Hello again!
I need to apologise for the very lengthy wait for an update. I've been in and out of the hospital since March 18th, and it's been a flipping nightmare! Thankfully it's all over, and the biopsy results were negative for any sign of cancer, so yippie! On the other hand, I'm now facing months of torture cleverly disguised as hydrotherapy!
Thank you, MorNor. Thank you very much for leaving a reply. I'm so glad that you're enjoying this story, and I truly hope I don't let you down.
Thank you to both Laughing Jill and Lucky D for your kind words, and also for your patience in waiting for more of my story. I hope it doesn't disappoint you :-)
Lastly, I must give a shout out to Ajestice, the author of Among Souls. That was a truly fantastic update you gave, and we have a bit more on Ana's background in medicine. Not only did we get that, but we also see Jason showing a huge amount of trust in Ana by letting her knock him out with morphine.
As someone who has a daily dose of 120 milligrams of morphine, I fully understand why Jason doesn't want it. Morphine is atrocious stuff, and tastes absolutely manky!
I'm very much looking forward to the next chapter, Ajestice, so keep em coming :D
The main issue I'm having with this story is the slowness of it all, and I have to keep reminding myself that I'm only onto the third chapter, and I like a good build-up before any action. For the plot, Jason and Elissa need to be fast friends, so I'm working on that, and instead of just reading implications or how Jason is so overcome by the woman's prettiness, I need them to find in each other what they need.
I would tell you all what that is, but then there would be no story! Needless to say, Jason and Elissa have one rollercoaster ride coming up *grins evily*
Chapter 4 won't take half as long to appear as this chapter, I promise.
XXX
Caretaker chapter 3
Elissa figured she looked like a world class idiot, stood there and smiling up at her behemoth of a neighbour. She didn't understand the hockey mask, but put it down to localised photosensitivity on the face area. His clothes were tatty and worn, his boots similar, were sure signs they were in the same boat when it came to money and lack thereof. She wondered if he'd take offense if she got him a few new things.
After all, she would have plenty of pennies soon enough.
Silence continued until she decided there was nothing else for it, and she stuck out her head. "Good afternoon. I'm Elissa McCormack."
The man's gaze stared first at her, then at her hand, and when those baby blues of his returned to meet her grays, she nodded, lowering her hand. "I'm originally from Scotland." She explained, still smiling. "From Iona to be exact. My parents brought my brother and I to Uncle Sam when I was five, hence the lack of brogue.."
He continued to stare and so she continued to speak. "I don't suppose you saw what made the deputy steal my car? It's just all my stuff is in there, including my medication."
That got a reaction out of the Behemoth, albeit a small one.
A very small one.
Okay, so he only blinked, but still, it was a reaction.
"I'm diabetic and everything I need is in my car the deputy stole." Elissa gave the Sheriff a withering look as though he was the cause.
"An' so we'll be takin' our leave now. We won't be botherin' you no more, Mr. Voorhees, so if yer'll excuse us, we'll jus' be headin on back to the station'. I can see Mz McCormack ain't to yer likin'."
Elissa nodded in agreement, then realised the Sheriff was taking her away. Away from her new home, away from this pretty lake and the forest.
Away from her job.
"Wait, what? No!"
She yanked her arm out of his hand, wincing as she did so, and glared at the law man. "No, no, no. This job is mine! That house is mine!" Her eyes looked to Mr. Voorhees, as he was apparently named. "It's mine. I was here first. You know I'll be sleeping in my car if I don't have it! And I have just as much a right to this job, or any job as a matter of fact, as any man."
Mr. Voorhees just stared at her.
The Sheriff's sigh caught the attention of both Elissa and Jason, who looked at him in question. "It ain't about what is and ain't between yer legs, ma'am."
Distaste flashed across her face. "That was crude, Ross."
"Seems like blunt is the only way to get through that stubborn head o'yers."
