CHAPTER TWO
Tommy pushed open the heavy oak door, the first on the left in the upstairs hallway, and set his bags down on the bed. The rooms were small, but clean and, at least, it was his own room.
At least it seemed he would have a better time than he had at the last facility, where he had had to share a room with a schizophrenic sleepwalker who talked in his sleep through the night.
A small cot covered with a dark green wool blanket was against the wall. There was an end table with a lamp, a chair, and a desk and dresser against the opposite wall. A window looked out onto the chicken coop at the rear of the house.
It was very basic, but it was comfortable. He could already see all his masks pinned to the walls and decorating the room in his mind.
Tommy unzipped his duffel bag, and picked up the first thing that was stacked on the top inside the corduroy interior.
It was a picture of his mother.
Tommy stared at the photo, reminiscing as his eyes misted over and he felt a lump in his throat the size of a golf ball.
Her blond hair was why he had stared at Pam. She almost looked like his mother when she was younger, and even now-despite Pam being twenty years younger.
Maybe if I had stayed at the house and protected her that night, she'd still be alive, Tommy thought.
Then, the voices came again.
"Die….Die…Die…."
Tommy put the picture away, wiping the tears from
his eyes and the voices from his mind. He couldn't go thinking things like that, and wind up starting a spiral in his mind. He rummaged through the duffel bag and his hands brushed against something hard and smooth. He took it out and looked down at the pocketknife in his hand.
He flipped it open, eyeing the razor-sharp blade.
His father had given it to him as a boy. Tommy knew he wasn't supposed to have sharp objects, but the guards at the clinic didn't have a clue about most things. Plus, there was no way in hell he was staying out at Crystal Lake without protection.
He stared at himself in the blade's reflection, and sighed. The bags under his eyes were getting worse. He looked so pale, so lifeless.
"Can't go getting too sentimental," he thought to himself. He closed the knife, and put it safely under his mattress.
He took out of a stack of freshly-cleaned and folded collared shirts and opened the closet door.
"Shit!" he swore as something large and black lunged at him from seemingly out of nowhere.
Tommy lurched backwards, almost dropping the shirts. Something had fallen down from the top shelf…he moved closer.
It was a big, black rubber spider.
Suspended in the air by string.
Then, a figure came down from the top shelf and beamed at him, proud of himself and carrying the rubber spider, giggling impishly.
Tommy glared at the young twelve or thirteen year old boy who stood in front of him, who wore bright colors and expensive-looking shoes. His afro was freshly trimmed. Definitely not a patient, Tommy thought.
"You scared of spiders?" the boy asked, still grinning from ear to ear.
Tommy said nothing; he glared at Reggie, trying to remain calm.
"Are you scared of rubber spiders?"
There was still a tense silence and a stillness from Tommy. He didn't move. His hands were still clutching the shirts white-knuckled and he stared at Reggie hatefully.
"You scared of rubber spiders on strings?" the boy asked. Tommy didn't reply.
"Man you are one scared cat,"
Tommy gave him another angry look, and took his shirts back to his bed. Tommy's silence bothered Reggie for a second, but he pushed past it.
"Where I come from, they teach you to not be scared of anything. They call me Reggie the Reckless," the young boy said.
Tommy reached into his bag as Reggie went on.
"I ain't scared of no spider," he said.
In a split second, Tommy whipped around, revealing one of his hideous monster masks he had put on his head.
It was an alien head, its skin pink, its eyes solid grey and bulging.
Reggie reeled backwards, his eyes wide.
"Yo man!" he exclaimed, putting his hand on his chest.
Tommy took off the mask; a small smirk had developed on his face. Reggie puffed out
his chest, trying to hide the fact his heart hadn't started racing a mile a minute.
Tommy walked back to his bed, and unzipped his duffel bag, pulling out several more masks equally as detailed and horrifying as the alien head. A gorilla mask, adorned with actual hair; a latex zombie mask so realistic that Reggie began to look on in respect, his eyes wide with awe. Another one was a demon mask, complete with leathery skin, horns, and a forked tongue that protruded from the lips.
Reggie sauntered over to the bed, a sorry expression on his face. Tommy had got him good and he knew it. He sat down and reached for the demon mask. Tommy jerked it away.
"Don't!" he commanded firmly, holding it and stroking it in his hand and studying it.
Reggie glowered at him indignantly.
"You don't have to get all twisted out of shape about it," he said. "You act like you made these things or something."
"I did," Tommy said, looking up from his mask.
Reggie grinned again.
"Solid!" he said, still in wonder at how realistic and detailed his masks were. "So you're the new nut?"
