Wide Eyes (Jeff the Killer Romance)

Chapter 2

I awoke in the hospital, staring at the not-quite-white of the ceiling. I began to count to holes when somebody noticed I was awake.

"Mandy!" my mom cried.

She rushed over and knelt next to my bed. She grasped my hand so tight I thought she was going to break it. Just another thing to be in the hospital for.

"Are you okay? I was worried sick!"

I nodded and she loosened her death grip on my hand.

"How long was I out, mom?"

"Three days," she sighed.

Three days?

She stroked my hand as I stared at the ceiling. I was hoping this was all one big bad dream. How else would I end up on the forest floor with no memory of getting there? But, as I feared, it was all real. Jeff the Killer had brought me to the woods to try and kill me. What had stopped him?

"Who found me, mom?" I had to know.

"Oh, these wonderful hunters. They were deer hunting, and they heard you scream. Thank god you did that, or they would've shot you. Well, no, they would've shot the guy trying to kill you. Maybe it was a bad thing you screamed? I don't know, I'm just so glad you're alive!"

My mom was more scatter-brained than usual, and I didn't have to ask why. Her only daughter was almost killed. Then I remembered something. I reached up to my face and felt the bandage there. If I hadn't have screamed, I wouldn't have gotten stabbed in the face.

My mom saw me explore the bandage and her eyes fell with sadness.

"I'm so sorry he did that to you, sweetie. It's definitely going to scar, but we can always get surgery done for it. It'll be good as new. You also got a few broken ribs, but those are healing nicely. Oh, and, you don't have to worry about that man ever again. Once you tell the police what he looked like, of course."

Would anybody believe me if I told them a man - no, boy - with burned eyes and a scarred smile tried to kill me? That he went by "Jeff the Killer"? It didn't matter, because just then the doctor came through the door, followed by two cops.

"It's good to see you're awake, Miranda," my twenty-something-year-old doctor said with a smile.

I tried to smile back, but my face felt like it was being ripped open again.

"Try not to smile, ok? That'll hurt for a while, so try to be sassy and smirk a lot," he said with that same smile. I think he was trying to make me laugh. It didn't work.

One of the officers spoke up, a woman with deep brown, comforting eyes.

"We'd like to speak to Miranda, if you don't mind," she told my mom.

"Of course," she squeaked. Her voice shot up when she was nervous. She didn't want to leave me with these people. I really didn't blame her.

But she left anyway, flirting with the doctor as he left too. I scoffed, and the male police officer closed the door. They pulled up chairs next to the bed, probably trying to make this more comfortable for me. Nothing was comfortable by now. My torso hurt, and my face was scarring as we spoke.

"We just need to ask you a few questions about that man," the woman explained, "but first we just need you to tell us what happened."

I explained what happened, leaving out the part where he told me who he was. They didn't need every detail.

But they did, I realized as they asked me everything I could possibly know. I didn't tell them about his burnt eyelids, or his... unusual smile. I didn't tell them that I knew his name. But I told them everything else there was to tell, which wasn't much. But they thanked me anyway and left, sending my mother and the doctor in.

They were in deep conversation as they walked in, and I rolled my eyes. My mom was always like this, flirting with any guy who showed the slightest interest. They finally noticed me, and the doctor straightened his collar, even though it was already as straight as paper.

"Well," he said, "it seems that you can go home, Miranda. Your injuries are doing fine, but we'll need you to come back in a week to see how you're doing, ok?"

I nodded and my mom helped me get out of bed. My sides were tight where the broken bones were, but they were manageable. She gave me a bag of my clothes she had packed, and I went into the little bathroom to change. I assured her I didn't need help, although I might have. I didn't know what had happened to the outfit I was wearing when I was attacked, but I didn't care. It was a memory of something that I would soon forget.

I looked in the mirror and cringed. The stab wound was closer to my mouth than I originally thought. Was this guy trying to rip open my mouth like his? Was he trying to mark me, so he could remember me later? I quickly changed into yet another cashmere sweater and plain blue jeans. I pulled the knots out of my hair, and almost started to cry when one particular knot wouldn't behave.

Calm down, Miranda. This is over with. He's not gonna come back.

But I couldn't help recalling his words. He'll be back for me.