Chapter 8 Patrick
Patrick
Patrick squinted at the beams of light cutting through the spitting rain, his fingers curling into frustrated fists.
He wanted to yell and hit things. Throw a tantrum like he was three years old.
This weekend was supposed to be perfect.
A couple of days at the Slasher cabin, the ideal place to reunite with the Jumpscare Society.
And now his plans were ruined. The bad weather and flat tires had conspired to keep them here, and yet his friends still wanted to go. After all he’d done for them.
Tiffany peered anxiously at the oncoming car. “Who is that?”
Patrick placed a hand on her arm to try to calm her down and felt goose bumps.
Poor Tiffany was probably freezing in her damp T-shirt and bathing suit.
They needed to get inside immediately, where it was warm and dry.
He’d make a fire in the woodstove, break out the charcuterie board he’d prepared, and come up with a new plan in comfort.
“Probably the park ranger checking up on us.”
“Or it could be Carrie’s ex,” Tiffany said.
“Or the Slasher!” said Freddy.
“Same difference,” Mikey muttered.
“There was that creeper I saw watching us from across the lake,” Jen said.
“That was probably someone from the summer camp,” Patrick said.
“It wasn’t a kid or a counselor.” Jen bit her lip. She was rarely afraid of anything, and her nervousness rattled Patrick more than the mystery visitor and the flat tires.
“We don’t even know if someone intentionally flattened our tires,” Patrick continued, seizing desperately onto logic like a lifeline.
“There could be nails or broken glass on the road. Kids could’ve come up here to party and left crap all over the ground.
We were once those kids.” Though he’d always made sure they cleaned up after themselves.
Mikey shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. We’re not expecting anyone, and Jen, Tiffany, and Freddy have all had weird encounters with strangers tonight. We’d better get back inside.”
He waved an arm at the cabin’s front door. Tiffany and Freddy were the first ones in, followed by Jen. Carrie threw a worried look over her shoulder at the oncoming headlights before stepping over the threshold.
And then it was just Patrick and Jason facing off in the rain, like the climax of a romance movie. Patrick had often fantasized about this kind of scenario, even though he was sure Jason wasn’t interested in him in that way.
“Look, about earlier—” Jason began.
At the same time Patrick said, more accusingly than he’d intended, “I thought you wanted to leave.”
A shutter came down over the gentle expression Jason had worn seconds earlier, and Patrick cursed himself. “Yeah, but I also think we should get inside, just in case,” Jason said.
For the sake of their old friendship, Patrick didn’t want to argue. “All right.”
Jason made a motion like he was about to clap Patrick on the back. Patrick stiffened, afraid he would betray his old attraction to Jason under his touch. Jason withdrew his hand and cleared his throat. “After you.”
Patrick nodded, and they entered the cabin together.
Into chaos.
The others were looting the place. Tiffany was rifling through the box of supplies by the door.
Carrie had flung aside the sofa’s throw cushions and blanket like she was searching for spare change, nose wrinkling in concentration.
Jen held her flashlight in her teeth while playing tug-of-war with the fireplace poker with Mikey.
Freddy had picked up a crystal paperweight, tossing it between his palms like a baseball.
“Freddy, what are you doing?” Patrick said. “Put that back! The security deposit—”
“Fuck the security deposit.” Jen spat out the flashlight and swore as Mikey yanked the poker from her. “If it’s Carrie’s ex, we gotta arm ourselves.”
“I’m sure the rental company will forgive a little self-defense,” Mikey said, pumping the poker like he was the grand marshal of a marching band. Shit. If Mikey wasn’t careful, someone was going to get shishkebabbed like in Friday the 13th Part 3.
“Aha!” Tiffany dug the flare gun out from under the fire extinguishers and started waving it around.
Everyone ducked. Patrick rushed over and seized it from her, thanking all the rental gods that it hadn’t gone off in her frenetic hands. “Not the safety equipment! We might need it if we’re in actual danger.”
Everyone was too occupied with forming their makeshift militia to notice his pointed emphasis on actual.
Patrick tucked the flare gun back on top of the emergency supplies and pushed the box into a corner, away from his friends’ grabby hands.
Tiffany pouted and then pounced on a glass unicorn head that was sitting on a side table.
“Patrick?” Jason held out a large blue vase.
Patrick prayed the vase wasn’t valuable. “I’m good.”
He realized too late, when Jason’s expression hardened, that Jason had been trying to make up for his standoffish behavior.
