[Ambrose]

The Land Rover skidded to a stop outside of Ricky's uncle's cabin. Spencer was soaked from head to foot, as the vehicle lacked a roof. He stepped out of the jeep and into thick mud. The car's headlights shot out in a wide arc, illuminating a tiny metal shack and the cabin beyond. The shack was glistening under a coat of water.

Spencer trudged forward in the mud. There was no sign of the Chevy, and the windows in the cabin were dark. In his hands, Spencer was clutching a baseball bat. He had found it in the back seat of Kate's car. Only then did he remember that Kate had played baseball on the varsity team in high school. He didn't know why he needed, but he wanted to be ready for anything.

The door to the cabin hung open. In the space beyond, Spencer could discern an untidy living room and a kitchen. He stepped inside. A stale draft of air met his nostrils. He had to squint in order to see in the foreboding gloom. He made his way into the kitchen, stepping lightly over an overturned waste basket. The place was a mess. There were broken plates on the floor and most of the cupboards were ajar. It looked as if there had been a struggle. Strangely enough, there was water gushing from the tap in the sink, which was now overflowing onto the tiled floor. Spencer turned the spigot both directions until the water pouring from the faucet had stopped completely. The cabin was immediately plunged into silence.

Spencer crept slowly into the living room. Here, most of the furniture was overturned. There was a couch, which was now facing the ceiling, and a couple wooden chairs, one of which had its leg broken off. The water from the kitchen had spilled over into the rug that lay on the floor. The immaculate embroidery squished beneath his feet. His eyes wandered around the shadowy room, stopping on a photograph on a desk in the far corner. He walked over to it and picked it up. It was a picture of his friend Ricky, only he was much younger. In the photograph, he was standing next to another man with a short beard. Spencer guessed that that was his uncle. The two of them were wearing huge grins.

"Like father, like son," Spencer whispered unconsciously in the darkness.

Spencer set down the photograph and proceeded out of the living and into an adjacent room. It looked like Ricky's uncle's room; there was a small bed in the corner, and a dresser against the far wall. A window above the bed allowed the moonlight to enter the room, casting a soft blue hue onto walls. He opened the closet, but found nothing unusual. At this point, Spencer had no idea what he was looking for. He only knew, half subconsciously, that there had been trouble here. And it had been recent.

Creeping slowly, the bat clutched menacingly between his hands, Spencer moved toward the last room in the cabin - the bathroom. The hinges on the door screeched in protest as he pushed it open. The bathroom was small. His eyes swept over it in a single glance. The bathroom mirror was broken, and the shower curtain had come off and was now draped inside the tub. His stomach lurched when he realized there was something bulging from beneath the curtain. He could just make out the form of a person. Extending a trembling hand into the tub, with the bat held at the ready in his other, Spencer removed the curtain.

Lying face upward in the tub was a middle-aged man with long, grizzled hair and a beard. His eyes were glazed over and his skin morbidly pallid. Spencer felt nauseous when he noticed that the man's flannel shirt was soaked in blood; Spencer reluctantly lifted it, revealing two gruesome lacerations on his stomach. Blood was still trickling from the wounds, spilling over into the drain. A pang overcame him when it registered that the body lying in front of him was Ricky's uncle.

Spencer darted from the bathroom, dropping the baseball bat which rolled around on the hardwood floor. He sprinted out to the car, hopped into the driver's seat, and turned the ignition. Seeing two dead bodies in one night had made him lose his wits. Then, as he was about to head back down the gravel road, he remembered what he came here to do.

He marched determinedly back into the cabin to look for the CB radio. Spencer regretted having to go back inside as the feeling of death was now rife around him. He pulled out all the drawers in the desk in the living room but found only assorted papers. The radio was nowhere to be seen. Next, he looked in the kitchen, pulling out the drawers as forks and spoons clattered onto the wet floor. Finally, he moved the search into the bedroom and returned to the closet. Having yanked out all the clothes and the few boxes that were nested at the top, Spencer stared hopelessly at a blank wall.

"Damn!" Spencer exclaimed.

The Land Rover sped dangerously down the gravel road away from the cabin. When he hit the main road, Spencer floored the gas pedal. The jeep was now doing ninety, skidding precariously around the corners of the rain-washed road. At one point, the vehicle started to hydroplane, veering suddenly to one side. But the driver only gripped the wheel tighter, shaking away the rain now dripping from his brow, a crazy gleam in his eye that showed his utter and complete determination to reach his destination.

