Chapter 13 Carrie
Carrie
The oncoming storm Carrie had felt after she’d rescued Tiffany from drowning had hit, both literally and figuratively.
Her expectations for this reunion had taken a one-eighty, thanks to the sudden downpour, Russ Meachum’s unannounced arrival, and Michael’s impulsive actions.
Her hope for finding closure was as rocky as the ground beneath her feet.
She’d never imagined they’d be wandering the woods, searching for Michael.
Her therapist had told her there was no need to make herself anxious over possibilities that hadn’t happened yet.
She had to learn to adapt and accept the results as they came.
Like a Final Girl. That comparison had annoyed Carrie, considering the people of Cedar Lake couldn’t separate her from Jordan Knox, but her therapist had been right.
She had to take a lesson from the movies she’d watched with the Jumpscare Society and roll with the punches, and also know when to throw her own.
It was taking a lot of therapy to unlearn the programming her overbearing mother had instilled in her.
Mama had never let her experiment and thus make mistakes.
Good girls always made good choices. Carrie had been allowed to join the Slasher shadow cast only because Mama knew the careless teens in horror movies who drank, did drugs, and had sex got killed first, while the good girl survived.
If her therapist were here, he’d tell her to go with the flow and recognize that not every path led to disaster. It was easy for him to say, however. He didn’t have to roam a sprawling forest at night, and with Freddy Min, no less.
She’d been glad to go with Freddy, although it rankled a little that she’d been paired off with him.
In high school, classmates assumed she and Freddy were a couple, because they were the sole Asians in their year.
Most townspeople thought they were related and, if they were really ignorant, that they worked at the Chinese restaurant on Main Street.
Never mind that Freddy’s family was Korean.
And the family who ran the Golden Palace wasn’t even Chinese; they were Vietnamese immigrants who’d bought the place from the original owners when they’d retired.
Everyone in Cedar Lake liked you to stay in the box they put you in, whether it was the right one or not.
Carrie’s breathing was shallow as she darted her flashlight this way and that. I am a strong woman who can’t be hurt anymore. “Michael?” she called into the darkness.
An answering whisper panted in her ears. Ki-ki-ki-ma-ma-ma.
Carrie’s blood crystallized into ice. “Do you hear that?” she said to Freddy.
“Hear what?” He’d stowed his flashlight in one of the pockets of his cargo shorts. Carrie had thought it was because he wanted to wield the bread knife with both hands, but his left hand brought up a vape pen. He inhaled frantically, his panicky breath puffing out in harsh bursts.
Carrie’s shoulders sagged with relief and exasperation. The noise was coming from him. “Never mind,” she said.
She strode away as if his anxiety was contagious, checking the compass to see if they were going in the right direction.
Freddy ran to catch up with her, taking another hit from the vape.
She grimaced, remembering how fuzzy-headed she’d felt after eating his weed brownies, the last time they’d all been together on the cabin grounds.
She motioned to the vape. “Is that a good idea right now?”
“I need it to relax, man.”
She suspected the cannabis was just going to make Freddy more paranoid than he already was.
Though he had good reason to be. Carrie shuddered.
The Slasher sightings could have been a product of Tiffany and Freddy’s overwrought imaginations.
Or someone playing a prank. Or simply costumed fans.
But whoever had slashed the car tires had malice on their mind.
And Russ showing up—and then disappearing with a kitchen knife—was incredibly suspicious. The cherry on the freakout sundae.
Freddy inhaled again from the vape. “I say screw Mikey. Russ probably already got him. Let’s hitchhike back to town.”
So much for thinking Freddy would listen to her. “We can’t leave Michael out here. You know he’d go looking for you if the situation was reversed.”
“No he wouldn’t,” Freddy said sullenly.
“Jason would make Michael look for you.”
That was the leadership and loyalty Jason was known for in high school.
She’d fallen in love with him because of the way he’d looked out for his cousin.
After Michael had gone to live with the Ackermans, she’d foolishly fantasized about Jason whisking her away from Cranfield House and taking care of her, too.
She’d always fended for herself, and she’d longed for someone else to pick up the slack.
Which was why his betrayal after The Photo had been such a shock.
People are full of contradictions, her therapist liked to remind her. Yes, they were.
“We’ll walk for half an hour, and then we’ll turn around and head back to the cabin to meet the others.” Carrie spoke with a confidence she didn’t quite feel.
“All right. You’re the Final Girl.”
Carrie winced but nodded. Anything to keep Freddy on track. “Yes, I am. So you’d better stick with me.”
“Like white on rice. The two of us could take Ranger Russ in a fight, right? He’s got that knife, but he’s pretty skinny.”
So was Freddy. Carrie eyed him skeptically. She didn’t think Freddy could fight anyone, but her history showed she was a poor judge of character. Again, people were full of contradictions.
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come down to that,” she said grimly. “Here, give me the knife. You look like you’re going to cut yourself.”
The bread knife was waving around in Freddy’s loose grip.