Tommy scoffed.
"Is that what they call us?" he asked scornfully.
"Us?" Reggie exclaimed, laughing. "I ain't one of you, man," he said. "I'm just visiting,"
Tommy frowned. Is that what they let happen here? he thought. Random strangers walk into your room and hang out? No security at all? Who was this kid?
"My granddaddy works here," Reggie explained.
Just then, their conversation was broken up by the sounds of police sirens and Reggie gasped with excitement, running to the window.
"Oh, gotta split! Catch you later, there's action!" he said and ran out the door.
Tommy sat for a few moments, processing what was happening, and then went to the window himself.
A blue-and-white brand new police car, sirens blaring, came driving tediously down the unpaved road, pulling up to the front of the halfway house and coming to a stop.
Sheriff Cal Tucker opened the driver's side door of his police car, spit, and got out.
His once-sandy blond hair was now thin and grey, and poked out from underneath his cowboy hat.
He took a look in the backseat at Tina McCarthy and Eddie Kelso, who giggled and made faces at him, then at Deputy William Dodd, a lanky man in his early 30s, who climbed out of the passenger seatz
All that was on Tucker's mind was "Oh shit, Ethel's gonna have a cow".
It finally happened. Ethel had been right all along.
58-year old Ethel Hubbard was one of Pinehurst's many eccentric residents.
Her and her disabled son, Junior, lived down the dirt road just a half of a mile from the halfway house in a dilapidated trailer.
I'm not living next to those nutjobs! she had shrieked at the town council meeting, her frizzy hair up in curlers, her wild eyes bugging out at everyone in the room. Mayor Cobb, if any one of those nutjobs come on my property, I am blowing em' to smithereens, y'all hear me! I swear to ya!
Tucker didn't know what was worse, having to get called out to the halfway house every week or dealing with Ethel.
And now, here he was, picking up two nutjobs who had been fucking like animals behind Ethel's shed.
There was about to be a huge altercation if he didn't resolve this situation quickly. Hopefully, Ethel hadn't seen their police sirens from her kitchen window of her trailer.
Hopefully, she hadn't heard the passionate moans of the two lovers from inside.
Hopefully…
Ultimately, Pinehurst had needed mental health facilities for years and the mayor opted for the Pinehurst Center back in 81' and the mayor, the entire police department, and every cashier in town had heard all about Ethel having to live next door to a loony bin. Every day of the week.
The ironic part of it all was that the halfway house was made for people like Ethel, who went years untreated and ended up poor and a little unhinged.
She'd come barreling into town on Junior's Harley motorcycle, revving the engine like a madwoman, and marching into the police station.
"Sheriff, I know those kids are screwing around on my property. God knows what they're doing, probably drugs. They're up at night screaming and I can't sleep! You gotta shut that place down and now, are you listening to me dammit!" she had screamed at Tucker.
Tucker had told her again and again that the mayor had made his decision, and she wouldn't listen. She wouldn't move. Too poor to move. Junior had social security but it was barely enough to make ends meet. Ethel sold vegetables out of her garden at the market, but that was their only income.
He tried to stay away from her as best he could, but with the halfway house kids getting into trouble, and arresting Junior for speeding on his motorcycle, it was no use.
Ethel was going to be his problem no matter what he did.
Here come the looky-loos, he thought, seeing all of the residents of Pinehurst Center gathering around excitedly.
George, an older man in his 70s who was the cook for the center, held his grandson Reggie back as he desperately tried to get a closer look at the action.
Pam and Dr. Matt stepped forward as the Sherriff approached them, eyeing Matt sheepishly.
The awkwardness was palpable as Matt saw
who was being escorted out of the back of the police car.
He shifted his weight uncomfortably, and decided to play dumb and act like he was in control.
"Hey, Sheriff," he said nonchalantly. "What's up,"
The Sheriff cleared his throat.
"Well…Matt..it's just like we talked about, you got some neighbors who aren't too happy with this place," he explained. "And uh…I respect what you're doing here, I really do. But we found a couple of kids..uh…out at the Hubbard place again."
Matt still held his composure, stoically standing with his hands on his hips. Pam couldn't help but hide her laughter with her clipboard, trying not to giggle with the residents who all couldn't contain their laughter.
The Sheriff hesitated, but then said it straight out with a wry smirk.
"Matt, they were screwing their heads off,"
Violet and Jake had walked up to the scene and Violet took off the headphones connected to her Walkman, listening to what was happening.
"Now I think we are all pretty lucky this time, because Ethel didn't see them," the Sheriff said.
