Chapter 1

Another Day in Crystal Lake...

Her dream was perfect. She was laying on some beach, somewhere. The beautiful sunset was burning up the atmosphere. Caroline DeSilva was relaxing in the bright rays of sun, her eyes shielded by an expensive pair of sunglasses and a floppy sun-hat that was pulled down over her forehead. Even still, the sunlight was nearly blinding thanks to the reflection off the water and the white sandy beach. She could feel the heat on her bare skin, which caused her to grow a few shades darker by the hour. And there was quite a lot of bare skin, as the macramé bikini-top she wore left little to the imagination, while her legs poked out of a long, single-slit sun skirt.

The rising tide finally began washing cold water over her bare feet, a welcome contrast to the sun's heat. She fought the urge to go out for a dip and reached over to grab a sip of her Dos Eques instead.

She heard the footsteps behind her and knew that her man was coming up. She felt his strong hands on her shoulders, causing her to sink backwards in delight. His hands started to wander underneath the strap of her bikini, though she didn't seem to mind at all. In fact, she was aching to find out what else these hands did...

The man leaned in and whispered into her ear; Carrie turned and flashed him a bright smile. It's not very often that James Bond whispers naughty things into your ear, so she was of course beaming.

At least, she was until the gunfire started.

In a split second, the serenity of the beach was interrupted by a hail of bullets, causing the sand to explode and shower her! Bond turned and, like lightning, had his signature Walther PPK in his hands, firing back at a host of unseen enemies!

Carrie screamed and frantically searched for panic, seeing a sand castle off to the side! She made a mad dive for it...

...leaping out of her bed and tumbling to the floor in the process before rolling into a wall. She lifted her head around and searched frantically for the source of the gunfire before realizing it was coming from a set of speakers in the living room of the apartment she shared with her roommate and best friend, David Platte. Carrie tried to muffle the sounds with her pillow, but to no avail.

"Davey, must you play that shit at three in the morning!"

"It's seven-thirty, Carrie! Are you just now getting up? We're gonna be late for work!"

Carrie lifted her head from her carpet. Her hair was in a complete mess, despite the fact that she had worn it in a ponytail for all of the night. She blew a wayward strand of strawberry blond hair from her eyes and mustered enough strength to glance over at the clock. In bold red numbers, the display read 7:30.

"Shit," she said to herself. She hustled out of bed and quickly doffed her Wonder Woman sleep shirt and David's DC Superhero pajama bottoms, which she had snatched up the night before because, as she had explained it, "I was cold, and they're warm."

Carrie was so hopped up on adrenaline that, in her rush to get ready, she had jumped into the shower and had the water turned on before she realized she still had on her underclothes.

The fact that the water was also uncomfortably cold made for a very effective wake-up call.

"FUCK!"

In the living room, David could hear Carrie exceptionally loud scream from the shower even over the excruciatingly loud barrage of gunfire and whistling grenades from the game he was playing.

David had shoulder-length dark brown hair and though he was tall, he was thin and skinny. He was also a nerd, though not the type of nerd who would have the pocket protector, the oversized "Urkel" glasses, and the suspenders with chest-high pants and a tucked-in white shirt.

No, David was more modern; his typical attire consisted of a glow-in-the-dark Deadpool watch, which Carrie had given him the previous Christmas; a Black Panther necklace, and a licensed t-shirt that was usually a superhero or a video game. His house key was printed with Sons of Anarchy symbols, and his wallet had the Power Rangers lightning bolt embroidered on it.

As if that wasn't enough, a good chunk of the apartment was plastered with posters for various movies, and shelves of video games lined the walls of the tiny apartment.

The apartment he and Carrie shared was small, about 800 square feet. The kitchen was narrow; there was barely enough room for one of them when they made dinner at night. The living room was the biggest room in the house, but most of the space was occupied by the entertainment center on the wall near the door. There was a small Christmas tree in the corner with about six presents under it, and lights were strung up on the ceiling and nutcrackers decorated the mantle above the fireplace.

In short, it was home.

After a few minutes, Carrie emerged from the shower and went into the kitchen. She had on her work clothes, which consisted of a white t-shirt with a blue button-up shirt over it and dark-colored blue jeans. David was dressed in similar attire, though his jeans were visibly bleach-faded, and his shirt was wrinkled and worn open, whereas Carrie's was pressed and clean and fully buttoned, save for the top three which remained open so her chest wasn't squeezed together in the somewhat ill-fitting shirt.

Both Carrie and David had been friends since kindergarten. But now that they were out of high school, they didn't have anywhere else to go. Neither of them had gotten into college of their choice (not that they would be able to afford it anyway) and were stuck in Crystal Lake. So, on a compromise, they decided to become roommates and share the apartment they now lived in.

That was four years ago, and the pair had only become more intimate since then. One could easily mistake them as being married, even though they never "officially" claimed to be dating in the first place. Watching shows on Netflix together was a prime example; Carrie even got pissed off at David every time he got ahead of her on a show and had a standing threat of castrating him if he ever spoiled The Walking Dead or Game of Thrones.

