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The music blaring from Beatrice Price's lavish farmhouse could be heard from kilometres away. Jackson picked up his pace, adjusting his blazer as he made his way down the road. He was late, terribly late. And he couldn't think of a good excuse to tell Bea, Jimmy or Stevie. What was he going to do? Admit that he lost track of time? He'd rather fling himself off a cliff that tell the truth and watch Bea grow quiet and withdrawn, trying not to express her disappointment. He'd rather drag his eyes across gravel than get lectured by Stevie. No, he was just going to have to think of a good lie.

The Campbell made his way up the wooden stairs, passing several people that he recognized from Beaumont's campus and other nearby universities. When he stepped through the door, he surveyed the people mingling around the foyer, smiling and waving at more people that knew him and he them, before quickly checking the maximalist dream that was Bea's living room. It was painted teal and emerald green, with fancy lamps nested at the corners of the large space. There were bookshelves, though they had been empties so that nothing would break. He knew this because Bea told him to empty it; she wasn't taking any risks. And he'd agree with the way people were using the couches.

"Hey, I know you!"

Jackson spotted a woman with wavy, brown hair walking towards him. She was significantly short, around five foot and three inches, with hazel eyes and a splash of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She reminded him of Salma Hayek in a way, particularly her tanned skin and the way her lips were lifted to a glamorous smile. Her lavender dress seemed to shift and shimmer over her curves. 

His mind raced to remember her name. The most he knew about her was that she hung around shopping malls with a couple of her friends "Oh, hello. It's Valarie, yes?"

"Yeah!" She grinned, clearly a little tipsy. "Brownie points for remembering. I remember you from English before I switched to Business. You look really different."

"In a good way or...?"

"Oh, God, no!" Valarie tried to stifled her laugh, with varying success. "No, you look worse. Way worse. I mean, you're still cute, but you don't have that new guy sparkle anymore. Obviously. I remember all my friend could talk about was your voice whenever you answered the professor's questions like a good little freshman."

The Campbell blinked, unsure of how to process the information. He supposed he wasn't at all accustomed to being told that people talked about him. "Your friend?"

"Are you serious? You forgot?" She raised a brow. "Isabella, she's got black hair and green eyes. Like a black cat. I guess she forgot too. Did you really fuck her in a closet after classes?"

It was embarrassing the way he blushed. "Well, I feel that's a crude way to put it."

"It's a crude way to fuck someone," She countered. "Next time, buy them a drink. Pay for dinner. Drop them off to their house ━ just don't be a total... God, what's the word?"

He let out an exasperated sigh. He only asked for one day where people weren't waving that word around him. "Slut?"

"Oh my God, yes! That's it!" Valarie nodded. "You're so weird and slutty, what's up with that? How do you get people to sleep with you? And how many?"

So many questions, all of which he did not want to answer. He gave her an awkward shrug. "I give certain people different answers, and none of them are correct. I can say that I've only slept with one person for a year now."

"Yeah, I know him," Valarie frowned, snapping her fingers as she tried to recall his name. "Malachai something. Porter or Perry? I just know he's really weird. Like, actually weird. He was totally stalking you for a hot minute."

The witch glanced around to make sure no one else was listening in, before returning his attention to her, lowering his voice. "Sorry, what did you just say? What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that whenever I saw you at the mall, he was following you when you weren't looking," Her smile wavered. "You really never noticed? At first, I thought you guys were hanging out, but you never looked at him or spoke to him and it just gave me the creeps. Stuff like that is why I always carry pepper spray and a pocket knife on me."

He wasn't sure how to react, trying to make sense of her words. His whole body felt tense, wavering in flight or fight mode, as if he could feel Kai watching him now. Stalking him, like prey. If he made the wrong move, the man would leap from the shadows to knock him out and no one would ever see Jackson again. 

"I don't━" Jackson stammered, unable to stop the wave of anxiety slamming into him. "I don't know what to say."

"Maybe he just really wanted to see your skills for himself," She shrugged. "Don't know ━ oh my God, you look pale. Are you gonna faint? Please faint, I don't want to be around you if you're gonna projectile vomit like it's the Exorcist."

