Chapter 22 Michael
Michael
Michael staggered through the trees, his heart threatening to batter its way through his chest. He’d finally made it back to the cabin, but at what cost?
He’d fled the dock as soon as the Slasher swung his axe at Tiffany, squirming from an itch between his shoulder blades as he imagined the blade sinking into his own spine.
And Tiffany’s scream. Michael had never imagined anything like it, not even in his wildest nightmares.
It had followed him into the woods and charged every hair follicle on his body.
His fists clenched and unclenched. He’d felt so alone on the shore, powerless to help.
So useless. He’d carried that feeling his whole life.
Scrawny Mikey, an afterthought to everyone, even his parents.
The only time he’d felt useful was that feverish moment when he’d thought Daniel would never bother Carrie again.
He couldn’t believe Tiffany was likely dead.
Bubbly Tiffany, full of spirit one minute and gone the next.
It was shocking how easy it was to snuff out a life.
He stumbled on, heading in the cabin’s general direction but otherwise unaware of where he was going.
He had only one aim: find Jason immediately.
The news was going to crush his cousin, and it was better if it came from him.
Michael was so intent on his goal that he was completely blindsided—both figuratively and literally—when a man burst through the underbrush. Michael reeled back and put his fists up. Nothing was going to stop him from getting to Carrie.
He dropped his arms when he realized it was Jason. His cousin wrapped him in a bear hug. “Mikey! Oh my God. I was so worried about you. We thought we heard you calling for help. And then I heard a scream—”
Michael hugged him back, glad to see him but also annoyed that Jason didn’t think he could handle himself in the woods alone.
Jason let him go, and Michael was able to get a better look at him.
Where had Jason been while Tiffany was being attacked?
His normally implacable cousin was a wreck.
Cedar needles stuck out of his rumpled hair, and his jeans were smeared with muck and dead leaves. A bruise marred one cheekbone.
But those were only the superficial details.
Jason panted like a dog, his blue eyes wide and staring.
He’d always been a natural leader, his steady presence inspiring others to automatically look to him for guidance.
But without anyone watching, without Coach Ackerman’s scrutiny sucking all the air out of the room, Jason appeared as disturbed as Michael felt.
That was the biggest surprise of the night. Bigger than Russ Meachum crashing their reunion weekend. Michael marveled at how the golden boy had been beaten down to a mortal human being. And now Michael had to offer one more sucker punch.
He put a hand on Jason’s shoulder, as much for his own support as well as his cousin’s. “It was Tiffany.”
Jason seemed to deflate even more. He closed his eyes, trembling. “Is she—”
Michael shook his head, so imperceptibly an observer might not have noticed. “She was swimming in the lake. I think she was trying to get to the summer camp.”
Jason opened his eyes, red-rimmed in the shadows. “We have to help her,” he said in a strangled voice, starting to move toward the water.
Michael seized him by the arm before he could run off. Returning to the cabin was the priority. “We can’t. It’s too late. There was a man in a boat. He—he had an axe.”
“Wearing a Slasher mask and costume?”
How had Jason known? “Yes.”
“Oh my God. Tiff.” Jason’s knees buckled. Michael quickly slung his arms around his cousin to keep him from falling to the ground. Another surprise. Michael, for once, was the strong one.
“I’m so sorry, man,” Michael said, his voice cracking. “I was standing on the dock. I couldn’t do anything.”
“It’s not your fault.” Jason’s Adam’s apple bobbed, and then he seemed to find one last ounce of strength.
He straightened and rubbed his wet eyes.
“Come on. Let’s get to the cabin. I was with Carrie and Patrick, but we got separated.
We were supposed to meet back there and then make our way to town. ”
“Carrie and Patrick? They’re okay?” Michael said hopefully.
“They were when I left them.” Jason’s face softened, and Michael’s gut burned with a different kind of fear. Tiffany was dead, and now the path was clear for Carrie to take her place. Michael was going to have to work harder to prove he was twice as worthy as Jason.
“Was that you calling for help earlier?” Jason asked. “We heard someone.”
Michael frowned. “No.”
“Shit. It was probably a trap. You haven’t seen Freddy, have you? Carrie said he was acting strangely and they split up.”
“Freddy always acts strangely. No, I haven’t run into him.”
“Or Jen? Patrick said she bailed on him and was heading for the Cedar Lake Motel.”
