Ch. 17
The next thing I knew, I was on something bigger than me, and it was also soft. I blinked a few times, and, weak with pain, sat up.
After a few sluggish moments, memories came back to me, and I groaned with turmoil.
"Oh, Jason.", I mumbled, falling off of what I realized was a couch. "Damn it, where'd he go?"
I walked into the kitchen, now realizing I was back in the house. Michael was sitting at the table, his hands covering his mask's face, sobbing silently for his pancakes.
I ran over to him, and he jumped in surprise, brandishing his French knife at me, but putting it back down on the table when he realized it was me. He had black eyes, but his eyes were not friendly.
I hesitantly put a hand on his shoulder. His eyes shot over to my hand, sensing my touch, and I meekly took my hand back, mouthing the word, "Sorry."
His eyes returned to me, his covered ears waiting to hear whatever I had to say.
I cleared my throat and asked, "Michael, what happened after I passed out?"
He took out a paper and pencil from his back pocket and wrote, Jason came in with you while you were passed out. He put you on the couch and ranted silently about how you were in danger while being passed out. Then he left to look for Freddy.
"Oh.", I mumbled.
I looked at this man, this… thing, in a sense. I remembered the six year old boy, in a clown costume, come out of his house carrying a French knife, having just killed his older sister. This man was what became of that six year old boy: uncaring, blank, indifferent, and murderous.
His eyes, those black, black eyes, were as blank as any one thing could be. One might think this man was stupid, but no. This man was very intelligent… He just had a weird way of showing it.
I sat opposite Michael, and studied his appearance.
Of course, the wig on his mask was a little untidy and uncombed. He just looked at me blankly, as if I didn't interest him. What was he thinking about?
His overalls were dirty, but well kept up. That was about it.
But when I looked at his hands, I winced in sympathy. His hands were burnt, like he'd been caught in a fire. I remembered from one of his movies that that had been the case for a little while, until he'd gotten out of course.
"Michael… doesn't that hurt?", I asked him. He blankly contemplated my face, my tone, and my reaction, and shrugged.
I, very hesitantly, went to stroke his hand, just to feel it, but he jumped back and grabbed his knife.
I backed off, knowing what he could do, if pushed to it.
So I just put my head on my arms and looked at him. He glared at me, clutching his knife.
I was about to protest to his nonchalant attitude about his burnt hands, but then a noise occurred, and it made me jump. Michael spun around in his chair, and grabbed his knife, ready to fight, defend, and kill. The noise sounded like a very large someone carrying someone else.
I said, "Speak of the devil, and the devil shall appear.", as Jason, carrying an unconscious Freddy, came in, and went into the living room, and put him on the couch.
Michael shook his head, as if to say, "Damn. Is this National Everybody Get Unconscious Day?"
I chuckled sadly at that, and went to inspect the man who had tried, time and time again, to hurt me.
He seemed alright, save for one slash right across his rib cage that was already healing, and I guessed that that was what had caused him to be knocked unconscious by Jason. And then I froze when I realized this fact: Jason had mimicked the wounds Freddy had given me back onto Freddy to save me from him.
I shook my head from such a thought, and, once I'd ascertained that everything was alright (apart from Freddy being unconscious…again), I went and sat at the kitchen table again and moped around all day. Jason and Michael repeatedly tried to make me laugh by squirting whipped-cream on and at each other, but I was still sad. That still did make me smile a little bit, not just that they were putting whipped-cream on each other, but that they cared enough about me to try to make me happy again.
This was one of the many things I liked about these guys: there was much more to them than knives and gore. People would realize this, if they only had the heart to look deeper into the facts.