"No, I..." He took a deep breath. "I'm just going to go indulge old habits."

Jackson quickly moved away to the kitchen, where he located an ice box filled with beer bottles and cans of mixed drinks. He grabbed one, twisting the lid off and managed to drink it within six mouthfuls before grabbing a can with a grimace. Then another two. The embarrassing effects of alcoholism: pacing was non-existent to him and he was able to finish a drink faster than he should.

He was halfway through a can when he heard a laugh. Jackson nearly choked on his drink, lowering his hand and glancing over at the voice at the kitchen's archway. Dark hair was straightened and fell past her exposed shoulders, almost illuminated by the warm lighting. A silver necklace hung around her neck, a simple silver heart locket looped through the delicate chain. Her pale blue floral dress, with little white flowers on the print, only served to highlight her bright eyes. With her black Mary janes, she just managed to stand at six foot.

"Jo," Jackson breathed, scrambling find the right words. He hadn't seen her since his mental breakdown. "You look radiant."

She smiled, her arms crossed. "I know. You look good. Well, you look better than you did since I last saw you."

He straightened, his face flushing red again with embarrassment. "Right, yes, I wanted to━"

The witch was interrupted by a group of students crowding into the kitchen to grab more bottles. Lips twitching, he let out an annoyed huff, gesturing for her to follow him. He knew the layout of Bea's house well enough: a big kitchen, an even bigger living room, one small bathroom, another smaller living room, a mudroom and a dining room were downstairs. Upstairs, there was several bedrooms, several bathrooms, and a secret door that led to the attic.

Making their way up the stairs, he checked the first bedroom and bathroom, scowling at the college freshmen who were making out in the Price parents' bedroom. He ushered her into a guest bedroom that he had used once a couple years ago with Jimmy for Bea's twentieth birthday.

"I wanted to apologise for insulting you," He hardly felt like his apology was enough. Too little, too late. "You were trying to help me and I was acting like an ungrateful idiot. I'm sorry, you don't have a Saviour complex. You're gutsy, and smart, and incredibly generous. You could never be selfish."

"Hmm. You said you were hallucinating people. Who were they?"

"Who they are isn't really important. It's more so that they were so real to me, that was the frightening part. They were completely fleshed out, if that makes sense. Their voices felt real, and they could touch me. And I felt so..." He hesitated. "I felt so alone when I realised that it was all in my head. I lashed out. I hurt you, and I shouldn't have."

Josette said nothing, and for a moment, Jackson felt a strike of panic in his chest, making his palms sweat. Did he say something wrong? It wasn't until Jo walked towards him that he was able to calm down a little, letting her take the can from his grasp. And with one fluid move, she punched his arm, making him wince.

"That's what you get for being an asshole," Jo gave him a smirk. "But I forgive you. Only because you genuinely look helpless when you apologise."

He cradled his bruised arm with an awkward smile. "I've been told I give people puppy eyes." He glanced around. "Where's Kai?"

"Back home," She took a sip of his drink. "He said something about going to a girl's house."

A sour taste lingered on his tongue. He didn't understand why he felt that sudden dark sensation weighing on his shoulders just being told such a thought. Kai had been stalking him, after all. Jackson hummed, resolving then to do whatever the hell he bloody well liked.

The Parker seemed to be gauging his reaction. "You look jealous."

"I'm not."

Liar.

"Good," She said, softer. "Because I want to be selfish."

Jackson's brows shot up, growing hot under her touch as she placed a hand on his arm. Her fingers slowly travelled up, gazing up at him through dark lashes. His head hung lower, like his body ached to be closer to Jo, letting himself inhale her sweet and floral scent. Like honeysuckle and jasmine, he thought, sweet and strong.

All at once, his senses were filled with her, letting her capture his lips in a wanton kiss. She must've been chewing gum before, judging by the sweet, strawberry taste lingering on her tongue, almost doused by the lemonade mixed drink she drank from. His eyes fluttered shut, feeling her vacant hand on his chest. Her hand trailed down to the hem of his t-shirt and lingered there, almost like she was contemplating going further. The thought made him burn up, his pulse made wild by a feasible fantasy.

