Batman vs. Jason Chapters One-Four

Author's Notes: Before we get started, I want to say thank you for reading this. These are two of my son's favorite characters and while I always write to inspire my children, I have never actually written something for them. I'm doing this as a pseudo-prequel to the Tim Burton Batman films. With so many realities and universes and continuities in the DC world I needed to ground myself somewhere. I've always loved the '89 Batman and since the 80's were the most logical place to kick this thing off, it seemed like a no-brainer. I will be putting up each chapter as a downloadable PDF in the near-future and those chapters will be edited and polished the way you would expect. I'm writing these in between another novel and a novellette collection, working a day job, taking care of two kids, sending out manuscripts to anyone that might buy one, and teaching people how to stab the shit out of each other, thus my editing might be sloppy at times and I apologize sincerely for that. I'm also really new to the website/blog thing and can't get the damn formatting correct. As a side-note to my technological idiocy, please check out my review section. For some reason, it's not showing on the post gallery. Thanks again and enjoy.

---

One

The clouds broke up the moonlight into silver spears that sparkled on the gently lapping waves of Crystal Lake. Dick Grayson laid back on the smooth dock with his eyes closed. The night animals were singing their songs, but he couldn’t hear them. Billy Idol was crooning through the Walkman’s headphones. Dick smiled at the serenity.

The new Crystal Lake Resort and Spa wouldn’t be open to the public for another week, but thanks to some good luck he’d won an early stay with the full VIP service. Bruce insisted that he take the time off. He wasn’t going to argue with him either—Gotham was getting worse and he needed to regroup. Polished fingernails twisted the headphone cord and tugged.

Luckily, the prize package was for two.

“Dick?” Marcy whined playfully.

“Yeah, doll?” Dick slipped the headphones around his neck.

“It’s getting kind of cold out here. Can we go try out that hot tub?”

“I was thinking we should try out the waterbed, actually.” He pulled her arm so that she draped across his body.

“Yeah, well Billy’s not going to be the only one dancing with himself if I don’t get a soak in that hot tub soon. Besides, it’s getting dark out.” She chewed her lip and looked around the shoreline.

“You know, you don’t feel that cold actually. What’s the matter, really?”

Marcy sighed and shook her head. “It’s silly. You’re going to make fun.”

“No, I won’t. I promise.” He hugged her tighter. “Come on, doll.”

“It’s just really creepy is all. This is where Camp Blood used to be. Don’t you know that story?”

“Of course, I do. Every kid in Jersey knows about Camp Blood. But they didn’t build over it, babe. It’s about a mile that way.” He jerked a thumb to the south. “After the massacre in ’79, no one wanted to touch the place. Building on top of it would be like building on top of an Indian burial ground.”

She pursed her lips. “Wasn’t there some story about one of those around here too?”

“Yeah. Someone built on top of it.” He paused for effect and then whispered in her ear. “Now, we call it Camp Blood.”

Marcy propped herself on an elbow and squinted at him.

His cool façade cracked and he snickered.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re such a—”

“Yeah, my parents named me well, didn’t they?” He leaned up to kiss her forehead.

She giggled and nuzzled her head back into his muscular chest. “So, those people weren’t really killed here?”

He cleared his throat. “No, but also yes.” He let his fingers glide through her dark hair as he told the tale. “When Steve Christy tried to reopen his family’s camp in ’79, Pamela Voorhees murdered nine people there to stop it. It’s been shut down ever since. The state wanted to open their own camp there in ’84. They even had counselors training at the old Packanack Lodge for when it opened.”

She shivered. “I feel a ‘but’ coming on.”

“You’re right. Jason Voorhees reappeared. Everyone thought he drowned as a boy, even his own mother, but he came back. Somehow. He murdered thirty-four people over the course of week all around the lake. He started with the counselors at the Packanack Lodge. Last year, they tore down the lodge to start construction on this resort.”

