Author's Note:

Sorry again guys for the short hiatus. I've been in and out of the hospital lately. Hopefully this will make up for it! Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed my story, and like always I don't own anything from the Friday the 13th series. Enjoy!


FOUR~

The vicious sneer of the hunter from the woods froze the very blood in Kryssi's veins, and she shuddered beneath his wrathful glare.

"Yeh feckin' little bitch," he snarled before aiming another kick at her. She took the brunt of the blow between her shoulders as she tucked her head down against her knees. "It's yer fault that Beau an' Jake are dead!"

"I'm not the one who killed your friends!" the redhead cried while scrambling to her feet in an attempt to run for the open back door. But an anguished cry tore from her throat as she felt clawed fingers dig into her tangled hair and yank sharply.

"Shut yer feckin' mouth!" the man snapped before twisting his arm and slamming her bodily onto the hardwood. Her temple cracked against the ground and she could already feel the bruises forming on her shoulder and hip, and the puppy she'd had cradled to her chest tumbled out of her arms with a startled yip. He ducked beneath a nearby barstool and huddled there with wide, terrified eyes.

"Yer gonna pay for what happened to them, and when the cops come they're gonna blame it all on that fecker Jason." he squatted down over Krystina as he spoke, and she retched at the foul stench of chewing tobacco on his breath.

"You're insane," she wheezed between shallow gasps. "I didn't have anything to do with them dying!" Her ribs were blazing with an agony that made breathing difficult, but she wasn't giving up without a fight. She spotted the knife she'd dropped after his initial strike, and when he straightened out of his crouch she made a mad grab for the handle before slashing the blade across his shins.

His scream echoed through the empty cabin as Krystina struggled to get back to her feet, but the enraged man overpowered her once again and hauled her upright in order to slam his knee forcefully into her abdomen. She screwed her eyes shut and grit her teeth while swinging her weapon blindly with the hope that she'd hit something important, and then yelped when he released his hold and let her tumble back to the floor. His boot ground down on her fist until she released the knife in favor of keeping her bones unbroken, but an anguished cry scraped from her raw throat as a white-hot pain sliced through the back of her hand and straight through her palm. Squinting through the agony, she saw the serrated blade buried so deeply through the appendage that the tip had dug into the hardwood beneath it.

Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes and rolled down across her flushed cheeks as her body fell slack on the floor in shock. Tremors shook her muscles and her vision swam while she sucked in shallow, painful gulps of tainted air, and vaguely she was aware of the hunter spilling the rest of his kerosene can somewhere in the vicinity of the living room. Her back was facing the open door behind her while her line of sight was filled mostly by the cabin's quaint little kitchen, so when she saw the massive shadow stretch out across the floor before her it took nearly all of her remaining strength to lift her head and glance over her shoulder at the figure standing in the doorway.

Several things then happened in quick succession - the man reentered the room carrying his empty canister and a lit Zippo, but when he caught sight of Jason Voorhees towering in the small room like some harbinger of death he cried out in shock before spinning on his heel to make a break for the front door while the lighter slipped from his numb fingers. Krystina's eyes widened in horror as the gasoline quickly went up in flame, and with one final surge of energy she rolled to her knees to grip the handle of her knife before giving a mighty heave and dislodging the blade from her flesh with a painful outburst. The puppy - who'd still been hiding beneath the barstool - sensed the impending danger and raced for his rescuer's arms where she scooped him close to her breast and rolled out of the way of the enormous man charging into the heart of the flames with long, purposeful strides.

Krys watched him for a moment as he expertly avoided the worst of the quickly growing conflagration in pursuit of the psychotic hunter, but the heat was quickly growing close to blistering so she clambered to her feet before stumbling towards the blessed freedom outside the back door. Her legs wobbled when she reached the deck and she barely managed to make it down the steps without falling, but the cabin was rapidly becoming engulfed in the raging inferno and she needed to put as much distance between herself and the blaze as possible.

On the verge of passing out, the redhead collapsed to her knees several hundred feet away from the burning house and drew in ragged breaths while her pulse raced a mile a minute and her skin grew clammy with a cold sweat. She rolled ungracefully to the side until she sat half-propped on one arm while the other cradled both her injured hand and the traumatized puppy gingerly against her midriff. Everything hurt - from her throbbing feet to her bruised ribs and her pounding temples, and her skin was raw and angry red where the gasoline had scalded it.

The sun had nearly fallen behind the horizon when he finally returned for her, and as he slowed to a stop before her she glanced up through her disheveled hair to meet a pair of intense, narrowed blue eyes. He lowered himself to his haunches as she struggled to retain her grip on consciousness, but the blackness was hedging in on her peripheral vision while her head swam in dizzying circles. Her chapped lips parted to speak, and her voice was a dry croak in her raw throat.