Carrie grabbed a Cheese Danish and sat down on the couch, watching David slit the throat of one of the many virtual enemies.

"I don't get why we have to work on Christmas Eve," Carrie said as she took a bite of the snack. "We had plans tonight."

"The plan remains the same. Jake won't do it until everyone is there. Plus, we're essentially getting paid double-time for going in," David said.

"Not that you need it," Carrie added in reference to David's side-business. "With what you make doing phone repair, you could do that full-time instead, not have to deal with Mr. Dickweed all day."

Carrie, now finished with her Danish, was frantically searching the cushions of the couch. "Have you seen my nametag?"

David answered her by pointing to the kitchen counter where a small red rectangle with her name in black letters on white blocks was lying. Carrie sighed and grabbed the nametag, pinning it to the breast of her shirt.

"Are you ready to go?" Carrie asked.

"Just about," David said as he finished the mission he was attempting. He turned off their XBOX, set the controller on the coffee table, and grabbed his jacket. By the time he had done so, Carrie already had the door opened.

"Oh, for me?" David asked rhetorically as he stopped in the door frame.

"Move your ass," Carrie said in mock anger, playfully slapping him on the shoulder to shoe him outside before pulling on her heavy coat before closing the door behind her.

Outside, the snow was falling and had already covered ground. The parking lot was mostly clear of the white powder, but it was still incredibly icy. Carrie took a running jump off the stairs and landed with the grace of an Olympic athlete on the ice.

"Whoo-hoo!" Carrie whooped. She slid a decent ways out before her legs flew out from under her, causing her to fall flat on her ass.

"Watch that first step. It's a real doozy," David quipped.

Carrie flipped him an unkind gesture, shouting "Shut up and help me up!" David did as he was told and helped Carrie to her feet. She began "ice skating" across the frozen asphalt towards her late-nineties model Nissan Pathfinder.

"Did you call Jarvis yet?" she asked as she got into the driver's seat.

"I'm about to," David paused and pulled out his cell phone. He pressed a few buttons and scrolled down to Jarvis' number. Ahead of him, Carrie began fighting with the SUV's ignition system. After a minute or two, it finally turned over, allowing the opening lyrics of a Foo Fighters to belt forth from the speakers.

''Moving, again! Comfort of the chase! Now and again, this my saving grace! Dead on the inside, I got nothing to prove! Keep me alive and give me something to lose! Goodbye, this time! Leaving you!

I've been gone so long so... Gone so long so...

But I will come back! I will come back!"

"Get in, Davey!" Carrie shouted. David put the phone to his ear and hustled across the ice to the vehicle.

"I'm getting in! I'm getting in!" David shouted as he opened the door. "I'm in, alright?" David crawled into the shotgun seat and closed the door.

In Jarvis's house, the phone rang. Jarvis McKenna lifted his head up from the pile of clothing that had been dumped upon him during his ten-hour sleep. He heard the phone ring and picked it up.

"Hello?"

David was on the other end of the line: "Hey, man, you awake?"

"Yeah, I am now."

"Well, wake up and get dressed. Carrie and I are on our way to pick you up."

"What?" Jarvis asked, puzzled.

"Work," David said. "It's almost eight."

"Oh, fuck, man," Jarvis said, rubbing the sand from his eyes. "Didn't realize it was that late."

"Yeah, it is. Now go drag Raoul out of whichever closet he fell asleep in and get ready; we're coming to pick you guys up."

"No need, man," Jarvis said. "I put gas in the Bus last night, so I can drive us in."

"Better step on it," David said as he hung up.

Jarvis sat up and got off the bed, bending over and letting his back pop into place before taking a few steps towards the kitchen. He stopped in front of the hall closet and knocked on the door.

"Three... Two... One..." Jarvis counted down

The closet door opened, and Raoul Ansari stumbled out in a red-eyed haze, tripping over a pile of clothes as he tried to step out. Jarvis could hear DMX's "Where Da Hood At?" coming from somewhere in the closet, muffled by the layers of clothes caked to the floor and walls.

"Uh, poopy-trim," Raoul muttered as he was jerked from his deep sleep by the fall.

"Wake up man, let's go."

"We're off today." Raoul said, clutching a pillow of dirty jeans, smiling as he pulled the "pillow" closer.

"Man, get yo towel-headed ass up off my damn floor!" Jarvis said. "And go shower, motherfucker! You smell like marijuana dipped in curry!"

"That's because the marijuana was dipped in curry," Raoul said sleepily. He reached back behind him into the closet and pulled out a Lightsaber. Or rather, it looked like a Lightsaber; upon closer examination, it was actually an intricately crafted bong.

Raoul took his Zippo lighter and grabbed a small sack full of grass. He pulled out the bowl and stuffed it with a pinch of the grass. He lit up as he put his lips to the edge of the bong. He took a huge hit and held his breath.

"So that's why it tasted like shit..." Jarvis said to himself as Raoul coughed himself awake.