“And you brought me here?” Marcy pinched his side and stood up. “Someone actually thinks this place is going to be a romantic destination with a history like that? What’s the big sell? At least it’s not Camp Blood where only nine people died? Why would you bring me here?”

“Because the prize was for two, Marcy. I wasn’t going to just let it go to waste. I had to bring someone and of course I wanted it to be you. You’re my best girl, you know?”

She cocked her hips to the side and pressed her fists against them.

He fought the urge to roll his eyes and sat up on his elbows. “I mean you’re my only girl. I couldn’t do better if I tried is all I’m saying when I say you’re my best girl. And yeah, sure, this place is probably going to tank financially, but it’s up and running now. I never win anything. Not only did I win this contest, but I got the grand prize. I think this trip and spending it with you is a sign.”

“Really?” She let her shoulders sag a little.

“Yeah, of course.” He sprung up to his feet and offered her his biggest smile. He hooked his fingers through the side over her bikini bottom and tugged her towards him. “I think it’s a sign of something really big and we’re the first guests ever. That means we get to break in all the groovy new stuff. No one’s even slept on that waterbed before. The silk sheets are brand spanking new. We’ll be the first people to even turn on the TV here. I mean, how many times does someone get to try out a new resort all by themselves?”

She pursed her lips. “Never, I guess.”

Dick took her hands and kissed her nose. “Come on, babe. Let’s go find your hot tub.”

Marcy rose up on her tippy-toes. Her pouty lips pressed against his. “Okay, but only if you promise to show me the waterbed after.”

“I think you can convince me to do that.” He moved his arm around her waist and guided her down the dock and back to the main lodge. “Yeah, babe. This is definitely a sign. Great things are coming our way. I can feel it.”

---

Two

Sheila pressed her hand over her mouth hard enough to make her lips tingle. Tears rolled over her knuckles and splashed into the pool of piss around her canvas shoes. She squatted down in the puddle to make herself look as small as possible in the tiny electrical closet. It was pitch black and she couldn’t be happier. She couldn’t see herself. She had looked so cute in her maize top and matching skirt—now she looked like a fucking Pollock painting. She tried not to scream or cry. It hadn’t helped Chase, after all.

Chase had screamed when the hockey mask appeared in the small window of the garden shed. His already underwhelming penis shrank back like a wounded turtle. Sheila looked up to see what he was shrieking about, but the masked man had already fled. The door crashed open and she tripped over the floral panties twisted around her ankles. If she hadn’t, the maniac would have gotten her too when he swung that ax.

It was a powerful blow that took Chase’s head clean off. The blood splattered against the tin roof and rained down over her adorable new uniform. The ax buried into the rustic wall and Sheila scurried between the madman’s legs and out the door. She took a terrified glance over her shoulder twice while she ran, but she never saw him. He wasn’t running after her or pursuing her at all that she could see. She didn’t care though. She just kept running until she hit the lodge and found the electrical closet.

She tried to remember where everyone was. They didn’t open for another week, but those contest winners were there. They were probably still at the lake. Guy was doing a maintenance inspection of all the rooms and cabins, so he could be anywhere on the grounds. The cook, Archie, would be in the kitchen preparing dinner…or taking bong rips in the boathouse. It could really go either way. The owner, Mr. Chandler, only came by in the mornings. That was going to be really helpful—at least someone would find her body before the summer heat did too much damage. If anyone was going to save her, it’d have to be herself.

She heard the handle jiggle and then the door flew open. Her hands dropped and she screamed louder than she ever thought she could. The man in the hockey mask didn’t care. He just inspected the doorway and the closet, then looked at the ax in his fist. She realized, somewhere through the fog of horror, that he couldn’t use it on her while she was inside the claustrophobic shelter. She pushed with her heels to get further inside, like she could stretch the walls back if she just pressed a little harder.

It didn’t work.