"Thank you, Jason…"

The last thing she remembered was a feeling of weightlessness as strong arms lifted her from the ground, and then everything went black.


Krystina felt like a child in the womb. Everything was dark; muted. She lay boneless, curled in fetal position deep within a cocoon of warmth. Her senses returned to her in fractured increments as she gradually regained consciousness. The first thing she became aware of was the intense aching throughout her body, lancing straight into the very marrow of her bones. Not only was she battered and bruised, but she felt as though she'd been sleeping for days. Every muscle protested when she shifted gingerly into a more bearable position and her skin felt scalded, as if she'd been thrown in a pot of boiling water. Her throat was raw and her tongue felt like sandpaper against the roof of her mouth, and her right hand pulsed with dull pain from where it had been skewered like a piece of meat. It took several strained moments before she managed to open her eyes, but even the dim light that assaulted her blurry vision caused her to wince against a nasty headache raging behind her temples.

With her forehead pressed against the palm of her uninjured hand, she desperately willed the throbbing in her brain to recede. After a few moments the pounding finally faded into a bearable ache that allowed Krys to squint at the bluish glow of a dusty electric camping lantern sitting next to her on a sturdy wooden worktable among a chaotic assortment of items. With a broken groan she struggled to sit up, her head hung low and her hair hanging tangled across her face while she balanced most of her weight on her forearms. There was a blanket draped over her, and the worn material of it chafed against the blistered patches of flesh where she'd been burned by the kerosene. She shifted gingerly until she managed to squirm out from beneath the covers, and then listened to the soft whisper as it slid off the end of the bed to pool on the floor. The bald mattress she rested upon wasn't anything like the overstuffed feather beds that had been in the lakehouse, so along with the fact that the whole place was likely burned to the ground by now she assumed with near-certainty that she wasn't back in her room waking up from some kind of lucid nightmare.

Gathering what little strength she had left in her leaden body, the redhead rolled upwards until her torso was finally vertical. The dark room around her immediately began to spin, and she pressed her palm against her eyes while her stomach churned dangerously. Praying that she wouldn't vomit, she pulled her knees up against her chest and counted to sixty while the nausea slowly passed. Once she felt safe enough to lift her head again without being sick she chanced another look around her unfamiliar surroundings. It wasn't even a room, really - more of a main living space in what she guessed was some sort of mine. Three earthen walls surrounded her braced by thick wooden support beams, and the air was cool. The only other light that filtered in aside from the glow of the lantern came from a grated ventilation shaft welded firmly into its metal framework, and across from her was a pitch black tunnel that branched off into the depths of the earth. The area was Spartan in its furnishings, with only the barest of necessities to make it livable. She saw a couple of old chairs, another set of work tables like the one to the side of her little bed, an assortment of plastic and metal milk crates that served as makeshift drawers, and a fairly new-looking camping stove that sat dormant in the clammy room. Near the ceiling she counted over two dozen tiny silver bells attached to fishing line that strung off to who-knows-where, and she also took note of the mass collection of weapons spaced around: hunting knives and hatchets and a quiver of deadly arrows that sent a familiar shudder down her spine.

She didn't know if she'd been sitting in a daze for minutes or hours, but her stupor was broken by the snuffling of some small creature followed closely by the heavy thud of footsteps. Her legs pressed closer to her abdomen on instinct as she shrunk to make herself as small as possible, and she strained to see anything in the darkness of the tunnel that led directly into the space she occupied. Her pulse raced through her body while her extremities went numb in preparation for fight-or-flight, and what seemed like an eternity passed before a massive frame finally stepped into the light cast by the little lantern.

Jason Voorhees was, without a doubt, the most intimidating person that Krys had ever laid eyes on. She was certain that he could snap her in half without even breaking a sweat. Hell, she didn't think he'd even be breathing hard if he decided to tear her limb from limb. Cold, calculating blue eyes landed on her within seconds of his appearance, and the redhead felt like a mouse trapped within the predatory gaze of a snake. She barely noticed the excited scuffling from the Heeler puppy as he clambered ungracefully up onto the bed with her, but as he wiggled insistently into her lap she slowly allowed him to worm his way into her arms without breaking eye contact with the behemoth of a man facing her. Her breath froze in her throat as the staring match continued, and she barely kept from flinching when he moved further into the room. She could see the dull glint of the machete holstered on his side from the corner of her eye, but despite the tense set of his large shoulders his hands remained loose and relaxed. She desperately hoped that meant she wouldn't be on the receiving end of it any time soon.