"I'm not stubborn!" Again she looked to Mr. Voorhees, "I'm not."
Again, he stared at her, only this time there was a strange sort of tension, almost akin to a deep seated anger, in those blue eyes that made her next sentence die before it even formed into words. Intrigued, Elissa tried to read those eyes with a stare of her own, and found herself rewarded with a gaze that turned blank, and a split second later, that void shone with a fury which made her take several steps back.
She licked her suddenly arid lips as it dawned on her that both the sheriff and herself were out here, with one gun, and a car that seemed so very far away.
"I - We didn't mean to interrupt your solitude, Mr. Voorhees." Elissa's voice almost stuttering as the apology came thick and fast. "We'll just be going like the good Sheriff said. I won't be a bother when I move in. Honest. You won't even know I'm here. Cross my heart."
Mr. Voorhees gaze dropped to her fingers that lay right below her chest, and it was obvious he was watching the crisscross motion.
He moved then. Simply looked straight ahead to the house, and walked toward it. Big, long strides that were measured and even, and the message was clear. Follow him and die. Since following him was out of the question, she watched him instead, her eyes widened as he appeared to pluck that sword of his out of the wall like it was nothing.
He looked back at them and she gave him a tiny wiggle of her fingers, and that was it. Communication over as he disappeared into the forest.
A few minutes passed by before she broke the silence.
"Mr. Voorhees..." Elissa mused, her gaze locked onto the path Behemoth had taken. "Was that the father of the little boy who drowned? No wonder he was so angry. Your children are supposed to bury you, not the other way around. Poor man."
"That weren't the pap, ma'am."
"His brother?"
"I wish I could say so."
Her arm was again wrapped in Ross' hand as he guided her back to the house, his swift walk forcing her to pick up the pace. "Uncle?"
The Sheriff shook his head. "That was the little boy, ma'am."
Elissa chuckled a chuckle which slowly faded at the expression on his face, a one that was tired and...
Afraid.
Sheriff Ross was afraid, and she meant really afraid. His face was stiff, and mouth formed a thin, taut line.
"You're serious," she said, her voice quiet. "But that would make him..."
"We don't know what he is."
"A zombie," she finished without hearing his response.
"A what now?" He stopped and stared at her.
"A zombie. I mean, he drowned, which makes him dead, but he's not dead. He's clearly alive and kicking, which makes him not dead. Thus, a zombie." Elissa shuddered. "We were lucky he didn't eat our brains... Though he seemed pretty controlled for a zombie. Saying that, I only have Hollywood style zombie knowledge, so who knows what zombies really do."
"I can say this with my whole heart. Thank the good lord you said none o'that to Voorhees." He still stared at her before huffing out what may have been a laugh. "Zombies. Damn stuff and nonsense."
"How do you know zombies don't exist, huh? I mean there will be people who don't believe Mr. Voorhees exists, but here he is. Besides, there's even a survival handbook for the zombie apocalypse. Why would that be written if zombies didn't exist? Tell me that."
"Now I ain't meaning no disrespect, but what in the hellish kind'o planet did you come from?"
XXXXX
Jason hadn't gone anywhere at all, simply doubled back on his previous path so he could watch and listen.
The woman, Elissa McCormack, was an oddity, and not at all what he expected. She was very weak, he noted from how she winced when the law man took her arm in a light grasp, and she was friendly. He wondered how many times that openness had gotten her into trouble, how many times a man had tried to take advantage of it, tried to lure her back to his place for a nightcap and wouldn't let her go.
It would be oh so easy to kill her. A quick snap of the neck and done. The Sheriff, though. That was different.
Killing him would bring him back from the dead and have not only the locals crawling over Crystal Lake with their pitchforks, but also the press. That amount of attention would shatter what sort of peace and quiet he had managed to hang on too, and even the thought of all that noise made his teeth itch.
So there he stood, suffering their presence with a level patience that would impress Job himself, and wishing they would just go away when the woman tried to see him.