Josette pulled away, glancing around for a place to put the can down. "Hold on. Just sit there while I..."

She placed the can down on the bedside table, along with a mobile phone she fished from her bra, and Jackson barely got the chance to sit when the Parker climbed on top of him, straddling his lap. He didn't have time to think when Josette kissed him again, eliciting a noise from the back of his throat. Her hands reached the lapels of his blazer, pushing it off his shoulders and tugging it off his arms.

The Campbell pulled away, breathless, trying to form the words he wanted to say but fell short from the stern look on her face. She placed a hand on his chest, gently pushing him down onto the mattress. He tried to reach up and cup her face, though Josette pushed his hands away. His teeth bit down on his flushed lower lip as her hands worked to unbuckle his belt. Jackson settled on forcing his palms down onto the comforter, feeling Jo flushed against his body with her lips pressing kisses from the corner of his mouth, to his cheek, to his jaw.

She was much more gentle than her brother, who preferred to manhandle and be manhandled. He could appreciate the change in dynamic, even if he had become the docile one of the two. No, no, that doesn't sound right. He was always more docile in terms of following instruction rather than delivering them; that was probably what Kai liked so much about him, he just also did the heavy lifting, if that made sense.

Her left hand slipped under his briefs, and he completely forgot about whatever his mind was rambling on about. He let out a soft sigh, tugging down his pants to give her easier access to him. Jo's breath was hot against his cheek, trailing over to his lips to eclipse his mouth completely with another kiss, muffling the noises he couldn't stop himself from making. God, he wanted her wholeheartedly. It was a struggle to stop himself from retaliating, lifting his head up a little in an attempt to chase her lips when she sat up.

It took a moment for him to notice that her right hand was drifting down his body, before disappearing under the folds of her dress. His eyes widened as he watched her tilt her head back, breathy sighs tumbling past her lips. Jackson didn't think it was possible to feel like his own skin was too hot to wear. He made a sound that resembled a whine, his head hitting the mattress. He was forced to watch Jo pleasure herself without doing anything. This was torture.

"Jo," He muttered out, desperation leaking into his voice. "Darling, please let me touch you."

Josette shook her head, letting out a faint groan. "You're sexier when you're helpless like this, you know that? Begging to help me orgasm. You make pathetic look hot."

She leaned forward, then, her nose brushing against his, the sensation of her heavy breaths ghosting his lips. Her right hand reappeared to grab on to the hem of his t-shirt. With her left hand pulling down his briefs to give her more room, she found his dick easy enough and slowly pushed down on it. The sharp inhale that came from her was followed by his low groan, and was quickly silenced by her kiss so that she could rock her body over his hips. The feeling of being enveloped by her was eliciting a racing heartbeat in his chest and a spike of adrenaline coursing through his own body.

What he couldn't do under her orders, she made up for him, her hands freely exploring his body. They drifted from his neck, down his chest, to his abdomen, where she tugged up his shirt and left it there above his nipples so that his skin could receive the same treatment. She leaned down to press kisses up his chest, her hair brushing against his skin. His hands long forgotten to stay at his side, travelling up her thighs, though was neutralized by her lacing her fingers through his. Jo pressed his hands down on the mattress above his head with a wicked grin.

The effortless way in which she had him groaning and begging, and the way his body was easily manipulated under her touch gave him an inkling of understanding as to why he earned the title of a bloody floozy. He was much too eager to have someone touch him, and want him, and need him. He supposed that sex was the easiest way to have someone love him at his most vulnerable state. In a way, that was why he liked Josette so much ━ how she showed unwavering compassion in the face of so many of his self destructive habits.

"You like that? You like it when someone shows you just how much of a needy slut you are?" She purred, eliciting a whimper from the Campbell. The desperate sound made her inhale sharply. "God, you're making me lose it. Is that what you want?"

"I want..." Jackson's voice was a husky whisper, trying to focus on responding. "I want you to ride me however you like."

