HAUNTED

____________

WHEN MARJORIE'S EYES flutter open, all she can see are the bright lights in the ceiling, shining down on her as she wakes. Subtle and quiet beeping pervades her ears, and Marjorie twists her neck to find multiple different machines surrounding her. An intravenous fluid bag is connected to the veins in her forearm.

Her arms are covered by bandages and wraps, the small cuts from the glass no longer bleeding. The stab through her collarbone is encased in another bandage. Marjorie can tell that the slashes on her rib and abdomen, however, continue to soak through the white gauzes because of the damaged and ripped skin.

Marjorie's mind is dazed, and she can hardly make out anything around her until she blinks rapidly to clear her vision. She soon realizes that she's in a hospital bed. Her lips part to breathe in when she notices the nasal cannula that rests on the area beneath her nose.

"What the hell?" the blonde murmurs, glancing to the right and jumping slightly at the sight of a figure slumped over in a chair beside her bed. Marjorie squints at them as their features come into focus, "Sam?"

The woman jerks abruptly, her eyelids opening as her eyes focus on the eighteen-year-old. Sam's hair is tangled and matted with sweat, and blood covers the front of her grey tank top. "Hey," she says softly, moving her chair closer to the edge of Marjorie's bed and reaching out a hand to hold hers. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," Marjorie replies dryly. Sam nods in acknowledgment and brushes her thumb over the girl's knuckle. The gesture makes Marjorie feel sick, and she pulls her arm away from Sam's immediately. She clears her throat, "What happened?"

"Well, after I grabbed the gun..." Sam begins her accounts of the night at the theater, swallowing sharply. "I shot Quinn in the head, and you and Tara weren't there anymore when I turned around. Then Bailey and I fought for a while, and I stabbed him thirty-one times before gutting his eye."

"Holy fuck, Sam," the blonde-haired girl gapes in shock at her friend and furrows her brows.

The brunette inclines her chin in agreement and purses her lips slightly. "Yeah, I know." She inhaled through her nose, exhaling deeply before continuing. "Chad and Kirby are alive."

"What?" Marjorie's inhales at her words, and as she processes the news, flashes of the last time she saw Chad cross her mind.

The sounds of Tara's horrific and gut-wrenching screams as Marjorie and Sam held her back echo in her ears. How Quinn and Ethan, dressed under the black robes and masks, dug their knives into Chad's torso repeatedly until he was basically lifeless. How the fuck is he alive?

"Where is he?" she asks urgently, sniffling slightly and straightening her body to the best of her ability. "And Mindy?"

"He's just down the hall. Mindy's with him," Sam tells her softly. "Tara's getting checked out right now. She lost some blood, but the doctor said she should be fine soon."

"How about you? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. A few cuts, but they should heal just fine."

Marjorie nods, relieved by the information. She brings her palms to her face and scrunches her nose, causing the nasal cannula to shift slightly. The wraps around her ribs are tight enough to where she can hardly move without feeling the pain of the slashes brushing against the gauzes, so she drops her arms down on her lap a moment later. Marjorie lets out a muffled groan.

Sam seems hesitant in her next words. "Uh, Mars, what do you remember? From before you blacked out?"

Marjorie pauses, narrowing her eyes at her friend and licking her chapped lips. "What do you mean?"

Sam reluctantly places her palm over Marjorie's again, clutching it tightly as to prevent the girl from moving away. "What do you remember after you told me to grab the gun?"

"You gave me the knife. I—I dropped Tara, and Ethan..."

When she attempts to recall the horrific events, an uneasy quiver causes her to inhale deeply before trying to speak. However, nothing but wordless stutters come out. The dull ache in her heart sharpens, and Marjorie's eyes begin to fill with tears as the memories of Ethan burying a knife into her scars to reopen them pervade.

"Marjorie?" Sam says, shaking her hand lightly to gain her attention. Marjorie looks at her through watered eyes, making Sam tilt her head in sympathy. "Mars, what happened?"

She releases another shaky breath. "Ethan stabbed Tara when she fell, and then I jumped down after her. I stabbed him in the chest so he would let her go. I ran and he followed me into the concession room. Then we fought—"

Before Marjorie's able to finish her sentence, Mindy appears in the doorway and doesn't hesitate to rush over to the blonde. She throws her arms over Marjorie, who yelps in surprise at the embrace but returns the gesture.

