Chapter 18 Carrie
Carrie
Carrie hurtled down the cabin’s driveway, so keyed up she was afraid she’d do something rash, like blindly strike out at the next friend she ran into.
The stress hormones might lead her to make terrible mistakes.
Her heart raced from the encounter with Freddy, his blood-spattered T-shirt having put all her nerves on high alert.
No one would believe her if she said he was dressing up like the Slasher to terrorize them.
She barely believed it herself. And yet—
Maybe Freddy hadn’t actually done anything to Mikey. That was more believable. The costume could be Freddy’s idea of a prank. Or he’d wanted to resurrect the Slasher shadow cast one last time. A performance en plein air. And Carrie, the Final Girl, had played right into his hands.
She had to laugh. So far, she was doing an excellent job of shedding the good girl persona and moving toward Slasher’s inevitable conclusion.
Would Saint Carrie run through the woods with a bread knife, her clothes muddy, hair plastered to her scalp with cold sweat?
She was certain she’d find mystery cuts and bruises all over her body tomorrow morning, badges of her transformation.
She pressed on. Trees towered over her head, like dark and threatening sentinels of the woods.
Pulse hammering, she tried to reframe her surroundings, the way her therapist had taught her to reframe her situation.
Shadows weren’t scary. They were welcome harbors that would shelter her during this wild, unpredictable night.
She was probably safer in the forest than in the cabin.
She tried to convince herself the noises weren’t eerie, either. The same sounds graced her meditation app. Peacefully singing crickets, serene bird calls, the patter of rainwater dripping off branches, the restrained anger of a man’s voice—
The man spoke again, and Carrie felt a twinge deep within her belly. She recognized the voice. She heard it often in her dreams. Jason. But who was he talking to?
“You’re perfect,” he said.
He was talking to Tiffany, obviously. The words sliced through Carrie like a cold knife. Even though she had to admit that beautiful and confident blonde Tiffany was, by small-town middle-class standards, perfect.
“But not for me,” he added.
A ray of hope brightened Carrie’s mood. If Jason had no intention of reconciling with Tiffany, Carrie could definitely get him alone later and try to resolve the events of four years ago. She could finally get the apology she longed for. She crept forward, hoping to gauge Tiffany’s reaction.
A twig cracked under her foot. Jason stepped in front of Tiffany, who’d frozen like a deer in headlights. Carrie felt a wave of hurt and resentment. Ever the gentleman, ready to protect a lady.
Just not Carrie, when it had mattered.
You’re no lady, Mama spat in her head. Ladies don’t take nasty photos to get a boy’s attention.
The old shame washed over her again, even as Carrie told the voice in her head to be quiet. Maybe she wasn’t a lady, but that didn’t give Mama or anyone the right to treat her like she didn’t have feelings. If there was one thing she’d learned from therapy, it was that her feelings were valid.
“Who’s there?” Jason said.
Drat. Her eavesdropping had been busted. “It’s just me,” Carrie said in a small voice.
Jason’s defensive stance relaxed. “Oh, thank God. Carrie.”
Carrie stepped out from behind the trees, faltering when Tiffany came out from behind Jason, wearing an expression that could have cut glass. Carrie forced her smile to stay put. “Tiffany! Hi! Have you two found any sign of Mikey?”
Jason shook his head. “No. We got—distracted.”
Carrie let her smile stiffen in place, letting Tiffany know she’d overheard their conversation. Tiffany didn’t have the monopoly on passive-aggressiveness. Carrie was pleased when Tiffany flushed with indignation. The perfect girl wasn’t so perfect after all.
“Tiff found something else,” Jason said hurriedly, likely sensing the tension. “A motorboat. We were hoping to take it to find help, but there’s no key or paddles or anything.”
“There was a Slasher costume in it,” Tiffany said defiantly, as if she wanted to frighten Carrie.
She was successful. Carrie gasped. “Do you think—”
“We don’t know what to think,” Jason said firmly, his glance cutting to Tiffany. He obviously didn’t want to upset her.
Carrie tried to quell her thudding heartbeat. They’d found a Slasher costume. She was afraid of what that meant. “What did you do with it?”
“Left it and got the fuck out of there! Do you think we’d want to stick around?” Tiffany said.
Jason extended a placating hand toward Tiffany. She fell quiet, crossing her arms with a scowl. He nodded at the bread knife Freddy had taken from the kitchen. “Where’s Freddy?”
The knife was near-useless, just like Freddy. But clutching something in her hand helped Carrie keep calm and tell her story. “He got scared and bailed on me.”
“Typical,” muttered Tiffany, as if she wouldn’t have done the same.
