Chapter 5

October 30th, 2008

I really need to stop texting, or instant messaging, while driving. How can I meet my final girl if I swerve off the road and end up dead in a ditch before I even had a chance to see her face to face?

That she knows of that is.

I peel my eyes from where they've been glued to my Sidekick and focus back on the road that leads to the quarry. Just as I'm about to park I spot Cam in the distance. Confused as to why she's here, I poke my head out the window as I pull closer.

"I thought you said to call you when it's severed?" I shout through the open window of my Tacoma. The engine roars once more before I put the truck in park, but the silence of the isolated quarry feels clamorous compared to Cam's lack of response.

I remain in the driver's seat, staring at the blackened air, waiting for Cam to approach the truck or, at minimum, respond. Cam remains still, with her phone in hand, dressed in all black from head to toe, looking like the Grim Reaper. All that's missing is the scythe, although Cam is more of a knife and shovel type anyway. Especially if she intends on finishing the job, which I was supposed to do, but judging from this surprise visit, there must've been a change in plan that I wasn't made aware of yet.

I slip out of the truck, closing the door behind me to head to where Cam stands with a mask covering her face and knuckles white againstthe aged wood handle of the shovel.

It's become a bit of a tradition for Cam to wear a visual representation of the sins of the target when an assignment has come to fruition. Cam's masks always start out the same. Plain white canvases just waiting to have enough written evidence to collect. That way everywhere the target looks, their vision is plagued with written confirmation of why they are about to meet their maker.

It's like snail mail for murder by way of mask art. Except Cam always wears the mask when it's her assignment…not mine. Not to mention Byron is already dead, so his head and how he rots thereafter belongs to me. I know it and so does Cam.

"I'll take it from here," Cam says, voice sounding muffled against the plaster of the mask. Judging from the way the newspaper articles shine beneath the moonlight, paired with the funky odor of Mod Podge, it looks like tonight's mask was a last-minute craft. Which explains this abrupt change in the plan we have discussed for months.

"But I already –" my words are halted by Cam's free hand pumping the air between us, motioning for me to stop.

My eyes lower to a small vial on the chain secured in Cam's hand. A harsh lump forms in my throat as I focus on the rivulets of blood that are contained in the small glass chamber. I'm used to seeing blood. Fuck, I even fantasize on how it will look dripping from those I kill, but this is different. This isn't the crimson drippings of someone who deserved it. It's the last remaining piece of what made Cam whole and all she has left of the person she used to be. Before Byron Campbell killed the person Cam loved and, by default, killed her in the process.

But one good thing that has come from both of us being affected by Byron's corruption, is that we have become not only justified in what we do, but we've become good at it. It may not bring the life lost back, but it also doesn't allow the life to be lost in vain.

"I said I'll take it from here," Cam repeats, lowering her hand that holds the chain and instead pointing it towards where Byron's lifeless body is in my truck. "That bastard stole from you, he stole from me, and so many other innocent people. You killed him, but it's my turn now. I want to bury him. I want his spirit to be haunted by the reminders of his crimes." Cam pauses, pointing to her mask. "Even if he can't see them with air in his lungs, his soul will feel it, the way–" Cam's words are clipped by anger and hurt.

I nod in agreement, swallowing to loosen the knot in my throat because I know what Cam is feeling. That moment when anger competes with sadness hurts like hell but it's also what fuels us every day to make sure people like Byron Campbell don't see the light of day any longer.

It's not an ideal job, but it's a job that pays in more ways than money that fills our pockets.We kill as a form of prevention, so the pain we live with doesn't spread like the cancer it is. That's worth more than money. It's fucking priceless.

"You want me to help?" I offer, not because Cam can't handle it but because I want to see this fucker buried…for good. I'm jealous it won't be me.

"No," Cam clips, dropping the shovel to the ground and securing the chain in her pocket, moving past me and toward the truck. The passenger door whines as it opens. Hoisting herself up on the running board, she reaches over to where I have Byron buckled. "I have that taken care of," she says, clicking the buckle of the seat belt, causing his corpse to topple onto the barren ground of the quarry with a thud.

Cam's breath echoes beneath the mask, sounding like a satisfied huff. Tonight, has been a long time coming and seeing Byron's dead flesh on the ground feels euphoric.

"I'll be in touch tomorrow for the next assignment."

"You got it. Who's next?" I ask with excitement.

"The son."

Ah, Ethan Campbell.

Heir to the Campbell legacy and, not to mention, an assignment I've been waiting for. Not only because he would have to be next to ensure the corrupt handling of the Campbell name doesn't continue past Byron's death. Oh no, as crucial as that kill is, the otherreason I've been dying to get my hands around that douchebag's neck runs much deeper than the corruption that lays dormant in his bloodline.

The moment he tricked Blair, my Blair, into fucking him, he earned himself a top spot on my list of enemies. I was so relieved when she dumped him, but I know how fragile rich fuck boys like him are when they lose something as precious as Blair. They become incessant in their pursuit to patch their ego and, in turn become a nuisance that needs to be eliminated…permanently.

"I can't fucking wait," I clap with glee, already brainstorming how I will kill him.