To his surprise, a wide eyed Josette muttered out a fuck, his words catching her off guard. Her hands on his tightened as she quickened the pace of her hips. With every roll, he could feel himself trembling with an excited sort of anticipation. It was harder to tamper down his panting and whimpering. Jo was starting to unravel, her increasingly loud noises complimented only by her quivering vaginal walls. His eyes fluttered shut with the thought of her using his body to get herself off.

The thought was enough to send him over the edge. His eyes nearly rolled into his head, letting out a low groan, and accidently bucking his hips up into her and triggering her own release. She choked out an involuntarily loud moan, her walls contracting and releasing around him. Josette pressed her lips on his in an attempt to kiss him while she rode out her orgasm, but could barely last a few seconds before releasing muffled whines into his mouth. He could feel his thighs twitching uncontrollably with the aftershocks and he took it as a sign to cool himself down.

Flushed with embarrassment, Jo moved off his lap so that he could fix his appearance, a hand curling strands of her dark hair behind an ear. In all honesty, he didn't want either of them to speak. Only for the sounds of pop music to fade in his head as he slips into a dreamless slumber. 

"Jackson..."

Before she could say anything more, a gift from heaven fell onto his lap in the form of his pager buzzing loudly in his pocket. He frowned, fishing the pager out of his pocket and pressing the display button. It was from Jimmy - 41. Jimmy? Jimmy wanted the Campbell to call him? Josette's phone rang from the bedside table, alerting them both. She moved off the mattress to pick up the phone, squinting down at the little display screen. 

"It's an unknown number."

He raised a brow. How would anyone know that? "You memorise phone numbers?"

"It helps me with my studying," She held out her phone. "Guessing by the beeper message, this call is for you."

Sometimes there were advantages with not having a phone of his own. Reluctantly, Jackson sat up and took the phone from her, answering the call and pressing it to his ear. "Jimmy? Where are you?"

"Jimmy can't come to the phone right now."

Jackson seized up, his wide eyes and trembling lips worrying the Parker in front of him. She narrowed her eyes, trying to figure out what the person on the other end said that was so terrifying to him. He shook his head at her, swiftly getting up and making his way to the door. 

He pressed his hand to the speaker to muffle it, his expression serious. "Jo, listen to me. Leave this house right now and do not come back. The nearest neighbour is a couple miles up the road, I'll keep him busy while you run and call for help."

She blinked, utterly confused. "Who's he? I thought that was Jimmy calling you? Why am I calling for help? Why can't I just use my phone?"

"Because a serial killer is on the line with me and if I hang up prematurely, he might murder more people," Jackson let out an exasperated sigh. "I know that's hard to believe but just ━ Josette, please do as I ask."

It took a moment for her to process his words, then pursed her lips and quickly made her way past him and down the hallway. He hesitated, wrestling with his own fears. "What do you want?"

"She'll never make it in time, you know. Sweet Josette, so sweet that she would moon over her brother's boyfriend."

The Campbell glanced around the hallway. "Ex-boyfriend, to be pedantic."

"Of course, I lost track with all the company you keep. Tell me, do you blur lines with all your friends or just her?"

"Just her, but I gather from your words that you were watching me," He slipped out of the room, quietly walking down the hallway. "At some point of time, in some location. You're here, and you're planning something. Please tell me it doesn't involve a murder or a massacre."

"Let's play a game, shall we? Right now, you're extremely cold."

Did ghostface know where he was? He glanced around, slowly making his way down the stairs in an attempt not to make any noise, though each creak of the floorboards proved otherwise. Music was still blaring from speakers in another room, although as he reached downstairs, there was a noted absence of partygoers. Did they all leave? Jackson did arrive to the party much later than everyone else. Still, it was uncomfortable. And disjointed. The only relief he got was the door that was wide open; hopefully opened by Josette to quickly leave.

"What about now?" He decided to ask, surveying the hallways and adjoining rooms. "Am I closer?"

"You're getting warmer." 

Warmer. But the different paths leading to different parts of the house - and leading to different outcomes - was simultaneously fear inducing and relieving. He scanned around the foyer for anything suspicious, anything that would give him a clue as to where the murderer was. No luck. The Campbell let out a frustrated sigh, and would've missed the clue if he hadn't looked down at the floor ━ at the little droplets of red near his shoes. 