Not see him as in pull his mask away, but peer past the stone facade he had long built up, and he felt it then. That internal stretching which pulled his soul to the point of tearing and his hand curled into a fist so tight, his nails dug into his skin.
Jason knew he had to get away before doing something that would end in him taking refuge, once again, in the lake itself until the gossip died, and he became once more a myth.
It had been all too easy to keep them in his line of sight, though that had more to do with his ability to hunt than anything else, but it still pleased him nonetheless. He kept following his own footsteps until he was far enough away and yet close enough to hear their conversation. When the word zombie was thrown around, Jason's own eyebrows touched his hairline.
The sheriff was right.
Where on the green Earth had she come from?
He shook his head, forcing himself not to get caught up in a conversation he wasn't part of.
So diabetic, and if what she said was true, homeless.
"I won't be bullied, Sheriff." Said she.
Elissa McCormack was either very brave or very stupid, he decided. Or maybe she was just wholly clueless to whom she offered her hand and her friendship. The thought lead him again to wondering how many had taken that hand and torn her apart behind her back.
Jason had seen that happen many times in his years. A handshake and smile here, a double cross there.
"I've got nothing to my name." Elissa McCormack's voice now could only just be heard. "I can either spend what money I have on actual groceries so I can eat for the week or I can spend it on fast food or noodles. I know what I'm going to do, so Mr. Voorhees can just… Live with it. Besides, I doubt he'd want anyone to go hungry."
The said Mr. Voorhees stood mere feet away again, only this time not in her line of sight, and he kept listening. His hand ached to hurt when the law man scoffed at her words.
It would be so easy to slip the knife from his boot, go over there, and slice the man's throat wide open.
"And you, Sheriff Ross, are going to take me downtown so I can rescue my car from that thief you employ, but not just that. On the drive down, you are going to tell me everything. I can't be caretaker if I'm out of the loop, now can I?"
"Yer don't know what yer askin for, ma'am."
Jason watched her shrug.
"I could always ask Mr. Voorhees. I'm sure he's around here someplace." Her head resembled that of an owl as she made a point of looking here and there.
"That he will be."
"You mean he's following us?" This time when she looked around, Jason knew it he who she sought. "Why doesn't he just come see us?"
"Because he don't like us."
That isn't true, Jason thought. I would like you fine if you would just go away.
"Why? What did we do?"
He felt his lips twitch when her voice rose in an obvious effort to gain his attention. It gave him the urge to show himself again, but no. He was no dancing bear.
"I'll tell yer on the drive back downtown. That sit well, ma'am?"
Elissa McCormack sighed a very loud sigh that was designed to be heard. "I suppose, but I'm coming back. You hear that, Mr. Voorhees? I'm coming back to my house."
Jason heard the stubbornness, saw the determination in her hands on her hips, and looked at the earth below his feet. His chest heaved a breath laden with grief and rage.
She didn't have two cents to rub together, which he supposed could well be a lie, but he'd seen no guile in her. Nor a tendency for deception or manipulation. He might kill on a mass scale, but she was right. He wouldn't want anyone to starve.
Hell, he wouldn't kick a dog.
Jason returned his gaze to her and looked for signs that he was wrong, and that she really was one of them. All he saw, though, was the hand she had offered to him, and heard the way she referred to him as Mr. Voorhees. He didn't want to be amused at all and most certainly didn't want her in that house.
She hadn't ran or been afraid, she had smiled at him, carefree and friendly, but she would be living in Old Jed's house and doing Old Jed's work. He couldn't allow that, not ever.
He glanced at her once last time, his eyes took her arms as she gestured all around them, and listened to her voice get quieter as they walked away. Then and only then did he dissect her.
5 feet tall, maximum weight 87 pounds, give or take a few either way. A heart shaped face with too wide a forehead, a slightly pointed chin, and the trademark sculpted cheekbones that were a little on the bony side. Her legs were only a bit fatter than her arms, and her body didn't have much in the way of shape.