Spencer needed to get back to his sister. The events of tonight had solidified how he felt about her. He loved her - he had always - and he was going to keep her safe no matter what.

"No one is going to hurt you, Christina." Spencer gritted his teeth.

When he reached the intersection, which was in no time at all, Spencer slammed on the brakes. The vehicle skidded to a stop, coming to a rest in the middle of the road. The rain continued to pour down all around him. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted something - two red lights. They were tail lights. Spencer got out of the truck. Where the two roads intersected, opposite the dirt road to Kate's cabin, there was a vehicle twenty yards or so up ahead, in the ditch. There were skid marks on the road. As Spencer got closer, he realized with some surprise that it was the Chevy.

"Ricky! Orion!" Spencer called out desperately. He slid down the embankment along the side of the road and ripped open the door on the driver's side. Ricky Wilhouser's overbearing weight fell on top of him as his body bounced out of the cab. He fell with a thud into the mud, dead as a door-nail. His face was pale, eyes locked in a chilling death stare, and his Orioles cap askew atop his curly brown hair. His red sweater had been torn open to reveal a series of hideous punctures on his abdomen. It looked like he had been stabbed multiple times. The bare skin around his stomach was caked in blood. Spencer pressed a hand to his face and cried. Three down, three more to go.

Suddenly, he thought about Orion. He checked the cab of the truck a second time, but his body was nowhere to be found. And that's when he saw it. Leading away from the Chevy, through the mud, were two sets of footprints. The footprints led into the woods.

Two, Spencer thought, the tears beginning to subside as his attention shifted. He felt strangely like a detective, trying to reconstruct the scene of a crime.

Spencer tried to imagine what had happened here. The Chevy lurched off the road and into the ditch. But why? Ricky must have been trying to avoid someone, or something. There must have been something in the road.

His thoughts flew at a mile a minute.

So, Ricky steered the car into the ditch to avoid hitting someone in the road. The killer must have then opened the driver's side door before Ricky even had a chance to get out.

Oh my god, Spencer thought to himself in disgust. That must have been when he stabbed him.

He cast another glance at the knife wounds in Ricky's chest.

After Ricky had been killed, Orion must have dashed into the woods to get away.

Spencer followed the two sets of footprints leading into the woods with his eyes.

And that's when the killer chased after him.

Spencer imagined Orion's dead and mutilated body lying crumpled up somewhere in the forest. Surely he could find it; all he had to do was follow the footprints.

Wait.

His thoughts weren't finished.

What about Ricky's uncle? Spencer frowned. The killer must have followed them to his cabin. That's when he surprised them, and that must be when Ricky and Orion made their escape in the Chevy.

Spencer's thoughts drifted to Ricky's uncle, lying dead in the bathtub.

But his poor uncle, he didn't have time to get away.

There was one thing that confused Spencer though. How did the killer get to Ricky's uncle's place so fast? It was at least thirty miles from the intersection. And only Ricky was crazy enough to make the trip on foot.

Then another thought stuck him. It ricocheted in his mind like a bullet until there was only blinding pain.

"He has a car," Spencer breathed absentmindedly to the darkness, fear teeming inside him. "The killer has a car, which means he's probably already at-"

Spencer ran back to the Land Rover, started it up, and drove with deadly speed back to Kate's.

* * *

Dave had positioned himself by the front door, sitting in the rocking chair, with the Garand held in his lap. He felt like some crazy backwoods hick on the prowl for trespassers. What was worse was the anticipation. He thought any minute the door would come bursting open, revealing some blood-soaked chainsaw-wielding psychopath. Sweat had accumulated on his forehead, running into his eyes. He wiped his brow, blinking quickly. Then his gaze returned to the front door.

Dave looked at his watch. Spencer had been gone for nearly an hour. He could feel the muscles in his arms starting to tense up. Having to hold the massive hunting rifle for this long was proving to be a strenuous exercise. The bloody thing seemed to be increasing in weight by the minute. Maybe I can set it down real quick? He thought. But then in his mind he could see ever so clearly what a blunder that would be. The chainsaw-wielding maniac would come through the door right then and he would be a goner for sure.

"No," Dave said aloud. "Nobody's getting through that fucking door." With his free hand, he drained a can of beer.