"Hey, Mindy," she manages a laugh, the corners of her lips pulling upward.

"You're alive!" Mindy exclaims in a low tone, her features crazed yet thankful. She scans Marjorie's body when they pull away, and her face falls when she sees the bandages under the hospital gown. "What the fuck? Are those—?"

Marjorie's smile fades instantly, and she glances down at herself in shame. "Yeah."

The short-haired girl scoffs, shaking her head. "Oh, fuck him."

"Mindy!" Sam straightens, dropping Marjorie's hand and gaping at their friend in shock.

However, the girl purses her lips and chuckles. "Yeah... fuck him."

"Exactly, the guy is—"

Marjorie blinks. "Is?"

The room falls into silence within seconds. The eighteen-year-old's gaze flickers between the two, waiting expectantly for a reply. When neither of them opens their mouths to speak, Marjorie sits forward with furrowed brows. "What do you mean?"

"You didn't tell her?" Mindy says to Sam, her tone harsh and questioning. When the woman doesn't answer, she becomes irritated. "Sam—"

"Tell me what? What the hell are you talking about?" Marjorie inquires.

Sam glances at Mindy, who frowns and shrugs at her in disapproval. "Ethan..." The Carpenter girl sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose before giving in. "He's alive, Mars."

A ragged gasps gets stuck inside Marjorie's throat, and her lungs close in on her.

____________

The only word Marjorie had been able to utter was, "How?" as she struggled to control the ventilation of her aching lungs. Then Sam went on to lecture Mindy because all she said in response was unhelpful: "Well, you didn't go for the head."

By the time Sam and Mindy managed to calm Marjorie's breathing, her body became exhausted, and she fell asleep shortly after. Her friends left to allow her to rest semi-peacefully, but she can't. All of her dreams consist of the moment the marks on her stomach were torn open by the knife Ethan drove into her, Marjorie's own scream echoing in her head.

She doesn't sleep for long because of this, so Marjorie ends up lying in her hospital bed uncomfortably and staring at the tiled ceiling above her. No matter how many times she closes her eyes to try and avoid the constant pain in her chest, Marjorie cannot find herself able to fall into the peaceful abyss.

Eventually, Marjorie removes the nasal cannula from her nose and pushes the blanket to the side. She shuffles off the mattress, groaning slightly as the injuries on her torso sting at her movements. Her hand clutches her rib softly, trying to keep it in place as she stands, the floor cold against her feet. The fabric of the hospital gown is loose on her figure, the bottom barely meeting her knees while the sleeves hang off her biceps. At least it hides the tattered condition of her body, she thinks.

She manages to straighten herself properly, glancing at the wheelchair beside the bed frame. Though she debates it for a moment, Marjorie decides against using it and suffers through the soreness of her muscles as she makes her way to the door of her room.

The halls of the Mount Sinai Hospital are empty, with no lights being on to illuminate the building. At first, Marjorie limps around aimlessly and seems to be lost in her own thoughts (all of which are tangled and messy). She wonders when she'll be discharged from the hospital, though it'll probably be a while due to the side effects from the many wounds she endured.

The doctors suggested to Sam that she helps Marjorie see a psychiatrist after everything. Even Tara believes therapy could benefit everyone this time around, but Marjorie thinks it's all bullshit. If she wasn't able to communicate her emotions and thoughts the first time this happened, what makes them think she would be any more capable of doing so now?

Marjorie hasn't gotten the chance to speak to Chad yet, as he's been recovering from the many stabs Quinn and Ethan gave him and she's been resting. It's a miracle he survived, is what everybody's been saying to him and the rest of their friends. Frankly, they all wish people would stop talking about it and mind their own business. Nobody truly knows anything about their experiences or their ability to process these events.

She grows tired of her thoughts soon enough, and Marjorie decides to return to her room only to find that she's wandered far from it. The girl has slowly made her way to the end of the hall and into another, this one being slightly more lit. Marjorie's head turns in all directions, as if searching for signs of anyone else around.

Suddenly, Marjorie takes notice of one of the doors to the right wall being slightly cracked open, a dim light painting a single stripe across the tiled flooring outside the frame. She bites the inside of her bottom lip and furrows her brows before taking a step forward. Usually, the hospital closes their patients' doors at night, so Marjorie can't help but give in to her curiosity.