The man grabbed one of her ankles and dragged her out of the closet. Her screams became hysterical sobs as the ax swung high over his head. She remembered all the horrible stories, the grotesque rumors, from two years ago. They said he was dead—cremated and thrown in the trash. It didn’t matter what they said. She stared at the bloody ax head and the hockey mask below it and she knew the truth.

Jason Voorhees was back.

She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the killing blow. Instead, she heard the shattering of wood and a celebratory shout. She chanced a peek. Remnants of furniture were all around her and Jason. He turned slowly and there was Archie. Rail-thin and stoned off his ass, holding the legs of a broken chair. Her hero.

He threw down the chair legs. “Hulkamania just ran wild on you, brother!” The cook struck a body builder’s pose for the deranged killer. “You might as well beat it, pal. You stick around here and I’m going to fuck you up.” Archie’s hands flew about animatedly with every word.

Sheila got to her feet slowly while Archie continued his bravado. Jason cocked his head to the side and watched the little man rant and rave.

“Yeah, I see that. You can’t even take your eyes off me.” Archie flexed hard, not that anyone would notice. “Run away, little bitch. You can’t handle all this. Fucking hockey homos. Man, you’re actually going to need that mask when I get done with you. Even your momma won—”

Jason threw the ax one-handed. It struck Archie in the chest and propelled him through the floor-to-ceiling picture window. The glass crashed down from the frame. Sheila turned to run. Her shoes squeaked on the laminate floor and Jason spun towards her. His fist pulverized the drywall just behind her. She dipped around the corner and into the kitchen.

Archie had been making dinner. The perfume of the lobster bisque cooking on the stove was almost enough to mask the smell of urine and blood that saturated her clothes. A tray of raw ribeyes were sitting next to the preheated griddle. There was even a cheese tray. She should’ve taken Archie to the garden shed instead of Chase. At least he died trying to save her.

The ominous glow of the exit sign crept around the righthand corner of the kitchen. A phone hung outside of the dish pit to the left. Her eyes jumped between the two. Help would never arrive in time if she went for the phone. Help would never come at all if she didn’t, however. They needed to leave now if they were going to stop the maniac. On the other hand, it was Jason-fucking-Voorhees coming after her. Surely everyone would understand the lack of warning. She needed to move and move fast, because he would—the swinging door banged against the tile wall hard enough to send pieces tinkling to the floor.

Jason stalked into the room with his eyes locked on Sheila. She didn’t need to see the twisted face beneath the mask to know it was smiling at her terror. Her fingers slid along the countertop and bumped against the cool metal of the cheese tray. A thin, sad smile creased her face. It wasn’t a good one, but it was a chance. Jason was unarmed, after all. Sheila grabbed the cheese knife and held out like a fencer’s foil.

“Get back!”

Jason continued his methodical march forward.

“I mean it, I’ll stab you.”

He didn’t seem to care.

Sheila lunged forward and stuck the knife into Jason’s chest. The thin blade made it less than an inch before it bent and snapped. Jason grabbed a fistful of her hair and slammed her face down on the griddle. Her skin sizzled noisily before her scream drowned it out. The smell of frying meat and Maybelline wafted through the kitchen. Sheila clawed at the gloved fingers twisted in her hair to no avail. Jason finally tossed her to the floor.

She knew the release wasn’t an act of mercy and clamored to her feet. Jason scraped the meat mallet over the stainless-steel counter as he turned. Sheila saw the magnetic knife strip and pulled a chef’s knife. The ten-inch blade was much more formidable than the cheese knife. She slashed at him, the tip whizzed just passed his throat. Then she bolted for the exit. She was sure she could outrun the lumbering psycho. She would get away, she knew it. She could see her chance at freedom glowing in the darkness.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t see the splash of extra virgin olive oil on the linoleum.