A particularly bad habit was made apparent to Dave after Spencer had left. It started with just one. He had cracked open the beer and carefully sipped away at its cool contents. The taste was soothing, relaxing his nerves. After he drained the first, he cracked open another. He had been binging for an hour, relishing the effect the alcohol had on his body. That nagging fear in the back of his head was starting to subside. He felt cool and confident now. He thought if he drank enough beer, he wouldn't have trouble shooting the killer when he walked through that door. Fuck, he'd blast anyone who came through that door. Santa Claus himself could stroll through that door right this moment and he'd blow his fucking head off.

Then it hit him; at first it was just a dull pain radiating out from his midsection. Dave squeezed his groin in anguish.

"Fuck," Dave blurted out. He had to take a piss.

Dave glanced around the room. He was alone. Christina had been sitting on the futon a moment ago, but she was gone now.

"Uh, hey, Christina," Dave called out.

There was no answer.

"Fuck, where'd she go?" Dave added weakly.

Dave looked back at the door. Everything was quiet. There was only the sound of the wind outside, caressing the cabin walls. He looked down at the rifle gripped in his hands. Then, craning his neck, his gaze fell on the bathroom door one story above him.

"I can make it," Dave murmured to himself.

All he had to do was set down the rifle, hurry up the stairs, and get back. The pain in his stomach was growing in intensity. He thought his kidneys would burst if he didn't relieve himself soon.

"On the count of three," Dave whispered, "1... 2... 3"

In a flash, Dave was up out of the rocking chair. The Garand fell heavily onto the hardwood floor. In a minute, he was up the stairs and through the bathroom door. He slammed it shut behind him, locking it.

Dave unzipped his pants and urinated into the white basin in front of him. The feeling was ecstasy.

"Yes..." he groaned.

After he had finished, he flushed the toilet and began to wash his hands in the sink. Then, his body apparently sensing that the toilet was still in close proximity, Dave felt the sudden sensation of his bowels moving. He returned to the basin, lifted the lid and planted himself down on the seat. Just then, someone came through the front door. Dave's heart skipped a beat. He could hear footsteps in the living room.

Without thinking, Dave called out to the anonymous person, "Hey, Spencer, is that you?"

There was a flurry of steps as the stranger ascended the stairs and in a second he was standing outside the bathroom door. He turned the knob. It was locked. Thank fucking god, it was locked.

Dave pulled his pants up and backed up against the wall. His heart was beating furiously in his chest. He tried to remain quiet, hoping against hope that the killer didn't know for sure he was in here. He waited for what felt like an eternity, listening.

There was nothing.

Slowly, Dave made to peer under the door. Just as he was about to do so, the stranger on the other side of the door left. There were more footsteps. Whoever it was, he was heading back downstairs.

Then Dave remembered Christina.

"Oh fuck," escaped his mouth.

Here he was, hiding in the bathroom, like the scared little boy from third grade, while Christina was out there with him - the psychopath. A sense of deep shame came over Dave. He moved slowly toward the door, his hand closing in on the knob. But he just couldn't go the extra mile and open it. He just couldn't.

* * *

Spencer pulled the Land Rover up to the cabin, nearly ramming it into the front porch. He had expected to find another vehicle parked outside the cabin, an ominous token of what he might find inside. But there was nothing.

What made his heart start to race for the umpteenth time tonight was that the door to the cabin was ajar. His mind flashed to Ricky's uncle.

"No," Spencer said deliberately, and leapt out of the truck. The Land Rover's engine was still idling as he dashed across the porch and went inside.

"Dave! Christina!" He called out when he got outside. He caught a brief sense of deji* vu. He hoped with all his might that his friend and sister had not met the same fate as Ricky and Orion.

Then he heard a whimpering voice coming from the bathroom. "Spencer, is that you?"

It was Dave. "Dave!" Spencer yelled, rushing up the stairs. The door to the bathroom was locked. "Dave!" Spencer shouted again.

"Is it really you?" Dave whimpered from inside. He sounded scared.

"Yeah, it's me," Spencer said, "What's going on? Where's Christina?"

The bathroom door opened. Dave came stumbling out. He was crying.

"I'm so sorry, Spence, I'm sorry," Dave stammered through tears.

Spencer grabbed his arms. "Where's Christina?"

"I'm so sorry," Dave repeated.

Spencer felt that familiar fear rush over him again.

"He was here," Dave explained, now flat out sobbing. "I was in the bathroom. I couldn't get out. I'm so sorry."