Diabetic she said and it was clearly the truth.
The week, Jason sighed.
Elissa McCormack could stay the week, but once she got paid, she was gone.
Just a week.
XXXXX
The run down old Ford trundled up the road, the lights sliced through the darkness, the engine disturbed the silent peace of the near empty road. Sheriff Ross had shown her the car, but Elissa had taken one look at the car, and baulked. It was obviously a cop car dressed up in a nice shade of green that sparkled in the sun. It was everything her Henry wasn't, and it was just so… so…
New.
She hadn't been able to touch the door, for crissakes. Never in her life had she owned a truly new car. Not unless the small Hyundai her dad bought her from his boss' daughter.
There was something about a new car that was downright terrifying. Maybe it was the thought of crashing it into the first lamppost she saw, maybe it was this, maybe it was that. Whatever the reason, she'd turned the car down with the decision she would save up a bit and go choose one from a local dealership that she felt more suited to.
Something like a Beetle, or a Fit, or even a Chrysler.
Elissa wondered if Jason had a car, and if so, what it was. She couldn't see him driving anything but a four wheeler, simply because he would need the room to accommodate his size. Again, if there was a grain of truth in the stories told to her, he didn't really have a need for a car since he never bothered going into town.
She wondered if she might be able to find him, or if he'd be at home, wherever in the woods that maybe.
Did he even have a home?
For all the newspapers and stories and local folklore told to her over take out at the station, Elissa wasn't sure if she believed Jason was some crazy psychopath or not. There was proof, but who was to say copycats didn't exist around town? Hell, someone had already done it.
Some guy called Roy Burns had played on the Voorhees myth and committed quite a few murders until he'd been unmasked, so what was to say there hadn't been more copycats?
Very few people would be stupid enough to do such a thing, of course, and from the stories told to her, she figured Jason Voorhees had a creativity that was pretty difficult to emulate.
She sighed when she saw the sign for the Camp, a smiling face drawn just above the word Blood, which was naturally painted in a deep red, complete with tiny little drops. It was clearly designed to stir the hype surrounding Jason, and done more than likely by some local kids poking fun at out of towners.
Thinking about Jason brought to mind what the Sheriff and his deputies had shown her. The new clippings, crime scene photos, and statements from the very who survived their encounter, and she'd be lying if she said she wasn't afraid, because she was.
Downright terrified in fact.
Hell, the closer she got to her new place, the closer she was to peeing her pants, but what else was she going to do? She certainly couldn't keep going the way she had been these last months, and it wasn't as if she could back down now. Not after kicking up such a big stink and laying the bravado on thick, then there was her digging up the gender war every chance she got.
Elissa awkwardly steered her car to the parking spot and took a moment after killing the engine. All things considered, there was nothing else to do but hope Jason Voorhees had some pity in those bones of his.
She reached over to grab her things off the passenger seat, her right hand blindly opening the door when a sudden force had the air bag shooting into her entire face and torso.
"Oompha!"
XXXXX
The jingle of the newest bell stallment alerted Jason to the return of that woman. In all honesty, he hadn't expected her to come back, not after what the cops probably told her. That's if they told her anything, of course.
Knowing Ross, it wouldn't do to upset the little lady's sensibilities, or some other outdated rot.
The woman had probably dealt with more than her fair share of stupidity, given her diabetes. Proof of that had been plain as day when he witnessed her reaction to the possibility of losing the job of caretaker.
That thought took Jason to musing, again, about the woman with the curly hair.
Curly hair he had cut.
Once he had returned home, he had taken his machete, and held it up in front of the oil lamp he made. Mousy blonde curls dangled from the handle, while a few strands had gotten stuck to the blood drying on the blade.
Shame had threatened his calm, but before he had the time to ignore it, the bell sounded out, and so here he was.