Tina and Eddie, still wrapped up in each other's arms and laughing coquettishly, were escorted over behind Matt and Pam by Deputy Dodd with the rest of the residents. The deputy removed their handcuffs and Eddie kissed Tina's neck and wrapped his arms around her waist.
"Damn, I shouldn't have put them in those handcuffs," Tucker thought. It probably had made them even hornier.
Matt glanced disapprovingly at Tina and Eddie and then took a deep breath.
"I'll take care of it, Sheriff,"
It wasn't but a split second later.
VROOOMMM.
Sheriff Tucker sighed and hung his head in dismay as he heard the telltale sound of Junior's old vintage Harley motorcycle pulling into the front yard of the halfway house.
Junior put the bike on its kickstand and revved the motor aggressively.
From off the back of the bike, Ethel Hubbard hopped down. Her tangled, unkempt hair and wild eyes were both exceptionally crazy, more than usual.
Dirt from her garden covered her face and her hands, and her flannel shirt and torn blue jeans.
She leered at all of the patients of Pinehurst with a snaggletoothed sneer then turned to Junior, who was staring daggers at Tina and Eddie.
"I'll do the talking, you keep quiet!" Ethel shouted over the engine of the Harley.
Junior shut the bike off and crossed his arms, proudly observing his Ma in action.
Ethel's attention directed to the Sheriff.
"Morning, Ethel. Don't you look lovely?" Sheriff Tucker said.
"Horseshit!" Ethel exclaimed. "Now Sheriff, you had better hear me and hear me good. I want this loony bin closed down. Now, these kids ain't nothing but trouble!"
She pointed a long, bony finger at the group of patients who still couldn't contain their laughter, first at Tina and Eddie's predicament and now at Ethel; her bugging eyes and hillbilly dialect were amusing them greatly.
The Sheriff also stifled laughing at her. It would only have made her angrier, he decided.
"They got no respect for property, and they're all crazy!" she shrieked.
"You tell em, Ma!" Junior shouted from the motorcycle, revving the engine again and guffawing. He licked his lips, still staring lewdly at Tina and Eddie, revealing the one front tooth he had.
Ethel whipped around and glared at Junior with narrowed eyes, and then turned to the Sheriff.
Tucker took another deep sigh, and looked to the sky, thinking of how to resolve the situation. He decided to be on Matt's side for now, and let Ethel be none the wiser.
Maybe they could convince her that some kids tried to run away and had to be brought back.
"Ethel, these kids weren't doing noth-"
Ethel didn't want to hear it.
"Doing??" she blurted out. "You don't think I know what those two perverts were doin' in my yard?"
She gestured at Tina and Eddie, a look of absolute repulsion on her face.
"Say it like you mean it, Ma!" Junior shouted again.
Ethel gritted her teeth, and spun around to face him, huffing and giving him a look of hatred.
"Would you SHUT the FUCK up?" she said.
This resulted in a roar of laughter from the patients. Ethel ignored it.
Junior sunk down into his seat, pouting.
Ethel hunched over and once again pointed out her bony, dirt-caked finger towards the patients, looking like the Hillbilly Wicked Witch of the West.
"Now, I'm gon' tell all of ya, you mark my words…The next little bastard comes near my farm, I'm gon' blow your fuckin' brains out, you hear me!"
"Oooh oh no!" Tina cried, in mock-terror as Eddie laughed.
"Now, Ethel…" Sheriff Tucker said, stepping towards her.
Ethel jumped backwards and leered at the Sheriff.
"Don't you come near me, Sheriff..I got a bomb on me..I swear to ya! You make one move towards me and I'm gon' blow us all up."
The group of trouble teens again "ooh-ed" in mock-terror.
"Start the engines, Junior!"
Junior cranked the bike, revving the engine as loud as he could. Ethel hopped on, clinging onto her son tightly, and took one last look at the Sheriff, Matt and Pam, all standing there, some of them flabbergasted and others laughing hysterically.
"Those are my final words!" Ethel screeched.
She gave them all the middle finger and with another rev of the engine, they took off down the dirt road, leaving behind a cloud of dust.
The group of troubled teens cheered as Junior's motorcycle faded into the distance, disappearing around the corner of the road and behind some trees.
"Alright, party's over! Let's go!" Pam ordered, as the group of teens, still giddy from all the excitement, started to disperse and go about their business.
Nobody saw Tommy, standing and watching it all happen from the second story.
Sheriff Tucker stepped up beside Matt and put his hands on his hips in an authoritative stance. They both stared down the road after watching Ethel make her grand exit.
"She's really something, ain't she?" Tucker chortled as Matt nodded in agreement. "But really Matt, I suggest you make an extra effort to keep your kids off her property"
"I will," Matt replied earnestly.
