Chapter 2: Second Chances and Small-Town Shadows

“Bro, I’ll go over first.”

My naive sister had no clue about the danger. She was about to head off with her best friend, still believing in small-town fairy tales.

She gave me a quick wave, already reaching for her best friend’s hand, voice bright. She didn’t know about the secrets hiding beneath the fairy lights and the frosted cake.

I called out, “Wait, sis! On such a happy day, you haven’t toasted Natalie yet to celebrate. Turning in so early?”

My words tumbled out, tone light but urgent, trying to stall—maybe give Natalie pause, maybe buy us a little time. I forced a grin, hoping she wouldn’t hear the fear in it.

My sister giggled. “But I can’t drink.”

She laughed, the same way she used to when sneaking sips of sparkling cider on New Year’s Eve. That innocence cut right through me.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to drink. Natalie came all this way to be my bridesmaid—I’m already so grateful.”

Natalie flashed a smile too wide to be real. She patted my sister’s shoulder, syrupy sweet, but I caught the sour tang beneath her perfume. “Let’s go, Aubrey,” she said, her smile hiding malice as she tugged my sister’s arm.

Her grip seemed gentle, but there was a tension there—like she was ushering a lamb to slaughter. The air between them felt brittle.

I grinned and pulled out a bottle of wine from my bag, waving it in the air.

The bottle glinted in the kitchen light, label faded. I made a show of it, hoping it’d buy us time to think.

My sister exclaimed, “Ah!” and snatched it up.

She held it with both hands, beaming like she’d just won a raffle prize. Her cheeks flushed, totally oblivious to why I’d brought it out.

I turned to Natalie. “Look at my memory. This is my dad’s old red—he bought it for me over twenty years ago. I brought it just for you. Meant to open it at the wedding dinner, but I forgot.”

I watched her face, searching for any sign of guilt. But Natalie’s eyes stayed cold and unreadable.

My sister was all kindness. But that best friend? I couldn’t find a flicker of guilt in her.

The air between them chilled. My sister fidgeted, eager to please.

“Wow, Aubrey, you’re really too good to me,” Natalie said, hugging my sister with an exaggerated, fake expression. “But the dinner’s over. Let’s save it for when I have a baby and celebrate the first month.”

She squeezed my sister, voice pitched too high. Her fingers dug into my sister’s shoulder, just a little too hard.

My sister was about to agree, too easily fooled. I hurried to interrupt: “That’s unlucky. This wine’s been aged for so long—it’s best to drink it now, at the wedding. I’ll go get some cups.”

I didn’t wait for an answer. In old American superstition, saving a bottle for later can jinx it. My heart raced as I ducked out, determined to keep my sister close.

Not giving her a chance to refuse, I quickly ran out. Tonight, if I don’t get her drunk, I’ll write my last name backwards.

In small towns, wedding dinners usually spill into the yard or even the street. They put up a simple tent, and guests eat and drink, celebrating as much as they want. It’s a real slice of Americana—but these customs can curdle into something rotten.

String lights zigzagged above sagging picnic tables. A radio crackled out old Garth Brooks tunes. Plates of barbecue, paper napkins, and red Solo cups littered every surface. Kids darted between tables, chasing fireflies, their laughter mixing with the sticky sweetness of cherry pie on paper plates. Still, underneath it all, a tension hummed—like any second, the fun could sour.

I ducked into the big tent. The groomsmen were deep into drinking games with the groom, faces flushed, voices loud and slurred. When they saw me, they exchanged looks and grinned, trying to rope me in for shots.

A couple waved me over, shouting, “Hey, come do shots with us!” The way they looked at me made my skin crawl. I forced a polite smile and shook my head, keeping my hands jammed in my pockets.

I politely declined, grabbed an unopened bottle of whiskey, and poured each of them a full glass. The groom was barely conscious, slumped sideways, drooling on the table.

I poured heavy, letting the whiskey slosh up to the rim. The groom’s friends laughed, slapping his back as he dozed. The air reeked of cheap liquor and sweat.

When I poured for the last groomsman, he smirked at me. “Hey, that bridesmaid is your sister, right?”

He leaned in, breath sour, eyes glassy. His smile never touched his eyes.

“Yeah, what about it?”

I kept it casual, but every muscle in me was ready to snap.

“Nothing. She’s quite a looker.”

He let the words hang, grinning at his buddies. My stomach knotted.

Of all the groomsmen, this one stuck in my memory: Derek. In my previous life, he was the first to hurt my sister—and the one who killed me.

Derek’s face haunted me—the way he avoided eye contact, the mean twist of his lips, the way he cracked his knuckles before doing something nasty. Seeing him again made my skin crawl.

Derek stared me down, then raised his glass and knocked it back, full of swagger. I kept smiling, but inside I rehearsed every move I might need to keep him away from my sister.

Without lingering, I finished the toast and hurried back. But when I got there, my sister and her best friend were gone.