Arriving right outside Jed's house at the exact time when her car's aged radiator let out a loud hiss, and a cloud of air surrounded his entire face. Scalding hot mist shoved its way up his nasal passage, stimulating tear ducts into producing stinging tears that burned his eyes, setting off a highly unpleasant sensation deep in his sinuses.
No mistake about it.
The car had to be stopped.
Crunching metal put a swift end to the quiet, the noise shattered through the air like a gunshot, the force of his brute strength lifted the car up off its rear tyres, and it bounced right back down. A white cloud erupted inside the car, and his head tilted to one side as a pile of curls defied gravity momentarily, before they flopped around the eyes that slowly peered over the air bag.
Jason yanked his machete out of the car engine, all the while keeping his gaze locked onto the gaze staring out at him through the window. Gray irises disappeared behind a lengthy blink and when they reappeared, they were wide with complete shock.
Perhaps he should have waited until she had left the car before he made his move.
Oh, well.
He watched the woman slide out, followed by another noise that said she'd dropped pretty much everything out of her purse. The effort he made to help pick it all up was stopped by a forefinger sharply jabbed in his direction.
"Four. Hundred. Dollars." Said she. "Four. Hundred. Dollars."
Jason heard her words and looked, again, at the rust bucket that was now absolutely useless.
Daylight robbery, he thought, and figured it was probably a good thing he couldn't speak.
He made another effort to help her, only this time, it wasn't a finger, but a glare he got for his troubles.
"What is it with the men in this town?" She asked as she stood upright, using her entire forearm to push her hair back.
Jason stared at her.
"Four hundred dollars, Mr. Voorhees!"
He arched a brow when she stomped her foot. An amusing little action on her part, if he said so himself, though it was definitely a good thing that he couldn't actually say so.
More amusing was the fact she was staring to the right of him. Looked like the impact of the airbag knocked the wind right out of her sails.
Jason subtly slid a little to the right.
Her mouth opened, obviously in preparation to really let him have it, but she stumbled both over her own feet and her words.
Perhaps he should have waited until she was out of the car before stabbing it.
Oh, well. He knew for future reference.
He looked at her for a moment, his curiosity sated for now, and got ready to leave the woman to it when she scratched her head, confusion all over her face.
"I think I had some stuff in the trunk. I hope the eggs are okay." A pause. "At least I think I bought eggs. I should check."
Jason mentally kicked himself.
The woman was diabetic.
A concussed diabetic, and he really, really should have waited until she was out of the car, because now he had to help her. Her injury, mild though it may be, was his fault, and he wouldn't walk away from it, despite having to face keeping her company.
In that house.
Her voice caught his attention.
"...I'm getting a new one soon anyway. Just looks like the Sheriff will have to chauffeur me around town until then."
Jason nodded as he trudged to the trunk of the car, his head shook a little as he opened it with a single finger. Four hundred dollars, huh? She should have demanded three hundred dollars and ninety nine cents change.
"I was thinking of a Beetle or a Fit. You know, something nice and small."
A what?
He stared at her, not quite believing what he was hearing.
She was living in a place like Crystal Lake, a place known and celebrated for its rugged terrain and trails, and she wanted a Volkswagen Beetle? It wouldn't last two minutes around here.
He wondered what sort of car Ross had offered her. Probably a trussed up old cop car, no doubt.
It was then he glanced down and saw how much wasn't there.
He had seen females lug case after case when they came here for camp, amounts of clothing that bordered on the ridiculous, and not to mention the heels. Heels, for crying out loud.
Who on Earth brought heels to the woods?
Yet what he saw right in front of him surely couldn't be all she had.
Jason glanced the woman, watched her blush and raise her chin, daring him to laugh or mock her. "So I don't have very much."
He shook his head.
What about her family? Where were they while she struggled to make ends meet?
Quite the conundrum, wasn't she? Oh well, he would find out in due course, he figured, and returned to the task at hand.
