Slasher Summer(9)

Mikey came out on the veranda, his shirt back on. “Is that Freddy?”

The car came closer, and Jen could see it was too small to be Freddy’s van. She shook her head, pleased. Tiffany and Patrick joined them outside, drawn by the lights and the sound of the engine. They filed down the steps beside Jen to greet the mystery visitor.

Tiffany shielded her eyes from the approaching beams. “Can anyone see who that is?”

“Maybe it’s a renter who mixed up their dates,” Patrick said.

The car finally stopped. The engine turned off, but not the lights. Giddy anticipation thrummed through Jen’s bones. This was it. Gasoline, meet fire.

The car door opened and a girl stepped out.

“Fuck me,” said Mikey.

Jen would recognize that graceful silhouette anywhere. Tall and slim, her Pre-Raphaelite brown tresses now cut to her chin, Carrie Zhao wore the jeans and white tank top she might have sported when she’d played the Final Girl in their Slasher shadow cast. She clutched an army green canvas duffel bag like a life preserver, looking as stunned as the others probably felt, as if she couldn’t believe she’d had the nerve to show up. She said nothing, but Jen wouldn’t have known what to say either if she were in the other girl’s shoes. Other than, Holy shit, is this really happening?

Patrick and Tiffany looked dumbfounded. Mikey’s mouth had gone slack. Jen almost felt a little sorry for him. He’d always carried a torch for Carrie. Hell, everyone had been a little in love with Carrie, Jen included. Even Patrick, and he didn’t like girls. Saint Carrie just had this aura of self-possessed goodness that you couldn’t help being drawn to, in the hope some of it would rub off. As a teenager she’d volunteered at the Cedar Lake seniors’ home, the animal rescue, the food bank. She’d read stories to kids at the library after church on Sundays and helped organize park cleanups. Which had made her fall from grace all the harder.

Everyone stared at Carrie. Carrie stared back. Another standoff, like Jen had experienced by the lake.

And then Jason came out.

The front door squeaked open. “What are you all doing out here?” Jason said, jogging down the steps. “Has Freddy finally shown up?”

Jen amended her earlier thought. No, not everyone had been a little in love with Carrie. Everyone had felt that way, except the one person who’d mattered to her.

Jason halted as he realized who everyone was gawking at.

“Care Bear?” he said.

Carrie’s face blanched as white as her top. She spun on her heel and fled into the woods, her duffel bag bouncing on her shoulder.

Everyone snapped into motion, the spell broken. “What the fuck?” Tiffany said.

Jason rounded on Patrick. “Why would you ask her back here?” he demanded, showing a flash of uncharacteristic anger.

“You didn’t tell us she was coming!” Mikey said, his cheeks blotchy.

Patrick backed away, his hands up, spluttering a confused protest. “I didn’t ask her, really I—”

“Then how did she find out about the reunion?” Tiffany said.

Jen gleefully watched them argue for a good ten minutes before stepping in. As much as she was enjoying the show, she figured she should put Patrick out of his misery. “Everyone, chill. It was me. I still had her email address, so I invited her.”

“Jennifer Emilia de la Fuente!” Tiffany screeched. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

Jen crossed her arms defiantly. “It’s been nearly four years. We’re not dumb teens anymore. It’s time to move on.” She gestured to the cabin and the surrounding trees. “If we’re saying goodbye to this place, we have to let bygones be bygones.”

Patrick, Jason, and Mikey looked suitably chastened, but Tiffany’s lips had thinned into a hard line. That girl could hold on to a grudge as tightly as Jason could carry a football. Jen glanced in the direction Carrie had run off. “Shit. Someone should go after her. It’s pretty dark in the woods.”

“You can go,” Tiffany said, stabbing a finger at Jen’s chest. “I don’t have anything to say to that bitch.”

Patrick padded to Carrie’s hatchback, opened the door, and turned off the headlights. Jen’s retinas thanked him. Now the only light was the gentle glow from inside the cabin.

He shut the car door and slowly scratched his head. Jen could almost see the gears turning in his head as he attempted to recalibrate his plans. “If she’s staying, she can have Freddy’s room. It’s probably better if he sleeps in his van anyway. He’ll stink up the sheets.”

Bright spots suddenly danced in front of Jen’s eyes. Were they afterimages of Carrie’s headlights? But then she heard the rumbling cough of a very old, very large vehicle.

“Speak of the devil,” Jen said.

Freddy’s white van barreled down the road, kicking up clouds of dust in its clumsy wake. “Jesus,” Mikey said.

“Is he high?” Jen said wryly.

“Guys—” said Jason. “We should—”

They all scattered as the van careened into the driveway and screeched to a stop, just inches from the veranda railing. The driver’s-side door flew open and Freddy nearly fell out of his seat, the van rocking from the force of his braking.

Jen had joked Freddy was high, but he’d never been careless enough to drive under the influence before. She and the others ran to him, Patrick sneezing as he got close. He’d always been sensitive to the sandalwood incense Freddy burned constantly to mask the scent of weed.