"By the way…" Sheriff Tucker went on, lowering his voice. "I hear you got this Jarvis kid…,"
"Yeah he arrived a little while ago," Matt said matter-of-factly.
"And?"
"And what?"
"Well, what's he like?" Tucker asked.
"He's.." Matt hesitated. "…he's just like any other kid, he's just been through a lot, that's all,"
Matt didn't want any rumors spread about this kid, or any gossip taking place.
"What have you seen working up there?" the residents of Pinehurst would ask whenever Matt went into town.
He never granted those questions answers. Why should he be telling these kids' business to everyone in town? They had enough problems, and didn't need people prying into their lives.
"Well, good luck with him," the Sheriff said, taking the hint.
As the Sheriff and Deputy Dodd got back into their police care, Matt caught Tommy staring down from
his bedroom. They locked eyes, and Matt felt a chill run down his spine.
He had read Pam's expression back in the office and hoped she also had the same feeling he did-one of complete fear of Tommy Jarvis.
It was baffling him. Tommy Jarvis may be the first patient to actually make him afraid.
And Tommy had barely spoken or moved.
All he had to do is stare with those eyes, and you knew something was wrong. It was a deep, primal feeling- a gut feeling, but he couldn't lay his finger on what it was trying to communicate.
He had dealt with all kinds of messed up youth-eating disorders, panic disorders, autism-but never a young person exposed to such horrendous violence.
He hated to doubt himself, but he couldn't shake the feeling that there was a dark side to Tommy Jarvis that none of them would see coming.
The other patients all stayed away from Victor J. Faden.
Except for Joey, that is.
Joey's unfortunate flaw was that he was too naive and couldn't recognize the telltale signs that someone wanted to be left alone, or that someone was dangerous.
Joey stood at the side door of the halfway house, munching on a chocolate bar that was mostly smeared around his lips and face.
Everyone seemed to want to stay away from Joey too, and for the life of him, he didn't know why. He was always nice, and never mean. He always shared his food and his things. He always said 'please' and 'thank you' and tried to carry on conversations, but he was shut down every time.
Right when he got to Pinehurst, he had introduced himself to Robin and Violet, who had been hanging clothes on the clothesline.
"Leave us alone" Violet had said.
Next was Jake, who remained silent in response to Joey stepping up right in Jake's face and saying at an unnecessarily loud volume: "HI, I'M JOEY,"
Next was Eddie and Tina, who laughed at him.
Up last was Victor J. Faden, who had stared at him with his piercing eyes and snarled: "What the hell do you want,"
If Joey had only been smarter, he'd have seen his clenched teeth and reddening face and his veins bulging.
Nobody liked him no matter how hard he tried.
But today was a new day. The sun was shining. The birds were singing. It felt like the start of a new life for Joey.
Joey walked out through the garden, around the side of the house and towards Robin and Violet who were on laundry duty again, hanging up stark white pressed cotton sheets up on the clothesline.
Perfect, Joey thought. Maybe he could make the most out of being here and help others.
Joey lumbered across the yard towards the clothesline, as Robin and Violet looked up to see him. They both stifled rolling their eyes and groaning.
Violet turned up the volume of the techno music she had blaring through her Walkman headphones.
"Hey, girls," Joey said.
"Hi, Joey," Robin said, not turning around and hanging up a silky, red towel.
"Hi, Violet!" Joey exclaimed loudly.
Violet scrunched up her face and pointed to her headphones.
"Huh?"
"HIIIII," Joey shouted in response, chocolate-colored spit flying out of his mouth. Robin tried to ignore it out of politeness.
"Yeah…" Violet muttered under her breath, and turned up her walkman volume louder.
"What are you guys doing?" Joey asked innocently.
"Doing laundry, Joey," Robin said, as obsequiously as she could. It was easy to hurt Joey's feelings and she didn't want him to have a meltdown.
"Can I help? I'm really good at laundry, ya know. Matt never assigns me to it and I don't know why…" Joey went on, but Robin interrupted him, restraining her annoyance.
"Look, Joey, we really have to get this finished, okay?"
"So I'm here to help ya! You can count on me, Rob. You too, Vi. Want a chocolate bar?" Joey asked, holding out the partially eaten candy. "I'll give ya half but I need half for later."
"Piss off!" Violet snapped.
Joey was unfazed by the remark. Used to it.
"Aw, please let me help? It's no problem…" Joey continued pathetically, whining like a schoolboy.
He bent down and picked up one of the white sheets…with his chocolate-stained hands. Robin gasped, tearing the sheet out of his hands in exasperation.