Spencer had heard enough. He bolted down the stairs and grabbed the Garand which was still lying on the floor, tucked beneath the futon. He thought it was amazing that the killer hadn't seen it, but this thought was quickly replaced with the overwhelming urge to find his sister.

"Where are you going?" Dave called out desperately from the landing.

"I have to find her," Spencer said.

At these words, Dave came rushing down the steps. "I'm going with you."

Spencer found a flash light in the kitchen cabinet and the two of them headed outside into the darkness. It was almost three o'clock in the morning by Dave's watch.

"Christina!" Spencer called out desperately.

There was no answer.

The sky was a deep purple haze. The storm clouds were finally beginning to clear, exposing a vast expanse of stars. Swirls of nebula were scattered along with the glimmering stars in what appeared to be a dark velvet curtain. The many constellations shone clear, seemingly frozen in time. Beneath all this, green and blue lights were fast moving across the sky; a plane was en route to some exotic destination.

But Spencer and Dave never once looked up. Spencer's head was bent low, the Garand held firmly in his hands. He had one thing on his mind: he wanted to find the bastard who took his sister and kill him.

Spencer stumbled clumsily over fallen logs and sharp rocks, having difficulty navigating the unfamiliar forest. Dave was following close behind him. Spencer inadvertently became the guinea pig so that Dave might know where to step. The two of them walked the perimeter of the lake. Spencer had a gut feeling; he thought maybe, and rather despairingly, that he might encounter Christina in the same way he did Kate. He only hoped she would turn up in better condition.

Pine needles crunched obtrusively beneath their feet as they went.

"So much for the element of surprise," Spencer said, irritated.

Finally, after an hour's time, they had come with some difficulty all the way around the lake. He had called out Christina's name at even intervals throughout their trek, but there had been no response. Spencer was met only with the continuous drone of crickets and the occasional chirp of a bullfrog. The two of them were now standing back where they had started, staring up at the cabin.

"Christina!" Spencer called out one last time, in a final act of desperation.

"Spencer!" Christina's voice came to him like a freight train, making his knees wobble.

"Christina!" He called out again, overcome with joy. "Christina! I'm coming!"

Spencer shot out into the darkness, following his sister's voice. The small oval of trees and dirt created by the flashlight bounced irregularly in front of him. Dave struggled to keep up, huffing and puffing furiously.

"Please Spence, for god's sake, slow down," he whined from some distance behind him.

But Spencer couldn't stop. He had to reach his sister. Her voice was so close now, just right behind the next tree.

And there she was.

Christina was lying face down on the ground. Her hands and legs were bound with rope. Aside from that, she looked okay. Spencer felt a wave of relief rush over him.

Spencer, setting down the Garand, untied the rope binding Christina's arms and legs and helped her to her feet. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her tightly.

"Thank god you're alive," Spencer cried.

Christina flopped against his chest, her tears falling onto his t-shirt. "I was so scared," she gasped. "I couldn't see anything. He came up behind me and put a paper bag or something over my head. I felt like I was going to suffocate."

Then Spencer remembered why he was carrying the Garand. He picked up the rifle and scoured the surrounding woods. His eyes pierced the darkness. They were hunter's eyes, searching anxiously for the kill.

But he saw nothing.

"C'mon," Spencer said, "Let's get back to the cabin. We can take the jeep and get out of here."

The three of them headed back towards the light in the distance. Soon the light grew into the monstrous two-story cabin that had once belonged to Kate Whitaker. Spencer felt new tears building in his eyes as he thought about Kate.

When they reached the Cabin, all three of them stopped in their tracks. The door to the cabin was open, again. Spencer had been sure to shut it when they had left to look for his sister. He felt his heart beat go up a tempo. And there in front of the cabin, the cacophony of its engine churning up the night, was the Land Rover. Alive and ready to go. It would have been so easy just to jump in the truck and leave. The others were already ambling over to it.

"Psst... Spencer," Christina whispered, standing next to the vehicle. Dave was already climbing into the backseat.

All he had to do was walk over to it and jump into the driver's seat. Soon the cabin, the lake, and this fucking hell of a weekend would be over.

But something inside Spencer wouldn't let him go, not before he found out what he needed to know.

Turning swiftly, the Garand clutched ominously in his hands, he headed inside the cabin.

