I've Heard Stories About You... (REPOST)

Fear? It wasn't something she could even feel anymore, she supposed. The very last thing she -could- remember feeling was rage. Rage and hysteria. At the age of 23, she is more than old enough to be on her own. But the fear of her father held her prisoner in his home. It had never been, nor would ever be considered 'home' by her. It was prison. A special little torture cell in the furthest corner of the pits of Hell, to her. She'd managed to make a break for it, packed a backpack of clothes and a few snacks and ran as hard as she could manage in any direction that felt easiest to travel. It didn't take long for her father to find her. There were trees, trees and more trees with few roads to follow. Noone dared to wander into the woods around Crystal Lake. While trying to chase her down and grabbing her through the driver's side window of the car, her father had completely torn her shirt to shreds. Her pants would soon follow in the scuffle to get him on the ground and choke him. Her backpack had fallen to the ground along the road he'd chased her down and could probably still be recovered...assumming she survived the night long enough to -need- clothing.

'Share this night with me, Jason Vorhees. A man was killed tonight because he was guilty. He, too, allowed bad things...horrible things to happen to people he was responsible for,' she says, solemnly. For a moment, there was nothing. Silence was the only response. She doesn't expect a verbal response from him. She'd never heard of a time in any of the legends and stories, that Jason Vorhees had ever spoken a word. Jason tilted his head. Join her? He'd never contemplated having someone join him after he'd killed various guilty people around the lake. Slowly, he moved toward her, stopping a mere half a meter away. She tilts her head back and closes her eyes, letting her legs fall back over the edge of the dock, toes toward the water.

'Does it feel like this for you, too? Like nothing? Everytime?' She asks. 'I didn't feel anything at all. It feels...I don't know...as if I've just taken someone's life with the same casual ease as pouring a cup of tea. Is that what it feels like for you, too?' This time, she does turn to look at him. Her gaze travels upward from his muddy boots, to his worn workpants, and finally to his raggedy shirt and wet pillowcase-covered face. Just beyond his boots, behind him, lies the could-be weapon against her. He simply stares back at her, in a way trying to force a telepathic type of link between the two of him, if he had the power. He felt nothing when he killed. It wasn't a sense of accomplishment, relief, horror....there was simply nothing. Swinging his machete, axes, picks...it was all just a part of his nature by now. Like breathing.

She lies back on the wet wood of the dock and stares up at him. He stares carefully back down at her. 'I think it must be the same for you. Do you think it means that you and I are the same?' His good eye made a quick assessment of her new position and he took a step back. Someone like him? His mother had always called him her 'Special Boy.' What if this woman was another mother's 'Special Girl?' Would Mother want another special child killed? She hadn't really been guilty of anything, aside from trespassing into -his- camp and -his- lake. But, it was to dispose of another guilty person. Someone Jason, himself, would have killed but now didn't have to.

With that thought, he turned on his heel and picked up his makeshift weapon. She closed her eyes. So, he wouldn't give her this night, afterall. Fine. Surely, she could enjoy it in Hell. It would probably be a lot warmer and dryer there. He leaned over without a sound and wrapped his fingers around the middle bit of fabric on her bra and hauled her underweight body up from the rain soaked wood. Her eyes pop open and her legs scrabble as she tries to comply with the forced movement, her feet slipping and sliding on the old dock. 'What? What're you-?' Before she can finish, he withdraws his hold on her bra's middle and grabs her roughly by her upper arm. He pulled her over the rough pebbles, tree limbs, and even a bit of concrete until the bottoms of her feet hurt so badly they went numb, through the darkness. She felt blind. But the fear was still absent. She wondered, briefly, if she'd ever experience such an emotion, again.

((I don't imagine Jason Vorhees to be be the 'affectionate' and 'soft' type...being away from that sort of human contact for -so- long wuld sort of do that to a person, I'd imagine. So, I'm trying not to make him too soft a character. Jason Vorhees is a serial killer...and, a rather violent one. Makes war, not love. However, because I really dislike BDSM types of relationships...this story will not contain that...so, when it comes to that, between these two characters, he will gain a 'softer side.' Until then...he hurts people..even without realising what he's doing. He doesn't know any better. Rawr!))