"Joey!" both girls exclaimed.
"Will you just get out of here?" Robin cried. She was fuming realizing that they would have to wash that sheet all over again, her cheeks turning as red as her hair.
"Fuck!" Violet swore, throwing up her hands.
"I'm sorry you two," Joey said shamefully. "I can do laundry great, I promise…but, well…"
His lips pursed into a miffed pout.
"If that's how you feel, then just forget it! I'll go help someone else then. See ya later,"
Joey puffed out his chest indignantly and sauntered off towards the chopping block, where Victor was swinging an axe furiously and splitting logs.
He suddenly turned around.
"Listen if you change your mind, I'll be right over here, okay!"
"Joey!" both girls cried in unison, staring daggers at him. He knew that look all too well. He had seen it many times before on all types of kids his age. The look that meant he was about to be punched or pushed around.
Joey didn't know why everyone was so mean, but he didn't care. He was only trying to be helpful.
Before his mom died, that's the one thing he remembered her saying to him. "You're a special boy, Joey. You're a light in a dark world,"
And ever since, that's what Joey tried to be.
Joey didn't remember his dad much. He never said a word, and he didn't understand that either. Joey could talk to anyone and everyone, didn't matter who they were or how annoyed they were by him.
He understood few social cues and as a result, didn't understand why everyone seemed to not want him around.
Victor J. Faden understood lots of things. He understood lots of things well. He swung the axe with a grunt, as it wedged itself into the block of wood. It didn't slice all the way through and that made him angry.
Incredibly angry. Angry enough to swing harder, and harder, and even harder on the next swing.
Joey appeared in his field of vision; his chubby, pallid face and his white tee under his sweatshirt was stained with confectionery. Vic swung harder.
"Hi, Vic!" Joey said, in his unnecessarily loud tone.
"Get lost," Vic replied, swinging and splitting another log.
"Awwhh come on Vic…don't be like that. I can help you with the wood today!"
He reached into his pocket discreetly and pulled out another chocolate bar.
"And, anyway, uh…I got two chocolate bars today. Don't tell the girls," he whispered.
Robin and Violet were now watching and giggling, waiting to see what would happen.
"You know Vic, before I came here I…I never had anything to do, me being an orphan and all and…people always teased me about sitting around and being a pig. But it's different here, Vic! I can help others," Joey explained cheerfully.
Vic swung again.
"Ya know I really love it here," Joey said.
"I hate it," Vic replied bitterly.
He swung again.
Joey still didn't catch on. He didn't see the way his veins were bulging out of his forehead.
"I never really chopped wood before and it certainly looks like fun," Joey said.
Vic swung again so hard it rattled the ground.
"LEAVE ME ALONE," Vic snarled through clenched teeth. He ripped the axe out and held it in both hands, breathing in and out. In and out. His eyes said it all.
"Here Vic, you wanna bite?" Joey asked, holding out his second chocolate bar. "I'll just put it over here and later when you're hungry you can have it,"
Joey set the chocolate bar down on the wood, only to have it split by another swing of the axe.
Joey's face finally lost all of its friendliness and he scowled.
"If that's the way you feel, then forget it Vic!" he snapped. "Just forget it! But I think you're really out of line,"
Joey heard Vic's breathing intensifying behind him as he turned to walk away. He heard Vic's footsteps approaching. Joey still never would have guessed it was about to happen.
Vic swung the axe.
This time, into Joey.
And then harder.
And harder.
And even harder.
Robin screamed a blood-curdling scream. It mingled with the sound of screams of pure agony and terror.
A crow landed on a branch nearby…and Joey's anguished screaming stopped.
The curse of Crystal Lake had claimed another victim.
The police sirens had broken the peaceful, natural stillness for the second time that summer day out at Pinehurst.
"We got a homicide…tell me what you got on a Victor J. Faden…F-A-D-E-N.." a tall portly officer said into his radio.
The teenagers were once again gathered around to see the action, only this time, there wasn't much action and they weren't laughing.
Robin clung to Pam, sobbing into a tissue, pulling nervously at her red shawl and holding it close to her chest.
A bloody sheet lay across Joey's mangled body.
Sheriff Tucker had had more than enough excitement for one day. He had taken his hat off in respect, and stood solemnly beside Matt over the bloody sheet, hoping to block the view for the other patients.
"Is there someone we should notify?" the Sheriff asked.
Matt took a second, processing everything and not able to tear his eyes away from the body.
"As far as I know, there's no immediate family," he said. "Mother died, and I don't know what the hell happened to the father. Took off somewhere, I guess,"
Robin tried to stop crying, but it just kept coming in buckets. Pam held her, comforting her.