He passed it over, happy to relinquish all responsibility to her.
His other hand now free, Freddy took out his flashlight and they continued the trudge through the woods.
It was oppressively dark, even with the second light.
The flashlights Patrick had handed out were cheap, the kind that hung in the impulse buy section by the hardware store checkout counter.
They cast a grainy halo that evoked old found footage horror movies.
Carrie’s pulse accelerated, anticipating a jumpscare.
The beginnings of a panic attack lurked behind her sternum and she forced herself to breathe deeply, making sure to stay downwind of Freddy’s vaping.
She only smelled damp, fragrant earth but she couldn’t be sure that she wasn’t inhaling his cannabis, too.
One of them had to keep their head, and it definitely wasn’t going to be Freddy.
“Has it been half an hour yet? Can we head back to the cabin?” Freddy said.
Carrie checked the time on her phone. “Freddy, it’s been ten minutes.”
Freddy swore. He’d put the vape away, thankfully, and the hand that held his flashlight shook.
Carrie took another deep breath, filling her lungs as if she were about to dive underwater.
This was a mistake. They were never going to find Michael, and Freddy’s twitchiness was unnerving and making her doubt herself.
“It’ll be okay,” she said, as much to herself as to Freddy. “Another twenty minutes and then we can turn around.”
“That’s twenty minutes in the woods with the knife-wielding town crazy. Or maybe it’s your ex.”
Carrie shivered at the mention of Daniel. “We don’t actually know if he’s anywhere near here.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s someone who’s got a grudge against us. Y’know, this is exactly like the plot of my screenplay.”
Carrie let out a sigh. Freddy had always been a dreamer, not a doer. Though she supposed it was hard living up to his overachieving older brother.
“Except it takes place in a movie theater, not the woods,” he added eagerly.
“Uh-huh,” said Carrie, only half listening as she swept the flashlight around. “Tell me more.” If she kept Freddy talking, maybe he’d stay calm.
“The audience of a late-night show is being stalked by an unknown killer. And it’s up to the janitor to save the day.”
Thankfully it was too dark for Freddy to see her eye roll. “Of course it is.”
“Because little do people know—” Freddy’s voice dropped conspiratorially. “He’s actually a retired hit man.”
“Sounds like a winner,” Carrie lied.
Freddy brightened. “You think so? I’m thinking it would be the perfect vehicle for Jason Statham. Or Liam Neeson. I’m calling it—” He paused and flourished his right hand, as if gesturing to a theater marquee. “The Janitor. I’m gonna pitch it as John Wick meets Jason Voorhees in a Cineplex.”
“Mmhm.” The concept sounded so derivative it would probably get made, if Freddy ever finished the script.
“But unlike John Wick, the stakes are extra high because the janitor’s estranged wife and daughter are in the audience. But I don’t know what the twist is yet. There’s always a twist.”
“Mm-hmm.” Carrie swung her light to the left, toward a sudden scurrying noise. The light revealed nothing but trees. So many places for someone to hide.
Tension coiled inside her stomach. The hand that clutched the bread knife tightened and she doubted she’d be able to let go of it now, even though it wasn’t much of a weapon.
How would she even use it on someone? She’d have to slice an artery as if it were a sourdough loaf.
Her pulse hammered erratically as she pictured it.
Freddy didn’t seem to hear anything. He kept prattling on.
“I’m only about halfway through the script.
But I’ve got a killer opening scene. Imagine this.
” He gestured with the hand that held the flashlight, like he was sketching a camera viewfinder in the air.
“Exterior: the alley beside the theater, after it rains. The janitor steps out for a smoke. He checks his phone and sees a message from his wife that she’s gonna bring divorce papers for him to sign tonight.
He stubs out his cigarette—and then sees a shadowy figure in the mist.”
His flashlight paused—and Carrie’s heart stopped. Beyond the weak beam of light, a dark figure stood. Motionless, a black cutout framed by the mist.
“Just like that!” Freddy announced, as if he’d conjured the vision out of his imagination.
Carrie squinted, holding her breath. Did it look like Ranger Russ?
The figure was tall and solid, and she could just make out a checked pattern on his jacket and a large object held with both hands.
An object with a long handle.
“Freddy,” she said in a low voice, hurriedly switching off her flashlight.
Freddy’s brain finally caught up with what he was seeing. “Shit.”
He plunged into the brush like a startled deer and disappeared. “Freddy!” Carrie cried out, forgetting she should stay quiet. “We can’t—”
She was talking to no one.
“—split up,” she finished.
So much for Freddy sticking to her like white on rice. Carrie turned back to where she and Freddy had seen the figure. No one stood there now. Had they imagined it? Or maybe Freddy’s vape fumes had gone to her head.
She clutched the bread knife a little tighter, her teeth gritting from all the tension in her body.
A twig snapped behind her like a gunshot and she jumped, heart leaping to her mouth.
“Freddy?” she whispered. “Michael?”