"Good, now get the tarp out of your truck and bring it over to where I dug his new home," Cam instructs, tilting her head in the direction of the unearthed dirt just past where we stand.

I quickly and efficiently gather the tarp before placing it on the ground where Cam has the shovel in hand. I glance down at where the rusted metal edge of the shovel is resting on Byron's lifeless skin. Cam's booted foot hovering a step above the cutting blade.

"Remember, Maddox," Cam begins as I peel my gaze up to her masked face. My eyes focus on the headline from a newspaper that was cut and placed on the left cheekbone.

"Sleepy Hollow man found beheaded after drug deal gone bad…"

"Maddox," she repeats, breaking my trance.

"Yeah?"

"Clean up," Cam reminds me.

"I know, I know. We don't want a repeat of what happened last time." I wave Cam off, already pivoting my stance to where my truck is parked.

"That's not what I meant," she shouts. Even with the mask on, I can feel the stern expression on her face.

"Clean up before you go to see her." Cam motions to where I still have remnants of Byron's blood splattered on me.

A devious grin spreads past my lips contorting my face to something wicked.

"You don't know who I am going to see," I boast, trying to deflect Cam's accusatory and wildly accurate glare.

"Bullshit. You have been obsessed with that Van Tassel girl since the moment you laid eyes on her," she scoffs. "Shit, more like from the moment you found out she belonged to Ethan."

Rage begins to flow through my veins, so much so I wouldn't be surprised if plumes of it are radiating past my skin, painting my aura red.

"She was never his," I seethe.

Cam shakes her head, "I know, but I have news for you, Maddox. She isn't yours either."

"That's where you're wrong." I grin, slowly loosening my clenched fist, sliding it in my pocket. I take out my phone, eyeing the Instant Messenger conversation I left up from when I was driving Byron's corpse over here. I wave the phone towards where Cam is now applying all her weight against Byron's thick neck. The bone and cartilage begin to make a crunching sound with the added pressure. "She wants to see me tonight," I boast.

Cam laughs, a grating and cruel sounding cackle, "Who does she think she's going to meet?" she asks, taking a brief break from chopping off Byron's head. "You or Boogeyman, huh?"

I suck in my bottom lip, ignoring Cam's rhetorical question because she already knows the answer.

Cam releases a huffed sigh, ripping the mask off her face to expose flushed and dampened skin.

"That's what I thought," she deadpans, tossing the mask my way. "Take it, you'll need it."

"For what?" I ask, confused.

Mask in hand, I ignore the sticky texture

I watch as Cam presses her weight against Byron's neck again.

"You know, if you used a chainsaw, it would be a lot more effective," I say, pointing out the obvious.

"Yeah, but it wouldn't be as fun. Now remember, you need to lay low for a while. The Campbells are known around this town, so if you insist on being out and about, masked is best. Wear that when you go "see" her," Cam air quotes.

Cam already knows how I am, even without telling her that Blair initiated seeing me tonight, I can't help myself. I have to see her, in her natural habitat, when she thinks she's alone.

"You know how people in that neighborhood are. They see a six-foot-six man with blood splattered all over him, they won't hesitate to call the cops. Which will begin a domino effect of revealing tonight's activities," she adds.

I don't doubt it. The Van Tassels reside in a cul-de-sac of busy bodies, but I'm used to blending in to watch her. It's part of the fun.

"Don't worry, I've spent many a night outside her window with no cops called yet."

"Yet, being the key word. Good luck." Cam nods as I waste no time and quicken my pace towards my truck. The smell of stale booze and death still lingers. It doesn't matter though, not even this displeasing aroma can ruin my night.

With my phone now snug between my grip and the steering wheel, I reread the last message from my final girl on my Instant Messenger app as I begin to drive away from the quarry.

FinalGirlsRock_666: I'm counting on it :-P

Obsessively my eyes scan the illuminated screen. Taking in every syllable, savoring every letter in the four-word sentence that she wrote, even down to the playful tongue sticking out emoji.

I continue to stare and mouth the last message from her aloud as I drive, my voice muffled by the mask that covers my face. The words feel like music to my gauged ears. Each time I read them or say it aloud, my cock twitches with the anticipation of seeing my little minx.

It feels surreal that Blair Van Tassel,my final girl, the only girl to ever make me feel alive when my life has been surrounded by so much death, is counting on seeing me. The Boogeyman that will do anything to make her scream.

Finally, back in town, the Welcome to Sleepy Hollow sign fills my rear-view. My cock begins to throb, pressing against the studs that pierce its length, thinking of how this moment that I've fantasized about, when I wouldn't have to hide behind Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31, a virtual alias I designed to grab her attention, will now be over, because she wants to meet me in the flesh.

Cam spoke of luck before at the quarry, but I've never believed in it. It always felt like a cop out. Was luck on my side when my father was killed? Or when my mom remarried, and I had to share a home with monsters who were worse than the ones in horror movies? Has luck ever been on my side when I needed to not only kill but hide the crimes that I commit so I could live free another day? The answer to all of that is no.

We have to work for what we want in this life. Just like I have worked tirelessly to learn everything I possibly can about Blair Van Tassel. Luck has nothing to do with the way I forced myself into her life, and it will have even less to do with what I'm willing to do to keep it that way.