Chapter Text
According to Canadian exchange student and psychic, Jamie LaFluer from Prince Edward Island(which increasingly sounds like a made up name and place), Pam Miller was a soulless, manipulative, cold-hearted, murdering bitch.
"Pam wasn't there!" Marisa, fidgeting nervously with the ear-shattering alarm Jamie gave her earlier, jumps to her defense.
A puzzled frown creases Jamie’s freakishly, large eyebrows. “What?”
"Tiff and I got into a fight this summer..." Pam swallows the bitterness and betrayal which Jamie's expression strangely seems to mirror. "We didn't talk. For months."
Jamie stays silent. Pam doesn't.
"I would never do something like that.” Her voice shakes with righteous indignation as Jamie shifts uncomfortably. "Do you just think I'm some sort of monster?"
Pam hates the deafening silence that follows. From everyone else, she understands they’re trying to steer clear of something that’s none of their business. But from Jamie…
You killed someone…
You pretended to be her friend, bullied her, got her wasted, then let her drive home!
How could you do that?
Jamie averts her gaze, ashamed, disappointed, happy…Pam really can’t tell with those bangs hiding her face.
She scowls sourly. She just doesn’t understand it.
Jamie is the one who falsely accused Pam of murder without knowing all the facts. Jamie is the one having hushed coded conversations about fixing time makers and clocks with Lauren as if they've always been buddies forever. Jamie is the one constantly fidgeting, unable to maintain prolonged eye contact with Pam, gaze always skittering away guiltily to everything and everyone else which wasn't Pam Miller.
Then there are other moments where Jamie seems to have forgotten she's supposed to be avoiding Pam and is standing too close…leaning forward as if wanting to…hug Pam. Or wanting Pam to hug her.
Which is just insane. And never gonna happen.
Pam's hugs are restricted to holidays, birthdays, weddings, funerals and drunk and high escapades at Marisa's condo–cabin.
She's not hugging Jamie. That's what Moms are for, right?
But the girl was suffering from a serious case of homesickness…obviously missing her mother.
But Pam really didn't want to hear how warm, wonderful and amazing Jamie's Mom was when her own can't resist lecturing her since the moment she learned to walk. And it’s truly impossible to forget her mother’s weekly prayer routine:
"Watch over my daughter. Give her wisdom, give her prudence to steer clear of threatening situations and people. Protect her. Especially from that heathen, Tiffany. Deliver her from the devil's temptations and keep her from that evil.”
Pam rolls her eyes as she breezes past her fervently praying mother. "I'm still going to Tiffany's party, Mom. I'll see you later." She slams the door shut and adjusts her elegant hairdo. "Or not."
Pam did not miss the joy lighting her mother’s whole face when she had escorted Lauren and Jamie inside her home and down to her basement.
“You girls are always welcome here…” Her mother murmurs emotionally, ready to adopt both Jamie and Lauren, especially Jamie when she suddenly reaches out and cups Jamie's cheeks, practically squeezing the poor girl's face. "Pam look..." she gasps as if she discovered a magical kingdom inside Jamie's features. "Doesn't she look just like your Great Aunt Cynthia? I swear...the nose, chin, the eyebrows—"
"Mom, I swear! Stop being weird!" Pam yanks a flustered Jamie back, rescuing her from her mother's eager clutches. "And no she's from Canada. And Aunt Cynthia hated the cold. And Christmas. And joy."
"I'm sorry Jamie.” She atleast apologizes. “Pam’s an only child. She desperately needs friends like you girls in her life.”
" Oh my God, just stop! They need to go home! Now!” She shoves both Jamie and Lauren out the front door. “And I already have friends!” She can’t resist one last dig, “And they’re the best!”
But your Mom was right, Pam’s conscience annoyingly sounds like Jamie. Tiffany ruined someone's life. And then she, Heather and even Doug paid for it, Mamacita.”
Also what the fuck was up with the whole Mamacita thing? If she hears Jamie call her that one more time, Pam swears she was gonna scream and aggressively shake her Canadian classmate.
But one thing was certain beyond a shadow of doubt.
Pam Miller is not…never hugging Jamie LaFluer in this or any other lifetime.
After an eternity, Jamie quietly digs in her jacket and pulls out a crumpled note. “Why did Doug promise to kill you one day?” She holds it out to Pam. “After he killed Heath–Marisa…he was going to leave a note in your locker. He was going to come for you.”
A flash of hurt crosses Jamie’s face. Pam feels the inexplicable urge to hunt and destroy the thing responsible which again...what the fuck? But yet another moment connected to Jamie she was gonna stuff in the back closet of her mind.
