Hello, my loyal readers!
This chapter's shout-out will go to Biosmosh216, a guest and avid fan. Just letting Biosmosh216 know that I'm not ignoring you at all. Fanfiction doesn't enable me to respond directly to guests, only signed in authors. So that's why I can only reply this way. Thank you for being such a loyal follower. For you and anyone else who wonders, I will never give up on this story. I can take awhile because I want my chapters to be at their best. There's no point in me rushing and having them turn out like crap.
Also just to let you know that I do plan on writing a second volume of this story. I promise not to have this first part exceed 40 chapters because that's just too long in my opinion.
I do plan on starting that new story I mentioned in the last chapter. It's just hard to figure out what I want to write about at the very beginning. I know you all understand(:
Alan entered his home after another normal day of fixing cars in Carpenter. He took the bunched up rag out of his pocket and rubbed his hands of the excess oil. Summer could be finicky when it came to clean surfaces in the house. Speaking of which, he searched the nearest rooms for her, but she did not appear in his vision. Alan suspected that his wife was out devoutly tending to her flower garden. The time caring for those beauties exceeded that of being a hobby. The flora was a substitute for the children Summer longed to bring into this world.
Alan left these meanings alone. He sat down upon his armchair, which faced their barely used, stone fireplace, and reached for the newspaper. The next in an innumerable line of daily thoughts went past him.
Would the front page say something about the murder of a child in Crystal Lake, with his niece's smiling face staring back at him?
Alan had to grimace just thinking about it. As usual, the headline did not explain anything of the sort. It didn't mean that the brutal story wouldn't show up tomorrow though. The killings around this town could be silent for years, then blast the news as suddenly as the very lightning bolt that had turned Jason Voorhees into an indestructible killing machine.
A mixture of excited sounds interrupted Alan's reading. Ignoring their loudness at first proved useless. The newspaper hurled to the floor as he jumped up from his seat. Rapid footsteps, joyful words, and the occasional hurling open of doors became the backdrop for the room. The voice no doubt came from Summer.
What is she doing now?
Alan fumed annoyance to say the least.
"Summer! What's going on?! Are you okay?!"
In response, his wife burst into the living area. Her blonde hair shone ten times its normal shade. Happiness beyond words was embedded on her face.
"Oh, Alan, it's wonderful! She's alive!"
Alan took a moment to absorb this in. To him, Summer was losing her mind.
"Who's alive? What are you talking about?"
Summer's heart beat so quick that her hand was over her chest. She finally tried to relax, taking a few deep breaths.
"I..I received a phone call before you came home," she stammered out her enthusiasm. "I couldn't tell who was on the phone, maybe one of the police officers."
Alan's brow rose in skepticism.
"Really? They didn't give their name?"
Summer shook her head, her whole ambiance screaming that the question was insignificant.
"Anyway, they told me that our niece, Dawn, is still alive! Can you believe it? She survived! We were worried for nothing!"
Alan went over to Summer, cupping her face in an effort to calm the woman down. He tried to keep the conversation from sailing past realism.
"That seems to be good news, if we know for sure that it's true. For starters, how did the person know that Dawn's alive?"
"Because they've seen her, that's how! She was by herself, I think, but she looked perfectly healthy. Like she was being taken care of. The caller must have been too shy to talk to her, and Dawn would be cautious around strangers anyway."
Too shy? What kind of police officer is that?
Summer's talkative state gave Alan only a few seconds to think that it had to be somebody else who saw the child.
That sparkle of hope danced in the globes of Mrs. Peterson's gaze. She grabbed Alan with both hands, after which he let out a small grunt of surprise.
"Don't you see, Alan? We have to go get her! The poor thing's probably too lost and confused to come find us herself. Come on! We've wasted enough time!"
A flood of questions poured through Alan's mind. His slowness to excitement gave him more of an intelligence about the situation.
"Listen…I know you want this to end well, and I'm not saying that it won't, but, we can't just go trouncing in the middle of the woods…"
Alan loosened himself from Summer's hold and started taking steps towards the kitchen phone. The countenance of his wife finally transferred from joyfulness to worry. She called after him.
"What are you doing, Alan?"
Alan placed a few fingers on the phone's receiver in preparation to do the most sensible thing.
"I'm calling the police, of course. Like I said, we're not going to rush out there alone. That's how people get murdered around here."