As she pushes the door wider, Marjorie's eyes adjust to the new lighting. Then all the blood in her veins freeze when she sees Ethan lying in the bed before her.

Even though the lamp is on, he appears to be fast asleep and unaware of her presence. Any words that want to come out of Marjorie's mouth are caught in her throat as she stares at the boy's figure. She doesn't understand how he's still alive after the amount of blood he lost in that theater. It should be all over that crime scene yet he's in the hospital and breathing.

Marjorie doesn't fully enter the room, mostly due to shock, and continues to stand in the doorway. Her eyes glance over him, taking in his form, which is in similar condition to hers: enveloped in white wraps and connected to multiple IV bags with a nasal cannula positioned in his nose as he breathes with difficulty. His inhales are sharp and strained, each one seemingly more painful than the last.

She knows the pain induced breathing has been caused by her, as she was the one who purposely ran the knife into his gut and twisted the blade in his organs. At the time, Marjorie wanted him dead — but now she isn't sure of how she feels.

Every action that Ethan made had Marjorie questioning what she knew about him because everything he told her was a lie. His name, his family, his upbringing. His words were no longer gentle or sweet, his touch disgusted her. Everything made her sick.

Every single detail of his life was a lie, and Marjorie didn't know anything true about him. The Ethan she knew is dead, regardless of the fact that he's sleeping right in front of her.

Throughout the next few days, however, Marjorie keeps going back to Ethan's room and watching him. She's made the observations that he looks more peaceful when asleep, no signs of the deranged killer from the night of Halloween. Marjorie still struggles to grasp the concept of how different he is when awake.

Now, she has gathered the courage to walk through the doorframe and lean against the walls as she holds into her bruising ribs and arms. Somehow nobody has found her out of her room at this time of night, but she hopes they won't. These are the only moments where Marjorie can remember the person she knew.

"Why do you keep coming back?"

His voice startles her, causing Marjorie to flinch as the sound reaches her ears. Her shoulders tense as she shields her chest from the boy using her arms, even though he's practically restricted to the bed. Ethan slowly flips from his side to his back, exhaling deeply as his gaze meets hers from across the room.

When her lips refuse to move, Ethan speaks again. "Mars, why do you keep coming back every night?"

Her name coming out of his mouth makes her stomach turn over. "What?" Marjorie's voice is small compared to his.

"You think I've been sleeping every time?" he chuckles dryly but not mockingly. The bags around his eyes are heavy and prominent, showing his lack of rest at night. Though, she can also tell that he's high on all of the medications prescribed to him for the pain by the red in the white areas.

Ethan adjusts his position, pushing himself upright and leaning against the pillows behind him. "I know when you come in here, but you never say anything—"

"That's cause I don't have anything to say to you," Marjorie interrupts him quickly.

Ethan nods lazily, blinking a few times as his gaze drifts to the blankets covering him. Neither of them tries to continue the uncomfortable conversation, with Marjorie's frame staying rigid and the muscles in Ethan's jaw being taut.

Then he says, "They're letting me go."

The blonde's blood runs cold at the sentence, and her hands drop to her sides, leaving the fabric of the hospital gown to hang loose around her waist. "What—?"

"They're letting me go," Ethan repeats. "As soon as the doctors clear me."

"What do you mean? Let you go—?"

"I got the insanity plea, Mars." His voice falters at the end, and he shakes his head slightly. "They're sending me to a psych ward, and they're not sure if I'll ever actually be released."

Marjorie barely replies to the information. She looks around the room, focusing on anything except for Ethan and allowing her eyes to travel over the lines in the tiled ground. A twinge of relief hits Marjorie's chest, but another feeling overshadows it soon after.

It's almost paralyzing for her as her lips eventually part to inhale a shaky breath. Then her lungs begin to burn, and she has to push aside the urge to gasp for desperate breaths, instead swallowing them.

Abruptly, she turns to the door, making her way to exit the room and return to her own. However, when Ethan calls out to her in a tone that she recognizes, Marjorie's steps cease, and she pauses at the frame.

"Mars," he speaks softly. She resists a grimace at the sound as bile rises in her throat. "I lo—"

"No, don't."

Marjorie shakes her head weakly, not turning to look back at him. The agonizing hole in her chest begins to hurt again, and the blonde can feel tears welling in the inner corners of her eyes. So, before they can fall down her face, Marjorie walks away without giving Ethan the chance to say anything else.