Chris's head swam with a plethora of conflicting emotion as she took his hand, allowing him to lift her to her feet. In a strange way, she had no choice but to give him her hand. He could have abandoned her here to take the heat for the murders, he could have remained hidden in the tree-line and left her to be taken away to the county jail, and then possibly to prison or a sanitarium. However, he had not, even after she had blown their cover. No, he had charged the Sheriff like a bull, and killed the man, and all for her.
The thought struck her like a ton of bricks. He had done it for her, the very girl who's shrill screams had put them in the predicament in the first place. Chris could not fathom why this man -
Jason Voorhees
had decided to not only slay the man who intended to drag her away screaming in handcuffs, but had afterwards spared her life, and had not put a hand on her other than to help her to her feet. However, the brief look he'd shot her prior to offering his hand was not lost on her, she understood that she had pushed the envelope far enough, and to attempt to push further would likely not be met with mercy. Still shaken by both her earlier trial and the thoughts currently assailing her, she did not jerk her hand back immediately. Instead she merely stared in wonder at her tiny hand wrapped in this juggernaut's massive paw, as the wheels in her head kept turning.
It was clear that he had given her an opportunity to run, but she had not taken it, despite her earlier eagerness for escape. No, as the gravity of what he had just done for her sunk in, she realized she had no choice but to stay with him. The police would be looking for them both, well, mainly her, from the way the Sheriff had talked. He didn't believe her frantic babbling about the man from two years ago returning, and it began to dawn on her that any officer would meet her story with similar disbelief and scorn. Jason Voorhees was nothing more than an urban legend to these men of the law, and to most everyone in the area that had not had the misfortune to meet him. So running away was not an option, knowing that she was considered a prime suspect in the murder of her friends.
But there was another aspect to her unwillingness to run just now. Perhaps it was tiny, and buried under more logical reasons to not bolt, she could not deny it was there. She had also stayed out of a sense of gratitude, as incomprehensible and sick as it might sound. Yes, this behemoth had brutally murdered her friends, some before her very eyes, but he had also saved her back there. He could have killed her any time before now in an equally brutal fashion however he had not, not even when she had teased and taunted him, or just now after she had betrayed their hiding spot.
There was also -
and she blushed to think about the memory which stirred up even more confusion within her -
the fact that he could have done whatever he wanted to her while she had been tied to that bed, but he had settled for a quick grope and nothing more, even though she knew he was capable of more. Her jab at the effectiveness of his plumbing had been only been an attempt to insult and infuriate him, no, she somehow knew that had he really wanted to he could have torn her clothing off and -
and what, Chris?
She shoved the thought deeper, and he let go of her hand. Taking her injured wrist in hand, she looked up at her captor, and uttered two quiet words.
"Thank you."
At the McCready house, the two of them gathered supplies for the coming trip. It was obvious to her from the moment they set foot in the cabin that Jason didn't intend for them to stay there. Chris simply followed him through the back door and into the dusty home quietly, watching as he went straight to the pantry, snatching up the tablecloth from the dining room table without so much as breaking stride. As he loaded it up with food and other odds and ends, she wandered to the living room and looked out the front window. There in the driveway sat Sheriff Summers' police cruiser, cloaked in the blue shadows of twilight. She thought of him laying out there in the woods, his brains splattered on the old stone wall, and shuddered.
Just like Rick's brains oozing from his ruined head as he lay on the floor of the lodge.
Where were they going to go? No place in Crystal Lake was safe, and it was only a matter of time before one of Summers' deputies came looking for him. They would find the car, then his body, and intensify the search. And if he had like minded deputies who believed she was part of the killing spree, or if that walkie talkie had picked up any of his words to her, they would be much more likely to use their own shotguns now that their commander was a victim.
Like it or not, she and Jason Voorhees were in this together, and their survival hinged on whatever hiding place lay lurking in his demented brain. If there was a hiding place. It was quite possible he intended to just have them climb trees the way he had to surprise the Sheriff. Or who knew? Maybe he intended to leave the area altogether, throw caution to the wind and strike out for parts unknown? She didn't figure that to be very likely, given the nature of his looks. No, they were going to stay put in these cursed woods, and either take shelter in another summer home or confront the police in a showdown that would have everyone far and wide speaking the name Jason Voorhees. She hoped to God the man didn't intend to take the latter option.
"Jason," she said suddenly, more from seeing his reflection in the window glass than any kind of psychic link. She turned to face him. He was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, holding a bulging makeshift bag that had once been the McCready's checkered tablecloth. In the other hand he held several pillowcases. These he held out for her to take, apparently intending that she pull her own weight and grab a few trinkets for their second road-trip.
