Page 85 of Haunt the Mall

The widow demanded a sacrifice. Was she going to take one from me?

I clutched him and prayed for a miracle worth its own movie.

36

Warpath

The widow crashed into the stairs, all spindly limbs and chomping fangs. One of her legs clawed at Victor. Another knocked him in the back.

He grunted and closed his eyes. My protector. My Spider-Man. He braced himself for another hit. The widow writhed across the uneven landing.

That bitch wasn’t going to hurt him again. Without thinking, I twisted Victor aside and kicked her as hard as I could.

The spider shuddered and curled its legs, then tipped over the edge of the stairs.

I gasped. Was anyone else down there? “Get back,” I shouted.

The widow rolled down the stairs. Each tumble shook the structure. Victor held onto the railing, and I held onto Victor, shrieking behind clenched teeth.

This was wild: rogue spider at the movies. I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or scream.

Finally, the widow splayed and stilled at the bottom of the stairs, her head askew and stomach up like she just wanted a good belly rub and had absolutely no intention of crushing us.

I looked at Victor. He stared at me. We were flushed and breathing heavy as if we actually had fucked in theater thirteen. But we were fine. Just a little sweaty.

Inexplicably, I started giggling.

His brow twitched.

I slapped my hand over my grin. “Sorry. I think it’s the adrenaline. That was fucking terrifying.”

“Indeed.” He flexed his back and winced.

“Are you okay?” I tentatively touched his tense arm.

He flinched and frowned. “I’ll be…"

The few people in the theater ran towards us, some with phones up, others screaming.

“…fine.” He deflated. “Are you?”

“Yeah. The paperwork is going to suck,” I said. I could only imagine the accident report. What about security and the Sam thing? Would Victor ever get to have fun things here again? At least no one got hurt—unless he was downplaying his injury.

I waved to the mess of our widow on the staircase. “Do you think she’ll be okay?”

“Eventually.” He rolled his shoulder as if to test if he’d dislocated anything.

Would we be okay?

My gaze bounced around the lobby in search of a first aid kit. “I can grab an ice pack, if you need it.”

He clenched his jaw and pulled down his sleeves. “That won’t be necessary. I need to take care of my managerial duties at the moment, so you’re free to leave.”

“Oh.” Was he done with me? Now or permanently? I thought I’d been drawing a boundary. I just needed him to talk to me. I needed to understand, to think.

I stood rooted to the staircase. Our silence hung heavy amid the chaos of the lobby.

He fastened the buttons on his cuffs, then popped his collar.