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Randy was standing outside a house, questioning the decisions that got him there.
"You good?" Stu asked, black cloak covering his figure. In his gloved hand were two masks.
"Just thinking," Randy replied, kicking at the grass with the black boots he was lent.
"Think less, do more. C'mon, Billy's already got her on the phone," Stu told him, chuckling as he handed Randy one of the masks. "You remember what he's gonna say and what you gotta do, right?"
"Yeah, yeah," Randy nodded, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself of the fact.
Randy took the mask, breathing deeply. He held it up to face him, as if he were making eye contact with the thing.
"Relax, Randy" Stu told him, nudging him as if they were playing some prank on Casey Becker. Randy knew now that they weren't.
"It's just like the movies, y'know, like when we see Jason's point of view in Friday the 13th. Oh--or like the shower scene in Psycho."
Randy nodded. "yeah," he acknowledged shakily. "like the movies."
Randy pulled the mask over his head, Stu doing the same.
"Let's hurry. Billy's waiting on us to bring Steve," Stu told him, hushed and giddy.
Randy wasn't the strongest, so most of the weight was lifted by Stu. Nonetheless, they brought Steve Orth to the back patio, tied in a chair, mouth duck-taped.
"You wanna do it?" Stu asked in a whisper, holding the knife.
The two could hear Casey talking on the phone to who she didn't know was Billy.
Randy shook his head.
"You gotta do something---this or chase her in the house," Stu told him. "Which one?"
Randy swallowed, thinking hard. He didn't know why he agreed to this. He thought they were just pranking her as some stupid revenge for Stu. But now, they had Steve tied to a chair, and Stu was trying to hand Randy a knife.
When Stu had knocked Steve out, Randy knew this was more than just a joke as some petty revenge.
"Hurry, which one?" Stu rushed, still extending out the knife. "If you wanna chase her you gotta be in it 100%."
Stu could see Randy's hesitance the whole time. He knew Randy wasn't 'in it 100%'. He wanted to make Randy slice somebody's guts out. To see the guilt weighing down on him in the days that followed would be like a fantasy that had come to life---like some sort of heaven or state of enlightenment.
Randy took the knife.
Randy watched as Casey turned to shakily turn on the back patio light. He saw her jump and cry in fear at the sight of her boyfriend tied to a chair, blood seeping from where Stu had hit him to knock him out, cries muffled by the duck tape over his mouth.
He could feel his stomach churning. He looked back at Stu, wanting to see his expression, but it was covered by the mask.
He watched as Casey answered the first question. She got it right. Randy could only imagine what twisted expression Billy was wearing.
The second question rolled around, and Casey was trying. He wanted her to get it right, so that he could just forget this ever happened and go home. He just wanted to go home.
Stu was behind him, whispering, "just think of it like a movie."
That wasn't very comforting. Randy still shook, trembled, as Casey kept yelling, "Jason!"
That was the wrong answer.
Stu tapped him on the side as the cue, and Randy took a deep breath.
It was a quick motion, plunging the knife into Steve, right in the groin area. Tugging the knife up was horrifying, let alone Steve's stifled screams.
He had to quiet his own gasps as he ripped the knife up through Steve's guts, all the way to the sternum. Randy pulled the knife away, quickly retreating back to the bushes.
He watched as Steve's guts fell out onto his lap, dragging down his shirt. He heard Casey scream and run to hide, but he couldn't pull his eyes away from the bloody mess he had just done.
Holy shit, was the first thought that popped into his head until Stu patted his shoulder twice.
"Good job, man," Stu congratulated him. What the fuck, was the second.
"She's not looking, let's get him out of the chair so we can throw it in," Stu whispered hurriedly.
Randy was hesitant to follow Stu to the corpse, shaken by the sight of so much gore. It wasn't like the movies, not at all. It was disgusting, ugly. It made him want to vomit. Bodies were never shown on 'screen' for so long, and Randy wanted to turn the 'TV' off. He wanted to rewind the tape and pause it before any of this shit happened. It was not like the movies.
"Come on," Stu gestured him over. "She can't see us yet, so hurry."
Randy went over, ripped the duct tape that had held Steve to the chair. Randy watched as Stu just dumped Steve to the floor and listened as his wet guts fell against the concrete.
"You're just gonna leave him there?" Randy asked.
"What, you wanna pin him up Bill Brown style?" Stu asked, picking up the chair and returning to their hiding spot in the bushes.
Randy shook his head, puke urging up to his throat.
He gagged, lurching forward.
"Thought you were gonna do that," Stu said, putting the chair down and taking a brown paper bag from his cloak's pocket.
Randy took it, turning way from the house to pull off his mask.
He retched, puke hitting the bag's bottom.