My chest squeezed so tight I could barely breathe. I dropped the cups and hustled through the crowd, scanning for their faces. Sweat broke out on my palms—I was terrified I was already too late.

I rushed to the next room. There she was: my sister, already at the scene of the crime from my last life, her best friend pulling her along, showing off wedding photos.

Natalie’s voice rang in the hallway, flipping through glossy prints like nothing was wrong. My sister hovered beside her, too trusting. Natalie’s eyes darted toward me, smug and satisfied.

“Bro, come look! These photos turned out so well.”

She waved an album, but I barely glanced at it. The air was thick with hairspray and the stale sweetness of leftover cake.

I handed over the cup. “The dinner outside isn’t over yet. It’s such a beautiful night, sis—let’s toast the bride together.”

My voice was smooth, practiced. I tried to sound casual, even as I fought the urge to drag my sister away right then.

Natalie hesitated, saying she couldn’t drink. She didn’t seem to be faking, but the less she could handle, the better for me.

She wrinkled her nose and shook her head, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. I pressed my advantage, watching for a sign she might try to play along.

I smiled and coaxed her, “Big happy occasions like this don’t come every day. If you miss tonight, it won’t taste the same later. Come on, just try—it’s not that strong.”

Seeing both of us drink, she couldn’t refuse. She gulped it down in one go, then hacked out a cough.

It was a harsh, hacking sound. She fanned her face, hands trembling as she set the cup down. I hid my relief behind a grin.

My sister looked at her in surprise. “Wow, how’d you drink so fast? We’re just sipping.”

She giggled, half-worried, half-impressed—like only a younger sibling can be.

Natalie tried to play it cool. “I saw on TV this is how people drink.”

She coughed again. My sister shrugged and reached for another photo to distract her.

We all laughed, but I knew the wine was strong. Drinking it fast saved me the trouble of convincing her for more. Now, I just had to wait for it to kick in.

After that, I pretended to head to the bathroom but slipped into the next room to cut the wires. Doing bad in the dark—how fitting. Only then would nobody see which woman it was.

The old farmhouse’s fuse box was by the pantry. I used my car key to nick through the wires. A blackout wouldn’t seem suspicious out here. The darkness would be our shield—and their downfall.

The dinner outside was still in full swing. Inside, Natalie was swaying, shaking her head, pounding her forehead. My sister struggled to support her.

Natalie’s mascara was smudged, her hair a mess. My sister tried to prop her up, giggling awkwardly as she helped her to a chair.

I whispered, “She’s drunk—let her rest for a bit.”

My voice was low, my eyes telling my sister to trust me. She nodded, glancing at Natalie slumped like a ragdoll.

“Okay, bro, help me move her to the bridal room.”

She motioned to me, unsure what to do with her friend.

I raised my hand to stop her. “No, I heard there’s a custom in this town: the bride can’t enter the bridal room until the groom does. He’s still drinking, so let her rest in the next room.”

I made it sound like an old superstition. My sister bought it without a second thought.

We helped her over. Natalie crashed on the bed, snoring softly. Her white dress looked out of place, crumpled. I placed the kitchen knife by the bedside, just in case.

After that, I took my sister and tried to slip out the back door. Before leaving, I trashed all the lights in the house.

The house creaked as I unscrewed bulbs, yanked cords from old lamps. I wanted darkness—our best shot. I pulled my sister toward the mudroom, heart hammering.

“Bro, what are you doing? Where are we going?”

She whispered, her grip tightening on my sleeve. The wind rattled the windows, the scent of wet grass drifting in.

“From now on, don’t ask, don’t say anything—just follow me.”

My voice was grave, the kind you use for tornado warnings. She swallowed, nodded, and fell in behind me, her shoes squeaking on the linoleum.

She just nodded, sensing my seriousness. But as we reached for the back door, a voice called out behind us.

A slurred shout cut through the darkness. My sister flinched, breath coming fast.

“Who is it, turning off all the lights? It’s still early!”

Derek’s voice. The room was pitch black—he couldn’t see me, but if I opened the door, he’d hear it for sure.

His steps thudded closer, heavy and off-balance.

“Bro, the bulb must have broken. I’m checking it.”

I tried to sound chill, fiddling with a loose wire.

“Who are you?”

He loomed in the dark, outlined by the hallway glow.

“The bridesmaid’s brother. We just met.”

I kept my tone light, acting like we were old pals. My heart thudded in my chest.

“Oh, it’s you. Why aren’t you asleep? It’s late.”

He tried to sound friendly, but impatience crept in. I knew he was waiting for his chance.

I could hear the frustration in his voice, the words slurring a little more when he was mad.

I said quickly, “I’m just checking the wiring. Dude, you’ve been drinking—don’t come over, you might get shocked.”

I waved him off, hoping my concern sounded real.

“Heh, it’s fine. I’ve been an electrician for ten years. I can tell if there’s power with a touch. I’ll help you fix it so you can rest, too. By the way, man, did our girl... go to the next room?”

He swaggered closer, cocky, trying to slip his real question in.

