Page 19 of Don’t Watch Alone

Chapter sixteen

Blaiz

The Movie

“It’s just a movie, just a movie,” I mutter like a fucking song, my hands pressed over my eyes like that’ll somehow erase what I’ve already seen, but it’s too late—the image’s burned in.

A girl at a party, all nerves and nervous laughter, wide-eyed and hopeful, meets some guy who looks like he belongs on a college advertising poster.

He’s smooth in a slightly off way, and before long, he’s leading her out back, away from the music, and the safety of the crowd.

They find an old swing set tucked into the dark, with rusted chains groaning as they sit too close, their knees brushing each other, voices dropping to soft, intimate tones like they’ve known each other forever.

It’s a perfect setup until the bushes behind them move—not with wind, but with something else.

A sound that doesn’t belong there. Something—or someone—moves.

Slow. Intentional. Watching. Hiding. Waiting.

Then the scream hits, loud as hell and way too real, ripping through the surround sound like it’s trying to shred flesh.

It drags a shiver straight down my spine, and I jump, digging my fingers into my face.

My hand finds Tony’s arm without looking, gripping tight like the movie might somehow reach out and drag me into it.

“It’s just a movie, babe,” he says right into my ear, and I feel him shift, pulling me in close, tucking me against his side like maybe that’ll protect me from something that isn’t even real.

“I know,” I whisper. “I’ve just got this weird-ass feeling tonight.”

He doesn’t answer. Just leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead and keeps his arm around me like a damn seatbelt while the movie keeps going, each sound indicator making me jump, every shift of shadow across the screen twisting my insides. I don’t let go of him until the credits roll.

When the screen finally fades to black and the house lights start to come up, it’s like the whole theater exhales at once.

The pressure breaks, but it doesn’t fully leave.

Not for me. We gather our things, like we’re waking up from a nightmare.

Everyone else seems eager to rush off, but of course we end up being the last ones out, because Drew, dramatic bastard that he is, insists on staying to hear every second of the song blaring over the credits like it’s the most important song ever.

By the time we move into the lobby, the place is mostly dead. Empty arcade machines, and somewhere deeper in the building, I hear the distant clang of someone cleaning up popcorn tubs. That’s it. Just the six of us and the lingering remnants of the movie still clinging to our bodies.

Tony stretches his arms over his head like he hasn’t got a care in the world. “I’m going to the bathroom,” he says, as he is already heading that way.

The rest of us sink onto a bench by the bathrooms. Jade grabs my arm and grins. “Come on, let’s go together,” she says, already dragging me toward the ladies’ room like it’s prom night.

I duck into a stall while she starts fixing her lipstick, her reflection strong and confident in the mirror. Bright pink lipstick, perfectly applied. Figures—she spent the last half hour practically glued to Derrick’s face, and I’m sure every trace of it got kissed off.

I flush and head to the sink, scrubbing my hands like I’m trying to wash off more than germs. “Hey, do you have any lip gloss? Mine’s lost in the black hole that is my purse,” I say, patting my jeans like I might’ve somehow stuffed it in a pocket.

Jade digs through her tiny purse like it’s a bottomless pit and pulls out a tube with a victorious little noise. I put some on, the gloss catching the light, and smack my lips together—pop, pop—before following her back into the lobby.

I glance over at the men’s bathroom. Still no Tony.

“Derrick, go check on Tony,” Jade says, annoyed and impatient, already itching to resume her make-out session like the credits were just a commercial break.

We wait. One minute. Two. Then Derrick comes back with a weird look pulling at his face.

“He’s not in there,” he says.

I laugh, but it disappears fast. “Bullshit,” I snap. I shove past him, half-sure Tony’s being a dick and hiding in a stall just to mess with us. I throw the door open and march in.

Empty. Every fucking stall wide open. Every sink gleaming and it’s dead quiet.

He’s gone.

I stumble back out into the lobby, blood roaring in my ears, that same movie-born panic swelling until it’s real. “Where the hell did he go?” I ask, my voice is high and shaking.

Drew looks up, confused. “I mean… we were messing with that arcade game,” he says, motioning to a dark cabinet with a cracked screen. “I thought he walked by us. But then, the game suddenly stopped, distracting us as we struggled to get it going again. ”

“He wouldn’t just fucking leave us,” I say. I mean it. I know him. He wouldn’t.

We push through the glass doors of the theater’s lobby and step into the mall, the reek of old popcorn stubbornly clinging to our clothes and hair.

The adrenaline from the movie disappears almost immediately, replaced by a strange, creeping tension that winds low in my gut.

“TONY! TONY!” we shout, our voices cutting through the wide-open space and bouncing off the walls in eerie echoes that make the place feel unbelievably big.

A few remaining people glance over at us.

Some look annoyed, some just curious, but most of them just keep moving toward the exits like rats abandoning a sinking boat.

Our calls grow louder, more urgent, as the mall begins to empty. The usual blend of distant pop songs, chattering teenagers, and vibrating machinery has faded into something far too quiet.

Then it happens—a sharp crash that vibrates the floor under our feet, followed by another, and another.

The sound pulses, each gate crashing closed with a mechanical end, its echo rising to the rafters and settling in our bones.

The last one hits with a gut-punching thud, like the whole building just breathed deeply and decided to keep us here.

“Fuck,” Drew mutters. “I think we’re locked in.”

The mall doors close behind the last few people. And then it’s just us now.

“I don’t give a damn,” I snap. “I need to find Tony.” Whatever fear is grabbing at my spine, it doesn’t matter—Tony’s out there somewhere, and I’m not leaving him behind.

“Alright, split up,” Derrick says, already in motion, because he’s always the first one to go according to plan. “We’ll cover more ground that way.”

We run toward the security booth near the entrance, a glass cube that’s always occupied—except right now. I bang on the window hard enough to hurt my knuckles.

“Gus? Are you in there?” There’s nothing at all in there but an empty chair and blinking monitors.

“Change of plans,” I say, spotting the walkie-talkies lined up on a charging station.

I grab a handful; they are banging together in my shaking hands.

“Eva, go check at the toy store.” I shove one into her hands before she can argue. “Drew, hit the top floor.”

He nods and takes off toward the elevators.

“Derrick, go check the basement.”

His eyes narrow. “Why the hell do I get the basement?”

“Because I said so,” I bite back. “Jade’s going with me—we’ll take Electric Avenue.”

There’s no more discussion. We spread out.

The mall has changed. What used to be a place swarming with overpriced clothes and weekend shoppers is now a vacant space, quiet as a grave, lit only by dim emergency lights. Our footsteps are sharp and loud; the echoes feel like an invisible threat pursuing us.

Jade and I move quickly down the main lobby, passing closed shops with mannequins staring out like they know something that we don’t.

Electric Avenue’s neon glows ahead like a lifeline in the dark.

The lights inside are still on. Maybe Tony got pulled in by Greg, or those massive wall-mounted TVs playing endless loops of nothing.

He could be in there, waiting for me since I do work at that place.

Now the air has a colder feel. Not just cooler but all wrong. A faint hum vibrates through the walls, indicating something bad is about to happen. And through all of it, my heart keeps pounding in my chest, too fast for this to be anything but the beginning of something fucked up.