* * *

The killer looked apprehensively at his prey. This one was stronger than the others, and he knew it. He gripped the knife threateningly in his hand. In a single deft motion, he lunged in for the kill. But something grabbed his arm. The boy with curly brown hair and stupendous muscle had stopped his killing thrust. He couldn't believe it. Suddenly, his strength faltered and the weapon fell to the ground with a loud chink. The boy had bested the killer, and was now tussling with him on the ground. The killer could feel the boy's strength beginning to overpower him. In desperation, he kicked hard at the boy's weak spot, between his legs.

It worked. The boy doubled over in pain, clutching his groin. The killer went for his weapon. However, within seconds, the boy was back on his feet and enraged.

"You fucking asshole, you're going to die," the raging boy sputtered.

The killer ran for his life, dashing into the dark woods. Deeper and deeper into the darkness, the killer fled. And his plan worked. Soon the boy had lost sight of him and was fumbling blindly about. His voice was scared now, for he was vulnerable. Only the killer could see clearly in this entrenching gloom.

Stealthily, the killer produced the murder weapon from his body and held it up above his head, poised to strike. Slowly, he crept towards the unsuspecting boy. The boy's nervous eyes were scanning the area frantically but they failed to detect the killer on his approach.

In an instant, the killer struck. The knife plunged deep into the boy's soft, fleshly, body. Three more strikes, flashing before the boy's stunned eyes, and it was over. The killer's victim slumped to the ground - dead.

Warm blood was starting to flow, spreading across the forest floor. The killer knew he had to work quickly. Throwing the body over his back, the killer labored under the strain of the 190-pound weight. Slowly, but steadily, he carried the boy back to the car.

* * *

Spencer stepped into the cabin. He held the Garand carefully at his shoulder, taking aim. His eyes scanned the living room, and then the landing above him. Nothing. He took a couple steps forward. His hands were shaking now. Slowly, his gaze fell on the kitchen.

Spencer eased his way toward the kitchen, the rifle aimed in front of him. His finger, just barely clutching the trigger, was ready to tighten on command. He had killed a deer and he could kill a human just as easily, especially a psychotic one. He took a deep breath.

As Spencer came into the kitchen, his eyes roamed the counter quickly. He checked the space to his left and then to his right. Nothing. He suddenly began to wonder if the killer was even in the house at all. Perhaps, in his hysteria, he had in fact left the door open and just forgot about it.

Then a voice behind him made him jump.

"Why?"

Spencer turned around. Standing on the other side of the cabin, his wavy dark hair now plastered to his face, was Orion. There was water dripping from his clothes.

"Orion?" Spencer said aloud in shock, lowering the Garand. "Jesus Christ, are you alright?"

Orion came towards him, a look of disappointment spreading across his face. "Why didn't you tell me you were going away?"

Spencer's mind drew a blank. "What?"

"I've been your best friend, Spence, for what? Fourteen years now."

Spencer didn't know what Orion was talking about. He thought he might be having a trauma-induced episode.

"Orion, buddy, please. I don't what you're talking about." Spencer said desperately.

"I know about the scholarship you got. And I know how you're planning on leaving Canterbury for good."

Spencer's thoughts came full circle. In his mind, he saw the cabin, Kate's lifeless body in the swamp, Ricky's dead uncle, Ricky, Dave hiding in the bathroom, his scared and trembling sister. And now he was back in the cabin, his mind wandering all the way back into Canterbury, recalling that he did, in fact, get a scholarship and that he was in fact planning to leave Canterbury next fall for good.

"I'm sorry," Spencer said weakly.

Orion looked deeply perturbed. Then Spencer noticed that he had a nasty gash on the right side of his head and he had bruises on his face. There were also scratches on his arms.

"Jesus, Orion. What happened to you?" Spencer changed the subject.

Orion said nothing. He continued to stare at Ricky from his spot by the front door. Just then, Dave and Christina came through the door.

At the sight of Orion, Dave burst out. "Orion, thank god, you're alive."

Christina ran to Orion, wrapping her arms around him. "Hey, you're OK." Her voice was shaky but happy. Orion had known Christina since she was two years old.

"Hey Christina," Orion said softly. A single tear was streaming down his cheek. His eyes hovered on Christina's pretty red hair, before returning to Spencer holding the Garand.

There was an awkward silence.

Dave looked from Spencer to Orion. "Guys, what the fuck are we waiting for? C'mon let's get out of here."

But neither Spencer nor Orion moved. They just kept standing there, their eyes locked on each other.

Spencer studied his life-long friend. He was a puzzle; a six foot, brown-eyed, wavy haired puzzle. The bruises on Orion's cheek where Ricky had punched him, the scratches on his arms where Kate had scratched him, and the gash on his head where Ricky's uncle had struck him with the chair leg were the pieces. And suddenly, he had put it all together.