Her head bounced off the floor and she rolled to her back. The room spun around her and lights flittered in her vision. Then she looked down. She wasn’t sure if it was real or imaginary, but she could feel the cold steel where the chef’s knife protruded from her ribcage. Her fingers were numb long before she tried reaching for the knife, then both arms shut down and her legs started getting cold. There was a warmth in her stomach though. It spread through her entire abdomen as her severed aorta filled her torso and made the room dim.

Not fast enough.

She watched the maniac lean over her and stare into her dying eyes. His hand moved to the knife’s handle and he tore it free with a vicious crank of the blade. Blood shot across his mask and he never blinked. Jason Voorhees stood over her, making sure he would be the last thing she saw as the world went away.

---

Three

Dick clasped a hand over Marcy’s mouth before she could scream. She still tried. The high-pitched squeal sounded like an elk’s bugle as it tried to escape Dick’s grasp. The body on the deck was fresh, still twitching even. He guided Marcy up the stairs cautiously and pressed her against the lodge’s exterior wall.

“I have to check this guy out, Marcy. I need you to be really still and really quiet, because whoever did this might still be around. Do you understand?”

Marcy shook her head violently. “No. No, I don’t understand. We need to leave, Dick! We can call the cops first, if you want, but we need to get out of here.”

“The cops will never get here in time.” He turned to the body and knelt beside it.

“So, what? You’re going to stop the murderer? Do you hear how nutso that sounds? It’s not your responsibility to capture some psycho!”

Yes, it is! He wanted to shout it.

How could he, though? It wasn’t like he could just tell her that he’s Robin, that she’s read all about him stopping psychos in the newspaper. They weren’t ready for that. They were at the let’s-get-a-parakeet stage of things. Maybe a guinea pig. Definitely not the let’s-blurt-out-our-secret-identity stage, though. He chewed the inside of his jaw.

“We need to give the cops every bit of information we can. Just in case, Marcy. What if the killer disposes of the body before we get back with help, you know?”

She threw her hands into the air. “Okay, fine. Cause of death was an ax to the heart. Can we leave now?”

“The ax was thrown. That’s the only way to explain the angle of entry. The killer would have to be a big dude to fling a full-sized ax like this.” Dick examined the body as best he could without touching it. He was sure the scene was only a few minutes old.

“How do you even know that?”

A smoke alarm blared inside the lodge. Dick sprang up and disappeared through the shattered window before Marcy could object. The smoke wasn’t very thick yet, but it was potent. The wasted lobster bisque burned on the stove next to a leaking corpse. The young woman stared up at the ceiling blankly. The floor was a wading pool of her blood. Dick reached over and twisted the knob on the stove. There was nothing else he could do to help.

Marcy’s scream sent his heart into his throat.

“Babe,” the next words didn’t come out. He didn’t have a clue what they could even be. In less than ten minutes, Marcy stumbled onto two corpses. There weren’t words for that kind of situation. He pulled her against him and told her it was going to be alright.

He knew it wouldn’t be.

“There’s a phone over here. I’m going to call the cops and then we’re getting the hell out of here, babe.” Dick stroked her cheek and made his way around the opposite side of the stove to avoid stepping in any forensic evidence.

Marcy turned away from the carnage and sobbed. “Please hurry, Dick.”

Dick reached the phone and lifted it from the receiver. No dial tone greeted him. He slammed it back onto the cradle and banged a fist against the tile wall. “Damn it!”

Marcy turned and wiped her nose across the back of her hand. Her body shivered hard. She was still in her bikini from the afternoon of swimming. “Please, Dick. Let’s just leave now.”

“Wait, maybe I can fix it.” Dick squatted down and found the severed phone cord. He smiled slightly. “Great news, babe. The line’s been cut, so I can splice it back together and call out. I just need a little knife. Would you hand me one? There should be some hanging…on the wall.” Dick’s eyes fell on the empty magnetic strip. “Well, that can’t be a good thing.”

Marcy screamed.

