Police Chief Fitzsimmons came walking back toward the house from the barn. His face was ashen. In all his years on the police force, he thought he had never seen anything as gruesome as the scene back at Paul Holt's counselor training center when they found all those bodies scattered everywhere, but this was even worse. He blamed himself. It took them far too long to figure out that the killer had doubled back on them, eluding the search party by following the stream down to the lake and heading back toward the summer cabins. And like a wild animal at bay, the insane murderer had gone totally beserk, slaughtering everything in sight. If only they had tumbled to it earlier and moved faster, thought Fizsimmons, they might have prevented this.
The driveway and the yard in front of the house was crowded with police cars. Officer Normand stood on the porch, looking shaken. He glanced up at Fitzsimmons as he came up the steps, Fitzsimmons shook his head.
"Looks like she's the only one left alive," he said.
Normand took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "What was that about a lady in the lake?" he said, still trying to make some sense out of the poor girl's incoherent statement.
"She must had flipped out," Fitzsimmons said. "She's been through hell. All her friends. . . " He stopped as Chris was brought out from the house. "Here, I'll take her," he said, gently putting his arms on the girl's shoulder and slowly walking her down the porch steps.
She was in a daze, completely disoriented, staring all around her as if she didn't know where she was. . . and she probably didn't, thought Fitzsimmons as he slowly walked her toward his police car. This was going to be a job for the boys in the white coats. He wondered if she would ever be the same again.
Poor kid, he thought. Seeing all her friends butchered like that, then fighting for her very life, using an ax to kill the savage murderer in self-defense. After a shock like that, it was no wonder that her mind had snapped and she started to have halluncinations. She was trembling as he led her to the car, and when he tried to put her in the backseat, she started screaming wildly and trying to break free.
"You're going to be all right," Fitzsimmons said as he forced her getnly into the backseat and closed the door, quickly getting into the front seat and motioning Normand to drive off. "You're going to be fine," he kept telling her, over and over again, trying to calm her down, but it was pointless. She kept screaming at the top of her lungs and trying to tear away the metal grate separating the backseat from the front, bloodying her fingers as she clawed desperately at the wire mesh.
The police car drove slowly across the damaged wooden bridge. The van had been hauled out and towed away, and the splintered planks and cracked support beams groaned as the squad car passed carefully over the gaping holes where the van's rear tires had gone through.
The girl suddenly stopped screaming and trying to tear away the wire greate. She lunged back, turning to gaze wild-eyed through the rear window at the open doors of the barn.
The body of Jason Voorhees was visible through the open doors, lying on the ground just inside the barn with an ax embedded in its head.
"That's right, kid," Fitzsimmons said gently. "He's dead. You don't have to be afraid. He won't bother you anymore. He won't bother anyone every again. It's over now. It's over."
But she just kept staring out through the rear window as they drove away. She simply kept on staring and shaking her head.
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