"It's okay, don't look, it's okay," she said.
"He was shuffled around from home to home until he came here," Matt explained.
He took another dramatic moment of silence, shaking his head.
"He was a good kid,"
Duke, his sandy blond hair combed and gelled back, came strolling over carrying a body bag alongside another paramedic, whose name tag read "Roy Burns".
A lit cigarette dangled from Duke's lips and he adjusted his sunglasses as he surveyed the scene.
"Well, what do we got here?" Duke said with a careless smirk.
He bent down and lifted the sheet, revealing Joey's mutilated body lying on its face.
Vic had lopped off both his arms, and split his stomach and his neck wide open. His entrails lay in a pile beneath him. Steam rose off the body and flies were beginning to gather.
Duke looked up at Roy, a grin on his face, unfazed by the grisly sight.
Roy stood, not making a sound, staring down at the body.
Robin cried out as she saw the ghastly remains and buried her face into Pam's chest.
Tina buried her face in her hands, falling into Eddie's arms as he embraced her, a pained expression on his face. Violet sat and stared into the void, trying to numb it all out.
"Bunch o' pussies," Duke said. He blew a bubble out of his chewing gum and it popped as he grinned, still exhilarated and amused by the reactions of the patients.
Roy glared at him, not moving.
"Come on, Roy…get your hands dirty," Duke said.
Roy looked back at the body, in disbelief, not able to come to terms with what was in front of him. He was deader than dead. Hacked to pieces. Butchered. The bloody axe was slid into an evidence bag.
The blood was everywhere.
So much blood.
Vic sat in the backseat of the police car, handcuffed, staring straight ahead and not saying a word or shedding a tear.
The woods of Pinehurst County were quiet in the dead of night.
It was an eerie, oppressive stillness that could be disorienting, and now with the murders at the nuthouse spreading across the town, the wilderness felt even spookier.
18-year old Vincent "Vinnie" Manalo looked around at the woods surrounding him and shivered in the cold.
Vinnie had his world ahead of him. His dad had just bought him a 1970s AMC hardtop, a real beauty, painted blue, and he felt like he could finally go anywhere he wanted whenever he wanted.
But that could only happen if the car actually worked.
Now here he was, in the dead of night, after some loony hacked up another loony at the halfway house, stranded. Out just a few miles from the place, he thought.
He shuddered to think of what exactly had happened. Had one of the patients just gone stark fucking mad? He wished he could have been there to see it. Finally, some excitement in this dull town.
With an axe, he thought. A fucking axe. Chopped him up into pieces. It was straight out of one of those slasher flicks he watched at the drive-in. He knew it was just a matter of time before one of those nuts hurt someone.
And of all weekends, it was the week of Friday the 13th.
What if the guy escaped from the police car on the way back to the station and was on his way here right now? He was dead meat stranded on the side of the road.
I'm gonna fucking kill you, Dad, he thought. Why give your son a car when it doesn't even work?
His dad owned an auto shop; he should have known if it was a piece of shit.
First, it would die on him going down the highway cruising for a good time. Next, it was the battery. Then, the roof leaked. Now, it wouldn't start again, and he was out on a narrow dirt road on the outskirts of town.
Just great. Fucking fantastic, he thought.
This is what I get for working at your damn family business.
Vinnie slammed his hand on the hood, then collected himself and reached down into the trunk for some tools.
"I'm telling you, Pete, this is bullshit. This really sucks," Vinnie said to his best friend sitting in the driver's seat of his hardtop.
"Just do it, fix it, man…those cunts aren't gonna wait all night," Pete said.
Vinnie walked around the car and threw open the hood, scanning the interior.
"Oh fuck, this is a mess,"
He scanned his flashlight across the series of wires, compartments, and engine components.
The guys back at the shop had wired the battery all wrong. Or it could have been Pete, who "juiced" up the engine with something that he learned God knows where. It was all fucked. His car was absolutely fucked.
He peered over the hood at Pete who was combing his hair in the rear view mirror. Vinnie rolled his eyes, and started toying with the wiring for the battery.
ZAP.
Vinnie jumped back at the shower of sparks.
"No fucking way," Vinnie said. "I refuse to do this. You're the one who keeps fucking around with this thing so get off your ass and you fix it,"
Silence from Pete.
"You understand? Pete?!"
Vinnie jumped back again as the horn blared, and he heard Pete's raucous laughter. He stuck his head out the open window, a shit-eating grin on his face.
