- Wednesday, July 18th 1984 -
A small cloud of smoke drifted out into the rain, blown from the lips of Detective Julie Webb as she stood outside the Crystal Lake Police Department, barely protected from the downpour by the small alcove of the front entrance. She watched the smoke fade into the night, thinking over the disturbing events that had occurred recently. First, the police were called down to the lake due to a phone call from a distressed young woman. Then they arrived to find multiple dead bodies strewn between two different houses. And if things were not bad enough already, they then discovered the young woman and her younger brother embracing on the couch, just inches away from the body of the man who had killed all of those people. The siblings were brought in for questioning, unaware that their mother was one of the victims of that night's massacre. Webb took another drag from her cigarette; it was going to be a long night.
The door behind her opened, and she turned to face Detective Alex Rico. He let out a sigh, running a hand down his face before looking to the cigarette in Webb's hand.
"May I?" he asked, holding out a hand to her. Webb obliged, reaching into her pocket and taking out her pack. She extended it out to Rico, allowing him to take one.
"How's it going in there?" Webb asked, taking out her lighter and holding a flame out to Rico. With his cigarette lit, Rico took a long drag, blowing smoke into the air like a chimney.
"That kid gives me the creeps," he eventually answered. For almost an hour, they had been trying to get information out of the young boy they had found at the crime scene. Tommy Jarvis. Just twelve years old, and supposedly the one who had put down the killer.
"Did he say anything that can help us identify the John Doe from the crime scene?" Webb asked.
"Eh, just more Jason Voorhees bullshit. That's why they sent me," Rico muttered, prompting Webb to speak up.
"Sir, Jason Voorhees is quite real to the good citizens of the Crystal Lake community," she explained, looking out into the storm with a heavy expression. "We've been through a lot here over the last few years."
"Yeah, a lot of copycats," Rico countered, taking a moment to blow out some more smoke. "A lot of deranged psychopaths who want to see a sick ghost story come true." He then dropped his finished cigarette, grinding into the ground with one of his heavy boots.
"With all due respect, Detective Rico, th-"
"With all due respect, Detective Webb," Rico interrupted. "Jason Voorhees drowned in that lake years back in 1957. It was his psychotic mother that started all this, and your "good citizens" who created this boogeyman bullshit." He then pointed a finger at her. "If your department can't identify whoever this deranged kid chopped up once they arrive at the morgue, then instruct them to make up a name to give the public, and then cremate it! This Jason Voorhees shit ends now! Do I make myself clear?!" The door to the police station suddenly flew open, and a squad of police officers quickly make their way out to their cruisers. Webb stopped one of them, taking him by the shoulder to get his attention.
"What's going on?"
"The ambulance crashed. The one carrying that John Doe," he answered, taking Webb's hand off of his shoulder before following his fellow officers to their vehicles. Rico and Webb exchanged a mixed glance; the former's one of concern, and the latter's one of severity. The two detectives then dashed over to Webb's car, just as the first cruiser started pulling away.
Webb and Rico were able to keep up with the cruiser, pulling over alongside it once it stopped on the main road. They exited the car, the rain pouring down on them as they approached the crime scene. They walked over to another officer, leaning against a cruiser which had already been on the scene.
"What happened here?" Rico asked, his graying hair getting drenched with each passing second.
"W-We were just coming back from the Jarvis place. But then we saw it crashed by the side of the road," he explained, almost finding it difficult to look back at the crashed ambulance.
"Wait here, Webb. I'll check it out," Rico instructed, leaving Webb to comfort the distressed officer. Rico's boots squelched in the mud as he approached the ambulance, now able to get a better look at the damage. The front of the vehicle was wrapped around a tree trunk, the windscreen and side windows now broken. The paramedic driving had been killed upon impact, his bleeding head still resting against the steering wheel.
"Ouch," Rico muttered, soon joined by another officer.
"You think that's bad? You should come see the other medic," he suggested, gesturing for the detective to follow him down a grassy incline and revealing a body covered by a sheet. The officer kneeled down to partially lift the sheet, revealing the state of the second paramedic. Rico's eyes widened at the sight of the almost completely crushed head.
"What do you suppose could've done that?" the officer asked.
"Rico, come look at this," Webb called down the incline, standing by the back of the ambulance. Once he was back up the incline, Rico looked inside, noticing the upturned gurney and the discarded white sheet on the floor. The body was missing. Both detectives backed up from the ambulance, Rico still trying to find a reasonable explanation.
"Sir, it's-" Webb began before being interrupted once again.
"Don't say it, Webb. Don't even think it, alright?" Rico ordered. "The head on that body was slashed to bits. There's no way-"
"Then where did it go, Rico?!" Webb exclaimed, interrupting Rico for once. But to her surprise, her superior did not know what to say.
A bloody and sliced up hand pressed against a tree, using it to support the lumbering body it was attached to. Jason's heavy breathing echoed through the woods, his boots kicking up mud and wet leaves as he tried desperately to get to safety. Blood dripped from the multiple wounds in his head, somehow non-fatal but causing him a great deal of pain. In his uninjured hand, he held a clear evidence bag, containing a filthy hockey mask with a bloody gash on the upper left side. Despite the throbbing pain in his head, he pressed onward, knowing that his salvation was just a few feet away. He stumbled into a clearing, staring at the decaying shack up ahead. With a few more strides, he managed to make his way inside the shack, bloodied and soaked from the rain. Jason stumbled into the back of the shack, struggling to see through the darkness, but able to make out the image of his mother's head resting on a large rock. Extinguished candles surrounded the head, rain water dripping down from the cracks in the ceiling. Jason's breathing became less rapid, slowing as he weakly slumped to the floor in front of his mother's head. He had never felt this weak before.
He had never felt so vulnerable.
"Jason..."
The injured killer raised his head, looking around to try and find the source of the voice. Jason could not tell if it was due to his injuries, but the voice had a sense of familiarity to it.
"It's okay, Jason. Mother's here..."
Jason stopped looking around, his gaze coming to rest upon the severed head in front of him. He let out a deep whimper, struggling to keep his head raised.
"Oh, my poor boy. Look at what that little brat did to you…"
Jason's carefully lowered his head to the floor, still looking up at his mother as she comforted him.
"But it's okay. He can't hurt you now. Just close your eyes and rest…"
With a final calming breath, Jason's eyes closed, his body motionless as the storm continued to rage outside.