A gasp erupted from Summer's end, showing her clear disdain for the idea. She hurried over and stood in the door frame between both rooms. She was near enough to grab onto Alan's arm and halt his dialing of the phone.
"No, we can't do that. The police won't help us. The FBI has put their actions on hold, remember?"
Alan retaliated by jerking his arm away and confronted his wife for what he hoped would be the final time on this.
Well, then, we'll call the FBI if we have to. Anybody that could help us. It's for our own safety."
Summer let her thoughtful stare move up to the ceiling for about a minute. There must be a way to convince Alan that the trip was not about to incite danger for them. If Dawn was still okay, then there must be nothing out there of a harmful nature. A smile of success replaced the wondering when a conviction came to Summer.
"Don't you want to find your brother, dear?"
Alan paused like time had stopped for a second. James. He had to be out there too. Why would there be a doubt that he was the one taking care of Dawn? He released a sigh hinting that same loyalty to his brother, while at the same time evoking a begrudging defeat to Summer's wishes.
"Yes, of course. It doesn't make sense. Why are they both stuck there?"
Oblivious to the bloody fate that had already befallen James, Alan stepped away from the phone.
"Fine. But I'm only going for my brother. And if we can't find them by nightfall, we'll leave and come back the next day. All right?"
Summer took action to his final agreement by leaping back into the living room. She folded her hands like she was in the middle of a thankful prayer. Alan stayed in his position for a little bit, not about to comment on what he perceived as more silly actions from his wife.
"We'll take your car because it's faster. But I'm driving, you hear me?"
At that point, Summer didn't care of details such as who drove. They were going to find Dawn now, she could feel it. And James, well she would let Alan worry about him. If Summer had her way, she had plans of freeing the little girl from her father after this ultimate tarnish of responsibility on James' part. She concealed her brewing strategy as Alan climbed into the driver's seat next to her.
"I better ask you this now. Did this mystery caller give you a more specific location on Dawn's whereabouts?"
"Of course. In an area between the old campsite and what was once Packanack Lodge."
Alan gave a knowing reaction of the evil surrounding that place. He hesitated before turning on the ignition. The former campsite, also labeled as "Camp Blood" by the town, echoed the screams of many a person who refused to believe the legend. From partying teenagers to men like Steve Christy attempting to reopen the camp, they all died in a spur of violence.
Summer read the stories once again circulating through Alan's consciousness. And she was becoming more than a little impatient.
"Alan, honey, for the last time. I'm not brushing off Crystal Lake's grisly past, but that's just it. It's the past. And I don't need to remind you again of our eight-year-old niece being alive and well in that so called dangerous location. So let's go, please."
And departing was what Alan Peterson finally did.
The scene which Jenna Verbos had left behind heated to the point of no return. The three men closed in on Jory, who had offered money as a means of escape, but to no avail. When one had violated the nine-year-old sister of the lead avenger, no monetary value could match the innocence lost. And now this very brother gave Jory hardened eyes, ready to rip him apart with every ounce of strength he had. His two comrades reciprocated their feelings by pulling pocket knives out into the sun's rays.
"We know what you did to my sister and other little girls in the area. And you just use your wealth to parade out of the courts without so much as a slap on the wrist. Not this time. You're dead."
The group used the statement as a springboard to action. The leader clutched onto Jory's arm and sunk his nails deep into the flesh. Jory grimaced, but stood his ground with a punch straight at his attacker's face. Cherishing the few seconds following, he took off into the maze of trees ahead. He heard the angry cries of the mob over his sprinting that put distance between him and them very quickly. Any trace of the three men disappeared into the deciduous folds on all sides of Jory.
His permanent evading of them was quite certain. Jory had kept in peak shape over the years, using memberships to the most exclusive clubs to his advantage. He stopped for a breath after what seemed to be a long time of running. Only sparse beads of sweat appeared on an otherwise flawless face.
Jory attempted to map out his surroundings, looking for any kind of landmark, though the end result was nothing. Just the limitless rows of trees and bushes, only interrupted by the brushing of a small animal through the foliage. He stood up against a neighboring pine tree and exhaled a long sigh. Jory felt more at an inconvenience than anything else. His frown was seething at the young men who had dragged him into the lost state he was at now.
He was unable to understand the reason for their anger. So he'd rather be friends with girls that were below his own age. Jory saw no harm in that. The young man had grown up with a special status pinned to him every moment of every day.
So Jory Garfield thought, why not be different as much as you can?