Blood. 

He pressed his lips together, trying to maintain his composure. Someone had been attacked. And by the looks of it, there were more beads of blood leading to somewhere on his left. A trail of blood. Jackson lingered at the foyer, hesitant to follow the trail and receive the same fate as the poor sod who gave his blood and life for a murderer's sick game. 

"There's blood," He spoke as he was inching along the trail, down a hallway adjacent to the stairs. "You killed someone."

"On the contrary, he's still alive if you're fast enough."

Jackson stilled, his breath caught by the prospect of a wounded man slowly dying in a darkened room. The thought made him lurch forward in panic, shoes weighing heavy on the wooden floorboards as he raced down the hall, nearly slamming into the wall at the end as he almost missed the turn into the mudroom. The droplets of blood stopped at the door directly leading out to the garage. He swallowed thickly, but swung open the door to brave the darkness in front of him. 

Last time he was at Bea's house, he knew the garage had never been used for the family's car and instead had been used as a laundry room. But it was far too dark to even make out the shapes of the the fridge filled with beers, or the washing machine, or the dryer, or the two clotheslines always draped with sopping wet clothes. He squinted, but gave up very quickly and mustered up the courage to grab the wooden rail, taking a step down the small set of stairs. The door shut behind him, making him flinch and yelp out a string of curses. 

Now he was in complete darkness, and the door wouldn't bloody open. He decided to press his vacant hand against the wall, feeling around for a light switch. Jackson was still on call with Ghostface, though the mystery killer was silent during the Campbell's troubling times. He couldn't tell if that was terrible or good. His hand passed over a smooth rectangle bump on the wall, his index and middle finger fumbling to find the switch and flip it on. 

Light was instant. He blinked to adjust his vision, before his eyes fell upon the body on the middle of the floor. He was frozen at the sight of a black haired man his age on the floor. He was long dead with a throat slash so violent, it looked like a gaping maw, with the pink tendons of his throat visible. Blood stained the fabric around the neck of his t-shirt, and dried horizontally along the gash and the corner of his lips. His eyes were wide, paralysed with terror and confusion in death.

"Jimmy," Jackson breathed, clutching the phone tighter. "Bloody hell. I..."

He made his way down the rest of the stairs, his body shaking as he stared down at Jimmy's corpse. Bile threatened to rise in his throat and a hand clamped over his mouth to prevent himself from throwing up. Jackson forced down the urge to vomit with a thick swallow, blinking back the tears threatening to emerge from his eye line. 

Pressing the phone to his ear, he growled: "You sick fucking bastard. Where are you?"

"Right here."

Jackson turned around, to see Ghostface at the stairs. The masked man raised his arms, one hand holding a blood stained hunting knife, before running at the Campbell. Jackson let instinct take reign, slamming Josette's phone against the serial killer's head, stumbling back as Ghostface reeled from the sudden hit with a growl. Jo's phone had broken at the sheer force behind the hit. The back of Jackson's shoes accidentally hit against Jimmy's body, making the witch jump and mutter out an apology to him and Jo. 

He made a break for the fridge, opening it to grab a beer bottle in each hand and launch them at the advancing man, soaking the black fabric of the costume with beer. It was enough for him to grab another beer bottle and smash it across his head again, before making a run to the garage door button and pressing it. The garage slowly slid up to reveal the night sky outside. 

The Campbell raced past the killer to slide under the garage, but was stopped by Ghostface tripping him up, he hit the ground with a pained grunt. He managed to flip to his back before he was caught. A gloved hand grasped one of Jackson's ankles, his right hand twirling the knife. He began to drag the witch back, and the frightened man scrambled to clutch the concrete floor in a useless attempt to stop his own execution. His hand found a shard of beer bottle glass, and blindly made a slash on the murderer's arm, enough for it to hurt as much as the Campbell's pounding headache. 

