Meanwhile, at Boston’s Logan Airport, the roar of the DC-10 jet was loud as it prepared to touch down. The flight was a long and restless one. The captain informed them that they were on final approach, which relieved the man sitting in seat A-13. He took off his headphones and shut off his CD player, which was playing Eminem’s “Without Me.”

Must be my cousin’s influence of rap music still rubbing off on me, the man thought to himself as mountains came into view from his window seat. He hated flying with a passion. He hoped that this would be the last flight he would ever have to take in his life. If a stranger asked him what made him hate flying so much, he wouldn’t tell them that he had been in a horrible plane accident before. Rather, he would just tell them it was a normal fear among Americans post-September 11th. After all, sometimes the truth is better left hidden in the dark recesses of your mind where it belongs.

“I hope you enjoyed your flight, sir,” the pretty young stewardess said to him as she collected his empty meal tray. “Thanks,” the man responded with a smile. Girls. Now there was something he definitely had no time for, and didn’t want to make time for, either. Still, his mind wandered as he gawked at the beautiful young flight attendant.

Just then, he felt the pressure on his ears build up, and then the landing gear lowered and squealed its tires as the plane finally landed. It slowed to a halt, and the long 13-hour flight was finally over. The captain said something about how beautiful the weather was here in Boston on this fine morning, but the man didn’t hear the rest. He knew Boston well enough that the sun shined in the summer and the snow fell in the winter.

He grabbed his red Boston University carry-on bag with the number 35 etched in white from the overhead compartment and made his way out of the plane into the airport. He looked around at the people, and felt a good sense about being home again. He claimed his baggage and quickly walked outside to get some fresh air. He was back in the states, but he was not yet home. In fact, he wasn’t too sure he wanted to be home at all, but he knew what he had to do. Kevin Staley was going home.

He whistled for a taxi and caught the first one that pulled up to the curb and got in the back. He was surprised when he sat down and looked at the driver. It wasn’t the typical “fat guy” cab driver that he expected, smoking a cigar and wearing a Kangol hat. Instead, this guy looked like a cross between Marilyn Manson and someone from The Misfits. He had jewelry and piercings all over his upper body, and he had tattoos running across his face. On one cheek, he had “NATAS” etched in blue, and on the other cheek he simply had “666.” Kevin then glanced at his ID badge by the radio, and saw that his name was “Gabriel Dalrymple.” Kevin smiled, knowing what a misnomer that was. Just then, Gabriel turned around and broke the silence.

“Where to?” he asked in a normal voice. “Crystal Lake,” was Kevin’s mellow reply. “Duuuuuddde,” Gabriel replied, taken aback by his response. “You wanna go WHERE???” That question clearly irritated Kevin, who was cranky coming off of that 10-hour flight. “Did I stutter? Are you going to ask questions all day or are you going to drive?” Kevin piped back. “Yes, sir, you’re the boss,” Gabriel replied. “It’s your money. Crystal Lake’s a long way from here.” “I don’t care,” Kevin answered. “Just get me there.” “Alright,” Gabriel responded, turning up his radio and pulling out into the traffic leaving the airport.

His radio was blaring Rob Zombie’s “Bring Her Down (To Crippletown)”. Kevin almost laughed when he heard the song, but then Gabriel looked up into the rearview mirror and asked in his deep voice, “You like my new tattoos? I just got them yesterday.” Kevin didn’t reply at first, but he figured if he planned on getting to get to Crystal Lake anytime soon, he should at least try to be nice to this weirdo.

“It’s cool,” Kevin replied. “Do you know why I got it tattooed this way?” Gabriel asked again. This time Kevin didn’t answer him, but instead, gave him the “answer your own question” look. “I got it tattooed NATAS so that when I look into the mirror, I can see SATAN. Pretty cool, huh?” Kevin then chuckled as he thought about the other tattoo.

“What about that one?” he asked. “If it already says 666, what will that look like in the mirror?” “Duuuuuude, I never thought of that,” Gabriel replied. “Damnit. Oh well, everyone can see the 666 without the mirror. It will make the NATAS all the more mysterious.” Then, just as they pulled off the airport exit, Mudvayne’s “Not Falling” came on the radio and they sped off down the road onto the highway. Kevin Staley was finally on his way home, for what he hoped wasn’t the last time.


Back at the hospital, Rob was going crazy from hearing the news that he was being blamed for Jason’s murders. In a way, he felt as if it was his fault for letting them all come along in the first place. He tried to tell them back in Philly that it was between him and Jason, but NO...they just had to come along. He would have even felt better about it if all the girls, especially Jenny, would have stayed home. He wouldn’t feel as guilty now, that’s for sure. Those poor girls were all hacked to pieces. He led the lambs to slaughter and there was nothing he could do about it. They were all dead, and even worse, he was being blamed for Jason’s handiwork.

A tear slowly ran down Rob’s cheek as he tried to forget all the pain. Just then, he heard the footsteps approaching again, and this time, Dr. Jones appeared in his room with Officer Lewis. When they looked in at him, he appeared to be sleeping…or unconscious, just like he was when they wheeled him in. Good, Rob thought, purposely lying there motionless. Let them think I’m sleeping. As long as my vital signs are stable, maybe they will leave me alone for a while. He could sense them hovering over him, as the doctor checked his vitals.

“Well, officer, he’s doing good, all things considered,” Dr. Jones said. “We can probably have him out of here in a day or two, how soon do you need him?” “A day or two will be fine, doc,” Officer Lewis replied. “We will just need to keep him under constant surveillance until we can transfer him to the jail.”

“That’s fine. Once he is cleared, he’s all yours,” Dr. Jones stated. “Doc, in the meantime, No Press!” Lewis informed him. “I cannot stress that enough. Change his nameplate to “John Doe,” and disavow any knowledge you have of him being here.”

“You got it,” Jones answered, leading him to the door. “We better let him rest. He has no idea what he’s in for when he comes to.”

“I also want an officer guarding this door at all times,” Lewis stated as they left the room. They kept talking, but their voices faded away as they left the room. Rob instantly opened his eyes when he heard the door shut, and knew he was in for a lot of trouble if he stayed there. One thing was for sure. He had to get out of there.

As soon as possible.

Proceed To Chapter 3
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