Chapter 7 Jen #2
Jen half smiled and slowly raised her hand.
She didn’t really believe there was a psycho stalking them, but maybe the universe was telling them that coming back to the cabin had been a mistake.
“Sorry, Patrick.” She gestured around the room with its moldering thrift store props.
“I mean, this is great and all, but I can see why they’re tearing this place down.
It’s barely fit for human habitation anymore. ”
Even in the shadows, Jen could see the flush traveling up his face. Poor Patrick. He liked things just so, and got flustered when his routines went belly-up.
“I just—I had plans,” he sputtered.
Mikey clapped him on the back. “We can come back tomorrow, when it’s daylight. The power should be back on, and we’ll all have a good laugh. But right now the girls aren’t feeling comfortable—”
“And me!” Freddy interjected.
“The girls and Freddy don’t feel comfortable, so we should go,” Mikey said, playing the affable hero. Jen would’ve rolled her eyes if she weren’t glad to be going. “Freddy, can you take us all in your van? I think it’s best if we stick together.”
Freddy nodded. “We should get our stuff,” Patrick said.
“Fuck, no,” said Tiffany. “I vote we go before Carrie’s ex finds us.
We can crash at my parents’ house. Mom and Dad will be thrilled to see all of you.
I think they’re a bit lonely since Alice is at sleepaway camp.
” She motioned her head in the direction of the lake.
“I’ve got extra toothbrushes, don’t worry, Patrick. ”
Patrick’s mouth puckered like he’d sucked a lemon. But he crouched over the box of supplies and started handing out flashlights.
Jen took hers and turned it on as she stepped out onto the front porch with the others.
The rain had thankfully petered out into a drizzle, but the dirt driveway in front of the cabin had turned into a dark slurry.
Tiffany scowled as her white Keds sank into the muck, and Jen wasn’t looking forward to scraping the mud off her boots, either.
“Shotgun!” Mikey yelled, darting to the van’s passenger-side door.
Jen shot him a dirty look. “Fuck you, Pipsqueak.”
Freddy opened the van’s back doors. “Sorry, the rest of you will have to sit in here. I promise I won’t drive too fast.”
Patrick sneezed at the sudden waft of sandalwood incense. Jen shone her flashlight into the belly of the white whale and shuddered. There weren’t any seats, only a grubby mattress on the floor, scattered piles of clothing, and a few Grateful Dead posters taped up on the walls.
Jen sucked her teeth. “Jesus, Slick. Either the women of Cedar Lake are really hard up for weed or you’re really good in the sack.”
Freddy grinned. “Why not both?”
Tiffany let out a little gasp, reaching for an object lying on a discarded T-shirt.
Jen would’ve warned her not to touch anything in the van, not until they confirmed one of them was carrying heavy-duty hand sanitizer (her money was on Patrick), but it was too late.
Tiffany lifted a white mask, with holes cut out for the eyes and nose.
The kind of mask you might buy at a craft store around Halloween to take home and decorate.
A Slasher mask.
Tiffany’s hand trembled as she thrust the mask out at Freddy. “It was you! You tried to drown me.”
Jen brayed with laughter, but then reconsidered. Freddy wasn’t much of an athlete, but he was wiry and had been a surprisingly strong swimmer when they’d splashed in the lake after their Rialto performances. Working as a custodian at the theater probably kept him in decent shape. And—
She couldn’t remember where he’d been when Tiffany had gone out for a swim.
“No! I would never!” Freddy said.
Patrick gently pried the mask from Tiffany’s fingers. “Be sensible, Tiffany. This is Freddy we’re talking about.”
Jen agreed with Patrick. There was no way Freddy could’ve attacked Tiffany. He wouldn’t hurt anyone—if only because he was too lazy.
“He’s our friend. We’re all friends here,” Patrick continued in a soothing voice.
“The mask belongs to a girl I hooked up with last week.” Freddy’s words tumbled into each other. “She was in town for the show. I told her my portrayal of Chad was like, definitive, and you know, one thing led to another.”