Spencer started to cry. Dave and Christina were clueless.

"What's going on?" Christina asked, her voice trembling.

"Go get in the car," Spencer ordered.

"What?" Christina asked, surprised.

"Please, Christina. Go get in the car. You too, Dave."

Dave and Christina looked bewildered, but did as they were told. In a minute, Spencer and Orion were alone.

"Why'd you kill Kate?" Spencer demanded, tears welling up in his eyes.

Orion frowned. "Kill her? I saved you from that slut, remember? She was taking advantage of you, Spence. I saw her do it. I was watching from upstairs that night she forced herself onto you. That fucking bitch thought she could have her way with my best friend. No siree."

The tears in Spencer's eyes began to flow harder. He swallowed hard, trying to find the words.

"And Ricky? His uncle? Why them?" Spencer managed finally.

Orion paused. His eyes were working intensely, sorting things out in his brain.

"That old man got in my way. I-" Orion paused, his face now totally flush. "I had to. Ricky and his old man were trying to take you away from me. I wasn't gonna let them, Spence. So I destroyed the radio and left it in the woods."

"How could you do it?" Spencer choked.

Orion look flustered, like the answer was obvious. When he did speak, there was distinct anger in his voice. "Hey! You're my best friend. Don't feel sorry for them. You know Ricky's uncle tried to drown me? Yeah, I told Ricky I was going back in to get something that I had left and the old codger tried to fucking drown me in the sink. Ricky said something about the kooky bastard being psychic or some shit. So don't you fucking feel sorry for them."

Spencer wiped away the tears on his face. He had stopped crying. Spencer walked straight up to his friend, until the two of them stood face to face. He looked directly into Orion's freckly face, staring right into his dark brown eyes.

"You're not my friend anymore, Orion," Spencer said, his voice unwavering.

With that, Spencer said nothing else and headed for the front door of the cabin. Orion remained on the spot, thunderstruck.

Spencer was just reaching for the door when he heard Orion turn around. Spencer glanced behind him and was surprised to find Orion running at him. Orion plowed headfirst into Spencer's stomach, knocking the wind out of him. The two of them went sprawling onto the front porch.

Dave and Christina, who had apparently watched the whole thing go down in the car, were now outside.

"What the fuck's the matter?" Dave blurted out.

Orion was on top of Spencer, his brown eyes now alive with rage. Spencer was surprised by the amount of strength Orion possessed. Spencer was crumpled beneath him, trying to regain his breath.

"Take it back," Orion said threateningly, staring down at him with those estranged eyes.

Spencer met his eyes. "No," he said simply and firmly.

Suddenly, Orion pushed off him and was scrambling for something on the porch. It was the Garand.

"No!" Spencer shouted.

Orion swung the rifle around, aiming it at Dave's forehead. A look of utter shock came across Dave's face.

"Orion, what the hell are you doing?" Dave asked, startled.

There was a loud crack as the Garand went off. Dave Meadow's head exploded, showering the Land Rover in a splatter of blood and brain fragments. Christina let loose a terrified scream.

"Oh my god!" Spencer exclaimed. He was immediately rendered speechless.

Dave's decapitated body teetered for a moment, and then fell to the ground. A pool of dark, tissue-speckled blood formed beneath it.

He looked at Orion. The rifle was still clutched firmly in his hands, the barrel smoking.

Spencer's worst fears were confirmed when Orion turned the barrel on Christina. Christina started to cry.

"No. Please. Don't," Spencer begged, shifting uncomfortably on the porch.

Orion looked directly at him. "Say 'we're still friends'."

The words chewed at Spencer, devouring his flesh and his conscience. Spencer hated lying, absolutely positively fucking hated it. And Orion knew this. But this was one hell of a situation he was in.

"Don't do this, Orion," Spencer pleaded, getting onto his knees. He was now verbally and physically begging.

"Say it," Orion demanded. "Or she dies."

Spencer looked hard into his friend's crazed eyes. Christina's loud sobs were audible despite the noise of the Land Rover. He glanced over at his sister, cowering on the ground.

"Orion," Spencer stammered, tears springing uncontrollably from his eyes. "W-w-we're s-still f-friends." He stammered finally.

Orion stared hard at his friend on the ground, his intense eyes now relaxing. He lowered the rifle.

