Where the River Flows

A House of 1000 Corpses/Devil's Rejects fanfiction

By: Butterfly Wolf

Disclaimer: I only own Jason, Sarah, Nox, Styx, and Lithium. Everything else is owned by Rob Zombie and the film producers. I make absolutely no money.

Authors note: I pray this one is better. Otis might have fallen a bit out of character near the end, my sincerest apologies.

"How the fuck did she get untied!?"

Minutes Earlier:

Sarah woke, dazed, in a chair. The first thing she noticed was she was tied up. The second thing she noticed was she was facing a wall that looked like it had encountered a really bored three year old with a lot of crayons. Swallowing, she closed her eyes for a minute to squirm. Her whole body hurt, which was proof and testimony to being knocked out and god knows what else. She knew she shouldn't have trusted that fucking clown.

But, in her squirming, she realized the best news of the day. Her weapons, most of them at least, were still on her. She had one .22 on her left shin still, and her skinny carving knife (She had used to cut the glass out of Jason's hand with) was still in her back pocket. Now all she had to do was squirm enough to get one of her bound hands back into her back pocket.

The chair was a wheeling chair, and rusting. She knew early on she was going to have to do this carefully less she make too much noise. Someone was in the other room, doing…something. Sounded like they were brushing or something…it was weird. But she knew someone was close and that her chances were better the longer they went without knowing she was awake.

Biting the gag in her mouth and grinding, she arched her back as far as she could in the bonds while keeping her balance to keep the chair quiet….

….

…

THERE!

Biting the gag particularly hard she got her hand back out of her pocket. Part one was accomplished. Swallowing around the disgusting tasting gag she twisted her wrist with a wince at the angle to open it, her ears listening intently. The brushing sound was still happening, whoever it was must not have noticed her awareness yet.
Click.

The knife was open.

….

And the brushing sound continued.

Part two accomplished.

More confident now, she shifted her jaw around the gag and angled her hand once again, as steadily as she could, to where she could slowly start sawing at the tape, her ears perked for how much noise it made.

It did make noise.

Not a lot, but…if you were listening intently like she was, you could hear it, and that made nervousness come to Sarah.
But the brushing sound continued. Not the whole time, the person must be painting or something because every now and then it paused, like someone getting more paint. And it was in those pauses that she had the fear whoever it was would hear the sound of the knife. But lucky for her, she was bound with tape, which once it was cut, sliced through easily.

Her wrist were unbound.

Staring at the doorway, she carefully and silently maneuvered her arms back in front of her. Now it was to the easy part, and with that returned confidence because she was more than halfway done now.

Turning the knife towards her, her eyes still locked on the door and making sure the brushing continued, she slowly broke through the edge of one piece of tape.

Slice.

One off.

Second piece of tape.

Slice.

Third.

Slice.

And the last.

Fourth.

Slice.

Letting out a shaky and silent breath, she looked down at herself. She had technically unbound herself, but removing the tape from her cloths WOULD make noise.

But she had a plan.

Now that she was technically unbound the pressure and restraint the tape once induced was broken, and she could easily move her right arm, giving her the ability to merely slice through the tape that held her to the chair.

The tension began again.

Listening.

Watching.

Cutting.

The brush strokes were still occurring, the person hadn't herd anything.

Her left shoulder was completely free.

But she was still vulnerable, which in life and death situations, is never good. She had to angle herself just right to do it, less the noise of the tape stretching and unsticking be herd, as she leaned toward her feet. Her eyes watched the door from the corner of them.

Brush strokes continued.

Slice.

She was through the part binding her ankles together in the front.

Slice.

She was through the back piece. Her salvation she knew rested right in front of her, and that made her rush. Setting the knife down very carefully and silently, her right hand shakily and carefully went under the fabric of her pant leg, holding her breath at how silent and careful she must be.

Fuck.

It was locked into the holster.

There was no way that could occur silently.

Swallowing around the gag, her mouth dry, she tried to think.

"RUFUS! COME HERE, I NEED HELP WITH THIS MEAT!"

POP.

Someone was yelling for someone downstairs and it had been just the opportunity she needed. The person in the back didn't even hear, and carefully maneuvering the gun, it was out of its holster and scratching down her leg as she got it from the pant leg.

Setting it silently on the ground she grabbed the knife back up, put it in her right hand (which was still bound by the shoulder to the chair) and grabbed the knife with her left, carefully sitting up.

She was completely confident now, and in fear that her sudden confidence would cause sloppiness. Although it didn't really matter so much, now that she had her gun, but she was going to get revenge. And the best way to do that, was cut through that last piece of the tape on her shoulder (she had already cut the others) and sneak up on the bastard.

But she did get a little sloppy.

She was no longer listening for the brush strokes constantly, only occasionally as she slowly stood up, carefully, not a single noise from the chair or her feet.

Even as she rose her other hand to remove her gag, she did it slowly, as if the air itself might give her away.

Creeping, tip toeing, she approached the wall near the doorframe where whoever was. Pushing her back against it, and her hands holding the gun close to her chest, she slowly peeped inside.

Albino, with dirty stringy hair and cloths the looked like they hadn't been washed in centuries. Now of all the people she expected to see, an albino covered in blood and painting was no one of them.

Otis paused.

Someone was watching him.

Sarah got back behind the wall, her gun ready.

Otis spun around quickly, seeing no one.

But something wasn't right.

His eyes widened when he saw the empty chair.

Otis stormed forward, grabbing his knife.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS –"

There was a gun to his head.

Click.

And she pulled the hammer back.

God, they must have picked up a fuckin pig.

"Wheres yer badge, piggy?" He hissed. Although his words had venom, they were more like…accepting; like he knew he had been caught.

Sarah squinted at him before sneering.

"Your outta your fucking mind if you think I'm a cop."

Otis looked over at her from the corner of his eyes, sneering back.

"Then what are you?"

"The fuckin anti-christ, where the hell is Jason?"

Otis rolled his eyes.
"That's what they all ask. Where's Bobby? Can I see Michael? Where's Victoria? Obviously your all too stupid to realize their already fuckin dead." He sneered, turning fully towards her.

Sarah rose an eyebrow at him.
"Or your too stupid to realize that Jason is not dead. If I got out, what makes you think-"

"NOW GUESS MY FUCKIN NUMBER, BITCH!"

Sarah smirked, motioning him out the door.

"You first, lets go see how dead Jason really is."

"Oh fuck this!" Shouted Otis, pulling his gun out and aiming it at her.

"You really wanna go, bitch?"
"Why the hell not, Casper?"

Otis sneered at her and pulled the hammer back.

"Like an old-fashion cowboy shoot out, huh?"

Sarah smirked and fired her own gun, Otis's falling to the ground as it was shot out of his hand.

"FUCK!" He yelled, the heat and force of the bullet colliding with the gun hurting his hand.

The gun was broke.

Sarah rose an eyebrow.

"Wanna keep goin?"

Otis looked at her. Baby was in trouble right now…

He turned and headed out the door.