Right then, Vinnie wished he had gone back in time and never met Pete. Wished he had never started working with him at the auto shop under his dad's supervision. He wished he didn't live in the middle of nowhere, where you could get stuck miles away from the nearest auto shop.
He wished he wouldn't have invited Pete on this road trip to meet some chicks.
He was having to do all the work while Pete sat on his ass and played with his hair.
And then, he could see them getting to the girls' house and Pete totally screwing it up somehow, just like he always did. He'd say something really embarrassing about Vinnie, or just awkward in general. He'd laugh at inappropriate times just for the attention and to try to be the "class clown" like he always did in high school. He could never take a damn thing seriously, just like now, they were stranded and all Pete could care about was his hair.
"You are an asshole!" Vinnie remarked, and stuck his hands back under the engine, messing with the wiring.
"Awe, what's the matter, Vinnie," Pete said in a playful sing-song voice from inside the car. "You scared of the dark?" You all creeped out by that murder at the nuthouse?"
"Oh, yeah, sure," Vinnie said sarcastically. "As far as I'm concerned, all those loonies should be killed off one-by-one,"
Vinnie flipped another switch and then stood erect.
"Can ya try it now?" Vinnie asked.
Pete cranked the car. Nothing. It grinded and screeched, trying to catch, but failing.
Pete punched the dash, exasperated.
"Jesus, Vinnie, can't you do anything right?!" he said. "Stop screwin' around!"
Vinnie didn't even respond. He just leaned against the front of the car, too angry to speak.
Pete climbed out of the car, twirling the key on his finger.
"You better have it fixed by the time I get back. I gotta take a crap,"
Vinnie looked at him in disbelief.
"Crap my ass!" he shouted at Pete who was disappearing down a trail into the woods.
"Just do it!" he called over his shoulder and then he was gone.
Vinnie couldn't believe it. Now he was alone and stranded on the side of the road. He peeled off his leather jacket, not wanting to get it covered in smoke or oil, and bent back down under the hood.
"Fucking asshole!" he said to himself.
Why did he have to make a friend like Pete? He thought. He never helped anyone out. He only cared about himself. He was always late to work, and to everything. The guy was totally reckless and dumb as a post.
Nothing was important to him.
Not a job.
Not his future.
And not even the fact that they were stranded out in the middle of nowhere.
He thought about walking to the nuthouse and seeing if they could help, maybe drive them to an auto shop, but then he thought twice.
No way he was going up to that freaky place in the dead of night. Who knows, the patients probably didn't even have a curfew up there, and were allowed to wander around from what he had heard.
The whole place needed to be shut down, Vinnie realized. Instead of a vacation home for "troubled teens", how about fire stations for some of the rural counties? More fucking tow companies so he wouldn't be stuck in situations like this.
But sure, let's put our taxpayers money into a hotel for loonies. That will teach them.
Give them a vacation.
He couldn't believe the mayor had actually agreed to have that place built. How about a mall? Some more bars? Of course, bars were about the only good time you could have in a town like this.
What else could you do? There was nothing else to do in Pinehurst. Drinking and getting laid were about the only activities he could think of for fun, Friday nights in this town.
The only other time there was this much excitement in town was when those murders happened a few years ago.
The small town had talked about it when it had happened, and the legend said he was a man who allegedly drowned as a boy, who came back to wreak havoc on those who caused him to drown.
Of course, small towns tend to exaggerate the truth, Vinnie knew that.
It still spooked him when he thought about it and excited him too.
It was the first interesting thing to happen in their neck of the woods. Some guy goes crazy and kills a bunch of people in the woods…right out of a slasher movie at the drive-in.
They said the maniac had been killed, but some of the locals still said he was out there, roaming the woods around Crystal Lake and annihilating anyone who went there.
Vinnie felt a chill as he realized how close they were to Crystal Lake.
No more than 15 or 20 miles depending on which road you take.
You follow the highway for about five, and then you get on Cunningham Road and it's a straight shot.
And then, behind him, Vinnie heard it…someone's breathing. And footsteps. Light, stealthy footfalls over the leaf litter. And then they stopped.
Must be Pete coming back from taking a dump, he thought.
He didn't bother getting up from working on the car. He didn't even want to look at Pete at the moment.
There was the sudden, unmistakable sound of a flare being lit. The distinctive, orange glow blinded him and he stood up, holding out his hand to shield his eyes.
Vinnie squinted, peering into the darkness.
All he could see was a golden orb of light heading towards him slowly. The smell of the flare hit his nostrils, and he could see the faint outline of a person coming towards him through the smoke.
"What are you doing, douchebag?" Vinnie asked.
The figure kept coming closer. The flare burned brighter.