Ghostface made a hiss of pain, a distorted masculine cadence that urged Jackson to pull the man's hand away from his ankle, though he tugged away hard enough for the serial killer's glove to come loose from the man's hand. White flesh underneath. Jackson barely had time to register this entirely when he got to his feet and ran out of the garage, running back into the house. He locked the front door behind him, searching wildly for a place to hide. The lights in the foyer and the kitchen made him wince, with a hand holding his head.

It seemed stupid at first thought to run back into the place where the killer was at. But the closest residence was a couple miles away, and that kind of exertion with a mild concussion and subpar stamina would mean that the serial killer could easily hunt him down and kill him. In the middle of nowhere. His best bet was to hide and wait until police came. 

Assuming Josette made it alive. 

Assuming Josette took him seriously and went somewhere to call for help.

God, he was going to die. 

He resolved to running past the kitchen and to a living room, gasping for air as he found his dizziness to look for somewhere to hide. There was a broom closet next to an archway leading to a dining room. Claustrophobic and uncomfortable for someone of his stature, but it had a handle on the inside that meant that he could prevent anyone from looking inside. Jackson made his way to the closet, opening the door to see if he could hide inside. 

A body fell out of the closet, making him scream in horror before covering his mouth. Valarie's dead body was staring up at him, with multiple stab wounds littering her chest. Unlike Jimmy, the blood was fresh, soaking up her dress and streaming down her torso. He forced himself to tear his eyes away from her corpse, gagging at the image of her dead body that had seared into his brain. Another person going into Jackson's apology list. 

Stepping back, he glanced around for another alternative. He could hide upstairs? No, that was a terrible idea and a brilliantly stupid way to corner himself. He could hide in the dining room, though there wasn't anything that could cover him, and it was much too close to the mudroom. Jesus fucking Christ, he was definitely going to die. 

A much better option than the two was to hide in the storage bench in the other living room, cutting through the kitchen and the foyer instead of going anywhere near the mudroom. He lowered his head to the ground to avoid the harsh cold light of the kitchen as he moved to the other side of the living room again. The loud music still playing wasn't doing him any favours, some song akin to a Nina Simone song. He made a quick glance up in front of him and stopped dead in his tracks. 

Ghostface stood at the other end of the kitchen, the lower half of a black woman's body visible to Jackson. Blood soaked the carpet beneath her body and under the serial killer's feet. A chilling sight that made his stomach twist. He sucked in a sharp breath, unsure of what to do. It wasn't until he saw the blood on the hunting knife when he swiftly made up his mind and slowly took a step back to test the man's reaction.

Shockingly, Ghostface tutted, his voice distorted. "Oh, Jack. I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Then, his gloveless hand reached up and pulled the cowl from his face, and Jackson lost all sense of everything. He flinched as his gaze fell on Kai Parker - with a gash on his forehead - pulled a small, plastic device attached to the mask and lifted it to his lips, grinning. 

"Surprise, Campbell."

Lips trembling, Jackson mustered out a faint: "What the hell did you do, Kai?"

Kai tilted his head, studying the Campbell, before taking a step forward. Jackson flinched, stumbling back. He turned to run, but was stopped by another person holding a gun at him. Jackson almost reeled back, staring at her with wide eyes. Oh God, this can't be happening to him. This isn't real. 

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said Stevie, unsmiling in his presence. 

Stevie? He was at a loss for words, backing up in the presence of a gun aimed at him, unknowingly getting closer and closer to the Parker. Kai reached out and grabbed Jackson, his left arm wrapped around his torso. The Campbell let out a grunt, trying to free himself from the siphoner's grip, but was stopped when Kai's gloved hand held the bloodied hunting knife to Jackson's throat. 

The Parker's lips brushed against Jackson's right ear, making him shudder and wince in fear and revulsion. Kai let out a deep chuckle, hushing the witch, and the Campbell's nose was invaded with the smell of mint gum. A stark contrast to the stench of blood. It was then that he realised that the song wasn't Nina Simone at all, it was Roberta Flack. Particularly, her version of Killing Me Softly With His Song.

Kai's voice was husky, and low, as he whispered. "Didn't see it coming, did ya?" He let out a laugh that sounded utterly mad. Jackson let out a choked whimper. "Happy halloween, Jack. All of this is a special gift just for you."