Chapter 11 Jen #2
“It’s like in the Scream movies,” she added. “It’s always the cute love interest. And there’s something off about Jason this weekend. It’s like he suddenly has a short fuse. You noticed it, too, didn’t you? He never used to be so shouty.”
Patrick’s silence was answer enough. Jen nodded. He most certainly had noticed a change in Jason, but didn’t want to admit it out of loyalty. “Why would you think it’s one of us in the first place?” he said defensively.
Jen cocked her head, mulling it over. “True. If one of us really was a psycho killer, my money would be on you.”
“Excuse me?” Patrick looked hurt.
“You’re the straitlaced yuppie freak who’s obsessed with horror films. You iron your boxers, don’t you?”
“I don’t like how wrinkled cotton feels against my skin,” he mumbled.
Jen cast a sidelong glance at him. His mouth was tight as he ambled by her side like a reluctant child. She tapped her chin thoughtfully with the flat of the knife’s blade. “There’s something off about you, too, this weekend. Like you’re hiding something.”
“What are you talking about? I’ve got nothing to hide.”
Nothing except his feelings for Jason. Jen had enough mercy to not call that out. She arched an eyebrow. “Everyone’s got something to hide. Even if it’s just from themselves. Got any homicidal tendencies tucked under your starched collars, Velma?”
Patrick sputtered a protest. She grinned. God, she enjoyed winding him up. He needed to be flustered now and then. Someone needed to put some wrinkles into his khakis, and since Jason wasn’t rising to the occasion, it would have to be her.
She put the flashlight under her chin and flicked it on. She knew she’d look especially ghoulish with her makeup smudged under her eyes. Mom was always trying to get her to buy the expensive waterproof stuff, but it was more fun to look cheap.
“Or maybe it’s me,” she said in an ominous voice. “Maybe I’m the killer. Because I’m into morbid goth shit.”
A look of alarm flashed across Patrick’s face. “You’re scaring me a little, Jen.”
She turned the flashlight off. If her hands hadn’t been full, she would’ve cracked her knuckles. “Yup. Still got it.”
“This is ridiculous. None of us are killers. No one’s even been killed yet.”
“You said it. Yet. That’s exactly the kind of slip the real killer would make.”
“You know what I mean. This is all circumstantial. Freddy saw someone cosplaying as the Slasher, which is not exactly shocking around here. Tiffany panicked while swimming. You saw Ranger Russ across the lake, doing his job. He showed up at the cabin, doing his job.”
Jen’s mouth pinched. It all sounded very reasonable, except Patrick was forgetting one thing. One major thing. “The tires. You forgot the tires. Someone’s trying to trap us at the cabin. And honestly—”
Jen flicked the flashlight on again, shining the beam directly into Patrick’s face as if she were interrogating him. He cringed and shielded his eyes.
“Honestly, you’re the only one who keeps insisting we stay put at the fucking cabin.”
She turned off the flashlight, meaning to say something else irreverent, but the words died in her throat. She hadn’t considered Patrick suspicious, but now that she’d said it out loud—
She didn’t really think Patrick was violent, but he’d been desperate to keep them all at the cabin. It wasn’t too much of a stretch to imagine him stabbing their tires. Maybe he’d used the missing kitchen knife.
No. That was impossible. This was Patrick, for fuck’s sake, who always played by the rules.
Although he’d never liked having his plans disrupted. What lengths would he go to in order to make their reunion perfect?
Patrick didn’t laugh or utter a single word of protest at her accusation.
He unshielded his eyes and they continued to pick their way through the woods in heavy silence.
He was probably tired of her shtick. Unease began to churn in her gut.
She regretted turning off the flashlight, although she didn’t want to turn it back on in case creepy Russ was looking for them. Or Carrie’s stalker ex, Daniel.
Patrick had been reduced to a silhouette, a faithful shadow keeping pace with her.
Her eyes had adjusted to the dark, but their path had taken them to a part of the woods where the trees grew thicker and taller, closing over their heads, blocking out the indigo glow of the sky.
Jen’s breathing grew louder, either from the silence, or the effort of keeping her overactive imagination at bay.