"Enough already, you can stop,"
No response from the figure.
"Would you cut it out?"
Still more silence.
"Pete?"
And then, Vinnie's confused expression morphed into one of terror as he could make out the person holding the flare. He saw a brief glimpse of a hockey mask.
The flare came at him rapidly and Vinnie had no time to get out of the way.
As he opened his mouth to scream, the flare suddenly burned brighter than ever before. He felt the smoke as it burned his eyes; the excruciating pain and the intense heat from the flare filled his throat.
Everything was burning.
His pain receptors lit up all over his face and the back of his throat as he gagged for air, but all he did was inhale the flare even more. He could feel it burning his insides, singing the sides of his esophagus all the way down.
Blood, seeping from the scarred flesh on the inside of his mouth and his esophagus, bubbled at his lips. Oxygen was running out. The heat was so powerful-so intense- the white light slowly came over him and everything went dark.
As Vinnie lay slumped over the engine, he was able to see the man wearing the hockey mask standing over him just as life became nothing.
Pete pulled his jeans back over his bare ass and buttoned them up. He twirled the flashlight in his right hand, and pulled his leather jacket closer to his body, shivering in the night air.
He shone the flashlight around him at the dark, and damp woods on all sides, then wondered how far it would be to the nuthouse.
He could see it now: scaring the bejesus out of them by scratching on their windows. One of em' may actually have a heart attack. Wouldn't that be a sight to see?
Then he remembered that Vinnie was still waiting by the car.
He couldn't believe how ungrateful Vinnie could be about that car. He was always complaining about it, and especially now, that it had broken down. Pete's parents were poor and couldn't even afford to get him a car: that was why he always drove around with Vinnie.
And here Vinnie was, complaining about a generous present from his father. Most guys are lucky just to have a car.
Always, he complained about that car. If it wasn't the car, it was his father. If it wasn't his father, it was his job.
Pete guessed Vinnie was the kind of guy who didn't enjoy the present moment. Worst comes to worst and they walk to the girls' house. They probably could easily call a tow truck for them.
But Vinnie was behaving as if the night were already ruined beyond repair. He was so negative.
It was just the kind of person Vinnie was.
Always griping. Always in a sour mood.
It made him hard to hang around, but they had known each other a long time, and it was nice to have someone with a car. Someone would have to drive him home tonight after getting wasted and having sex with two hot twins.
Maybe Vinnie could just watch and jerk off. He wasn't getting any girls with his whiny attitude.
Nothing else to do in this town but get wasted and get girls, he thought. Nope, not in Pinehurst. Of course you could always visit the lovely halfway house and meet all the loonies.
Bet some of them make for a good time, he thought. All those lonely depressed girls just looking for a good time, needing a strong dark-haired man in a leather jacket like Pete to swoop into his arms.
Pete shone his flashlight around as he walked back down the trail.
Then, a rustling in the leaves. He jerked his flashlight to the side, pointing it a small clearing. The beam of light landed on a small rabbit darting back into the bushes. Pete jumped back and then laughed sheepishly.
"You little fuck…" he said.
Maybe the nut getting chopped up today did set him on edge.
He now felt like someone was in the woods, watching him and he started to quicken his pace. The trail was quiet and dark. The trees were too thick above his head to allow in moonlight, and his only source of light was the white beam of the flashlight.
Pete arrived back at the road, and pointed the light at the blue AMC sitting on the shoulder. Vinnie was still leaning down under the hood.
He started scatting as he strolled jubilantly towards the car.
"You better have this thing started or you're a dead man," he said and climbed into the driver's seat, not registering that the door was now unlocked.
He revved up the car.
"A-rat-tat-a-tooie, a rat-a-tat-rat-a-tat-a-tooie," he sang to himself.
The car failed to crank.
"Car ain't starting, a rat-a-tat-a-tooie, gonna kick your ass…Come on motherfucker, fix the fucking car!"
He cranked it again, and again, and still the engine gave the same raucous whining and grinding as before.
"Come on, Vinnie what are you doing man?" he shouted.
No response.
And then, the car seemingly by magic cranked back to life and Pete cheered.
"Whooo! he exclaimed exuberantly. "Vinnie, let's go!"
In all his excitement, he didn't hear the heavy breathing behind him get louder and more intense.
A strong hand suddenly grabbed his forehead and pinned him back to the headrest. He had no time to register what was happening and that Vinnie was lying dead underneath the hood, blood drooling from his lips and down onto the engine.
The machete slashed across his throat in a wild blur.
Pete's head lifelessly fell on the steering wheel, setting off the horn.
Nobody heard a thing.