The large man moved slowly, each step measured and meticulously graceful as he approached her with something akin to caution, like he was trying not to startle her. Krys followed each movement closely and tried not to shrink away when he came to a stop barely a foot away from her, one long arm reaching out and causing her to suck in a sharp breath. She had no idea why this mass murderer had decided to save her in the first place, or take her all the way back to what she assumed was where he lived. Was he finally going to kill her now? The puppy seemed unfazed by her fear though, and squirmed happily within the frozen embrace of his rescuer as she sat immobile before the overbearing presence of the masked man. But while her mind raced with all the horrible ways she could die, he merely used the tips of his calloused fingers to brush away the thick curtain of auburn hair that had fallen to cover the scarred side of her face. Instinctively the younger girl snapped away from his touch, uncomfortable and ashamed of the marred flesh she constantly tried to keep hidden, and within seconds all hell broke loose.

As quick as the strike of a viper Jason fisted the hair at the base of Krystina's neck, pulling her head back sharply and eliciting a strangled cry from her throat as tears sprang to the corners of her eyes. He lifted her halfway off the bed, ignoring her pitifully weak attempts to pry his fist from her tangled locks while he pinned her with an icy glare. The puppy yipped as his lap suddenly vanished from beneath him, and he tumbled to the ground where he scampered playfully between Jason's thick, steel-toed boots. For all he knew the humans were just playing, and he wanted to play too.

"I'm sorry," the younger girl bit out as she tried to balance on her knees and ease some of the strain from his iron grip. Her skull was already tender from where she'd received the same treatment from the hunter back at the cabin, and she feared that her hair would fall out after so much brutality to the fragile roots. "Please, I didn't mean to!"

Another painful moment passed as he seemed to consider her apology, and then he dropped her unceremoniously back onto the mattress where she crumpled like a wet paper bag. Timidly she crawled back into a sitting position, pressing her back to the cool earthen wall at the top of the bed and then glaring balefully at the behemoth when he turned away from her to move to the other side of the room. He rifled through one of the milk crates in search of something while her frightened thoughts supplied her with a dozen different weapons he could use to torture her with, but he returned with a small olive-colored canvas bag embossed with a bright red cross. A medical kit?

"What do you want with me?" she dared to ask as he drug over one of the chairs sitting nearby. Surely his end game was to kill her, right? Wasn't that what all the legends said - that he murdered anyone who dared to enter his territory? Belatedly she wished she would have realized the truth behind the stories, and then she would have never agreed to Miguel's stupid camping trip. Then she wondered if he was still miles away looking after Adam's mother, but the thoughts were driven to the back of her mind as Jason set the kit down none-too-gently on the bed beside her. Its contents rattled and made her jump while the behemoth settled himself in the chair before her, and then he regarded her with an impatient stare. She was still curled tightly in on herself at the head of the bed, as far away from him as she could possibly get in the small space, but when he crooked a finger at her in a 'come here' gesture she fearfully obeyed. She really didn't want to incur his wrath a second time, so she carefully shifted until she sat cross-legged in front of him.

"I'm sorry," she murmured again while watching him deftly unzip the med kit. He threw her a cursory glance without pause as he pulled out a few supplies and she wilted beneath his scathing look, but cautiously pressed on. She had no idea why she felt the need to explain herself, but the silence was growing deafening. "I didn't mean to upset you - I'm just not used to people touching my face. They're usually put off by the scars." Her shoulders lifted and fell in a small shrug, and she made sure to hold herself in check as he once again reached for her. He grasped her chin firmly and she could almost feel him trying to be gentle, but a hiss of pain escaped her clenched teeth when he passed an antiseptic pad across the ridged flesh of her cheek. She must have cut herself at some point based on the sting of the alcohol. Satisfied with that the larger man moved on to her forearms, wrapping his long fingers easily around her slender wrists and baring the angry red flesh to the light of the electric lantern. She bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste copper as he sanitized and wrapped the burns in clean gauze, but when he began to examine the jagged puncture in her palm she couldn't suppress the strangled whimper that clawed up her throat. He paused his inspection and regarded her with a tilt of his head, but she clamped her teeth shut with an audible clack and glowered right back at him until he lowered his gaze back to her injuries.

After several minutes had passed he seemed satisfied with his work and returned the remaining supplies back to the bag, turning briefly to hand her a packet of acetaminophen and a metal canteen that sloshed heavily with water. She tossed the pills back easily and sighed through her nose as the refreshing liquid soothed her sore throat. She hadn't realized how dehydrated she was until now. It took nearly all of her willpower not to down the entire thing right there, but she knew it wasn't a good idea to guzzle too much at one time. Reluctantly she replaced the cap and set it on the table while watching Jason stride to the far side of the room. The table he approached seemed mainly for assorted articles of clothing along with neatly folded tarps stacked beneath coils of thick rope, and she watched the bulk of muscles across his upper back and shoulders flex beneath his heavy coat as he kneeled down to grab something from the ground. Despite her dire and confusing circumstances she couldn't help but marvel at the utter strength that he contained so gracefully in such a massive frame. She could easily imagine him surviving for years on his wits and instincts alone out in the wilds of Crystal Lake, living off whatever the land provided. He was ridiculously tall and almost beautifully lean, without an ounce of fat to be found among the expansive wealth of wiry muscle.

