"Ah! There, see? On the wall. I told you I'd find you a map." Chucky grinned up at Jason from inside one of the many bedrooms while the other killer stood by idly in the door frame. He was just broad enough to fill the entire space of it.
The duo had been making their rounds throughout the house; From kitchen, back to living room, to bathroom, briefly to check the storage room, to an obvious girl's bedroom, and finally to this room; They had searched. With the unsuccessful investigation of each passing room, the doll was becoming increasingly determined. Meanwhile Jason had tried his best to hide his disappointment. But now the search had at last proved fruitful.
Chucky made his way to the right of the door, hopping up a small desk chair to then climb onto the desk situated near the entrance. A large educational map of the United States was pinned to the wall just above it. "C'mere." The killer doll waved him over. Jason obeyed, a spark of hope growing inside his great chest.
In the ever brightening light of early morning, the map was easy to read; Clearly meant for youthful eyes. This could be ascertained by the colorful figurines of robots and superheroes that littered the desktop. Chucky brushed aside some of the clutter with his sneaker before walking directly up to the map itself.
He considered the map for a moment. "Ready?" Chucky looked back behind him to confirm. Jason gave him a subtle nod, letting the intent gaze of his one good eye clue the doll in to proceed. That's when the killer doll paused for a second, glancing first at the map and then at the other killer. Their shared home state came to mind, and despite his usual nimble and spry self, Charles Lee Ray suddenly felt so much heavier and older than his toy-like exterior conveyed. New Jersey had so much history. If he let himself get too caught up over it, it'd be enough to make a guy gloomy. "Man it feels like it's been ages since I've been to that shithole. Bet you miss Camp Blood, huh?"
Out of all of the places he had traveled to since the 'Big One', a nickname he preferred to use instead of the more grim and final term 'divorce', had happened, Chucky had quickly decided that Camp Crystal Lake was not a place he would be vacationing again anytime soon. Though it had been the prettiest of where he'd met the other slashers, it had definitely been the most dilapidated. Jason had told him how the camp had been reopened time and time again, but looking at it these days, the doll found it hard to believe. He remembered being partly annoyed and mainly baffled by how the other guys lived. Each and every one of them, except for a select few, lived in the most glorified shit shacks imaginable. It was a wonder how they put up with it at all. Why spend so much time sulking around a hideous hut when a guy could scrounge up a few bucks on a nice motel room? Enjoy the goodies of cable tv, mini-fridges, and air conditioning? Maybe he was spoiled. He had been a city rat ever since he could remember, and the old country had never agreed with him. Texas had been the worst of it. Even just saying the word of the state brought on a phantom smell of cow shit and blood.
God bless the Hewitts but the way those people lived..
He could shudder. But the old run down summer camp had been Jason's home for Hell could only guess how long. He supposed for the large goalie the place carried endless nostalgia. And for the muscle-bound homebody, the camp had been all he had ever known. Getting Voorhees off his giant ass to go meet the others had been a hassle alone. Digging up his old voodoo skills to channel the spirit of Jason's long dead mother into her decapitated head just so the big guy could go to Vegas for a night? That…There hadn't been a word for that.
He wouldn't admit it to the guys, but he hadn't been thrilled about the way Vegas had ended up either. Now, could they be off somewhere worse than a nice four-five bedroom suburban? Undoubtedly. While the trip had been a Hell of a lot of fun, it too had been exactly that.
Hell.
And looking at the broad zombie now, giving him that half-dead, half-hopeful look like some waterlogged teddybear, Chucky felt like an ass. He'd never meant for the boys trip to have gone so south the way it had, but he couldn't bring himself to feel any regret either. He was glad that Jay had gotten to get out of the campgrounds for once. Although he didn't doubt that the bigger slasher was more than ready to go back home.
His sky-blue eyes faltered on some of the figurines by his sneakers. Geez, he had to suck it up. Now wasn't the time to get all mopey.
Quickly remembering Jason couldn't contribute to much small talk, Chucky forced himself to settle for a charmed grin and turned back to the map to mutter to himself; "Wonder if Hacky Sack is close to your place or not. Oookay, let's see here.." He squared his shoulders, his eyes searching the colored shapes. The Lakeshore Strangler placed his hand on the smoothness of the poster, gliding his pointer finger along the way. The finger started on Georgia and slid upwards, passing various states. All those places. All those collective buttons.. His eyes narrowed to help himself concentrate; "Jersey, Jersey.." Chucky was mumbling under his breath. "Right here." He tapped the spot.