Spencer breathed a tremendous sigh of relief. Orion extended a hand toward Spencer and helped him to his feet. Orion, who had only a moment ago been threatening to kill Christina, was now smiling. A big toothy smile.

Spencer was trembling when Orion hugged him, but he somehow managed to return the offer of rekindled friendship, and edged his own arms around Orion's back.

"I knew you were still my friend," Orion said, still smiling. "C'mon, let's have a beer."

Orion turned to head into the kitchen, dropping the Garand onto the porch. He was half way across the cabin when he stopped. Spencer wasn't following him. He turned around to face the porch.

"I'm so sorry," Spencer said. He pulled the trigger on the Garand. Orion's body flew back like a rag doll, crumpling up against the kitchen counter. A thread of blood trickled down from his mouth. His eyes, still alive and conscious, stared at him. And then, his eyelids closed.

Spencer watched his best friend, Orion McKenzie, pass away.

After it was over, Spencer left the cabin and helped Christina into the car. He gazed over at his sister sitting in the passenger seat, the girl he had loved since the day she was born. His sister - Christina Hapner.

"Let's go home," Spencer said.

[JirQUEST]

as always, some things can be implied, not necessarily blatantly told - show, dont tell.

He held the bat up defensively in front of him. - The next sentence tells us that he was being defensive. That was good enough.

The place was a mess. - The next few lines said everything.

Strangely enough, there was water.... - you can remove that without worrying about what the reader thinks.

Spencer crept slowly into the living room. - tautology. crept implies slow.

He could just make out the form of a person - something was bulging. kinda unnecessary to tell us what it is. the next par told us all.

The radio was nowhere to be seen. - we know already.

Dave added pathetically. - Uhhhh.... ok...

the killer procured the - i would call this a big word. it came suddenly and unnaturally. as in, the entire story was easy going, and then u had this word come in and spoil the sentence

one hundred and ninety pound - in journalism, any number above 20 is not spelt out; 190-pound.

There were four pars when the pacing went up a couple of notches. that was when spencer had to go into the cabin again to search for the radio, and then rush back to his sis. while i can understand the need to just rush through it, i am quite taken aback by the sudden change. i reckon u might wanna slow down A BIT. try talking about his feelings of frustration before he gets into the car. that should do fine.

very bad move with the "thinking aloud" bit. i saw it as a very cheap way of telling us the story directly. while i appreciate that that happens in real life (sometimes), i cannot bear to see it on the page. is there a better way of doing it? would describing his thoughts help? what if he saw in his head whatever he said had happened?

u would also do good with more similes and metaphors. i noticed that towards the end, it was as if the plot mattered more, as u abandoned all these in favour of what's happening. not necessarily a bad choice, but u gotta pay attention to your pacing when u do this.

all in all, i loved the story. i like ur style, even though there are several improvements to be made as highlighted above.

[Ambrose]

Hey thanks for reading through and giving me feedback on this. This is the longest story I've written so far, so I'm new to the whole situation of keeping track of details and figuring how things are going to fit into the big picture. It's exciting though, and I do enjoy the challenge. I totally agree about the part where Spencer thinks aloud; I honestly just couldn't think of a better way to do it. I suppose I could tone it down a bit and not tell so much in that short of a space. Apart from that, I do tend to fill my paragraphs with a lot of redundancy. I like to state things dramatically at times, which I think can be good, and hence the multiplicity, but at other times you're right it just becomes too much.

[JirQUEST]

i reckon u can try keeping a page outline. a bit tedious, but heck, it keeps ur ideas organised. i find that u have nothing to worry about in terms of keeping track of details, but having read the whole story, i reckon u should have more characterisation. orion's relationship with spencer didnt seem that close, and it felt ill-justified to have him as a killer.

[Ambrose]

Well, thanks for reading my story Jirquest. I didn't think the ending was that unjustified, but hey, to each his own. Maybe I overlooked the characterization. I wrote the beginning of this long before I wrote the rest of it, which might be why the intro is so disjointed. I didn't even notice the thing with the hair.

Anyways, I'll take your advice that extensive dialogue is no substitute for straight up characterization. I'd like to get a second opinion about whether or not the killer fits, because I thought he did. I gave clues throughout, like the sounds he made in the car, him being able to spot the birds, the shower, etc. On the other hand, if you mean the ending wasn't justified in that the killer didn't have proper reason to do what he did, then I can't really argue with you. I guess what I was trying to convey was that Orion had become particularly needy after attaining the knowledge that Spencer was leaving, and he wanted to keep his best friend from leaving no matter what it took.

