts kicked in. She swung the mop wildly, hoping to connect with her attacker, but her strikes met nothing but air. Each desperate swing grew weaker as her oxygen-starved muscles began to fail her.

In a last-ditch effort, Sarah threw her entire body backward. The sudden move caught her assailant off guard, and they both crashed to the cold tile floor. For a brief, glorious moment, the grip on the bag loosened. Sarah gasped, sweet air rushing into her lungs.

But her relief was short-lived.

A hooded figure loomed over her, face hidden behind a mask. Before Sarah could react, the attacker was on top of her, yanking the plastic tight once more.

Panic clouding her thoughts, Sarah clawed at the bag. Her nails finally punctured the plastic, and for a split second, hope flared in her chest. But instead of blessed air, she heard something that made her blood run cold – a muffled, sinister chuckle from her attacker.

The laughter seemed to say, "I knew you'd try that." Sarah's heart sank as she realized her desperate move had been anticipated, perhaps even planned for.

The plastic bag tightened around Sarah's neck like a vice, cutting off her air supply. She thrashed and clawed, but her strength was fading fast. Each attempt to breathe resulted in a painful, choking cough that threatened to make her retch.

As darkness crept into the edges of her vision, a bitter realization washed over Sarah. This was it. The end of the line. All her dreams – the flower shop, a chance at a better life – were slipping away like sand through an hourglass.

A morbid thought flitted through her oxygen-starved brain. Would anyone even bring flowers to her funeral? Would there even be a funeral? In this abandoned place, who would find her body?

But as her consciousness began to fade, one last defiant spark flickered in Sarah's mind. If this was truly the end, she at least wanted to see the face of her killer.

With the last reserves of her strength, Sarah's hand shot out, grabbing the hood of her attacker. She yanked hard, pulling it away.

As the face of her assailant was revealed, Sarah's eyes widened in shock. Recognition hit her like a punch to the gut.

"It was you!" she tried to scream, but all that came out was a strangled gurgle.

The world spun, colors blurring together. As Sarah's eyes rolled back and darkness engulfed her, one final thought echoed in her mind:

Why?

Then, nothing.