One thing that Chris Higgins remembered the most on that dreadful morning after her horrifying ordeal, was how brightly the sun was shining. It was a beautiful day, but hot, like the previous day. She expected it to be dreary, rainy, miserable, much like how she felt.
All of her friends were dead, but it still hadn't sunk in completely for Chris. It was difficult to accept, but it was the truth. She had seen some of the bodies, but not all of them. Poor Debbie, her body propped up in the closet. A large carving knife rammed through her throat. Chris thought back to something that Debbie had told her the day before, before people started dying. "Nothing is going to happen as long as we're all here together." Chris had believed it.
She believed that she was safe there with her friends, that no harm would come to any of them. But right now as she was being led to a squad car by a Wessex County deputy, Chris felt responsible for the murders, because she had brought all of her friends to Higgins Haven for the weekend. It had been her idea to get away to her parents' private vacationing home.
Chris became hysterical, catching site of the killer's dead body in the barn. In another minute, she would be gone from the horror of Higgins Haven, physically. But she would never escape it mentally. Not in her current state of mind.
Before the police had actually arrived at the scene of the murders, they were greeted by the site of Chris' van stuck there on the bridge. It would have to be hauled out later. Vera Sanchez' body would soon be discovered in the back. Chris had never known it was there, even when she had attempted to drive off in the vehicle, away from that lunatic wearing the hockey mask. She would later learn of his name. Jason Voorhees.
"He has to be dead," she thought as she stared down at him in the barn that night, with the axe embedded in the front left side of his mask and forehead. "He has to be! He can't be alive!" Chris knew in her heart that he wasn't dead. His neck should have been snapped when she hung him outside of the barn from the loft. The axe to the head was Chris' last and easily accessible defense, as Jason was distracted by one of the bikers he thought he had killed much earlier.
For now, Jason was down, but not for good. His blood soaked reign of terror would be brought upon many other innocents. Chris realized this as Higgins Haven was left behind in a trail of dirt, dust, and horrifying memories.
Twenty- four year old Chris Higgins sat in a comfortable reclining chair, staring out of an open window. A man about twelve years older sat diagonally across from her, legs crossed in a professional manner. On top of a nearby desk, a name plaque shown, revealing the identity of the man. Dr. Richard Crews.
The psychiatrist adjusted his small glasses as he observed Chris. "Still having nightmares, Chrissy?"
With a sigh, she finally turned to look at him, a small smile forming across her lips. "It's Chris," she explained politely. "No, no nightmares. I really haven't had a single one since... since it all first happened. They lasted for about a year or two. I'm fine now, really."
She wasn't telling the truth. She was still having nightmares, but not as extreme as they once were. Chris wasn't very fond of the idea of having to report to a shrink every month. But in all honesty, it was much better than spending time in a psychiatric ward for nine months. She wasn't crazy, only severely traumatized by events that had taken place six years before. She definetely looked healthy, dressed casually in dark jeans an orange blouse, anxious to be back outside in the fresh Virginia air.
All of a sudden, the tiny office made Chris feel somewhat claustrophobic. Dr. Crews spoke again. "Do you still feel as if you're constantly in peril, or if there is someone after you?" He studied the girl closely, waiting for her response.
This time Chris stood up and began to slowly pace the room. "I already told you, Dr. Crews, that I'm fine. I haven't had any recent nightmares, hallucinations, or visions about... I've put the past behind me. I've moved on with my life." It was nothing more than a lie. She moved back to the window, as a fresh breeze swept in.
"Thats good, Chrissy, I'm sorry. Chris. You have moved on with your life, moved to a new town. You've let the past be what it is." The man sat up straighter.
"But Chris, I'm a psychiatrist, have been for fifteen years. I can tell when a patient of mine is attempting to hide their true feelings about... traumatic events from their past."
Chris picked up a gray purse resting on the arm of her chair. "I just don't want to talk about it anymore. I just want to forget it, and talking about the past isn't going to help a thing."