Freddy was still living in his parents’ basement and chasing that high of being onstage. It was so sad. Jen cringed as she eyed the stains on the naked mattress. “You sure know how to make a girl feel like a princess.”
“I can’t take girls back to my parents’ house,” he protested.
Tiffany snatched up a bundle of dark blue fabric that had been puddled beside the mattress. “And this? Was she wearing Halloween coveralls, too? Or are you getting your kicks dressing up as iconic killers?”
“Those are mine! Sometimes the Rialto bathrooms get really gross.”
Drunk fans and fake blood were a nasty combination, Jen remembered. Tiffany gave a full-body shudder and dropped the coveralls like she was afraid she’d catch a disease from them.
It was ridiculous to think Freddy would try to kill Tiff.
Granted, he was smarter than people thought.
He’d managed to get decent grades in high school despite the pot-smoking and class-skipping.
But he wasn’t exactly known for being a self-starter.
He would make the worst murderer. He’d make plans and then blow them off at the last minute for a bong and a Saw marathon on TV.
“We’re wasting time. Let’s just get out of here,” Jen said.
Jason extended his hand to Carrie, meaning to help her into the van.
She hesitated, demurely biting her lip. Jen took a step forward, intending to shove her into the back.
Now was not the time to be precious about her history with Jason.
But the mud sucked in her Doc Marten and she glanced down in irritation.
“Fuck.” She pulled out her boot, noting the van’s worn back tire had also sunk into the mud. “Is the van gonna be able to drive out of this muck?”
“Sidney can do anything,” Freddy said loftily. “She’s a survivor.”
Jen rolled her eyes. Of course Freddy had named his shitty van. She prodded the tire with the toe of her Doc, frowning at the unexpected give.
She pointed her flashlight at it, the hairs on her arms rising.
The tire hadn’t sunk. It was flat.
“Shit. We’re not going anywhere.”
“What?” Freddy came around and gawked at the flat tire. “I’ve got a spare.”
Jason’s face had gone as blank as the mask Patrick still held. “Do you have two?”
“Huh?” Freddy said, confused.
Mikey twisted around in the passenger seat to glare at them. He held a plastic-wrapped paper plate piled with homemade brownies on his lap. “What’s taking you all so long? I thought we were going.”
A feeling of foreboding scoured Jen’s gut like gravel. She ignored the cold puddles that splashed up her fishnets and practically flew to Tiffany’s Jeep.
The tires were also flat.
Jen didn’t need to say anything. Her bewilderment must have been clear on her face as she turned to the others. Carrie raced to her hatchback and Patrick to his fancy silver car. Carrie’s gasp of dismay and Patrick’s low swearing told Jen all she needed to know.
Mikey climbed out of the van’s passenger side. “What’s the delay?”
“Someone slashed my tires,” Carrie called out in a panicked voice.
“Mine too,” said Patrick.
“See? The Slasher!” Freddy cried. “He slashes.”
“Do you still think all these things that have happened are random?” Tiffany said to Patrick.
Patrick said nothing, his jaw tightening.
Jason had the guts to state the obvious. “I don’t know about the other events, but it can’t be a coincidence everyone’s tires are flat.”
“What does this mean?” Mikey said.
If circumstances were different, Jen would’ve snarked how Squeaks was supposed to be the smart one. But she couldn’t wrap her head around it, either. Why were all these weird things happening? Who’d want to target them? They were just a bunch of dumb college kids at an old remote cabin—
Nope, she wasn’t going to go there.
“This can only mean one thing,” Carrie said, swallowing.
Jen shook her head. No. Carrie couldn’t say it. If their Final Girl said it, then according to horror movie rules, it would be true, and Jen wanted to believe a little longer that they were just a group of old pals hanging out.
“We’re not alone.”
Fuck.
A light flashed in the distance, flickering between the trees. Jen squinted at the sudden brightness and braced herself for a thunderclap.
It wasn’t lightning.
It was the oncoming headlights of a car.
They had another surprise visitor. Only this time, Jen had nothing to do with it.