The redhead shook her head violently. He had kidnapped her! Why was she sitting there like a lump on a log ogling some masked psychopath's backside? Shouldn't she be formulating some kind of escape plan? She hugged her arms across her chest and curled back up on the bed, mindful of the young pup who had found a place to settle down near her feet and was currently snoozing peacefully. She observed silently as her captor rolled easily back to his feet, her thoughts of escape slowly dwindling as she realized how much of a pickle she was in. Sure, she was in fairly good shape and stood a better chance than some from her years on the track team, but just looking at the downright massive figure before her she knew that her chances were definitely slim to none. Mostly none.

While she sat contemplating Jason had returned to the side of the bed, his arm extended as he held aloft her slightly singed duffle bag. She blinked for a moment and then cautiously reached out to take it, afraid that any sudden movement may trigger him to snatch her up once more. And she would really rather that he didn't.

"Thanks," she offered softly as she pulled the bag close, watching him warily for a moment longer just to make sure it wasn't some kind of trick before pulling open the zipper and delving inside. While she rifled through the contents Jason pulled the chair towards the camping stove, sitting down and clicking on the burner. The faint scent of gas caused the younger girl to grimace as she paused in her explorations to watch, but after he had the burner lit and lowered to a manageable size she returned to her inventory. By the time he had set up a small metal pot filled with canned soup to heat she had several items laid out on the bed at her feet and the bag containing what articles of clothing she'd packed deposited on the ground nearby. She still had her mp3 player with the earbuds coiled tightly around it, a journal and notebook stacked neatly atop a hardback book, and a picture album she always carried with her wherever she went. When she glanced across the short distance to find him watching her movements with interest, she decided that it may be a good opportunity to get on his good side. Maybe if he didn't absolutely hate her guts, then she might have a better chance for survival. Right?

"Do you like to read or write?" she asked him, gesturing to her notebook and a well-loved collection of fables. She'd been teased about carrying around the childish storybook before, but she just hadn't ever been able to let it go - especially since it had been a gift from her mother. Her breath stilled in her lungs when he rose to his feet, towering easily over her smaller form, but she exhaled a moment later when he merely reached out to inspect the spiral-bound notepad. She hadn't used it much since purchasing it before the trip, and only the first few pages held some of her small nature sketches or jotted notes. He pulled the pen from the binding, flipped to a blank sheet, and Krys watched on as he began to write. She hadn't really thought about the extent of his academic skills, but it quickly became apparent that he was much smarter than he had been given credit for when he handed the book back to her and she saw his blocky, precise handwriting near the top.

What were you doing on my land?

Krystina balked at his brusque words and passed the notebook back without meeting his chilling gaze.

"My friend brought us out here to get away from the city for a while. We're all from out of town; we heard the stories, but thought you were just a legend..."

She heard the pen scratching once more across the paper and risked a glance through her lashes, watching him scrawl something else beneath his first query.

You told Beth you thought I was real, that I was out here. You defended my side. Why?

The redhead's brows furrowed in confusion as she frowned. "Eavesdropping isn't very nice, you know."

Seconds after the words were said she wished fervently that she could take it back, and shove them down her throat where they should have stayed. It probably wasn't the best idea to be sassy with a six-foot-tall behemoth wielding a wickedly sharp machete, and she peeked at him timidly only to see the glint of amusement in his eyes. Taking the pen he still had clasped in his hand, he tapped on the word 'Why' - reiterating his question.

"I don't know," she responded with a shrug. Her fingers fidgeted nervously for a moment before she handed the book over and curled her hands in her lap, tugging at a frayed string on her jeans. Briefly she wished she could take a bath. After everything that had happened, she felt downright grubby. "I just didn't think it was fair that you were being used in some ghost story to scare people. I mean, at the time I still thought you were just a part of the camp's history, but it still isn't fair for people to twist someone's memory just to frighten off tourists."

A brief moment passed where she couldn't bring herself to look up at him, but she could feel the tension sitting thick in the cool air. Then he rose quickly from his chair, dropped the notepad unceremoniously beside her, and stowed the pen before stalking quickly from the room. She blinked in shock as his heavy steps faded into the distance and wondered if she'd offended him, slowly picking up the bound sheets of paper he'd left behind once she couldn't hear him anymore. On the table next to her arm she also noticed that he'd left behind a bowl of soup from the camp stove for her, and while she took a sip of the rich broth she read what he'd written.

Life isn't always fair.