"Try to be quiet, will ya?" Stu told him, his usual, casual slurred way of speech present in his hushed voice even in a moment like this. That made Randy feel more sick.
Randy traveled deeper into the bushes, needing to be away from the teenager he just murdered.
Stu had gone off to perform the next step of their plan, and Randy was glad he wasn't the one chasing her. Instead, he was puking his guts out---coincidental timing, yeah?
Randy heard glass shatter and screaming as he knelt down, knees in the dirt as he held the bag to his face. God, he felt horrible.
He heard the fire alarm and smelt smoke when Stu returned to Randy.
"We gotta go, like, now," Stu said, puling Randy up by the shoulder.
Randy turned his head to see a gutted Steve one last time before following after Stu.
------
They were at Stu's house, sitting in the living room.
It felt so casual despite Randy's heart racing faster than the speed of light itself.
"No, he was literally puking his guts out," Stu joked to Billy, who nodded.
Randy had just come back from being hunched over the toilet in Stu's bathroom.
"You're not gonna say anything, right?" Billy checked, staring at Randy wit that eerie glare he always had.
Randy shook his head, stomach still churning.
"Good," Billy nodded, a beer in his hand as if they were just talking after watching some slasher. Maybe Randy needed to go to the bathroom again.
Stu took a sip of his own, finishing the bottle off.
"I'm just gonna go home," Randy told them.
"Want me to drive ya?" Stu offered, grabbing another bottle from the six-case they had on the coffee table.
"I'm good," Randy declined.
He walked the way home, despite Stu's house being quite the distance.
His mind was checked out the whole time, blank and empty.
Randy's house came into view and he cut through the front yard. He snuck over to the side of the house and climbed through his window.
He went to his bed, sitting down with a sigh. His head was resting in his hands, and he closed his eyes to try and calm his heart. The image of Steve Orth's gutted body on the concrete flashed into his mind. Randy lifted his head, eyes shot open. Fuck.
Randy stood up, feeling all the more ill. He opened his door quietly to make it to his garage. There, he snatched a six-pack of room temperature beer and snuck it back to his room.
Once in the privacy of his bedroom, he unscrewed the cap of one of the beers and chugged the amber liquid in an effort to forget every thing. He was quick to head to his bathroom, the gravity of what he had done weighing down on him.
He knelt down on the carpet in front of his toilet. He hunched over the seat, gagging. He fucking killed someone and then drank a beer.
A sour bile inched up his esophagus as the image of Steve's pained visage burned into his brain.
Puke spilled over his lips and into the toilet bowl, its taste overwhelming Randy's tongue---sour, disgusting, strong.
They never showed murderer's guilt in the movies.
Randy exhaled, head leaning on his arm that gripped the bowl.
Randy stood up. He pushed aside the shower curtain and turned on the faucet. Water began to rush out of the shower head. Randy pulled off his shirt. He yanked down his bottoms and felt for the water's temperature---a pleasant warm.
Randy stepped into the tub, standing in the rushing water. He had just killed someone, gutted them for fuck's sake. Randy picked up a bottle of body wash and squeezed a few dollops onto the palm of his hand. He rubbed his hands together before covering his body in the lavender-scented wash. His hands slowed on his abdomen before inching back upwards in periodical sectors. He traced from the bottom of is abdomen all the way up to about an inch underneath his collarbones---where his sternum ended.
He grabbed a mix of shampoo and conditioner to lather up his short brown hair, an action Steve Orth would never perform again thanks to Randy.
He stood under the water, rinsing his hair. Once he was sure all was gone, he turned off the water and pulled back the shower curtain. he reached for his towel, using it to dab at his face before quickly drying off his body.
He rubbed the fabric against his hair, drying it in sections---the back was the last to fully dry as always. It was weird, such a normal thing for him happening after he had just stuck a knife into someone---something he would've never done before, something not normal for him.
Randy climbed into his bed, a new set of clothes on. He wanted to burn the other set. He pulled the overs over himself, settling his head onto his pillow. he closed his eyes, only to be met by the sight of Steve's insides on the outside.
Randy sat up on his elbows, breathing heavily. He just wanted to forget it all.
He laid back down, turned on his side. He closed his eyes,, now able to hear Steve's screams as Randy ripped the knife up through him.
Randy opened his eyes again, unable to rest. How the fuck could Stu and Billy be so casual, even live with themselves. They were joking and drinking after murdering a couple teenagers in cold blood. Randy wished he was able to do that, to be some psycho.
Maybe he was one. he had just killed a guy after all. For what? Why did he even do that? Was it the thrill of making a slasher in real life? Was it the looming threat of getting gutted himself if he backed out? Randy wasn't looking to blame fear or get some closure on his own actions as if he was a victim. He just didn't know why he went along with it. He did, however, knew that he wasn't going to get a blink of sleep that night---probably not the next either.