The brute raised the chef’s knife high as he lumbered from the shadows. Dick rose and intercepted the attack. He stripped the blade from the man’s fist and sent it clattering across the floor. The man shoved Dick to the wall and pulled another kitchen knife from his belt. The entire set was slipped into the leather or tucked into the old nail pouch on his hip. Dick’s eyes flicked from the weapons to the goalie mask.

“You’re supposed to be dead, asshole.”

Jason thrusted a steak knife at Dick’s face.

Dick pulled the phone free and trapped Jason’s wrist with the cord. He knocked the knife free with the handset and jumped behind the maniac, stretching the cord up across Jason’s throat. Jason charged backwards and crushed Dick against a cabinet. Before Dick could recover, he was flying through the air and sliding across the linoleum on his face. He could hear Marcy screaming for him to get up and be careful.

What the fuck does she think I’m trying to do? The Boy Wonder deflected another stab and slapped the blade across the room.

Jason replaced it with a carving knife that Dick kicked from his hand. Again, it was replaced in the blink of an eye. Gotham’s defender used every bit of training to outmaneuver Crystal Lake’s madman. The psychotic slasher attacked and was disarmed only to replace the knife with a new one each time. Steak knives flew through the air or clattered to the floor. A parmesan knife, bread knife, even one of those plastic ones for lettuce. Jason went through the kitchen’s cutlery one after the other. He never said a word as he tried to perforate and sever the young defender, just gave a few irritated grunts.

Dick’s bare feet slipped in the young woman’s blood and he crashed to the floor next to her. A Japanese santoku twinkled in the fluorescent lights and he kicked the brute’s knees with both feet. Jason toppled backwards and Dick rolled to his chest and crawled to Marcy as fast as he could. He jumped to his feet and took her hand.

“Run! Just keep running.”

They made it outside and sprinted across the manicured lawn to Dick’s De Tomaso Pantera. Dick opened the door for Marcy and then slid across the hood to the driver’s side. He flipped down the visor and caught the keys. Parking in Bruce’s garage spoiled him and he still hadn’t broken the habit of leaving them in the car. This time it worked to his advantage. He jammed the key in the ignition and turned it to hear the gentle roar of—absolute fucking silence. He turned the key over and over with the same response. He banged a fist against the steering wheel.

“To the cabin, now.”

Marcy was out of the car and running before Dick even got his door open. He stepped out of the car and saw the faceless shape stalking through the shadows. He turned to make sure Marcy was going to their cabin. He threw open the trunk and pulled the four-way tire iron out. It wasn’t the best weapon he could think of it, but it would have to work. He ran after Marcy, hoping they could barricade the cabin door and hold the psycho off until the cops arrived.

They got inside and slammed the door. Dick pointed to the phone by the waterbed and wedged a chair under the doorknob. Marcy lifted the handset and spun the dial for the nine. There was a giant crash outside, followed by a titanic explosion. The overhead light cut out and threw them into darkness. She sighed and let the receiver fall to the nightstand.

“Do I even need to tell you he just took out the phones?”

Dick found a tube of fireplace matches on the mantle. “He must have cut the line in the kitchen when he heard us coming. This time, he took them all out. Probably in case we split up. There’s no way to call for help now, the car’s disabled, and the power will be out through the whole resort. He’s working alone, so he took away any reason for us to separate.” He lit the two oil lamps on either end and leaned on the stonework. “Now, he can monitor both of us until he’s ready to strike.”

Marcy stared at him and started crying. “Who are you, Dick? How do you know about crime scenes and murderer strategies? How did you dodge and disarm all those knives without getting hurt?”

What could he tell her? He was studying criminology, but what about the fighting? The YMCA’s kickboxing class? He shrugged. Surely, that could be considered an answer. It wasn’t like there were any words that met his needs. He sucked in a deep breath and rested his eyes while he replayed all the important information. Marcy made a little shocked squeak and his eyes snapped open to check on her.