Anyways for the editing and the critique.

[JirQUEST]

that was what i meant - that the killer didnt have proper reason. he didnt show enough of a connection with spencer.

[GermanRose21]

I don't necessarily think that the Spencer needed to have close of a connection with Orion. I think it's enough for Orion to believe it was there, although I do agree that it would help if they were better friends, I just don't think that its completely necessary. Ambrose I really liked your story. There are mechanical/grammatical things that need a bit of work, but JirQuest has them lined out pretty well. Another thing I thought was a bit strange was Ricky's uncle attempting to drown Orion in the sink....Orion mentions that he was psychic, but there has got to be a better way for him to try and stop Orion from killing more people if he truly was psychic. Overall, fantastic story, I liked it a lot. I look forward to reading more of your work!

[RENA HANDS]

Not of great significance, but should you put ‘room,’ here too…Spencer set down the photograph and proceeded out of the living (room) and into an adjacent room.(?)

Is there a specific reason as to not naming Ricky’s uncle?

You should adjust your spacing after the ***s.

Was the this intentional…a brief sense of deji*vu.(?)

Again, you might want to adjust the ***s.

Once more, the ***s should be adjusted.

Is there a ‘know’ missing here…I don’t (know) what you’re talking about.(?)

I’m not certain about the ‘believable’ of your ending, but you have an interesting tale here.

I give a rating of 4/5!

[Storiesmaniac]

Ok i looooooooooved the whole story, except for the last bit...I understand the killer was crazy, but no one is stupid enough to just turn their back after having threatened someones sister...

The story as a whole was great, as i said i loved it. Maybe as Jir said you could should a bit more of a relationship between Spencer and Orion, but other than that two thumbs up.

Keep up the good work ambrose

[Bluejay]

Overall, I enjoyed this. It flowed well, and you had some good ideas. You dropped appropriate clues as you went along. For example, the killer had that ambiguity about being human or animal, and then Orion was good at making animal noises. And the unknown about what had happened with the jeep.

The only part where I got truly confused was the section that began "The killer looked apprehensively at his prey." I think I gathered what it was eventually, but it seemed unnecessary, and slightly time-discontinuous, given that Spencer was heading into the cabin, "the killer" was last seen dragging the boy back to the car, and then suddenly Orion is in the cabin. Assuming it was supposed to be linear, it seemed unlikely that he could so quickly get into the cabin. Just my take...

I agree that it stretched it a little to have the killer give up the gun. But also he was obsessed with Spencer's friendship and delusional, to the point that he was out of touch with reality enough to lead to his downfall. I'm not saying I didn't wince a little, but I could see it maybe possibly happening, and I accepted it.

A good effort, with good plot flow, some character development, occasionally captivating descriptions, and the beginnings of a solid narrative voice. Nicely done.

[D-min]

Kind of wish the series was longer, but I can't expect you to write forever and it always sucks when a series finally ends. I was depressed when the Harry Potter series ended, it gave me something to look forward to. But the fact that you can do that to me is not something everybody can do, so you should be proud.
I agree with pretty well everyone, you needed more of a connection between Orion and Spence. At points during their final conversation and the realization of Orion's deeds, I had the feeling that his feelings for Spencer went beyond those of your average friend. I ended up wondering if he was a homosexual, which could very easily be incorporated into the story, even though he was admiring Kate in Part 1 before he killed her. You could lead into it through Parts 1 and 2 by stating how maybe Orion got picked on when he was younger but Spencer was there for him. Then his feelings for how Kate's taking Spencer away from him could be further justified by sexual jealousy. He likes girls, but he also has confused feelings of homosexuality for Spencer. Just a thought.
Also, I found it strange that somehow the killer managed to get all the way to the uncle's cabin, drive back with Ricky, kill them both in that time period, and then move on to Kate's. Maybe it's just me, but I got the impression that Orion drove to the Uncle's cabin with Ricky. From there he got into the truck with Ricky, drove a little while and then surprised Ricky and made him drive off the road. After that I got confused at the fight point. Did they get out of the truck when they started fighting? As a killer, why didn't Orion simply stab Ricky to force him off the road. He must have known it would be easier than all the measures he had to take instead. Just something to think about.
As there are no challengers to your title as of yet, you remain my favorite and I'm looking forward to reading more of your stuff.