Dr. Crews stood up. "But Chris, talking always helps. I know these things. I'm a professional." The young woman gave a slight grin, which also resembled a sneer. "Look, Dr. Crews, I'm due at work in a half hour, I need to get going."
As he removed his glasses, Dr. Crews nodded. "Allright, allright, Chris. I'm going to be leaving town in a couple of weeks. I'd like you to come back next Thursday, if possible." Although she felt ambiguous about the idea, Chris agreed, and left the office. She lied to him again about going to work. It was actually her day off. Anyway, she didn't even like Dr. Richard Crews very much.
Chris pulled up to a three- story apartment building twenty minutes later, in her new Dodge Ram. She didn't know why, but she just had a passion for large vans or trucks. She had sold the other one after it had been returned to her. It was too bad because she had really loved her first Ram, but it reminded her too much of that awful night six years ago.
"Let the past be what it is," she thought as she stepped out of the van. She fished a set of keys out of a small purse and entered the apartment building, her destination being the second floor. Inside of her apartment, the ringing of a telephone could be heard, so Chris hurried up the stairs.
Chris shut the door of her apartment, sliding every single lock and bolt in place. The phone was still ringing near a sofa as she approached it, finally answering. "Hello?"
She stood listening, waiting to hear a voice on the other line. Chris heard nothing except the sound of someone breathing awfully heavy. Immediately she slammed the phone back down on the receiver.
"Damn crank callers." She tiltled her head back and closed her eyes for a moment, until she felt something licking her fingers. She looked down to smile at her pet german shepard, Dixie.
The animal served as a perfect watch dog and was extremely loyal to Chris, who knelt down and scratched his furry head. In a short while, she would take him for a walk. It was a nice day afterall. The fresh air would do them both good.
Dixie trotted over to his bowl, an indication that he was hungry, so Chris fetched a can of Alpo out of a small pantry. After feeding the dog, Chris headed to her bedroom changing out of her blouse into a blue sweater. On her nightstand stood a picture frame displaying an old image of her late boyfriend, Rick.
Across from her bedroom, Chris kept a study room, complete with a desk, chair, file cabinet and computer. She entered, observing the various newspaper clippings posted on the wall of Jason Voorhees' killing spree, his alleged death, and the series of copycat murders that took place years after, in Pinehurst County.
After Chris learned that the copycat murderer had been killed in self defense by an intended victim, she felt somewhat relieved. But something told her that Jason was still alive. She replayed that night back in her mind, when she had discovered on the news that Jason's body had disappeared from the Wessex County morgue. It had taken four nurses to hold her down on the hospital bed to sedate her.
It wasn't long before another news broadcast revealed that Jason had been stopped again, but this time, authorities believed him to be truly dead. No one could survive a machete through the brain. However, Chris Higgins was far from convinced.
The loaded forty- four magnum revolver still rested in its lockbox, the way Chris had left it on her desk. She hoped the time would never come that would require her to use it. She had always disliked firearms, but they made Chris feel more secure. The large gun would guarantee her protection from any known physical threat to her.
Aside from the magnum, there was also an unloaded pump action shotgun in her closet. This young woman was taking no chances, and she had been trained to properly use those weapons.
Chris turned back toward the wall, staring at a particular newspaper clipping which displayed a drawing of a witness' physical description of Jason Voorhees. "I'm not going to let you control my life," she growled.
But the truth of the matter was that he was controlling her life. He had made her slightly paranoid, with the numerous locks on her door, and weapons stashed around her apartment. True, it was all just a matter of protection, but how far did one person need to go just to feel safe?
Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by Dixie who stood in the hallway, barking once as if to snap her out of her reverie. He was ready for his afternoon walk. "Ok Mister Bossy," she said with a smile as she grabbed his leash and her keys.
Chris slipped her feet out of her boots and into a pair of sneakers. She then approached the door of her small study, gripping the knob, as Dixie ran to the front door with excitement. Before shutting the door, Chris looked back at the wall, focusing on the newspaper clipped drawing of Jason. She gritted her white teeth together. "You're not going to get me, Jason, EVER. I promise you that." She finally closed the door of her study, but the door of her past remained open.