“She must be miles from here, then.” Michael snorted. “She’s probably kicking back with her feet up and laughing at us.”
Jason nodded. “All right. We’ll get everyone else we can, and go. I don’t like leaving anyone behind, but I don’t want to risk the rest of you.”
He clapped Michael on the back and took off for the cabin, wobbling slightly. Michael was disappointed his cousin wasn’t leaning on him anymore, but he followed, because that was what you did around Jason. The golden boy had recovered a little of his shine.
Michael had always wanted some of that. He envied Jason’s ability to pull himself together in the face of catastrophe. His own insides quivered like Jell-O as he caught up to his cousin, mentally scolding himself to keep his shit together. Carrie needed him.
“Who do you think was in the boat?” he asked.
Jason’s mouth was grim. “I don’t know. Russ Meachum, probably.”
“I thought I knocked him out!”
Jason gave him a crooked smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “The good news is that he got up again. The bad news is that he disappeared, along with a knife. We think he’s pretending to be the Slasher. Patrick said a man in a mask chased him around the woods with an axe.”
Michael’s scalp prickled. “Shit. When I was in the woods, I found a Slasher costume and an axe. I thought a fan had left them.” He shook his head. “That fucking movie.”
Michael had wanted to say that out loud for years.
Because of that movie, he’d died onstage at the Rialto night after night as the audience yelled, Nerd!
Every performance reinforced that was how everyone saw him.
Weak, cowardly Ralph, who takes off in the canoe to sulk after all the girls reject him.
No wonder Carrie had never thought of him as a romantic prospect. “You wanna know something?”
“What?”
“I don’t even like horror movies. I only joined the club because of you.
” It was either stick with Jason and get a ride home in his cousin’s car, or take the school bus, where he’d get wedgied for sure.
And then he kept coming because of Carrie.
He’d been so happy when she’d joined. Ever since he’d moved in with Jason’s family, he’d hardly had a chance to see her.
Jason barked a laugh. The mirth didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, I’m beginning to not like horror movies either.”
They continued their trek, clinging to the edge of the woods, pace as solemn as a death march.
The peaked roof of the Slasher cabin appeared in the distance, and moonlight illuminated the empty back deck.
A loon cried from the lake, emphasizing the isolation and loneliness.
Michael was certain this exact same tableau was in the movie.
Two-thirds of the way through the film, after most of the cast is dead, setting the scene for the last act.
Jason must have noticed it, too. “Do you see anyone?” he whispered.
Michael shook his head, a thread of despair worming its way through his heart. What if Carrie hadn’t made it back? He didn’t know what he was going to do.
“Okay. Let’s check the toolshed first,” said Jason. “There might be something we can use against Russ. The two of us could probably break down the door together.”
Michael hoped Jason would let him hold any makeshift weapons they found.
Carrie would be so impressed. But Jason would probably never think of arming Michael, because Jason had always been the protector and Michael the victim.
Michael pushed aside his resentment. Now wasn’t the time.
Soon, though. Soon Jason—and Carrie—would see that Michael could take care of himself.
They crept to the side of the cabin, past the stacked firewood to the faded shed where the yard tools were stored. Michael let Jason go first, taking up the rear, keeping watch for a masked killer while his heart pummeled his rib cage.
“Shit,” Jason muttered.
Michael whipped his attention forward. “What is it?”
“It’s unlocked.” Jason opened the gaping door wider, wincing as the rusty old padlock creaked.
He took a small flashlight out of his jeans pocket and shone it around the inside of the shed.
Michael took note of the meager contents.
A lawn mower and a bin of road salt. Nothing else. The pegboard on one wall was empty.
“Where’s the axe?” Jason said.
Michael sucked in a breath. “I knew the axe I found in the woods looked familiar.”
“I swear I put it back. I locked the door and gave the keys back to Patrick.” Jason shone the flashlight around again, and then turned it off. He bowed his head, and Michael was both alarmed and thrilled by the defeat on his cousin’s face.
“Shit. Tiff asked about the axe. She was suspicious and I didn’t take her seriously.” Jason’s voice broke, for once utterly helpless and vulnerable. “I don’t know what to do, Mikey. I don’t know. I’m trying so hard. But Tiff’s dead, and God only knows if the others are, too.”
Michael seized the opportunity to take charge. “Let’s go in the cabin. They could be hiding in there. And there must be something in the kitchen we can use to fight that fucker.”