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

She sat, legs folded, against the railing. The cold unforgiving stones of the wall seemed to sparkle in the dim combination of electric bulbs and candles. The switch in Voorhees's mood seemed to change even the appearance of the room. It was now a game board and the pieces were lining up. The sparkling light on the wall seemed to mimic the game board in her head. She could envision the moves she would make. The ones she would make tonight, tomorrow, the next day, assuming she was still alive by then.

Inside, she'd felt a lot of things. Pain, betrayal, disgust, anger, pity, on a rare occasion, happiness. Jason Voorhees might be the stuff of legends and ghost stories, but he was still a man. Under the cloth covering his face, there was still skin and bone. He could still bleed. Surely, if she were locked up and still feeling so much, this man with his pseudo-freedom could still feel. No man was a statue. The thoughts propelled her into a more concrete determination to play the game being constructed in her head. She'd managed to advance a spot, with inciting anger and frustration, before. He'd physically unleashed it, but hadn't killed her.

Officially, the game was on.

Carefully, she stood up and peeled the soaked shirt off of her torso. As she did, the chair on the other side creaked with movement, but the sound of grinding metal continued. He was readying to strike if she attempted to leave, but kept his head down. She chanced a glance at him over her shoulder and was slightly put off by his inattentiveness. 'Jason,' she said, keeping her back to him. She could feel his eyes on her now and the grind of metal ceased slowly. 'Why do you never talk? I would imagine that it might be more effective to keep this place to yourself if you said something, you know.' As she talked, she slowly, casually removed the clinging bottoms, leaving her completely naked, back to him. Of course, he didn't answer, but she imagined hiseyes narrowing.

'I know you must have been able to speak when you were a kid, here.' With that, she turned around and made a small show of hanging the wet clothes over the railing to dry. Jason tilted his head to the side, pondering the question before him. 'Surely, you called for help, when you drowned didn't you? Help mommy! Save me! Something like that?' He flinched at the softly imitated pleas. Ah, so it was a touchy subject then. Definitely not conducive to tonight's move. Biting her bottom lip, she took a step closer to him. He didn't even blink.

'Do you like girls, Jason? When you came here, did you have a crush on any of them? Too shy to speak to any of them, maybe? Wouldn't surprise me, as silent as you are.' She took another brave step, and then another, slowly closing in on him. Only his eyes moved, following her face coming closer to his own and nothing else. He could hear her heartbeat racing and imagine the blood making a rushing sound in her ears, being so close to him. 'You were still young then, weren't you? That's what the stories about you claim. Imagine, a full grown man, never known the touch of a woman.' She reached out a shaky hand and barely traced a line of the pillow case wrapped around his head. A second crawled by, then two, and he flinched backward, the chair screeching in protest as he did so. She squelched the urge to snicker, but didn't move away from him.

'Well, with that sort of reaction, I can't believe that I'm too far off.' She took a step closer. Fear? Was this reaction fear? She held out her hand, palm up, inviting. 'Why don't you touch me, then? Go on, I don't bite. I'm not the one with the reputation for death.' He glanced down at her hand and his fingers tightened around the handle of the machete, forgotten in his hand. His eyes remained cold and distant, but he raised his calloused hand. He seemed to be considering the offer.

Before she could mentally whoop in victory, that hand was around her neck, pinning her against the hard stone wall. His fingers dug into her skin, the nails drawing up little droplets of blood. She gasped and struggled against the wall, the stones abrading her back and the backs of her legs. After the initial surprise, her struggling ceased. He guided her, roughly, by the neck back to her makeshift bed and shoved her down onto it. She didn't struggle against the movement and remained on the bed after he removed his hand from her neck. He locked the chain around her ankle once again and extinguished all of the light in the room, retreating into the adjoining room.

She lay on her back, her toes digging into the sheets under her in reflexive anxiety.