She covered her mouth with her trembling fingers. “You’re Robin!”

---

Four

The dead girl’s blood streaked Dick’s torso and it glistened wetly in the lamplight—a bright red breast. The flickering wick threw a shadow across his eyes like a mask. There was no way for him to deny it, no way for her to miss it. The man she loved was Robin, one half of Gotham’s dynamic duo. The words slipped from her lips like an allegation. Like the title was a dirty word.

He just shrugged. Nothing else. Not one single, solitary word. Just a goddamn shrug.

Marcy fought the urge to scream at him, to throw anything that wasn’t bolted down. They had been dating for eleven months. He should have said something about being a costumed vigilante sooner, but instead he was going to keep it from her.

For how long? Ever? Fucker!

She grabbed a ceramic squirrel from the nightstand and flung it across the room. It was a stupid decoration for the honeymoon cabin anyway. Dick caught it in the air and let his eyes drift to the floor.

He sighed and looked up at her. “I was going to tell you.”

“When?” Marcy flopped onto the waterbed, which wobbled beneath her. The motion would have been comical any other time. At the moment, it was infuriating.

“Eventually. This isn’t really the best time, Marcy.”

“No, this is the perfect time! There’s a maniac trying to fucking kill us and you’re a goddamn masked hero. Call Batman!”

The door rattled violently as someone tried to force it open. Dick raised the tire iron and waved for Marcy to get down. Marcy lowered herself to the pink shag carpet and buried her face into it while she cried quietly. The door shook harder. She bunched her fingers in the high-pile fibers and clenched her fists. A zombie-killer, a lying boyfriend. It was too much to deal with. She pressed herself up and flipped her suitcase over on the bed.

Dick gestured for her to stay down. She gestured for him to fuck off.

The door stopped rattling. Their eyes shot to the entrance and then to each other.

Marcy quickly pulled on a pair of jean shorts and a button-up shirt and knelt next to the window, trying to peek around the curtain. Dick mirrored her at the opposite window. He looked at her and shook his head. He reached for the chair and slid it away from the door as quietly as possible. Marcy mouth “what are you doing?”

Glass broke in the bathroom. Dick ran to see and pushed the door open quickly. He turned quickly, his face stretched in terror.

“Marcy, watch out!”

The window shattered above her and Jason snatched a fistful of her dark hair. She stared up into his blank eyes. Every terrible campfire tale she had ever heard about Jason Voorhees hadn’t prepared her for the sight. Jason pushed her face towards the ragged remains of the window. The shattered glass sat in the lavender frame like translucent fangs ready to chew her up.

She couldn’t see anything, but those artificial teeth inching closer to her eyes. Something flickered across their surface. She heard the door fly open and then the pressure of Jason’s powerful hand was gone. She fell back and saw a flash of moonlight shimmering off the tire iron.

“Run Marcy, get the hell out of here!” Dick swung the tire iron at the monster again.

Jason whipped a cleaver from his belt and deflected the blow with a spray of sparks. Marcy scurried out of the door and watched the two exchange blows. Jason swung a second blade. It was just a flash of steel in the twilight. The tire iron fell, blood splattered across the ground and Dick screamed in agony. His severed fingers twitched in a pool of moonlight. Jason grabbed him by the jaw and tossed him through the remaining window with a crash.

Marcy ran as fast as she could, trying to remember the way to the main road. She estimated three miles to the highway and another two to the Sheriff’s station she saw on the drive in. Her bare feet ached from minor cuts and bruises that came with running barefoot in the woods—she would never make it five miles. A flashlight bounced around in the distance. She detoured towards it, hoping for a miracle.

She tried to scream for help, but the pounding strides and heaving breaths choked her attempts. She looked back and saw Jason walking nonchalantly in the distance. She slammed into a low fence and toppled over it with a shriek. The flashlight beam panned in her direction like a spotlight.

“Who’s that?” a gravelly voice asked from behind the blinding glare.