Jason leaned forward to look. The only eye with vision in it squinted.
Sure enough New Jersey had been located on the map. He looked from one state to the other. The hope in his chest deflated like an old balloon. Home seemed so very far away. Jason wished he could simply click his heels together and pop on over to Camp Crystal Lake, the same way Dorothy did in the Wizard of Oz, from one of his mother's favorite films.
"I know, big guy. It's a Hell of a travel," Chucky must have noticed how discouraged Jason looked because he went forward to pat the larger killer on the elbow. "But hey, we went to Vegas and that was half across the states! We've had worse, right? So if that's where you're itchin' to go, you might wanna get goin' as soon as you can. No time like the present." With that Chucky climbed his way down to the floor and made to exit the room.
"Oh and uh," Jason turned his head to look at him. Chucky lingered at the doorway. Several expressions struggled to manifest across his scarred face. It seemed as though he were picking which words to say. When the moment threatened to linger a bit too long, Chucky handed him another grin. Something about it appeared softer than usual; "Send me some postcards when you get there. Will'ya?" Jason's head tilted curiously before nodding. That seemed to satisfy the other killer. A glimpse of relief flitted across the doll's face. It was very quickly replaced with a more energetic smile. "Don't be a stranger." With a nod and a wave of his hand, Chucky vanished around the corner, leaving Jason alone in the bedroom.
Ohh, bless you Charles. Cold on the outside yet so warm on the inside. I always knew that man had a soft side. Pamela Voorhees chuckled knowingly inside Jason's mind. Her son nodded in agreement. His mother had always been a great judge of character.
The ease he felt whenever his mother spoke waned when his gaze begrudgingly returned to the map. He stared at the somewhat S shape of the state. He marveled at it. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen his home state on a map. The distance didn't seem so great when you traveled from place to place via fingertip. The colorful lines and depictions however hid the true burden of the journey. Recollections of the forest and the serene trails of the camp lashed out to be remembered. How long had he been gone? And how long would it take him to get there? The questions did not provide answers. Instead they created stress. Home is so far away, Mother.
I know, sweetheart.
How am I supposed to get there?
My brave boy, you have triumphed over countless obstacles. This one will be no different. If home is where you want to be most, you'll get there. Know it in your heart, just as you know I will always love you.
Jason's eye closed. She was right. She was always right. He had to put more stock in himself. He had made it this far, hadn't he? He would surely be able to make the distance again, especially under Mother's and the Lord's guidance. Thank you, Mother. He wouldn't know what to do without her. He never had. The dynamic between them both had never changed, even in death.
You're very welcome, sweetheart.
With the matter settled, Jason then took the time to look around the room. Just like the house, the bedrooms were of surprising size and that included this one. One of which obviously belonged to a little boy. No doubt it had to be Jennifer's little brother, Max. The walls sported many posters that were dedicated to space and the sciences. Underneath their glossy exteriors, the walls were painted a navy blue while the floors were a light oak. While they did not currently glow, small glow-in-the-dark stars decorated the ceiling. On the right side of the room stood the desk with the map, a closet with a single door, and a large beanbag chair shoved into a corner. From the opposite side of the door there was a small window. On the other side, making up the left of the room had Max's bed. A crowd of moving boxes littered the floor nearby. And on his immediate left, a tv and tv stand took the rest of the space. A game console of some kind, complete with their respective controls, rested just before it on the floor.
The more he gazed about the space, the more he strangely felt at ease.
Pamela Voorhees sighed quietly. This reminds me of your room when you were a little boy. I plastered those same glowing stars to the top of your ceiling. Steve had a right fit when he saw it, but I paid it no mind. Obstruction to the cabin, he said. What's the ruckus over a few stars, I said. There was a sadness to her voice, and then a bitterness as she spat; Old bastard.
Jason gazed above him in wonder. It was a shame it wasn't night anymore. Perhaps tomorrow night would be a better opportunity to see the little stars glow. While it was true that venturing homeward as soon as possible was clever, he thought his mother might enjoy the familiar sight.
In spite of his current stresses and wants to be home again, there was hardly anything that a boy wouldn't do for their mother.
Ohh, won't you look at that. Jason raised his head at the sound of his mother letting out a small gasp. His eye roamed for the source of it. When he couldn't find anything alarming in the room, his mother gave him a gentle nudge;
The picture, Jason. Right over there above the bed. Do you see it?
