A/N: Alright you guys, I'm sorry I haven't updated - I've been out of town and incredibly busy with work - (OMG AREN'T WE ALL EXCITED ABOUT FRIDAY THE 13TH COMING OUT JUNE 16th?!?!?!?!?!?!)

Anyway, I understand that Whitney's predicament is incredibly confusing now but I promise you there will be lots of action very, very soon.

I can't stress enough that you review my chapters, if I don't have your feedback I don't know what you want. Please please PLEASE review -

And thank you so much to my loyal readers who have returned for the sequel :) You guys make me so happy!

Chapter 3:

Clay approached the bedroom step by step, inching himself along the frail wooden floorboards. Peering over the door frame, his eyes came upon a single leg twisted within tattered bedsheets. He thrust his head back instantly. Another victim, his thoughts raced. There was only one thing capable of murder in these woods, he knew now what he was once more up against.

Clay's mind lapsed back to the police station, was this the girl Marty had seen at the side of the road? Clay's stomach churned, his heart sat still atop his stomach, the hair on his arms and neck rose on end. Only once had he ever been this frightened. She was dead, and she was in there. All he had to do was look.

He didn't want to believe it. He almost couldn't.

Whitney.

She lay with eyes wide open, she was definitely dead, but her eyes had a focus, almost a curiosity to them which no dead woman should have ever been capable of having. The last time he'd seen her, she was between the wall of that hospital, and Jason, the very thought made his blood boil, anger began to mix with his fear and he knew he had to calm himself. Whitney's body looked fresh, it didn't make sense, but the evidence at hand told him the killer was close by.

As much as it disagreed with his tormented stomach, he moved himself forward, actions of pure logic. His heart and soul were far from this place, back at home with his wife, and Tommy would be there too. He felt removed from himself, as though out of his body, floating somewhere nearby watching himself carry out the actions. He picked up Whitney's limp body, she was cold as ice.

He lifted her, and the sheets beneath her were a clean white compared to the thick layer of dust and webs which had accumulated around her. It was as though she'd been lying there for months, years even. Clay chose to ignore this detail, he could not make sense of it. It was far beyond his logic. Jason had kept her alive all these years just to kill her now? No, he could not continue to ask questions. He carried her body from the room, and headed down the stairs, in the dark.

The front door, only a few paces before him, seemed as though to stretch on for miles, his heart thumping as though he'd been running a marathon. He remembered that Tommy was still in the car, he had to get back to him. Images of Tommy's murder forced Clay to move faster and faster. He got to the path and continued on until the car was within his view. He stopped, scanned. Beneath the moonlight he could see the front car door open, and Tommy wasn't there.

Now Clay turned around, Whitney's corpse a dead weight in his arms, he was strong, but not strong enough. He dropped her mid-way along the path and ran back to the house. He did not want to call out for his son, the last thing he needed was for the killer to hear him, and he did not want to make true his slowly brewing nightmares, the thought that it was Jason Voorhees, and that Jason would approach from behind silently, and swiftly remove his own head with that infamous machete.

In the distance, back toward the house, a scream pierced the silence, a scream of utter horror, complete terror. That was Tommy, Clay knew that scream from games they'd once played in the back yard, screams which had once been in laughter were made into screams of terror, a blood curdling shriek. Clay rushed to the lake, his sister's body behind him and forgotten. Tommy stood at the shore, the moon shining its blue light above the rippling water.

"Tommy!"Clay whispered with an authoritative snap, dragging his tired and aching feet through the mud to reach his son. "I thought I told you to stay in the car!"

Tommy slowly turned his head, and looked up at his father, his eyes wide in fear.

"What did you see?" Clay asked. He received no response from his son, in which case he then picked him up in his arms and began to carry him back.

"I'm scared." Tommy finally mustered the courage to whisper, a shaking and broken whisper.

"Ok, we'll get out of here, I promise. We'll walk to the gas station and find a telephone, ok?" As Clay held his son in his arms he realized Tommy's shoes were wet and leaking with water. He put Tommy down immediately.

"Did you touch that lake Tommy?" Clay asked, an intense worry in his eyes. Tommy didn't understand. He just nodded.

"Jesus" Clay muttered beneath his breath.

Tommy looked down at his soaked sneakers, confused.

"What did I do?" Tommy asked.

"I..." Clay found his eyes pulled toward a small lump on the water. It hadn't been there before. He picked up his son and ran for the road.

"Don't make a sound" he told his son, his voice shaky from running. He made incredible efforts to be as silent as possible against the wet ground beneath him. Tommy held onto his father for dear life as they treaded through the grass toward the broken car. He took care not to trip over Whitney's body. She was dead, he would have to leave her there. He knew he was completely out of his mind, but if that really was Jason back there, hopefully her body would provide enough of a distraction to deter him while they both got the hell out of there.

"I'm so sorry Tommy." Clay whispered. "I should not have left you out here alone."

"Its OK Daddy." Tommy said, holding onto his father's shoulders as he carried him toward the car. With the lake behind them, Tommy felt safer, but Clay had not been this mortified in over ten years.


Whitney fell from Clay's arms and hit the ground hard, her head had tilted toward the car, which she noticed quickly was a cop car. After hearing the boy scream she watched Clay run into the darkness, down that path, which she noticed had become more of a long grass path since the last time she saw it. How long had she been in that house? She found she still could not move, yet she could hear, and from behind her the sound of footsteps, slow and heavy, plunging into the mud one after the other. She could not see who approached, but within her deepest yearnings she could not hope more for anything than to know that he who stood behind her was Jason.

A/N: Please please please review? I need feedback in order to continue the story the way you want it!