Patrick gently pried the mask from Tiffany’s fingers. “Be sensible, Tiffany. This is Freddy we’re talking about.”
Jen agreed with Patrick. There was no way Freddy could’ve attacked Tiffany. He wouldn’t hurt anyone—if only because he was too lazy.
“He’s our friend. We’re all friends here,” Patrick continued in a soothing voice.
“The mask belongs to a girl I hooked up with last week.” Freddy’s words tumbled into each other. “She was in town for the show. I told her my portrayal of Chad was like, definitive, and you know, one thing led to another.”
Freddy was still living in his parents’ basement and chasing that high of being onstage. It was so sad. Jen cringed as she eyed the stains on the naked mattress. “You sure know how to make a girl feel like a princess.”
“I can’t take girls back to my parents’ house,” he protested.
Tiffany snatched up a bundle of dark blue fabric that had beenpuddled beside the mattress. “And this? Was she wearingHalloweencoveralls, too? Or are you getting your kicks dressing up as iconic killers?”
“Those are mine! Sometimes the Rialto bathrooms get really gross.”
Drunk fans and fake blood were a nasty combination, Jen remembered. Tiffany gave a full-body shudder and dropped the coveralls like she was afraid she’d catch a disease from them.
It was ridiculous to think Freddy would try to kill Tiff. Granted, he was smarter than people thought. He’d managed to get decent grades in high school despite the pot-smoking and class-skipping. But he wasn’t exactly known for being a self-starter. He would make the worst murderer. He’d make plans and then blow them off at the last minute for a bong and aSawmarathon on TV.
“We’re wasting time. Let’s just get out of here,” Jen said.
Jason extended his hand to Carrie, meaning to help her into the van. She hesitated, demurely biting her lip. Jen took a step forward, intending to shove her into the back. Now was not the time to be precious about her history with Jason. But the mud sucked in her Doc Marten and she glanced down in irritation.
“Fuck.” She pulled out her boot, noting the van’s worn back tire had also sunk into the mud. “Is the van gonna be able to drive out of this muck?”
“Sidney can do anything,” Freddy said loftily. “She’s a survivor.”
Jen rolled her eyes. Of course Freddy had named his shitty van. She prodded the tire with the toe of her Doc, frowning at the unexpected give.
She pointed her flashlight at it, the hairs on her arms rising.
The tire hadn’t sunk. It was flat.
“Shit. We’re not going anywhere.”
“What?” Freddy came around and gawked at the flat tire. “I’ve got a spare.”
Jason’s face had gone as blank as the mask Patrick still held. “Do you have two?”
“Huh?” Freddy said, confused.
Mikey twisted around in the passenger seat to glare at them. He held a plastic-wrapped paper plate piled with homemade brownies on his lap. “What’s taking you all so long? I thought we were going.”
A feeling of foreboding scoured Jen’s gut like gravel. She ignored the cold puddles that splashed up her fishnets and practically flew to Tiffany’s Jeep.
The tires were also flat.
Jen didn’t need to say anything. Her bewilderment must have been clear on her face as she turned to the others. Carrie raced to her hatchback and Patrick to his fancy silver car. Carrie’s gasp of dismay and Patrick’s low swearing told Jen all she needed to know.
Mikey climbed out of the van’s passenger side. “What’s the delay?”
“Someone slashed my tires,” Carrie called out in a panicked voice.
“Mine too,” said Patrick.
“See? The Slasher!” Freddy cried. “Heslashes.”
“Do you still think all these things that have happened are random?” Tiffany said to Patrick.
