Part 1
He sank to the floor of his shack much the same way he had sunk to the bottom of Crystal Lake that horrid afternoon so many years before. The girl called Ginny had viciously wounded him with his own blade - his mother's blade! - and he was preparing himself for a second death. Lying there on the floor with the thing jutting from his body, her sweat and fingerprints still on the handle of the murder weapon, Jason had the incredible urge to look up at the girl to see if the illusion was still functioning on some level. Ever since she had pulled on his mother's sweater and spoken to him in that soft, lilting voice, he had actually been able to see Pamela Voorhees in her milky face. Supple young flesh of a girl barely out of high school had been magically stricken by the familiar crow's feet of the woman who had slaved away in that camp kitchen so that he could be fed and clothed.
Even though that had been a trick, accepted mere seconds ago by his own feeble mind, he wanted to believe again. A part of him knew that death would again reject him as had everyone else at Camp Crystal Lake, as had his own father, but still he could be drifting in the netherworld for quite some time before returning. That was how it had been the first time, when the little girl had guided him along the bottom of the murky green lake. How long he had stayed down there was a mystery, but what had kept him going was memories. Memories of his mother and the things she had taught him, such as how to read passages from his favorite Hardy Boys stories, the things she had shown him, like the lights in the sky through an old telescope, and the love she had given him.
But the shack was dark, and the pain was great. His lungs filled with not lake water but his own blood, the smell of dirt, candles and rotting cop. The girl and her boyfriend's faces swam away from him and Jason Voorhees died for the second time in his life.
The lake is not my lover! I want a real girl! I want to bring her home to you, mommy! The three of us can pick out our favorite stars together!
Those were the things he thought as the light bled back into his dark world. It was moonlight, shining through the front window of his modest shack, and the lantern that cast a dim amber glow from the sill. Together they banished dreams of the lake bottom, where he had clutched the door handle of that old Buick to keep the current from taking him further, showing him more. Eventually he saw it, though, the canoe filled with bones, the chest of drawers sticking out of the mud like a cockeyed tombstone and filled with old, torn-then-taped love letters, and the other rotting automobiles. And the whole time he was being made witness, the skeleton behind the wheel of that Buick laughed and laughed and laughed. Once or twice he could have sworn it was Barry, mocking him for his fear of the water. Claudette sat on the hood like a 50's centerfold, ghostly pale and silent.
Now, back on dry land, Jason found himself curled up in the fetal position on the floor. His pillowcase had been removed and a cool breeze stroked his face. Realizing that Paul had stripped him of his protection and exposed his twisted visage, Jason felt anger course through him, anger that was amplified when he remembered milky Ginny's nasty trick. Together the two of them had defeated him and then skipped off happily into the night, savoring their victory over the pitiful backwoods hermit. They would probably make wild, passionate love to celebrate, giggling at the thought of him sharing his bed not with a woman but the bugs and the dirt and the stolen, perfumed bed sheets from Higgins Haven.
Higgins Haven. Where he had gotten the pillowcase. Where he had gotten the bed sheets. Where he had gotten so many meals and showers. Ginny and Paul were alive, god damn it, and they would soon tell the police exactly where to find him, and his mother. He couldn't let them be found. Their work was incomplete. Their mission had been only a partial success. First Alice had foiled his mother, and then Ginny had foiled him. Well, as much as that truth stung like salt in an open wound, Jason could move his ass and deny them a full victory. He could rip this blade from his flesh and take his mother to the one place that called out to him like the beautiful Chris Higgins herself, singing to her parents about horses and riding lessons and the moronic Rick, who liked to be shirtless when he stacked hay.
He could take his mother to Higgins Haven.
Slowly he pulled the machete from his shoulder. It clattered to the floor as he got to his feet. Already he could feel the strength flooding back into his rapidly healing body. He reached down, picked up the pillowcase and went into the shrine. His mother's head still sat atop the altar, eyes staring blankly. Taking her into his shaking hands, Jason tenderly placed her in the pillowcase that had only hours before covered his horrible face. She would be safe in there until they got to Higgins Haven. He took one last look around their home and the offered bodies before leaving. Let them find this place; even let them smash it to the ground with bulldozers. It mattered not. He had his mother with him and together they would start out fresh at Higgins Haven. Chris and her parents had not been back since he had let her go that night long ago. They would be safe there.