I clenched my jaw, holding back anger. “Yeah, she’s already asleep.”

The words burned, but I forced them out, praying he’d buy it.

“Heh, sleeping early. I’ll go take a look.”

Derek chuckled, feeling his way to the next room. My nerves were shot. I pulled my sister toward the door, ready to bolt. He just peeked in, then came back.

He leaned into the room, then turned away, satisfied.

“She really is asleep. Hic~ Come, I’ll help you.”

He burped, stumbling closer. I slipped my sister behind me, shielding her.

Derek didn’t notice it was the bride on the bed. Lucky break. He clapped me on the back, then staggered off, humming out of tune.

I sneered inside, saw him out, and hurried my sister out the back.

The porch light flickered overhead, bugs swarming the bulb, as I gripped my sister’s hand and pushed into the muggy night.

My sister wasn’t dumb. She sensed something was wrong. Seeing my grim face, she didn’t dare speak, but as soon as we got outside, she asked, “Bro, what happened?”

Her voice trembled, eyes darting back to the house. She clung to my arm, knuckles white.

I told her everything. Her face went chalk white. “How could she do that!”

She choked on the words. I could see her world crashing down.

“People can be monsters. Let’s go.”

I squeezed her hand, voice steely. I kept my eyes on the gravel drive, scanning for movement. No time for comforting lies.

At the car, I asked my sister for the keys from her bag. I didn’t like carrying bags, and my clothes had shallow pockets, so I’d put the keys in her purse earlier.

I rifled my own pockets, then nodded at her to check her bag. My urgency must’ve scared her more.

She searched her bag, panic rising. “Bro, she said it was inconvenient for me to carry a purse as a bridesmaid, so she told me to leave it with her... Now only the car key is missing. She must’ve taken it.”

Her hands shook as she dumped the purse out—lip balm, tissues, nothing else. Her voice cracked as she pieced it together.

My head buzzed. No need to ask—since we got here, Natalie never meant to let us leave. Now, should I go back for the key? If we did, we might get caught. If not, we’d be stranded, miles from the main road. On foot at night, we wouldn’t make it far.

Sweat beaded on my back as I weighed our options. The pines loomed over the gravel drive, and frogs by the creek sounded too loud.

“Bro, I’ll go get it.”

She tried to sound brave, but her voice shook.

“No, you wait here. I’ll go.”

I couldn’t let her risk it. I looked her in the eyes, gripping her shoulders so she’d stay put.

I couldn’t let her go. I grabbed a heavy brick for self-defense. They were drunk. If it came to a fight, we’d go down swinging. This time, if I died, I’d take a few of them with me.

The brick was cold in my palm. I took a breath, steeling myself.

The small-town night was eerily quiet, broken only by laughter from the dinner tent. I heard a group of groomsmen joking crudely:

Cicadas buzzed, and from the tent came raucous, mean voices.

“So good, that little girl looks so fresh. Tonight’s gonna be amazing, hahaha.”

Their words were sharp, slicing the peaceful night. My stomach twisted.

“Her brother’s already gone to bed. Let’s see who goes first?”

I ducked behind a tool shed, listening to their sick plans.

“Me! I’m the oldest. I go first.”

“Bull! Since when do we respect the elderly for this? Stop dawdling—rock-paper-scissors. Winner goes first.”

They snickered, laughter echoing in the humid air. Every horror story about small towns felt real.

The groomsmen laughed and joked, treating my sister as a prize. My rage boiled, but I had to get the key. Revenge could wait—right now, we needed to survive.

I ducked lower behind the fence, wiping sweat from my brow. I wanted to smash in their faces, but I forced myself to focus—one wrong move and we’d never get out.

I snuck in through the back door. First, I checked the bridal room. The groom was sprawled out, dead drunk, the room reeking of booze.

He snored so loud the whole house seemed to vibrate. I tiptoed in, careful not to trip on empty bottles or stray garters.

I found the bag Natalie used for toasting, just as my sister described. I slipped outside under the porch light and searched it. My heart dropped. The key wasn’t there.

My hands shook as I turned the bag inside out, panic flaring. She’d been one step ahead.

Was it thrown out? No. Natalie never planned to let us leave. To destroy evidence, she’d also need the car. She wouldn’t toss the key. My sister had been with her all night, so she couldn’t have lost it. If it wasn’t in the bag, then—

A flash of memory: earlier, when Natalie hugged my sister, I’d seen her hand slip something into her dress pocket.

Stuffed in the slightly bulging pocket of her toasting dress.

The realization hit me. I clenched my fists, scanning for movement.

Thinking fast, I hurried toward the side room. But just then, the door creaked, and eight groomsmen staggered in. They came in a line, the first clearly the rock-paper-scissors winner.

Their boots thudded, the stink of booze and sweat filling the hall. My heart leapt as I ducked behind a dusty dresser.

I held my breath, heart pounding. I hadn’t even gotten the key yet. The eight men went straight into the side room where Natalie was. Soon, faint noises came from inside: