It was only a few days after Jason's run-in with Michael that other people found their way to Crystal Lake. Jason hunted them, as usual, but something was different. Jason thought it too difficult to contain his rage this time. Once he came across a silhouette he hoped—begged for the shadows to reveal Michael's mask to subside his rage. Instead, he destroyed the furniture within the cabin with little effort. Breaking a hole into the wall to catch and effortlessly crush the throat of the man hiding on the other side.
Another man slammed a baseball bat into the back of Jason's skull. Causing him to drop the fresh corpse in his grip. An explosion of wood splintered into the man's hands and arms. Jason turned, unaffected by the strike. He lunged at the man, barely missing, ripping the end of the man's flannel. The man ran to the cabin's front door, hoping to live another day. What the man wasn't expecting was a figure in the doorway. Jason and the man stared in awe as the figure's hard boots pressed onto the floor of the cabin.
Color began to fill in the figure as the shadows pulled back revealing its face. White. Pale-white that broke through the darkness and quelled Jason's rage. The face's empty eyes, blackened by the void scanned the man in front of it. But as the face looked toward Jason, two eyes peeked through the abyss. The milky left eye rang familiar in Jason's mind. Jason jerked as the times of a few days ago came rushing back. His undead heart tensed as if it were to start beating again. A faint heat swirled in his chest. He didn't know what to do with such a sensation. Trying his best to suppress it. But his mind led him toward the thoughts that he knew were right.
It was Michael. Michael came back.
"Get outta the way! Jason's gonna kill us!" The man yelled.
The mere mention of Jason's name caused Michael to awaken from his stupor. He broke the man's wrist in his hold and shoved him to the ground. The man cried out as his shoulder stretched far beyond its limits. Michael had no tolerance for the man's screams of peril. He slammed the man's face into the floor with a booming repetition. Ending with the man's face broken beyond repair. The man's nose turned toward the corner of his mouth. Teeth fell out, as they lost their grip on the gums. Blood seeps from the newly made holes. Blood that plastered the man's face moved as tears from his eyes pushed them downward. The visions of graduation and life after college fizzled into a puff of smoke in his mind, as blood and tears plopped onto the floor. Now with his desired future extinguished, the man's mind fanned the flames of a more likely one. One that suffocated his chest with the harsh reality and hopelessness of his situation. One last slam into the floor the man's face went. His body seized for a few seconds. Registering the few movements that the brain sent throughout the body before it became a pile of mush. Jason snapped back to reality and ogled the pile of flesh and blood that reached toward him. Ignoring the final cries of the man's soul. He watched as Michael stood back up and admired his work with a tilt of his head. Once Michael met Jason's eyes with his own, the questions that riddled Jason's mind puppeted his hands.
"Are you okay?" Jason asked.
Jason pointed to various spots on his shirt. Mimicking the bullet holes that still sprinkled Michael's coveralls. Michael followed Jason's finger, realizing what Jason was doing. Michael unzipped enough of his coveralls to expose his chest. Revealing a bullet wound that rested just short of his heart. The skin was still ravaged and torn. Revealing the pinker layer of skin that lies underneath. The deeper parts of the wound were now healed. And any remnants of a bullet were gone, pushed out by the healed flesh. Jason was amazed by how quickly Michael's body healed such a wound. It wasn't like Michael was undead like Jason, living bodies can't just heal from wounds that severe. How did Michael's body manage to shrug off bullet wounds so fatal, let alone heal from them so fast? It was a head-scratcher for Jason; he barely knows how his own body works, let alone Michael's. He left the question alone, wondering if his mother had an answer. Regardless of if she's even up to answer it or not. Jason remained focused on the questions he'd have a better chance of understanding.
"Where have you been?" Jason wondered.
Michael ignored the question. Walking past Jason and inspecting the living room. Michael's eyes moved to the other dead man's body for a moment, before he shifted his attention to the ancient relics and withered wood scattered throughout the floor. He continued his expedition into an adjacent room. Jason followed him, standing in the doorway as he witnessed Michael snooping around. In just a short time, Michael went from displacing smaller objects and debris to moving around decrepit furniture; slowly, his searching became more frantic. Earning a head tilt from Jason. Michael huffed at his failure. Nothing seemed to match what he was looking for. He turned toward Jason. Tapping the lips of his mask. Jason's head stood upright. He better understood Michael's predicament. What a weirdo, Jason thought. Michael could've just told him he was hungry. Why bother wasting so much energy trying to find food in a ruined cabin?
"My job's not finished," Jason signed.
Michael returned a head tilt in response. His right eye peeked through the darkness of his mask toward the dead body he admired moments before. Jason turned his head over his shoulder and nodded back to Michael. Yes, the job in question was murder and not whatever Michael conjured in his head. Jason couldn't help but wonder what the thought was. Did Michael think he was some sort of zombie camp counselor? The thought would be flattering. Jason knew he would do better than the other counselors that preceded him.
Michael possessed Jason's shadow as Jason exited the cabin. Looking for any remaining intruders. Jason counted two dead. Meaning two more remained. He marched across the camp; periodically swerving his head to make sure Michael was still behind. And behind Jason he was, the pale mask warmed Jason's vision. An unusual comfort amidst a drab place.
Jason knew that the mask would've scared him if he wasn't the way he was now. As a child, he was always prone to jumping at the slightest thing. Which was unfortunate, cus he loved creepy things. He didn't mind the ickiness of spiders, or the monster under his bed; especially when he lost his stuffed bear, and he found it unharmed after a few days. He believed the monster was looking for a friend, just like he was. He also loved the Charlie Brown comic strip about The Great Pumpkin. He would beg his mother to do something for Halloween. Pamela could never say no, Jason was her special boy afterall, it helped that Halloween was her favorite holiday too. They would prepare to go trick or treating, or they would carve Jason's very own Great Pumpkin. Jason wondered if Michael did anything for Halloween. If he had his own traditions he did with his family.
The sound of a bear trap startled Jason out of his thoughts. He turned his head to his vacant shadow. Was Jason just standing here the whole time?
Jason didn't mean to be so unfocused. He rushed to the trap. Waiting to see what was caught in its grip. He was a little surprised to find that there was nothing in its iron teeth. Nothing but a piece of fabric. There's definitely someone here. Like a bloodhound on the scent, Jason was focused. The intruder couldn't've gotten far. There's no reason for Jason not to assume one of the bushes were housing them. Jason ripped the surrounding shrubs to shreds. He couldn't let the intruders get away. A silent apology to the shrubs that lost their leaves but Jason had a home to protect. He continued tearing the bushes asunder. Four bushes in the immediate vicinity were left. Two were close together but the third and fourth one were opposite each other in the clearing. Jason denounced the two bushes huddled together. It would be safer, but that would account for Jason's random destruction, and no intruder's that lucky. The third and fourth bushes were risky, but they were far enough away from Jason to get a headstart. Jason stood. Stilled. Waiting for any sort of sound. He didn't mind waiting. He wasn't human like the intruder before him. Whether it took minutes, hours, or days. Jason'll get them, he always does.
A scream was heard in the distance. Michael must've found the other interloper.
"Shit!" the bushes behind Jason hushed.
The jig's up.
Jason reached for a pocket knife. Throwing it into the tree next to the talking bush duo.
"Shit!" it exclaimed again.
The man jumped and sprinted out of the bushes, Jason tailed him. A deadly race across Crystal Lake spurred. The man began slowing down as his heart threatened to jump out of his chest. But Jason kept getting faster. Jason accounted for an upcoming bear trap he placed. He tricked the man into turning left. After going forward for a few seconds, he forced the man toward an oddly shaped tree. As the man passed the tree's leg, a bear trap emerged like a shark and snapped onto the man's leg. The man fell. Cracking his head onto one of the tree's exposed roots. The interloper cried out for help.
"Joey!" The man screamed. He looked back to his leg, now crunched within the bear trap's jaws. He screamed again. "Joey!"
Joey wasn't here. There was only Jason.
Jason towered over the man. Blocking the moonlight and enveloping the man in an all-consuming darkness. A tense exhale rattled Jason's ribs as his body shook with rage. He stomped on the man's trapped leg, shattering it. The man wailed. His face reddened with intense pain. His vocal cords reached a piercing note. Jason yanked the man free of the bottom half of his right leg. The man screamed. Oh, he screamed as hard as he could; until his screams became silent. His vision blurred. The numbing silence overwhelmed him as he went into shock. Jason moved to another bear trap not too far from where he pulled the man from. He stretched his arm out and stared into the man's face. The man was barely conscious. The pain was overbearing, and the numbing worsened as blood fell from his leg wound. The man's eyelids cracked open. Taking in the view of Jason's mask one final time before he became another victim on Jason's list.
"Fuck you."
The man's choice of final words. It's not the first time someone said that to Jason before they died. It won't be the last. Jason knows this. He drops the man's head on the bear trap. Blood erupted as the bear trap crunched the man's head into oblivion. The rainfall of blood splattered throughout the forest. The man's final send-off, before hell took hold of his soul. The sound of disturbed grass stops a few feet behind Jason. Soon followed by a voice.
"Adrian…"
A name. A solemn goodbye following an intruder's violent end. Immortalized as a lamb sacrificed in Jason's vengeful slaughter. The slim boy in front of Jason now had to make the choice. Will he cling to his life and try to escape? Or will he try his hand at killing Jason?
Jason wondered what happened to Michael. Curiosity forced his head to tilt. Which confused the final man in front of him. Jason scanned him. Blood ran from a cut lip. A large gash in the man's arm showed proof of a battle. His jeans were a bit dirtied—his shirt a bit ruffled. Jason didn't know what happened to Michael, but it seems he encountered the man. The man hugged the shotgun he was holding to his chest. The weapon that orchestrated his escape. Jason wondered if Michael was finally dead. Jason took a step forward.
"Stay back!" Joey aimed the shotgun at Jason. The shotgun shook as he aimed at Jason's chest. His heart couldn't take it. Adrian and his friends were gone and that fact was settling in quickly.
Jason took another step forward. Joey jumped.
"I said stay back!" His breath shook as the fear pushed his heart into his throat. "You don't think I'll shoot. That's what I did to the other fucker in the mask."
The other one? Michael.
Jason reached out for Joey. Joey shot the gun. Sending Jason toward the ground. He laid there, frozen; but Joey saw the movies. The crazy guy isn't put down until you blew his brains out. He kept his aim on Jason. Ready to blow him back down if he even thinks of moving again. But Jason remained motionless. As if it was his time to go with Mother Nature down below. To be eaten by her children.
The shaking got worse as Joey looked at Jason. But Jason had no reason to rush. Joey made his choice, and now he has to ensure his survival against not just one, but two deranged killers. Jason's left eye peeked through the darkness of his mask. Above Joey was a giant shadow that lowered itself from the tree branch. Its slow sway reminded Jason of a grandfather clock. Counting down the amount of time Joey has left to live. Joey sucked on the blood that ran from his lip. The salty taste distracted his brain from sensing the dark figure looming over him But Jason saw it clearly. Not only was it clear, Jason knew it was Michael. How Michael hung on the tree branch without either him or Joey knowing, Jason would never know. And with one arm too. Jason was impressed.
Jason jumped from his position. Joey aimed, preparing to pull the trigger. A sudden snap caused Joey to hesitate. A heavy thud caused Joey to jump as Michael descended upon him. Disbelief riddled Joey's mind as he saw Michael before him. A new bullet wound mangled his right shoulder. Michael shoved the tree branch into Joey's torso, then pushed him out, forcing him to the ground. Michael looked as Joey seized. The initial shock and disbelief of Michael's survival plagued his face. Fear fell upon Joey. The realization of his death froze his face into a horrid expression. A silent expression of Joey's suffering as Michael and Jason lurked in his vision.
Michael and Jason exchanged looks. Jason patted his shoulder, wondering if Michael was okay. Michael shrugged at the new wound. Jason pushed it off, deciding to worry about it later. The two scanned Joey, next. Jason moved his eyes toward the branch in Michael's hand. He motioned to it. Michael hands him the branch. The branch tensed as Jason squeezed it, he called Michael's attention. Michael watched as Jason struck a pose. Jason's torso twisted and his fists sat close to his left ear. Jason revved up, before launching a swing. He repeated the motion. Back and forth, he prepped, then swung. He hoped Michael got the memo. Michael nodded. He tensed his hand as if grabbing the air. Lazily throwing an imaginary ball in Jason's direction. Jason nodded. The silent baseball game raged on for a few seconds before Joey coughed. Startling the two. Jason pointed to Joey, then to Michael.
"Ball," Jason fingerspelled. He pointed to the branch, and his fingers danced. "Bat."
Michael nodded. He picked the limp body that once housed Joey's soul, while Jason readied his "bat." It was the ninth inning for team Voorhees. Two strikes in, and one point away from securing a victory from team Myers. Michael wound up his throw. The lifeless body dragged its arms across the ground. Jason eyed the corpse. Focused. Everything was riding on this swing. He thought of the little kids in the sign language book he kept. Their smiles from ear to ear. He wanted his victory to preserve their peace.
The pitch went. The corpse soared as Michael lobbed it. Jason swung. The spine cracked as Jason launched it with his "bat." The corpse flew into a distant tree. Spinning out of control into the ground. The arms and legs bent at impossible angles. The torso curved along the spot Jason struck into a disfigured C shape. A home run that secured the win for team Jason in the Wicked World Series. He looked to the branch in silent triumph. Michael nodded, indulging in Jason's victory as well.
Jason pointed to the corpse still stuck in the bear trap. He wiggled the stick toward Michael inquisitively. Michael left the question to linger in the void of the forest. He motioned to his stomach for a moment before staring at Jason.
Oh right, how could Jason forget? Not everyone's a living corpse. Frozen in time. Immune to hunger and thirst. It was easy for Jason to forget humans are frail, but Michael was no help. He seemingly had no limits. His limits seemed to stretch further than a normal person's. The thought of it sent Jason's mind through hoops. Jason recomposed himself. The intruders were gone, leaving one thing left to do.
Jason and Michael walked back to the cabin. The original cabin that fostered the beginnings of their bond. Michael remained behind for most of the trip. Lurking in Jason's shadow. But near the end, Jason swore he felt it. Right before they arrived, the burden on his shadow lightened as Michael was almost beside Jason instead. Jason buried the moment in his mind. His mind doubted any meaning from this action. But his dead heart, still filled with a mind of its own, couldn't help but let its imagination run wild.
The cabin door stood agape, allowing Jason and Michael entry. The motions of a few days ago played on repeat. Jason cooked Michael some food, Michael ate it in the messiest way possible, Jason stared at Michael for a little too long for any comfort; eventually, Jason moved to ease Michael's mind about possibly sharing his meal. Michael seemed especially against sharing this time. The dish was Jason's attempt at making some sort of soup out of the venison from the deer they killed a few days ago. Jason wished he had any salt, pepper, or any other spice laying around. All he could do for the broth was boil some water and mix it with the venison once the venison was cooked. Michael didn't mind, he never seemed to mind. Jason appreciated that.
The noises from Michael's gorging died down as his bowl emptied. Jason reacted to the sound of the spoon landing on the table. The spoon's thump acts as his cue to stand. His turn to perform in this bizarre silent film. He resumed his role as Michael's host. Asking Michael if he wanted seconds. Michael stayed quiet, but Jason noticed him eyeing the bowl. Jason took it as a yes. He marched toward the kitchen and possessed the ladle in the pot with a firm hand. Circling the venison stew before scooping some out of the pot and into the bowl. Jason began to approach the exit until his thoughts pulled him back toward the counter next to the sink. A light blue shirt rested upon the countertop waiting to be used again. Jason remembered from his excessive staring that Michael had no shirt under his coveralls. Maybe that's why he returned, Jason figured.
Jason grabbed the shirt before heading back into the living room. He placed the bowl down in front of Michael and moved to the couch. Jason's eyes glued themselves to the light blue shirt that found its way into his right hand. He took note of the hole that sat just under the collar. The same spot Michael pointed to when he showed Jason his wound. Jason inspected the rest of the shirt. He wondered if he could match the bullet holes from memory. The sound of footsteps drummed its way into the kitchen, followed by the whining of the sink handle, and the splashing of water. Silence befell the cabin again, until Michael sat on the edge of the couch he claimed days ago and downed his cup of water. Placing it on the coffee table once he finished.
Jason noticed the mask perched on top of Michael's head. With no threat to slide over Michael's face, it was comfortable. Waiting patiently to take over as Michael's true face again. It was a sight to behold. Jason couldn't help but be amused. All he could think about was the birds in the forests—how they nested atop trees. Indeed, the comparison couldn't be any better. Jason's shoulders shuffled as his breathing quickened. Michael paid no mind to it at first, but the rhythm lurked in his peripheral. The pupil in his one working eye shot a glance at Jason. An unamused stare lasting seconds. Followed by a deep sigh. He turned his head more when he noticed Jason motioned toward the top of his head.
"Your head is the perfect nest for your mask," Jason signed.
If Michael rolled his eyes any harder they would've fallen out of his skull. He pulled the mask down over his face as Jason's silent laugh ceased. The two eventually resorted to doing their own thing: Jason buried his head into the pages of his favorite sign language book. Michael instead, rested his head on the back of the couch. Watching as the silence fell upon them. The thick, blanket of silence consumed the humming of the light in the cabin like a vacuum. The only sound that flew freely in this vacuum was Michael and Jason's breathing. Jason felt a strange sensation dig into his skin. The sensation forced him to lean on the opposite arm of the couch. He didn't know what to do with this feeling. His mind raced—addled by the remaining duties he had left to do as the minutes crawled by. He thought about the car that the interlopers arrived in. Despite only 4 intruders being housed within it, it seemed perfectly capable of carrying 3 more riders. The trunk seemed to be filled as well. It was imperative that Jason cleared the interlopers' car.
The obligation pounded on his head like a drum. The need, the wanting to do it grew stronger into a stressing headache. But Jason's body remained still. Unwilling to commit to his duties. This time in silence, this time with Michael, his body quickly accustomed to it. Melting onto the couch. The puddle that was Jason's body simmered under the fluorescent light of the cabin. Jason's eyes moved toward Michael. A silent cry for help to not disturb the void of silence. Jason wondered if Michael felt the same way. Did he have some obligation that was chipping away at his soul? Some sworn duty that he yearned to complete, but was trapped in this space? Did Michael feel anything? Jason's mind scrambled like the eggs of an early morning breakfast. Thoughts of his obligations to the camp, his thoughts of Michael, all fused; stewed up into a mass of incoherence.
Jason's mind moved away from his messy thoughts as Michael zipped up his coveralls. Jason opened and closed his hand; finally realizing that the shirt was gone. Michael stayed a glare at Jason for a few seconds. Was that meant to be a thank you? Jason took it as such. Jason watched as Michael turned on his heel and walked toward the door. Despite the hole opening in his chest, Jason was ready to say goodbye to Michael this time. His body felt so calm already, he thought he could handle it.
Michael gasped as he was slammed into the wall next to the door. His wrist, crushed in Jason's grip. Jason's lungs rattled as air escaped them. His hand crumpled Michael's collar. His thoughts were clearer now. Darker. A dormant feeling jump-started Jason's body to act. Jason couldn't pin it. Was it rage? No, Jason felt no anger toward Michael. It was something else. The feeling gnawed at Jason, just like his prior thoughts had done before. It was a duty tied to Michael, that burdened Jason's heart. Threatened to squeeze it until it ruptured like a water balloon. And yet Michael's eyes never retreated from Jason's from fear. His brows furrowed, but his heart nudged Jason's knuckles as he exhaled. Michael's hold on Jason's wrist was absent of malice, but remained firm. Staying Jason's hand, as the rest of his body jerked. Jason started to let go of Michael's left hand. His undead muscles weighed on his body, like a machine without oil. Struggling to perform the task given to them by his brain. No—not struggling—but fighting against Jason's wishes. The air thickened like molasses around Jason. His body tried its best to defy him. Coaxing him away from thoughts free of vengeance. It's bad enough that Michael is free to traipse around the campgrounds. Bad enough that he can have respite in this world separate from the world outside. Worst of all, Jason thought it wise to take care of him. Mend his wounds, feed him, offer him peace—yet Michael has done nothing to deserve such things. No intention to reciprocate such things was seen in Michael's eyes. Eyes blackened of any feeling, of any intention. Nothing but a dull light to signal that he's alive. It would be so much easier for Jason to run his hand through Michael's chest. Like a water cannon through paper, his hand could reach through—robbing Michael of his light.
But Jason couldn't bring himself to do it. It was something. Something that made its way from Michael's eyes into Jason's own. A dull feeling, not as dull as Jason's emotions, but still monotonous. It led Jason away from his vengeful thoughts. Filling him with a feeling he'd never thought possible now that he was dead: a faint warmness. So faint that if he were alive, he wouldn't think anything of it. But the warmness, despite its weakness, spread to his arms. Giving his brain a chance to puppet his hands and fingers.
"Don't…" Jason started. His fingers cracked as they moved through the molasses-like air. Michael tilted his head at Jason. Jason frees Michael's shirt from his hold, stepping back. The air lightened, Jason took full advantage of his chance to be able to sign. "You…don't have to leave."
Michael's head remained tilted, but Jason continued. His body no longer vied for control now that his mind was made up.
Jason moved toward the coffee table. Pushing it to the windows on the other end of the cabin and rotating it to align with the wall. He approaches the couch. Big enough for the two of them to sit comfortably on it, but it housed a secret. Jason pulled the cushions of the couch off. Revealing the buried treasure underneath. He pulled it out and unfolded it. The treasure extended itself past the coffee table's original spot. Jason motioned to Michael. Urging Michael to open the green chest next to him—sitting in the corner. Michael opened it to the sight of covers, blankets, and more. Jason extended his arms out, beckoning Michael to throw them. Michael nodded, throwing whatever caught his eye. Jason caught a pillow and a blanket. Another pillow collided with his face before plopping to the floor. The plan for a pillow fight to end all pillow fights brewed in Jason's mind as he laid the blanket across the bed. He fluffed the pillow slowly, as the thought took hold. He could picture it: the pillow hitting Michael across his face, sending him to the floor. Jason reminded himself of the importance of sleep, despite his undead condition. He placed the pillow on the bed, and then placed the other one next to it. He looked to Michael, who remained crouched next to the chest, as he finished.
"A place to call home," Jason signed.
Jason ran his fingers over the mattress. A soft cloud sat on top of the stand stored in the couch. What better treasure is there than a freshly made bed after a long day? The thought of it seemed nice to even Jason, who didn't need to sleep that often. He sat down on the mattress and took off his left boot. He rested his sock-covered foot on the mattress. Stretching it toward the end of it. Jason's foot was shy of a few inches off the bed; moving toward the other end of the bed would increase that gap. He glanced at Michael, nodding.
"This is better than the bed in the other room," Jason signed. Hoping to coax Michael into liking it. It wasn't long before Michael dragged himself over. Sitting on the bed and taking his boots off.
Jason looked perplexed once Michael actually laid down. He was stiff and straight like a freshly bought pencil. One that was naive in sharpened life. Unaware of the power of turning the graphite in it into language. Michael's naivete lay in his mastered art of acting statue-esque. He was painfully unaware of how to soften his body. Was his behavior purposeful? Whether it was or not Jason couldn't help but lean his head toward his shoulder. Michael did nothing but return a stare. Michael slurred a long exhale as he brushed his right hand up and down the lush sheets he laid upon. Jason could see Michael's posture soften under the mattress' spell. Even if Michael didn't make it obvious. Jason has seen the subtle signs of relaxation through the corpses he's observed. The softening of the hands' grip. The sinking of the shoulders, arms, and legs as the consciousness loses its grip on them. Michael wasn't quite there yet, but his left foot going limp told Jason what he needed to know.
Jason put his left boot back on his foot. He stood and began his venture toward the van of the intruders he killed tonight. As he placed his hand on the door handle, the bed frame creaked. He turned his head, and there was Michael: stood tall, as if the thought of sleep was never considered. Jason's hands moved side-to-side as he shook his head.
"There's something else I need to do," Jason started. "You can sleep in the meantime."
Michael sat back down. He patted the Mattress before staring at Jason again. Jason shook his head.
"I'm not tired yet."
Michael nodded. His eyes moved toward the light switch near the door. Jason followed his stare. Flicking the light switch. The chill light of the moon crept in as the room's fluorescence dimmed. The shadows consumed the living room, with Michael's mask acting as a beacon amidst the darkness. He looked toward Jason again. Putting his hand over his face and moving it down. His face followed down with his hand and fingers. Jason nodded, then copied Michael.
"Goodnight."
Without a sound, the cabin door allowed passage to the outdoors. Jason stood near the door for a few seconds and heard the rustle of the covers. As if it was being peeled off the mattress for refuge. Then the cabin fell silent. Jason marched away from the door as his suspicions laid to rest with Michael, and he made his way toward the van.
The van seemed devoid of life compared to its 80s counterpart. The vibrant, wacky coloring was slicked into a more uniform black paint. Any verticality that suggested a living quarters in the van was missing. Being replaced with a horizontal build and a bigger trunk. Jason opened the driver's door. It seemed that people still kept their doors unlocked. He would have to look through their bodies for the keys. He searched through the front. Opening the glove compartment: nothing out of the ordinary. He skipped the mid-section. Moving all the way to the trunk. Jason opened it with little effort. Revealing a trove of trinkets. Tents, sleeping bags, and other camping gear. Did the intruders intend to live here for a few days? Jason opened a few of the duffle bags: games, shampoo, soap, drugs. A lot more spoils than Jason usually finds. If he didn't know any better, he would've thought the intruders lived in the van. He looked through the bag containing the drugs for anything of use. Jason inspected clear tubes, containing clumps of a brown and green substance.
"Weed," he remembered one of the intruders calling it. It didn't seem useful to him. He threw them to the side.
He squinted at the fine print on the back of the pill bottles he inspected. Some mentioned pain relief, some mentioned usage for before bedtime; as a means to make sleep easier. Others mentioned drowsiness as a side effect. Jason figured them useful enough. He zipped up the bag and hoisted it over his shoulder for careful inspection later. He rummaged through the rest of the stuff. Magazines and board games aren't a bad find. A few electronics, not particularly useful to Jason. A few books, no survival guide for dummies, or a book with any pictures to go with it. Jason skimmed the back of one: romance, not really a point of interest. He threw it back in the trunk.
Jason dug out a first aid kit. One of the better treasures he's found so far. It was more plentiful than usual medkits Jason would find. And the kit itself lacked any wear and tear. Jason thought of it as a newborn. Freshly bought from the medical section of a pharmacy. He took notice of the new pair of tweezers and scissors once he opened it. Jason thought about the wound on Michael's shoulder. Michael would persist, acting as if the wound didn't bother him. But Jason couldn't imagine that'd be good for a living human. Jason couldn't imagine much of anything in regards to being alive. He tried as hard as he could, but it's been so long. It almost felt like another life.
Jason tried his best to remember how it felt to hurt. How it felt to have a wound hinder your body. It couldn't be that different from how he felt now. Heavy, as if he was dragging himself through the ground to move. As he did, he organized the treasures in the van. Moving them to specific cabins scattered around. The decrepit cabins received less love; Jason figured them less suitable to house more valuable treasures. Jason paid attention to the shambolic state of the cabins he visited. He couldn't leave them in this state; especially now that Michael seems willing to stay. The thought of pain was too difficult for Jason. It was more abstract than the more physical states of the cabins he studied. Instead, his thoughts pulled him toward his mother, it was always easy to think of her. He thought back to a time when strangers would visit their house. Pamela cooked a meal for them when they'd conversate. The kitchen spread its warmth through the first floor of her home. Soaking into the walls and even the ceiling, forcing itself into Jason's room. Jason could always smell when his mother was cooking. When he did, he always rushed down to investigate.
Jason wouldn't always make an appearance though. Depending on how foreign the dialogue was he would peek behind the kitchen's entryway. The scars of summer camp were doomed to follow Jason—he was aware of how his looks can ward people away. But Pamela ushered him to show himself anyway—it was never a pleasant experience. They veiled concern about Jason's condition, but he could always tell how they really felt.
"You mustn't be ashamed of yourself Jason," Pamela would say. Trying her best to reassure Jason after the stranger said goodbye. "I know it must seem easier to hide yourself from others, but you'll live to regret it. My special boy deserves to be in the spotlight like any other child."
Jason remembered nodding to her as she consoled him. With no guest present to ask questions or give condolences to him. He also remembered a bad feeling swirling in his chest. He didn't want to be in the spotlight like other children. What his mother didn't know was that he was always in the spotlight. At summer camp, his fellow campmates always put him on display like a person at a circus. And like some circus act, his campmates would poke and prod Jason. Spitting globs of wet paper at him and throwing rocks instead of circus peanuts or popcorn. Like he was some urban legend that crawled out of the dark shadows of the wilderness. Like he was some animal that belonged to an endangered species at some zoo. Like he wasn't even human at all. But Jason was human. He had eyes and ears like them. His skin was sensitive and he could speak like them, even if it wasn't as good. Jason felt emotions like those kids. He could feel pain like those kids. He could hurt.
The sun's rays leaked in through the holes of the cabin. Wrapping around Jason's body as he laid across a pile of damaged wood. His eyes felt sunken, but no tears marked his face. The encroaching sunlight tried to comfort Jason. Cupping him in the sun's bosom like a parent does their child. Providing him with a relieving warmth his body couldn't conjure. Jason squirmed out of the sun's embrace into a stance. He wondered how long his thoughts carried him. He picked up the medkit that laid next to him during his bemusement. He walked back toward Michael's cabin. Looking on as Michael stared out the window toward the lake. Jason thought it wise to stare back. Obstructing Michael's view with his frame. Michael didn't seem bothered, as Jason could feel an emptiness consume him. As if in Michael's eyes he was merely a ghost; surely in his vision, but translucent. Unobstructive to what Michael really had his sights on. Jason wondered what Michael was looking at. It couldn't have been him. Was it the lake? Or something more? It didn't matter. Next thing Jason knew, Michael was outside the cabin walking toward the van. Once he reached it he opened the door and started it. Michael whipped the van. Putting it on the path exiting the camp. Jason stopped in front of the van.
"Will you come back?" Jason asked.
Michael nodded toward Jason, a promise to return. Jason moved out of the way as the van glided across the ground. Michael passed a glance toward Jason before zooming off. Thoughts of Michael's absence returned to permeating Jason's mind. But no fury was born from this absence, instead, another emotion bloomed. It felt like before a kill. The excitement riddled his bones the same. Down to the moment before he'd silence a soul forever, pushing it out of this world. But there was no victim to provide such release. It was the promise, Michael's promise to return, that held the key to Jason's relief. Instead, the familiar sensation forced Jason to remain mobile. Overcharging his body with a lightning strike of purpose. With Michael gone, Jason grabbed an axe and set out to the woods. It didn't take long before three trees fell before his might. one to four swings was enough—another tree was weak enough to push over. Jason made quick use of this newfound vitality. Hewing the wood, while still time-consuming, became an effortless activity. It was as normal to Jason as it was breathing, despite it now being unimportant.
Jason rested his axe as dusk revealed itself in the sky. The trees of his world morphed—twisted as the shadows elongated across the camp. Jason turned toward the shore. Watching as the lake extended its shadow toward him. Jason stumbled toward the lake. It drew him in like a guppy in the presence of an angler's light. A veiling comfort that lured Jason away from the water's deadly jaws. His eyelids became too heavy to stay open as pressure pushed on his spine. The water gripped at Jason's ankles. Filling into his boots and rising to his knees. Leading him back into slumber.
A humming of an engine pulled Jason out of his stupor. He turned too suddenly. Almost falling into the lake. The van hummed through the camp and rested just short of the shore. Michael emerged from the vehicle and made his way toward the cabin. It was Jason's turn to tail Michael. Taking smaller pieces of wood into the cabin with him. Michael shook his head once Jason asked if he was hungry. Pulling out a small bag of chocolates from his pocket. Jason tilted his head to the side. He didn't remember candy being a satisfying meal, but Michael retired to the bed and ate it anyway. Jason moved to the table and carved away on the small chunks of wood with a small knife.
An unintentional swipe from Jason's left hand pierced his right arm. The tearing of old flesh caught Michael's ears and turned his head. Jason moved the knife out of his arm and onto the table. The wound burned faintly as he watched his blood flow from his arm. The lively blood warmed his elbow as it dripped onto the floor. This wasn't a problem, Jason has harmed himself while wood carving even when he was alive. He began to make his way to the bathroom for some bandages, but Michael was already ahead of him. Michael's footsteps echoed as he traveled past the door frame to the kitchen. After some time the footsteps came back, as Michael re-entered the living room. Michael offered for Jason's arm. Jason obliged. Michael scanned the wound. Taking in the crimson liquid that spread through Jason's arm like a road. Traveling in a straight path, before splintering off; causing two roads to form. They circled around the arm, causing 2 more splits; eventually, they converged at the elbow. One point once again. One road. Michael moved his gaze to the wound. A tear in dead skin, that sheltered unnatural vitality. He looked deeper into the tear. Taking in the darkness that the crimson vitality escaped from. It was long before Michael snapped out of it. Realizing the minutes that skipped by him and Jason as they stood motionless. Jason's head leaned to the side. Chin tilted to the left. Michael wrapped the wound in a bandage. Tightening it when he finished. He fished a bottle of pills from his pocket. He placed it on the table and sauntered back to the bed.
Jason couldn't believe what he witnessed. All he could do was watch as Michael retired into bed. Pulling the covers over himself. Jason looked at his arm. Moving it through the air as the heat from Michael's grip surged through it. A tingle in Jason's spine no longer squirmed as he heard Michael's breathing morph into a heavy snore. Jason took note of his spine's foreboding; he forced his tense muscles to relax as he hurried out of the cabin again. Jason's eyes peered to the side as he marched toward his lumber. Once he arrived, he looked over his shoulder. The car and then the cabin sat in his vision. Jason couldn't turn his back. Not until he crouched behind the front of the van. Only then did the heat from Michael leave Jason's arm. Taking the anxiety that riddled his body with it. Jason grabbed the lumber and rushed into the trees. His shoulders no longer resisted relaxation and his spine stilled. His breathing slowed as his heart was no longer clenched. His brain took control of his heart's imagination as pragmatism restored itself in Jason's mind. After some time, Jason moved out of his cover. Letting the cabin have a full view of his body. But there was nothing. No reaction brought back any previous sensation. His right arm no longer tinged with warmth. His arm was back to how it was before. Dead.
Michael's stare felt different. This strange feeling didn't come from Michael. No, only the warmth of his body invaded Jason's arm. But Michael guarded his emotions. There wasn't a hint of foreign emotions that Jason could recall. Why then? What made Jason feel so unsettled? Jason felt his temples activate, like a dead toy; finally having the power to turn on after receiving a new pair of batteries. His temples thumped on his skull as his thoughts malfunctioned. Circling back to the same series of questions of why and how. A broken record of self-interrogation.
Amidst the infinite roundabout, a stray thought broke through. It was the victims from yesterday night's excursion. Jason took note of how their limbs would convulse in fear. Their primal instincts took control of rational thought as he closed in on them and robbed them of their lives. Jason never thought about how similar his reaction was. His fingers would twitch and his body became weighted as well. As if the rational part of him was losing control too. That couldn't be the same, Jason thought. Before, it was a feeling he embraced. It was a build-up that grew with him, followed by killing blows and final breaths that'd offer release. But this time there was no release. Only a suspicion that gnawed at his soul. Is that how intruders felt when Jason stalks them? Is this the feeling he inflicts when he warns them with his shadow? His impossible existence?
He hated this feeling.
Jason buried the thought as the sun peaked its head through the forest trees opposite of the lake. No more room for doubt as the luminous rays of the sun walked toward Jason from the lake. Calming him with a touch of his hand and then cupping its warmth under his chin. His breathing slowed and the feeling in his fingers stabilized. Jason collected pieces from the pile of lumber. Amidst his messy thoughts he knew one thing for sure: the cabins, he wanted to fix the cabins. Jason walked over to the shed near the water. Holding a box of nails in one hand and a ladder in the other. Marching along toward a cabin further from the group that housed Michael. It was easy to spot its worse condition from afar. The holes in the roof were big enough to use as an entryway, even if the entrance itself was missing a door. Jason decided to give the doorway later attention. Setting his sights on the roof and walls first. Jason climbed to the top with the ladder and placed a piece over one of the holes. Marking and cutting excess lumber from a piece, and then nailing it to the edges of the hole. Once he finished, he tried to reuse the excess lumber; if he couldn't, Jason moved on to another piece. With the roof finished, he moved to the walls with the same process. It was easy enough to where Jason could turn his brain off. Letting his body take over the actions. Place, mark, cut, nail; repeat. Occasional sounds from the forest would catch Jason's attention; eventually fading into the white noise.
One thing didn't. It wasn't white noise, but a white mask. A white mask that shined against a pair of dark blue coveralls and an even darker pair of boots. Michael comes by every now and then, eyeing what Jason is doing. Jason doesn't pay him much mind until he notices Michael tapping his lips. Jason repeats the gesture for clarity, and Michael quickly nods. Pulling Jason from his duties, the two march across Mother Nature's land for nourishment. Coming back with a prize, Jason makes quick work of it. Cutting as much meat as he can and cooking some for Michael. Once Michael finished his meal his fingers posed in the form of letters.
"Soap." Michael spelled.
Jason stilled himself at the question. Letting his chest pulsate as air flew in and out of his lungs as his brain tried to conjure the location of any soap. His mind led his body to the cupboards under the sink. Revealing an untouched pile of soapboxes covered head to toe with plastic wrap. The thin wrap gave way as Jason ripped it apart and retrieved one of the boxes. He felt the coarse texture of the cardboard rub on his skin as he opened it, and gave the soap to Michael. He shooed Michael to the bathroom, then grabbed a towel from the chest in the living room. Harsh fluorescent light oppressed Jason and Michael's pupils as Jason flipped the light switch. Michael sat on the toilet and eyed the few hooks that held the shower curtain in place. Then looked to Jason, the one he assumed was responsible for the quick fix. Jason rubbed the edges of the door frame, where metal hinges once sat.
"Still working on the door," Jason signed. "I'll be outside if you need me."
Jason gave the towel to Michael and turned on his heel out of the room. The whine of the shower head grew distant as he closed the cabin doors and marched off toward his prior task. Place, mark, cut, nail, repeat. Hours turned to days as the sun and the moon took turns claiming their spots in the sky. Jason remained hard at work. With little breaks, unless Michael needed something. And once Michael was satisfied, Jason returned to his work. Moving onto another cabin once he felt finished. He left the door frames empty until he could get ahold of some hinges. Few people were bringing doors to the woods. Place, mark, cut, nail; then the next cabin. Jason dragged himself across the camp with a ladder in hand. Placing it once he arrived at another cabin. This one wasn't as decrepit as the ones he tended to, but the aged wood lost its grip all the same. His muscles grew heavy with every swing of his hammer. Soon enough other parts of his body followed. It felt as if someone chained him to a stone, and he was being dragged down into the lake's comforting darkness. But he kept going, trimming the wood so no more splinters could graze his hand. His eardrums rattled as he bashed the nails into the roof, allowing the fresh pine to stay in place. A quick break to tend to Michael's needs, then again; place, mark, cut, nail.
Jason froze once Michael crept into his vision. Michael's coveralls lightened against the chilling mist of a new month. Shadows grew as he walked out of the mist, closer to the cabin. Jason waited for Michael to motion for his needs to be met. If they needed to kill some woodland creature for food or provide Michael with new clothing, or tend to a wound he obtained. Instead, Jason watched as Michael joined him on the roof. Michael stared at the scene before him, unsure of what to do next. Jason motioned for Michael's eyes to follow his hands. He grabbed a plank and hammered it into the roof. Jason tilted his head; surely Michael wasn't here to help him. It was never something Jason asked of him. It was enough for Michael to just be here, at the camp. But here was Michael, perched on the roof. Ever observant with his hawk-like eyes—watching as Jason patched the hole. Jason grabbed a plank and stretched it and his hammer toward Michael. Michael grabbed them and placed the plank onto an open hole. He set the plank in place once Jason gave a nail and he hammered it until it stuck. Then he grabbed another nail and did the same for the opposite side of the plank. Jason nodded, commending Michael for following instructions. Michael nodded back and took control of the task. Jason retreated off the roof and onto the ground. Feeling the frosted dew that graced the grass wet his bottom as he sat down. The mist wrapped around him like a blanket but provided no warmth. Instead, bones chilled, as his body yearned for familiar summertime warmth. Jason was unaware of how quickly the temperature dropped. The equinox passed long before he noticed. As Jason's awareness grew, so did the exhaustion that he held back for so long. No longer committed to the task, pins and needles dug deep into his muscles, leaving him incapable of standing. Unable to do anything but rest, just a few minutes, the thought flew through his mind. There were enough planks to occupy Michael. A few minutes was all Jason needed.
Jason jumped as he heard an angry huff tail the banging of the hammer. He rushed to the top of the ladder and saw Michael cradling his left hand. Jason made his way to Michael's side, quickly and carefully across the rooftop. He placed a steady hand on Michael's shoulder to stabilize Michael's shaky breaths. Michael turned, giving his injured hand to Jason. Jason scanned the red swelling that singed the thumb's caucasian skin. After Jason finished, he let Michael cradle his hand again and moved off the roof.
"Stay there," Jason signed.
Jason dashed as best he could toward their shack. His body, too tired to break into a sprint, settled for a brisk stride. Jason opened the door to the familiar stagnant smells of the indoors. Carrying the smell of wet grass and moist air into the kitchen. Jason fished out an ice pack from the freezer's innards and walked back through wet grass and moist air to Michael. Once Jason met Michael on the rooftop, he eyed the pulsating thumb. Jason sandwiched Michael's hand between the ice pack and his hand. Jason pressed down, allowing the heat from Michael's body to disperse through his, and alleviate the swelling. All while Michael studied Jason.
Jason wasn't sure of it at first, but once his spine ached a familiar ache, that's when he knew it was the same emotionless gaze that showed itself a night ago. Jason felt his arm rattling, as the heat from Michael's body found a home in his once again. He quickly handed Michael the ice pack, allowing Michael to care for his own appendage.
"Keep it on until it doesn't hurt," Jason signed.
Jason retreated to the ground again and grabbed an extra hammer from the toolbox. Taking control of the reconstruction as Michael tended to his thumb. The hammer rang as it collided with the nails in the plank. The piercing ping moved toward Jason's spine. Acting as a distraction from what really rattled him. What really caused his movements to become sloppier. Making him slip in his arcs and hitting the plank instead of the nail. Whether the thumping of the wood or the pinging from the nail, it was all useless distractions as Jason's brain scrambled to warn him of what it felt. The stare. The empty stare that extended from the black sockets of Michael's mask and pierced Jason's body. Jason only looked back once and saw nothing. No shine from Michael's eyes showed itself to Jason. Nothing but cavernous pits that imitated eyes burned a target onto Jason's back. No matter how weak his grip on the hammer felt, or how many times he shifted the plank's position, he pressed on. I'm in danger, the phrase stuck in his mind like a magnet on the fridge. But Jason kept working, pushing aside his worries and focusing on the health of the cabin.
Jason jumped after receiving a sudden strike to his head. He turned to Michael; who continued to hover the ice pack over his thumb. The hammer used by Michael laid in the spot it was in before: in the middle of the roof's slope, but it was now rotated to where it would be easy for Michael to grab it. Jason couldn't wrap his head around how fast Michael would need to be. The time it would take to grab the hammer, hit him, then place it back in a way that it wouldn't slip off the roof required movement too careful to be done quickly. But all Jason did was stare—stare as he tried to make sense of what happened. He saw a glint of mischief in Michael's eyes for a moment, until the void of Michael's mask swallowed them again. Jason turned the other way, unsure of how to move forward. He couldn't retaliate, not yet. It made sense for it to be Michael, but it didn't make sense how fast he did it.
Jason's head was hit again as he struck a nail—his mask bounced into the ridge of the roof. Jason turned again, quicker this time; Michael remained still. Doing nothing but tending to his thumb and staring. Jason noticed how much harder Michael was squeezing the ice pack as he continued to play innocent. The urge to kill nagged the back of Jason's neck. He rubbed it as if tending to a bug bite. Trying his best not to scratch it as the itch will only grow stronger. His vision locked with Michael's, hoping he'll pick up any emotion. But there was none. Just darkness. Jason resumed his fix-up—setting one final nail into position, before hammering it into the plank. The pinging from the nail lacked succession. Long pauses plagued their presence as Jason's arcs slowed. Jason feigned his strike before he slammed down onto the head of the nail. The sound bounced through the canopies of the surrounding trees. Who eyed Jason as he struck the nail slowly.
The older wood of the roof creaked as weight increased—increased weight meant movement. Jason turned to catch Michael in the act, but not before Michael pushed Jason off the roof. Sound erupted as Jason stumbled off the roof. Once he disappeared from Michael's view, silence fell upon the clearing once again. Michael heard nothing but the slow crawling of his exhales out of his mask. He inched himself toward the edge of the roof, hoping to see Jason's body motionless on the ground. Instead, a heavy hand gripped Michael's shoulder and threw him off the roof.
Two loud thumps boomed through the camp as Michael and Jason crashed into the ground. Jason moved into a stance and marched toward Michael. He wound up his arm and swung. Michael grabbed his wrist and headbutted Jason. He grabbed Jason's neck forcing him into the cabin's wall.
Michael tightened his hold as Jason struggled. Slamming Jason into the wall to prevent retaliation. Jason grabbed Michael's collar and forced him through the wall. The cabin wailed as a hole burst through its side. Michael fell, colliding with the debris that adorned the floor. The shadows withdrew as more light crept in. Jason grabbed an old piece of wood. It shattered as it collided with the floor, missing Michael as he pushed off the ground. Jason tripped as he tried to close the distance. He refocused his stance, freezing once he noticed Michael's disappearance.
He whipped his head back and forth. Interrogating the shadows that veiled Michael's presence. Jason's old flesh squelched as an old support beam pierced his back and escaped through his stomach. Michael ducked as Jason swung his arm around. Michael stabbed Jason's chest with a sharper piece of wood. Pushing Jason toward the ground. Michael lodged the wood into Jason's chest repeatedly. Unwilling to stop until Jason stopped moving.
Jason's right arm protected his chest from an incoming stab. Locking the piece of wood into it. Jason punched Michael off of him. Jason closed the distance while he still had time. Crushing Michael's neck with his grip. Michael pounded on his arms. The impact crippled Jason's arms as he lifted Michael off the ground. Jason could hear the whispers in his head grow louder. Sharing a place with his sinister thoughts. He knew it was his mother, urging him to kill Michael, to show him why he should be afraid of Jason.
Jason threw Michael into another wall. The wall gave way, creating another unneeded entrance. Jason struggled against his thoughts, he tried his hardest to keep the bloodlust under control. Ignoring the cabin as it shook with weakness. No longer able to keep the roof above him stable. The support beams exploded into splinters and the roof crushed Jason.
Jason no longer held back his thoughts as his body tensed. He ripped through the roof with little effort. He looked on into the trees for any sight of Michael. He watched as Michael retreated behind a tree. Jason sprinted toward him. No longer weighed down by exhaustion. He looked behind the tree to find nothing. He couldn't have gotten far, Jason thought. Never before did he see Michael run, and shifting was something Jason was familiar with. There he was again, behind another tree. Jason ran, running past the tree that he saw Michael behind. He knew Michael was leading him on, but how long could Michael keep it up, he wondered. Jason continued to run; barely missing the sound of disturbed grass gracing his dead eardrums. He tackled the tree. Halving it and sending Michael toward the ground.
Michael threw a rock into Jason's mask. Shifting once Jason recoiled. Jason stilled as silence befell the forest again. He focused as the greenery around him became rustled by fleeing animals. The vengeful chimes from his mother went dormant once again. Letting the silence creep in completely, giving him focus. A tree branch snapped, alerting Jason. Jason caught Michael as he descended from the top of a tree and slammed Michael to the ground. Michael stabbed Jason's side with a tree branch. Jason continued to slam Michael. Michael flipped Jason over. The two spun down to the bottom of the slope.
Michael grabbed another rock. Cracking Jason's skull with it as Jason tried to stand. Jason smacked the rock out of Michael's hand. Pushing Michael away from him.
Jason was unaware of how far he pushed Michael. Until he heard something he wasn't expecting. Splashing—the surface of a body of water being disturbed. Jason jumped as soon as he heard it. Rushing to the edges of the lake. It was a long walk from Crystal Lake's shore. Jason watched as the surface returned to serenity. After a month of living with Michael, never did Jason wonder if he could swim or not. I guess now would be the time to find out. If only Michael actually breached the water. A few bubbles rose to the surface after Michael fell in, but after that? No screaming, no crying for help, no panic. Just Jason and the lake. The murderous lake that threatened to kill him when he was smaller.
This is what you get, Jason thought at first. You need to be punished, he thought again. Jason wasn't someone that Michael could harm whenever he pleased. Never could Michael do whatever outside of Jason's interest. He betrayed Jason's trust, Jason thought they were friends. And yet, why did uneasiness crawl up Jason's spine? Slithering back down into his shoulders, weighing down into Jason's hand. Gripping the edges of his fingers and toes; eventually reaching every part of him. His breathing increased in speed as the lake continued to sit there, undisturbed. Sitting there like some sort of bystander, as if it wasn't complicit. As if it didn't help Jason kill someone. The strange feeling caused the aching of Jason's injuries to worsen. What makes this kill so different? Why was Jason so worried? This is what he deserved, he thought. Friends don't hurt each other.
Friends.
Jason didn't know what came over him, but suddenly, he was down below. Past the lake's surface, venturing into the depths below. Once he reached the bottom, Jason searched under as much debris as he could see down there. It was dark, too dark to see without any aid. It was still early morning, it'd be much easier to see during midday. But there was no time to think about such things. Jason continued looking, seeing nothing but the white sand that, unlike Michael's mask, couldn't illuminate the darkness that surrounded Jason. He could scream at the emptiness that surrounded him. No amount of waterlogging in his lungs could've stopped him, but it wasn't what he was worried about. There wasn't a sign of anything—no fish, no person. It was just the abyss.
Jason kept walking through the oblivion. The end of the world, according to him. He hoped that on his way back to the shores of his world, he would see Michael. See him floating, suspended in the nothingness that consumed them both. Jason would rather find Michael dead than not at all. Suspended in the watery depths of the void. But that never came—a moment doomed to remain in Jason's mind.
Jason breached the lake's surface. His eye caught Michael, who stood in front of the van. He shook, like a beaten dog caught in the rain. But he was alive; most importantly, he could swim. Jason rushed out of the lake approaching Michael. Michael shifted his eyes away from Jason's, hoping to hide them in the shadows of his mask. Jason gripped Michael, the deathly touch of the lake escaped through Michael's soggy coveralls.
"Look at me," Jason signed.
Jason's tangibility was no longer questioned once Michael looked at him. Michael no longer looked past Jason, or only looked at him with an analytical gaze. He no longer saw Jason as something he could observe or something he could poke at, like the campmates in Jason's previous life did. It was a softer gaze; one that was aloof of the events that transpired. Jason was unwilling to forget, pushing Michael away, and retiring into the cabin. Michael followed behind, but no longer possessed Jason's shadow.
Jason began to prepare a fire in the fireplace. Before he was done, a towel sneaked its way into his peripheral. He turned to see Michael offering him a towel. Jason snatched it from Michael's hand. Hoping his action will help the fight from moments ago stick into Michael's head. How could he act like it didn't happen, Jason thought. Once the fire was lit, Jason turned to see Michael focusing on nothing but getting dry. His mask sat on the table, as he scrubbed his face, then down his body. Jason couldn't help but notice that Michael turned away from him. Maybe he couldn't completely ignore what happened. Maybe he did this as a way of saying sorry? Lowering his guard and making it easy for Jason to kill him, but knowing that Jason wouldn't do it.
Maybe Jason should've. He knew it would make his mother happy, but he didn't. Instead, Jason grabbed some string on the mantle, took off his mask, and wrapped the towel around his head. All the towels have holes punched into them thanks to Jason—they act as emergency masks, in case Jason's hockey mask needed tending to. Normally, Jason wouldn't worry about needing to dry off; but normally there isn't a person treading the camp. A thought he has to keep reminding himself with. None of what he's been through over the past month has been normal. And now, he's unsure of how he should feel about such a change. Once Jason centered his thoughts he realized how hard Michael was staring at him. Michael circled his face with a finger, before tilting his head to the side. Jason didn't respond, averting his mind from Michael's question. Too many times someone looked upon Jason's face and responded with a negative reaction. And with how today went, the day Jason shows Michael his face will be the same day hell comes to Crystal Lake.
Jason sat down before the fire. He wanted to do nothing else but bury himself within the warmth of the cabin's blaze. Allowing the brimstone to sear his undead lungs, as it no longer affects him. Anything to forget about today.
"Keep watch of what happens next, Jason."
It was his mother. Why now, of all times? Her voice slicked around the curves of his ears. Her tone was empty of any anger or disappointment, but no joyous tones accompanied her either. Her voice was vacant, empty. Missing the emotions that Pamela still carried. Jason tilted his head. Moving his eyes away from the fire, hoping his mother would continue speaking. But nothing else came, no comforting words or any check-in to how he was doing. Not wanting him to come by the shack that still held her decapitated head that sat on its altar. Nothing.
The whine of the floorboards alerted Jason to Michael joining him by the hearth. The two exchanged looks before Michael glanced into the fire. Jason had no idea what his mother meant by her words. His spine couldn't help but writhe out of place with worry. Another thing that he'd wish to forget. He tried to look to Michael for some sort of comfort, but no comfort came. All Michael did was stare off into the blaze.