As instructed, his gaze followed suit across the bedroom to look. Pinned to the wall right over the headboard of the bed was a child's drawing. It was the kind of paper that didn't have any lines on it. The only lines depicted were those drawn there by young unpracticed hands. Jason moved closer, inspecting it all the while. He recognized it as another piece of a greater collection. In the bedroom prior there had been dozens of these same drawings. Given, each drawing inside differed, yet they had all been created by the same artist. What he was certain had been Alysson's room was positively covered in them from wall to wall. Whereas the parent's bedroom and Max's only had one.
What was so special about this particular drawing however, was what it depicted. In the doodle, there were five figures standing in front of a house. Birds, clouds, and accommodating flora had been scattered around. Above each stick figure's head was a scribbled name. He read the names to himself silently: Momma, Daddy, Max, Jenny, and Alysson. It was a drawing of average quality, something that most children could easily replicate. Yet it possessed a priceless sentimental value, one of which did not seem to be lost on Mrs. Voorhees.
My goodness. Do you remember when you used to draw mommy pictures?
A brief flash of memory rushed to him: A wooden cabin, a small boy laying in the middle of a rug drawing his problems away, wooden toys in a casual disarray. An emotion Jason couldn't quite describe pulled at his chest. He nodded.
You were a darling little artist. When you didn't have your eyes to the sky, you had your hands on markers and crayons. You know I was so proud of your artistry? Every single thing you drew, it didn't matter what it was, I saw it for what it was: A blessed, heavenly gift. I'd go into the kitchens and decorate the camp's fridge with your art. Mister Steve Christy didn't much appreciate it. I told him I didn't much appreciate his attitude. He knew better than to give me any lip.
Jason could almost hear the wistful smile in her voice. She broke into a short chuckle. Ahh, no one could tell me anything about you. No, no, not at all. My mind was made up, had been as soon as I laid eyes on you. You were perfect, and you still are. You'll always be my perfect little angel.
There was a slight curl to the corner of Jason's mouth. Unfortunately it was the most he could manage to form any semblance of a smile, but try he did. Over the years a lot of the feeling had left his body. While in some places he could feel physically, in others there seemed an inability to. Thank you, Mother.
No need for that, my special boy. I'm only saying what's true.
The both of them continued to look at the colorful illustration of the family that owned the house. There was a contemplative air in which they went about it.
Poor things.
Who, Mother?
Even as he asked, Jason had some inkling as to who she meant. His study lingered on the childish cartoons of the family in thought.
The little ones that live in this home. No two ways about it; They're going to get a nasty surprise waiting for them when they come back. That poor girl has already taken the brunt of it thus far.
Jason cast his mind back to the night prior, which technically could be said was still the same night. There were but a few matter of hours to mark the difference. Jason and his mother combined had felt pity in seeing Jennifer curled up on the floor to cower in a vain attempt to hide, and behind boxes no less. To say this experience was a unique one was an understatement. While it could be argued that he and his mother had committed similar crimes, this scenario offered a special case. Together they had spilled enough blood to color entire lakes red. There was a determining factor in that argument however: Most of the blood they had spilt, if not all of it had been justified. In a lot of ways their victims had deserved what they had gotten in the end. But this time was different. Now an innocent had been caught up in the middle of particularly nasty business.
Through no fault of her own, Jennifer was now in the midst of a rather unlucky string of events. And soon enough, she wouldn't be the only one to suffer through them.
Truly, I pray for the girl. I can't help but worry over her siblings.
Jason didn't like Pamela being worried any more than she did. Is there anything I can do, Mother?If there was anything he could do to spare her the burden of worry, to untrouble her mind, he would do it in a heartbeat.
Keep an eye on the little ones, Jason. Our children are the only lights left in this otherwise dark world. A loss of a child is the greatest sin, and the greatest pain that a mother can feel. Protect them the way I would you.
And there was namely one 'sin' that he could think of when it came to questioning the safety of children. One that currently resided under the same roof. One very badly burned, horrible child murderer of a 'sin'. With an ugly face and an ever uglier heart to match. The children that would be coming home would have no defense against the evil. He understood then. He understood clearly what she was asking of him and he nodded gravely.
If anyone understood that immense amount of loss, it was Pamela Voorhees.
His eye set upon the crayon scribbles with a silent intensity of an oath: A promise.
Yes, Mother.