“But I found him back at the cabin, and he was acting funny.”
Jason raised an eyebrow. “Funnier than usual?”
Carrie forged on, convinced he was going to laugh at her. “He was hiding under a car. And he had blood all over his shirt.”
“Freddy?” Jason said in disbelief.
“It’s been four years and he’s been stuck in Cedar Lake, doing nothing but drugs and watching Slasher and writing a screenplay no one’s seen.
And he had a mask in his van. Who knows what might be going on in his head.
” The words tumbled out breathlessly, and then she covered her face in her hands.
“Oh my gosh, now that I’ve said it out loud I can hear how dumb it sounds.
But it made sense at the time. I freaked out and ran. ”
“It is dumb.” Tiffany’s eyes narrowed. “It’s Ranger Russ we have to be afraid of. Or—or maybe it’s you! Maybe you killed Freddy and you’re trying to lure us back to the cabin so you can kill us, too!”
Carrie’s jaw dropped at the audacity of her accusation.
The idea was as outrageous as Freddy being a killer.
Jason closed his eyes and rubbed his temples like he felt a headache coming on.
Carrie was thankful for that gesture of exasperation.
He saw as clearly as she did that Tiffany was trying to undermine his opinion of her.
Still, Carrie needed to stand up for herself, as she’d learned the hard way that no one else was going to come to her defense.
She knew she couldn’t protest. Tiffany would only argue, and they’d waste precious time.
So instead Carrie laughed, keeping her tone light, knowing it would irritate the heck out of her.
“What, with this bread knife?” Carrie waved it in the air, blade flopping in the faint light, clearly unstained. “Yes, I held him down and sawed him into toast, and I’ll do the same to you.”
Tiffany sucked her teeth in annoyance. Carrie held back a smile. Carrie 1, Tiffany 0.
Her triumph was short-lived. Tiffany spat, “This is all your fault. Why’d you have to come back here?”
A lump formed in Carrie’s throat. When Tiffany had said, Why’d you have to come back here? she’d heard it in Mama’s voice.
Jason, thank goodness, came to her rescue. “Tiff, you’re being unfair.”
“But it is her fault. It’s her fault Mikey attacked Russ. Or if Russ isn’t out for revenge, then it’s her crazy ex. If Daniel’s stalking us, can’t we just tell him to take her back? No one wants her here, except Mikey.”
It was true. No one wanted her in Cedar Lake, not even her mother. Carrie’s legs wobbled and she clutched the flimsy bread knife as if it could give her strength. Tiffany couldn’t hurt her anymore, she told herself, although it was hard to believe at this moment.
“Tiff—” Jason warned.
“She ruins everything, Jason. You know that.”
Carrie closed her eyes, hearing Tiffany’s words in her mother’s voice again. Reliving that shame and humiliation was too much, and she hated herself for wanting to run off into the woods to throw up. She didn’t want to be that girl anymore.
“Tiff!”
Tiffany shut up at last. But not until she got out the last word. “Because everyone always wants to save her.”
She was right. Tiffany presented herself as a prize to be won, but Carrie inspired others to sympathy.
The nice girl from the wrong side of the tracks who just needed a chance.
It was probably why people had been so shocked and titillated by The Photo.
Carrie had broken their unspoken social contract.
To her surprise and delight, Jason rounded on Tiffany, a flush rising up his neck. “Stop harping on Carrie, Tiff. If you have to blame anyone, blame Mikey. Carrie didn’t make him hit Russ.”
Instead of shrinking from Jason’s anger, Tiffany’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Oh. I see how it is. I hope you’re very happy together.” She looked from Jason to Carrie and back again, and then stalked off.
Carrie’s face heated. Jason seemed to deflate. “Tiff—” he said tiredly. There was no conviction behind the name, only a syllable uttered out of habit.
He let out a tired groan and turned to Carrie. “Sorry. We’re going to have to go after her. Not because I want to make up, but because we have to stay together.”
Carrie nodded, although she dearly wanted Tiffany to leave them alone. “I understand.”
They set off through the woods, following the bright beacon of Tiffany’s swinging ponytail.
“Listen,” Jason said, fidgeting with the compass in his hand.
Was he nervous, too? Carrie’s stomach fluttered.
She couldn’t remember the last time they’d spoken to each other one-on-one, if ever, without Tiffany’s close scrutiny.
“About the photo—Tiff! Stay to the left! You’re veering too far north!”
Tiffany answered with her middle finger, but she redirected her current course.
“About the photo—” Jason continued. Carrie held her breath with anticipation. Was this finally it? The moment she’d been hoping for?