This Crazy Rich Boy

As the man or shadow continues his inexorable approach towards them, Claire whispers, "Is this real?"

"Don't worry," Miguel says, and grabs Claire's hand and steps in front of her. "I won't let anything to happen to you."

Gabriel takes note of that. Claire glances at him as she has no choice but to cower behind Miguel.

"That's a long knife, right?" Gabriel calmly notes. "Can you defend against that, Migs?"

"I've defended against knives longer than that," Miguel mutters. "I think we can disarm him easily. I'll snap his head off."

Gabriel says nothing. His gaze is straight at the approaching shadow—and at Miguel's hand holding Claire so tightly. He knows this isn't the right time to think of such things, but he couldn't stop himself. So what he does is he actually grabs Claire's other hand, and places himself in front of her and right behind Miguel. Miguel turns to look at him and has no choice but to let go.

"She should be in the safest place," Gabriel says, secretly squeezing Claire's hand as if to tell her it's alright, "Which is right behind both of us."

Miguel makes a face. "But what if someone appears right behind her while we're busy defending the front, huh? Wasn't that more strategic that Claire's sandwiched between us?"

"Well, uhh," Gabriel stammers. But he's not returning her to Miguel. "No, get ready. He's about to reach us."

Miguel hisses in disappointment, yet he looks ahead and braces himself against what he perceives is an oncoming onslaught. The shadow is weird, at the very least. He seems to be walking through water, in that slow-motion kind of way. And they couldn't glean details of him, no matter how much they squint their eyes. The shadow seems to be shifting in the dim light, like he's being projected on the wall or something.

"Here he comes," Gabriel mutters. In those few moments as they stand there, Gabriel wonders why they have come to this point. They were supposed to just enjoy the night, in an amusement park they have known for decades. Why, of all nights, must they encounter such a thing? What happened to the first batch that came through this horror booth, then? What are the chances that just as when they're the ones in it, this person, this apparent "killer," must show up? Gabriel smells something fishy, so to speak. So he, too, braces himself up, as the shadow continues walking, ever so calmly, towards them.

"Oh, my God," Claire whimpers from behind them.

Miguel shushes him.

Then when the shadow is just but a few paces from them, just as when Miguel is about to make his all-out karate yell, the shadow, or whatever it is, continues walking—THROUGH them.

This drops their jaws. Gabriel looks around at the ceiling, on the wall, as the "shadow," which now turns out to be a projection of some kind, continues walking beyond them, then disappears into a wall. When they look ahead, there it is again, standing before them, seemingly holding a huge knife—the projection repeats in an endless loop.

"Jesus," Miguel mutters." That was crazy. I didn't know they have that now."

"Yeah," Gabriel agrees.

"What was that?" Claire says, still not getting it.

"It's a 3D projection, Claire," Gabriel says. "It's a mirage, something like a three-dimensional movie."

"Oh," she simply says. Then she suddenly throws her arms around Gabriel in a hug. "Thank you," she whispers.

"I did nothing," Gabriel says. "You don't have to thank me."

"But if you must, just because we were ready to die for you if that thing turned out to be a killer," Miguel says, "then feel free to express your gratitude to me, too."

Claire laughs, but she gives Miguel a half-hearted hug just the same.

"Now I think we should proceed to getting out of this tunnel," Gabriel says with some impatience.

"I'm famished," Claire says.

As they proceed, they enjoy the more usual jump scares—mummies jumping out of the shadows; there's the usual line-up of zombies, some even more enthusiastic than others; ghosts and severed heads; there's even a sėxy vampires, if that makes sense. Miguel even tries to get her number, which he says is just "for shits and giggles." Claire gives him the look.

At one point, Claire almost stumbles, and because she's walking right beside Gabriel, she almost falls upon him. "Take it easy," he whispers. "Yes, thank you," she just says. But Gabriel starts holding her by an arm, and he doesn't let go. She feels warm in that part that is in contact with Gabriel's skin, as though her nerves have concentrated in that area to fully report to her the full sensation. Gabriel would even glance at her as if to reassure her he's got her and she doesn't have to worry.

Miguel doesn't notice them as he walks quite ahead of them, playing the "advance guard" role so seriously.

There's something about the darkness, Claire realizes. She's less afraid here to show her feelings. She's less insecure. As though the sheer absence of light has given her all the license to just follow what she feels, and what she feels right now is to hold Gabriel's hand like she means it; to hold it like she doesn't want him to go; to hold it and somehow make him feel what she wants him to feel. She still hasn't processed in her heart and mind that wonderful, inexplicable kiss on the rollercoaster—the taste, the sensation, the magic of it, and how they're now acting as if that didn't happen. What is really going on in Gabriel's mind? What does he really want from her? One moment he acts as though she means nothing to him; the next moment, in her moment of weakness, nonetheless, he kisses her like his life depended on it. If this is his idea of torture, then she's thoroughly tortured to the point of madness. So much that these little moments, this walking and stumbling in a dark fake tunnel and holding hands with him, are the little refuge that quenches her thirst for answers, even if this is a non-answer itself.

It's the same thing with Gabriel. He cannot think. He acts on impulse. But if his series of impulses reveals a certain pattern—which all concerns Claire and to be near her and do things with her—then doesn't that say something? Is he being like this because he's a classic narcissist, does he just want all attention to be always upon him, that everything revolves around his ego? Or—and this is a big deal—is he really falling in love?

As they emerge out of the tunnel, they are greeted by another amusement park attendant who checks their tickets and asks them how the experience was.

"Awesome," Miguel says, as always. "I especially loved that little touch with the serial killer projection! It was totally rad!"

The attendant's brow furrows. Her name plate says she's Kitty. "How do you mean?"

"The projection. About in the middle of the tunnel, there's a shadow of a man holding a knife, and it walks towards you and disappears into a wall? We really thought it was real. It must be a recent high-tech installation, right?" Miguel grins.

"I'm not sure what you're saying," Kitty says. "We don't have any high-tech thing inside the horror booth. All we have in there are costumed actors and actresses and dolls and statues. We don't have a projection. Perhaps you imagined it?"

Three people "imagining" something simultaneously would be impossible, Gabriel wants to say. But they all look at one another, on their faces throbs a big question mark.

So what in hell was that?