Patrick finally spoke. “We should’ve hit the old fire tower by now,” he said, confusion lacing his voice. “Can I see the compass?”
Jen took it out of her shorts pocket and handed it to him. He pointed his flashlight on it and wiggled it around. “Shit,” he said. “We’re going in the wrong direction. We’re headed straight north.”
Jen blew out a breath, glad for the opportunity to lighten the mood.
“Took you this long to notice? Gotta revoke your Boy Scout badge. I was wrong. You’re not Velma, you’re Scooby.
Because you’re so loyal. You followed me without question.
Unless—” She shone her flashlight under her chin again and dropped her voice.
“Unless it’s because you’re a psycho killer. ”
“I’m not a killer!” he said exasperatedly.
“That’s exactly what a psycho killer would say.”
Patrick balled his fists at his waist. “Oh yeah? Then why are we headed north instead of northwest like Jason said? Are you trying to lure me somewhere? Because that’s what a psycho killer would do.”
Jen cackled. Patrick was adorable when he was mad. “Jason thought Freddy and Tiff would bail on the manhunt, but never suspected little ol’ me of having the same idea.”
“Jen!” Patrick said hotly.
“If we keep going north, we’ll hit the highway, and then I’m checking into the Cedar Lake Motel. You with me?”
“Does your plan include getting help for the others?” Patrick raised a judgmental eyebrow.
Jen thought about it. For two whole seconds. And then decided the rest of her friends could wander the woods all night for not having the good sense to let Mikey fend for himself.
“Maaaybe,” she declared.
Patrick touched her arm. “Jen. I know you’ve got a heart in there underneath all that bluster.”
He was trying to appeal to the better angels of her nature, but he’d forgotten she was devils all the way down.
“You can see how stupid this is,” she said.
Ugh. Patrick was such a wet blanket. She knew she should’ve ditched him ten minutes ago when he’d stopped to retie his shoelaces.
He was only slowing her down. “Mikey’s a big boy.
Jason doesn’t have to keep taking care of him like we’re in high school again.
Come on, the motel’s retro vibes are as good as the cabin’s.
We can ask Norma for the honeymoon suite. I hear it’s got a waterbed.”
Patrick gestured wildly behind them. God, he was so stubborn. He really didn’t like a change in plans, even if this search party wasn’t his plan in the first place. “But if we don’t meet back at the cabin, everyone’s going to go out looking for us.”
“Then it’s their own fault for having no sense of self-preservation. I’m going, Patrick. With or without you.”
Jen continued the march toward the highway, swinging her arms to show she meant business. Patrick was asking her a question, but she was too far ahead to make out the words. “You’re not changing my mind,” she said, without glancing back.
A sharp grunt sounded behind her. He’d probably tripped. Silly Patrick, thinking he could delay her from getting the fuck out of the woods.
“Stop sulking, Patrick. You’ve seen enough movies.
Running like a motherfucker is the one thing people should do in horror films at the slightest hint of danger, and yet they never do.
Though I guess otherwise there’d be no movie.
If our hero says Fuck no! and leaves the cabin, the summer camp, or the haunted house, it would be the end of the story.
So that’s what I’m doing. I’m saying, Fuck no! and ending this story.”
Jen kept walking, rolling her eyes at Patrick’s sullen silence.
She took the opportunity to rant some more.
“And why does no one ever think to unmask the killer? Like, that’s the first thing I’d do.
Tiffany should’ve gone for that guy’s mask when she was underwater.
A masked killer would be afraid of their identity being revealed and fuck off.
Because why wear a mask in the first place? ”
Patrick continued to give her the silent treatment. He could be such a baby sometimes.
Jen answered her own question. “It’s because they’ve got something to hide. And staying out of sight is more important to them than slaughtering people.”
She waved her knife with a flourish. “Right, Patrick?”
She expected his exasperated voice to tell her to shut up or say something logical. Or something sappy about how much Jason was counting on them. But she heard nothing in response, not even the soft step of his deck shoes.
“Patrick?”
The weight of the silence urged Jen to finally turn around.
Her faithful shadow had disappeared.