The large duffle, he discovered, was just under full, so there was enough room to stuff her medical kit on top of her clothes. A quick motion had the bag over his shoulder, and a quicker flick of his finger closed the trunk, for all the good it did.
He stopped with the realisation Ross must have ordered a window to replace the one he had thrown a rock through, and Jason couldn't prevent the smirk if he tried. Scaring that deputy had been a truly magical moment indeed, and he would look back on it fondly.
Though it did mean another window to break in order to reach the two grocery bags on the back seat.
"Because doors are so last year." He heard her mutter in response to the use of his fist.
Then there he was, at the entrance to the house, and his blood turned sluggish in his veins. The heater overhead blew hot air down onto him, and this was as far as he went.
She would have to take care of herself because he couldn't go in there.
Not today, not ever.
Not when there were flames surrounding him, closing in on him, making bones and sinew scream and singe.
"Mr. Voorhees?"
XXXXX
"Mr. Voorhees?"
A little voice, thickened with worry, and a set of eyes stared at him, the lack of pigment in those irises shone like solid steel. He stared right on back at her, but kept all those flames behind closed doors so she wouldn't melt into nothing.
Jason tried, really tried, to keep his focus on that little voice, and to whom it belonged, but it was impossible. He couldn't focus on anything bar the stench of smoke, the images of carbon monoxide swirling thick and black throughout the house, and the anger that came with those images.
It rose in him, the rush of hatred and self-loathing began shattered the thin wall of calm he managed to build. He felt it prick and scratch at his control, the fingers of hell gripped his esophagus, pushed air from his lungs, and squeezed from him the ability to breathe.
It kept going and going, the waves of fury smashed hard against his heart, sending sprays of imaginary fire and soot into his eyes. His nose remembered well the scent of burnt flesh and wood, his ears heard the gasping breaths of an old man choking on smoke and ash.
He couldn't stop it now, he wasn't strong enough to keep his feelings locked up, but he tried. Oh how he tried. Sharpening of weapons, laying traps, walking around the forest, hacking away at the mine...
None of it helped and he was left to deal with the fallout.
The water receded now, the calming tide easing the choppy ocean waters down to the stillness of the lake, providing to him all the safety of home. Ebb and flow turned to ripples made by floating lily pads, the picture soothed the internal tempest, the sound of stillness welcomed and embraced.
Reality set in and Jason's breath came in deep and thick, his chest began to ache with the effort, his eyes widened when he glanced around.
The microwave lay in bits on the floor, as did cupboard doors, while two chairs were equally destroyed. One was outside and there was a large, armchair shaped hole in the door. The other was sliced in half, its stuffing and fabric decorating the floor, splintered wood scattered every which way.
Around his feet lay clothes and an empty duffle bag, a broken box now a useless piece of plastic decorated by crushed needles and glass.
Jason took a closer look, and closed his eyes at the sight of her medication, of Insulin on his boots.
What the hell happened?
Jed's house was completely destroyed.
He knew nobody would break in, at least not while he was in residence, and he knew nobody would dare touch her equipment. For such a small thing, the woman had a quiet strength about her that he was sure would rise to the occasion.
Those who had the gall to touch his friend's medication needed to hope she got to them before he did. He'd ripped a head or two off in his time, he'd also torn a few hearts from chests, but he wouldn't do that to those who stole from Elissa.
They would find themselves alive for an awfully long time.
Speaking of the woman...
Jason looked around and couldn't see hide nor hair of her, he couldn't call her name either, so he had to stick with his eyes and ears.
A slight movement caught his attention, forcing his head to turn to the right, and then he saw the top of her head appearing from behind the sofa, which seemed to be the only thing untouched.
Elissa's gray eyes slowly appeared over the sofa.
They were wide, he noticed. Wide and so very, very frightened, her voice equalled her gaze and sounded out her sentiments.
"Is it gone yet?"