Book Six, Chapter 77: Leftovers

I found myself hyper aware of the compulsions that had overcome me in my time within the Eternal Savers Club.

I stared at my cart with items literally stacked up over the rim, and while I didn’t feel like I was under the effects of mind control, and if my infection indicator was going off, I didn’t notice it at the time, all the same, I knew something was going on.

It was a feeling, a desire to have whatever I wanted pumped straight into my brain from somewhere dark and ancient. I didn’t want groceries or doodads, not especially. I did, however, feel extremely compelled to act on my desires. It was magic. It was spiritual. The things I wanted weren’t in arm’s reach, but lots of products were, so I instinctively grabbed them.

Either that or I was really vulnerable to marketing.

Whatever the case, I left. I pushed my cart toward the back of the store, where there were restrooms next to the pharmacy. Beyond that, there was a door, simple and white, labeled Employee Lounge, and I could see all of the Eternal Savers Club stockers and cashiers going in and out of that door as I watched while pretending to check out the reading glasses display.

I was On-Screen and Off-Screen, back and forth, the whole while, but eventually I struck paydirt when the Night Stocker I recognized finally emerged from the lounge, looking pale and lethargic.

He was sweating and didn’t notice me in the slightest, probably because I was wearing glasses. It also helped that Kimberly established that I wasn’t a recognizable figure.

As he walked toward the front of the store, another employee came out of the lounge and called out to him, calling him Fritz, which wasn’t even his name on the red wallpaper. He was just called Checkout Clerk.

It didn’t make sense, since I knew he was a Night Stocker. I should have seen him as an enemy, but apparently, he wasn’t considered one without his cloak.

All the other employee said was, “Just be back for the meeting tonight, Fritz,” and then he looked around to see if anyone was listening. He didn’t seem to notice me as I shuffled through the different reading glasses available.

Hopefully, it was the same meeting that Bobby had gotten invited to, because I had seemingly failed to get myself brought in.

After he left, I didn’t see much point in being there. I was Off-Screen more than I was On, so the next time I went Off-Screen, I just left my cart behind and marched toward the exit at a heightened pace, trying to make myself a bad candidate for screen time.

My Call Sheet trope was changing with every decision I made. It worked best when I wasn’t being so indecisive or when other things were going on.

That utterly failed because Carousel still picked up footage of me leaving my cart behind and making it to the exit. Still, since I was there for reconnaissance anyway, it was probably okay for my character.

As soon as I made it out of the store and I felt the temperature change, I was suddenly free of whatever strange magnetism existed inside the store. I went Off-Screen and walked toward my car.

I didn’t make it very far before I felt someone grab me from behind, gripping my throat in one hand and pressing something that felt a whole lot like the barrel of a gun into my lower back, causing me to lean backward out of pain.

They had a firm grip.

“What the hell are you doing here?” a woman said, trying to make her voice sound deep.

I was still Off-Screen, so I didn’t think it was one of the bad guys, but when something like that happens to you, what else are you supposed to think? How many options were there?

Was there like a glitch in the system where there was a chance of getting mugged within a storyline, just randomly?

“I was shopping,” I said. “Just checking the store out.”

I held up my hands in surrender without even having to be asked to, which I hoped would earn me brownie points.

I was pushed forward, giving me the ability to turn to see my attacker while still being close enough that there was no chance they would miss with their gun.

“Oh, it’s you,” I said. “I was wondering if you’d still be alive.”

Standing before me was someone I had not seen in around nine months. Someone I didn’t know very well to begin with.

Kelsey Van Note.

She was one of the Vets from Camp Dyer. Looked young enough to play a teenager, but was at least five years my senior.

According to the script, she should have been dead, but trope interactions could be a little tricky. Since she was a Final Girl and had the trope Last One Alive, she had survived her original death in the storyline. Maybe we had even prevented it altogether somehow.

She was taking all her anger out on me, apparently.

She dressed like Buffy the Vampire Slayer on one of her slaying missions: hair up, leather jacket, practical shoes, intense look on her face. She and Dina probably shopped at the same store.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“It should be fairly obvious, right?” I said. I wasn’t trying to sound like a smartass. I just figured if she worked it out on her own, I wouldn’t have to work as hard to gain her trust.

“If it’s obvious, it should be easy to explain,” she said.

We had planned for this possibility.

“Fair enough,” I said. With a gun to my head, I wasn’t going to try to worry about her feelings or letting her down easy. I just needed to talk fast. “Your storyline failed. Rescue tropes are back, and we’re here to revive you.”

She stared at me. I got the distinct impression that she had already figured most of that out. She just wanted me to be the first one to say it.

“Damn it, I knew it,” she said. “Everything was going wrong. What the hell happened out there?”

She wasn’t asking me exactly, but she had stopped pointing the gun at me, and I was certain now that she remembered me, even though we didn’t know each other that well.

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“Look,” I said. “We’ve kind of got a thing going here, trying to win this storyline. So how about we just catch each other up to speed and try not to be enemies, huh?”

She had other things on her mind, but she did put the gun away.

“What about Lorne or Molly?” she asked. “Those bastards got to my brother and Nicole already. They were onto us so fast, at first I thought they were just going to kidnap us, but when we fought back, they just killed them.”

I nodded.

“Yeah, the storyline changed,” I said. I wasn’t prepared to explain everything that had happened, or at least not the reasons they had happened. Project Rewind was a lot to take in, and I hoped to put that explanation off until after the storyline.

But I could tell her something.

“You guys were supposed to bond with the bad guys over your dead dad, or your character’s dead dad. That would have allowed you to stick around a little longer. But when you didn’t do that, you reached a fail state. That’s the best I can figure. Molly was killed last night. Lorne must have been killed Off-Screen sometime after that because the script we got doesn’t explain his death. Maybe he was written off, I don’t know.”

She paced back and forth, tightening the ties on her hair.

“That doesn’t make sense,” she said. “This story adapts to the players. If you stay away from this sentimental stuff, it ends up being easy. The first time we did it, it was the toys in the toy section coming to life. I don’t understand.”

“Yeah, I don’t have explanations,” I said. “Not right now. We need to focus on getting to the end of this storyline, or else we’re all dead again. And your brother and aunt stay dead forever.”

She thought for a moment, biting on her tongue as she did. She nodded rapidly, as if psyching herself up.

“Alright, take me to whoever is in charge of this run,” she said.

Somehow, I knew she was going to be upset when she found out the leader was basically me.

~

~

Kelsey Van Note is the Final Girl

Her aspect is Scream Queen

Scream Queen: The Scream Queen has been through this before and lived to tell the tale. Blending genre savvy with raw endurance, she recognizes the beats of horror as they unfold, knowing when to run, when to fight, and when to flip the script. A lightning rod for terror and spectacle, she draws the spotlight and survives by making it look good. In the Scream Queen’s world, fear is fuel, pain is power, and no one dies without giving her one last close-up.

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