“I’m one of the guests. Please help me.”

The man jogged over and knelt next to her. His cobalt coveralls bared an embroidered tag with Guy in white cursive script. “Are you alright, miss? I promise, that fence is much easier to see normally. I’m so sorry. I was just going to check what’s happened with the lights.”

“Fuck the lights! Jason Voorhees is coming. We need to leave right now.” She stood up and immediately regretted it. The tiny decorative fence had peeled a few layers of skin from her shin and below it was a foot twisted at an unnatural angle.

Guy shined his light down at the broken ankle. “Miss, we need to get you some help.” He put an arm around her waist and let her lean on him. “What’s this about Jason Voorhees? That boy’s been dead some years now.”

“Tell him that.” She pointed a finger at Jason. Only he was nowhere to be seen. “Goddamnit! He’s out there somewhere. He got Dick.”

“Most fellows named Jason do, as I figure it.”

Marcy growled and snatched the Maglite from his hand. She swung it around looking for Jason. Nocturnal animals scattered—she jumped at every noise and movement. A massive shadow caught her eye and then melted into the surrounding darkness.

“We need to go, mister. If Dick couldn’t beat him, we don’t stand a chance.”

Guy took his light back. “Look, Jason Voorhees is a bit of an open wound around here. We don’t take kindly to jokers throwing his name around. I can see you’re scared, so I don’t think you got nothing to with it. If you say someone’s out there, I’ll believe you. I’ll straighten the little shit out too. Right now, you need to get off that foot. You don’t have to worry none, miss. I assure you, Jason Voorhees is dead.”

His face ruptured with the sharp crack of the cleaver splitting the bone. Blood surged around the polished blade and splattered across Marcy’s chest. Guy’s body didn’t know it was dead already and tried to flee. He stumbled around in a dead man’s jig. He collapsed and pulled Marcy down with him. She rolled over in time to see Jason stepping over the fence with the eight-inch santoku clenched in his fist. She didn’t know what to do next.

Is there anything to do anymore?

She grabbed the flashlight and crawled away on her haunches. She kept the light in his face. Everything seemed less scary in the light—not Jason-fucking-Voorhees. Something moved behind him. A light flickered in the air. She watched it arc toward her attacker. The glass shattered and the maniac’s clothes blazed as the burning lamp oil spread across his back.

A shadowy form launched itself into the air and came crashing down on Jason’s skull with a flying elbow strike. Jason fell to his knees and shook his head to clear the fog of the blow.

Dick stood ready for action behind him.

His hand was bloody and the missing fingers were wrapped in a soggy rag. Jason rose and tore away his burning jacket. Dick whirled around and delivered a powerful kick to Jason’s head followed by a low one to the knee. The Crystal Lake killing machine buckled and fell. Dick aimed another powerful kick at his masked face. His muscles tensed and he unleashed the roundhouse kick with a primal scream—

Jason caught his leg and rose up. Marcy could see what happened, but her mind couldn’t process it. Things like that weren’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t possible. Jason raised his fist into the air with still lodged inside Dick Grayson’s abdomen. He slung the dying man from his arm and let his body crash through the ornamental fence. Marcy’s screams turned to choking sobs as her lover reached for her in his last moments. Dick Grayson, Robin, mouthed words that she couldn’t see through her tears. Then Jason ended it. His boot came down hard on Dick’s head and split it open like an old pumpkin. The pulped matter spurted across the manicured lawn of the manager’s cabin.

Marcy watched helplessly as Jason stalked toward her. He stopped and stared down at Guy’s shivering corpse. He bent over the body and took what he needed from the man’s belt. He turned his attention back to Marcy and straddled her. She squeezed her eyes tight and prayed for help, for mercy, for any fucking thing that God could afford to spare. Nothing came. Her eyes opened and through the tears she saw the machete swinging down.

Stay tuned for the next exciting episode, coming on Halloween!