He allowed his mind to reminisce about the "unique" habits that constantly rivaled the importance of money in his life. A brooding smile replaced the animosity he had towards those who had confronted him.
No big deal. Jory would just get out of here and carry on from where he had left off. That is, until his revolutionary cell phone, equipped with all the high tech applications, mocked him with a No Signal message.
"What? No, this can't be right!"
This was one of many hassles to teenagers in the Crystal Lake woods. And Jory now found out that his string of luck would be no better than any other trespasser.
Dawn continued to teach Jason the depths of writing that he had never thought existed. Every new word that he wrote down refreshed a buried part of his intelligence. No matter how little he did on certain days, it still proved Jason knew way more than he let on. Dawn purred with gleefulness over his progress. Her confidence was a blind sight to anything going wrong.
The inner workings of Jason while writing often set off a wave of memories over him. He saw his mother, her smiling face so vivid, seated next to him when he was a young child. They were sharing another bonding moment which extended to Jason's own schooling. Mrs. Voorhees was protective to the very bone of her son's well-being. She was not about to send him off to public school, knowing that sheer torture for Jason would ensue every single day. All because of a face that only she, and now Dawn, could love.
The more Jason was swept with images of his long lost mother, the stronger the righteous fury gripped his blackened heart. Every muscle upon him tensed to the point where anything he touched would meet destruction. The papers on the table became a blur as this human task now mocked him.
The child on the other side of the room had no time to register the full anger of Jason Voorhees. When she turned around and noticed the disturbance, Jason had flipped over the table. Totally succumbing to Jason's strength, the wood smashed into a gust of splinters. The profound cracking of the table against the floor was deafening to Dawn's ears.
But the hell of Jason's fury was not over. The burning pools of his gaze focused on any and everything in the room. He knocked down the nearby chairs, even grabbing hold of one and throwing it at the kitchen cupboards, the doors caving in from the impact. When all the inanimate objects had felt his rage, he turned to Dawn.
She had backed away as far as possible into a corner. The child's heart pounded against her ribcage. With Jason Voorhees, not even Dawn was knowledgeable in situations like this. She remained stiff, guilt gnawing at her, and tried not to cry out. Internally, she screamed at herself, saying she had pushed Jason too far with writing.
When Dawn noticed Jason's livid look in her direction, her small voice burst out from her quavering throat.
"Jason! It's okay! Don't be mad, please!"
It took a few seconds of his mind resorting itself to put the loss of his mother aside and allow the view of the child to stand in its place. He stomped over to her and lifted her up against the wall, then propped her there with his large hands. Then Jason just stared, the only form of communication he would ever accept himself doing.
The writing, and the signs, they did not coincide with Jason's character. Through the rapid breaths that Dawn tried to stop, she felt herself sucked into the realm of Jason's stare and began to understand that. In a whisper of outreach, the girl placed both arms upon his own, allowing the fragility of her wrists to melt into Jason's thickness.
"I'm here, Jason. And I would never make you do anything you don't want to do. I know you're smart. You don't need to prove that to me."
Jason moved his focus to the necklace he had given her. Its very presence seemed to subside the remaining disorder within him. As he ran his fingers along the gems, Dawn sensed that he was okay now. She released her final trembling breath and began to smile.
"You're weird," Dawn said playfully. "But I like you."
Once she was back upon the floor, Dawn showed no signs that the travesty of the kitchen was important. Instead, she felt inquisitiveness over the paper that Jason had been working on. She saw it had landed a few feet from the fallen table, luckily spared from the rage inflicted on the whole room.
By this time, Jason had exited to the outdoors. Princess was gone as well. This was suitable for Dawn because she knew not if her beloved would approve of her interest in his writing. Especially over a piece that the child knew had ignited an eruption of Jason's temperament.
With her delicate hands, Dawn picked up the paper and studied what was on it. At first, she had to blink several times to ascertain what she was seeing. A canvas of murder and gore with figures bordering on nameless victims. They had slashes crossing over them like the blade of Jason's machete. A black and white collage of the insanity dwelling inside the legend's soul. And, at the very bottom, were the most neatly written letters Dawn had ever seen from Jason. It was like a perfectly clear mind subsisted during their creation.
Kill for Mommy.
Dawn didn't register herself dropping the paper to the floor. It was her turn to just stare. Stare and wait for the madness to pass through her. She mouthed only one syllable.