Chris took the pillowcases, and looked around the kitchen for anything that might come in handy. Jason had taken the bulk of the canned goods, but had left a few, these she scooped into her own repurposed pillowcase. She searched through drawers, plucking a can opener and a few forks and spoons out to add to her own growing pile of supplies. Jason watched her appraisingly, she caught on quickly. Dragging the heavy pillowcase down the hall into the restroom, she ransacked the medicine cabinet for anything that seemed useful, snatching up ointments and bandages like they were going out of style. Where ever they were headed, she did not have Jason's supernatural ability to recover from injuries, so she made certain to be prepared for anything that might befall her in the woods or beyond. She added a few wrapped bars of soap to her bags before heading back down the hallway, where she paused only long enough to grab a couple of sheets from the linen closet, folding them into compact little squares to shove into her already strained pair of pillowcases.
Jason was there waiting for her in the kitchen, the tablecloth bundle thrown over his shoulder in the manner of Santa Claus bearing gifts for all good children. "Where are we going?" Chris spoke out of habit, still not entirely used to the man's silence. It would be a tough habit to break, the expectation of a reply to her words. She might as well be as mute as he was, for al it seemed to matter, for he did not speak and seemed unlikely to ever. Surely if he could, she would have already earned a hearty fuck you for her previous antics. He strode to the door carrying his heavy burden, before gesturing to the bag he had packed for her prior to leaving Higgin's Haven. Obviously it would be up to her to carry it now, along with her full pillowcases, for Jason's load required both hands. She shifted the gym bag onto her uninjured arm, and took the heavier pillowcase in her left hand, still favouring her injured right wrist.
Chris knew it was too much to hope for that they wouldn't have to travel far, for the prospect of carrying such heavy bags for a long distance did not appeal to her, but realistically the further they could get from the scene of Jason's latest murder, the better. So she merely grit her teeth and carried on at Jason's heels, her arms now hurting as much as her blistered feet. She had never been much of a hiker, and the last day had proven to be a very painful introduction to the activity for her. Of course, all of this endless walking did not seem to take a toll on the man plodding ahead of her. He was far more acclimated to moving through these woods than she or anyone else for that matter could possibly be.
So, of course it was to be expected that Chris would begin to lag behind after what seemed like hours of trudging along carrying heavy bags. She stopped to rest her feet, only to feel Jason's hand on her upper arm, pulling her up from her seat on the forest floor. "I just need a minute," she panted, even as he shook his head no and pulled her along. "I'm not used to this like you are, I have to rest." Her protest fell on deaf ears, as he continued dragging the stumbling girl along.
That was how they traveled for awhile, Jason leading Chris to - the slaughter? - whatever hideout he had, Chris wondering if maybe she shouldn't just offer to put on a leash to make it easier for her master. But as that kind of smart talk might only serve to further inflame the anger of a man who had just bashed the sheriff's brains in while she was handcuffed to him, she decided against it. The full moon's ghostly light shone down through the tree branches and played tricks. More than once Chris thought she saw things capering in the shadows, behind trees and further along the narrow creek they crossed.
She somehow stifled a crazy laugh - and yes, it would sure as hell sound crazy, the way she was feeling right now - at the sudden gratefulness she had that this slouch shouldered giant was with her.
For no matter what creatures of the night might be lurking about, eager to forgo the baking process and feast on the flesh of a girl lost out in the wilderness, none of them would try a goddamn thing with Jason Voorhees out front. In a land of demons, it was always best to travel with the top dog.
He allowed a pause in their nocturnal journey at that creek so that she could splash some water on her face, which only brought back vague memories of how she had been found by her parents that night two years ago. "Oh Chrissy," her mother had droned, hyping herself into phony hysterics. "What's happened to you?"
I'll tell you what happened, mother. I met a monster, and he took me back to his shack. How I escaped remains a mystery even to me, but I did, only to thumb my nose at fate, give the middle finger to fate by coming back to this awful place. Now all of my friends are dead, and this time there's no escape for me. So my monster and I are going to find a new shack, hopefully one with running water this time. Don't wait up for me, because just like that romantic night with Rick, I'll be awhile.
Shocked at her own bitterness, she sank to her knees and drank from the creek, slurping water like a woman who had just traversed a huge desert. All the while, Jason Voorhees watched, as silent as the oaks around him, as silent as the black shadow demons that sometimes peeked out from around his massive frame. At one point he seemed to sense them himself and turned, sending them scattering. He stood staring in the direction they were headed, and she knew his face was tense behind the mask.
No, he hadn't sensed any demons. He was hoping their hideout, wherever it may be, was not swarming with Summers' deputies, all aiming fully loaded shotguns. He looked back at her again, motioning her to finish up. She obeyed. Rejoining him, they set off again on their trek through the trees.
After another few minutes of walking, just as the thirst was again beginning to rear its ugly head, she saw a two story shape in the distance. As they got closer, she could make out a large Victorian clapboard with big pillars on the back that the place? It was definitely a step up from the quaint little McCready cabin. Somehow Jason had hit the big time.