Patrick halfheartedly picked up the heavy souvenir Cedar Lake snow globe that had been sitting next to the glass unicorn.
At least he could buy another if it broke.
It glugged as he turned it upside-down, sending a confetti flurry around a miniature of the Slasher cabin.
He felt like he was in that snow globe. Topsy-turvy and upside-down.
Jen unplugged a table lamp and weighed the heavy ceramic base in her hands. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, Patrick. The rental company will understand.”
That didn’t make Patrick feel better. Carrie peeked through the curtains. “He’s pulling up,” she said urgently.
Tiffany squeaked. Freddy backed up behind the sofa, clutching the paperweight under his chin like he was about to throw a pitch.
“Turn off the flashlights,” Mikey said.
“I think it’s too late to pretend no one’s home,” Patrick grumbled.
“He might think we’re out back by the lake,” Mikey said. “And when he goes down there to look for us, we can make a run for it.”
“He could still hit us with his car,” Freddy said.
“It would be a head start. And we can stick to the woods. He can’t drive his car through there. Anyone got any better ideas?”
No one answered. Patrick’s brain, normally bursting with plans and contingencies, couldn’t perform on such short notice.
“Flashlight, Patrick,” Mikey said.
Patrick reluctantly switched off his flashlight, since everyone else had turned off theirs. As soon as the room went dark, he knew it had been a mistake. The cold, creeping dread he’d been keeping at bay with calm reason overtook the long-suffering sensible part of his brain.
The cabin’s darkened interior was eerily quiet with all the lights and appliances powered down. His friends’ hoarse breathing was the only sound. His primal instincts, which he normally did such a good job of controlling, told him anything could happen. Anything. So he’d better be ready.
His heart began to drum urgently. Was this how Clare felt, lying in bed in the dark, listening as a stranger’s footsteps pattered through her sorority house?
Or was this how her killer had felt, creeping through the shadows, mouth dry, eager for a release to this tension?
The snow globe slipped a little in Patrick’s suddenly sweating palms and he hugged it closer to his chest, forcing himself to breathe evenly.
The headlights grew closer, shining through the front room’s gauzy curtains and tracing his friends’ features.
They stood as still as statues, each clutching a different random object like the world’s worst assortment of Clue suspects.
Jen in the parlor with the table lamp. Mikey in the foyer with the fireplace poker.
The car stopped behind Freddy’s abandoned van. The engine turned off, but the lights stayed on. Patrick sucked in a breath, nervous impatience getting the better of him. “This is ridiculous. We don’t actually know if—”
“Shh.” A strong hand covered his mouth from behind and he felt the warm, firm length of Jason’s body pressing against his back.
Jason’s signature blend of spicy aftershave and clean sweat filled Patrick’s nostrils, a scent more intoxicating than Freddy’s weed.
An electric thrill sparked across his skin, and that unnerved him more than any potential murderous visitor.
He’d never been this close to Jason before, not even during that deluded moment in the toolshed four years ago.
“Just hold still a few more minutes,” Jason whispered. “Then we’ll know.”
Something hard probed the base of Patrick’s spine, and the sparks across his skin blazed into high heat. He mentally chastised himself to keep his mind out of the gutter. It was just Jason’s cell phone or flashlight. Now was not the time or place, or even the guy.
Patrick blamed the sudden flood of primal urges on the unbearable anxiety brought on by the dark. No wonder people made dumb choices in slasher movies. Anticipation reduced you to a quivering mess of hormones and reflexes.
“Can you see who it is?” Jen hissed.
Carrie peeled back the curtains again. “I can’t tell. It’s too dark.”
“Is it your ex?” Freddy asked.
“I’m not sure. I don’t recognize the car.” She retreated and crouched beside Mikey by the sofa. Mikey put a hand on her arm and said something that Patrick couldn’t hear. Carrie nodded and gave him a weak smile.
Only Patrick noticed the smug look on Mikey’s face when Carrie turned her attention back to the door.
Mikey had changed only on the surface. He was still being nice to Carrie for the sole purpose of gaining her affections.
In high school, Carrie had once asked for Patrick’s help with a math assignment, and later Mikey had gotten him alone and complained Patrick didn’t need to get into her good graces because he was gay.
To Mikey, kindness was transactional. A lesson perhaps learned from his parents.
Although Jason, Jen, and Carrie had their share of shitty parenting, too, and they’d turned out fine. Well, mostly, when it came to Jen.