“He was going to wait for Halloween night…in the future,” Jamie continues, solemn and vague. “When you were alone at home because of—” she swallows, eyes again skittering away to latch on to the bloody mannequin pinned to the wall. “He makes his move then.”
Frowning, Pam unfolds the note, squinting at the capitalized and ominous:
You’re Next One Day
“Yeah, but it doesn’t matter now right?” Marisa tries to defuse the escalating tension. “It’s over! Doug’s gone.” Her tense shoulders slump in relief. “He’s dead. We’re safe now. He’s not coming for Pa—”
Pam staggers backwards, barely registering the other high-pitched screams over her own after a knife cleanly slices Marisa's throat open.
“Holy—”
“What the fuc—”
“—shit!”
An obnoxiously loud alarm blares to life(Randy was right. What if the killer sliced Marisa’s throat first before she could call for help?). They helplessly watch Marisa choke on her own blood, drop on her knees and collapse face flat.
The alarm dies.
The killer silently moves his eyeless gaze away from an unmoving Marisa to stare at them through a worn-out version of the same mask they peeled off Doug’s face.
“Motherfucker!” Kara’s screams of rage fill the room as she pulls out a handgun. “Daddy gave me this too!” She fires multiple shots, misses, then chases the killer—another Sweet Sixteen killer?!—further into the Dollhouse of Horrors…
And then Jamie from Canada starts talking rapidly:
"He's from the future! I fucked up his mask! That's Adult Doug!"
"You killed Doug! There is no adult Doug anymore!” Lauren points out frantically. “And how the hell did he even get here?"
"Oh God…Amelia…” Jamie cradles her head in mounting horror. “She must’ve—" she gets cut off by the sound of successive gunshots.
"Kara must've totally murdered his ass by now," Randy states confidently as he and Blake cautiously peer into the dark room Kara and the killer had disappeared into.
Pam only gapes at a shell-shocked Jamie, her mind reeling over two words which make no sense.
Adult Doug.
Future Doug.
Pam didn’t see Back to the Future. She did have an elaborate plan to feign an extremely contagious flu over the weekend after Halloween. With the other Mollys far away from her, Lurch and his van full of video games and every sci-fi movie in existence come into play.
She even has the perfect excuse ready if caught and confronted by other Mollys: "Back to the Future? It is not for me. It's for my colossal nerd cousin, Pat. It's for his birthday." Just like all the other movies in her basement like Blade Runner, Reanimator, Dune, Tron, Star Fighter, Empires Strike Back and Terminator.
The one where Arnold Schwarzenegger plays a time-travelling killer robot from the future, hell-bent on assassinating the mother of a kid who wasn’t even born.
Motherfuc—Pam resists the urge to curse out loud. I can’t believe it… She glares holes into the side of Jamie’s head who’s too preoccupied in yet another whispered conversation with Lauren to notice. You lied...
Jamie LaFluer?
No. Jamie La Big Fat Liar!
Pam swivels to the note in her hands, scribbled by Doug:
You’re Next One Day
Or Future Doug.
Jamie’s not a psychic…She's from the future!
Another round of gunshots.
And so is this killer.
Also who the fuck was Amelia?
Confronting Jamie with the mind-blowing epiphany and a million questions never happens.
"Run! Run!" A panicked Kara barrels into the room, minus a gun or any other sort of sharp weapon. "Get your asses moving! He's right behind me! RUN!"
They all scream and scatter.
Pam trips and stumbles her way through the twists and turns of the dimly lit Dollhouse. She glances back and sees Jamie and Lauren, escaping through a newly broken window.
When she turns on her heel and makes a move to follow the duo, a hand roughly grabs her shoulder.
"Pam, come on!" Blake whispers urgently, already pulling her in the opposite direction. “This way!”
She glances back and catches the killer, climbing out from the same window.
When they finally make their escape out of the maze of bloody corridors and emerge outside the Dollhouse of Horrors, the Halloween crowd at Billy’s Boardwalk has quadrupled.
"What's going on?" Blake asks Randy, witnessing all the chaos among the costumed crowd, uniformed officers, paramedics and reporters from what seems like every news station.
"The killer stabbed Chris Dubesage’s Dad right in the head!" Randy relays, then waves when a television camera randomly points in their direction. "On live TV!"
Jamie is missing.
She spots Kara sitting cross-legged on an abandoned stall, loading a rifle. Sheriff Lim is also present, right beside Chris Dubasage slumped on a bench.
"That's right kid…" Sheriff Lim pats a pale Chris consolingly on the back. "Bury all those emotions and feelings so deep down that archaeologists a thousand years from now won't be able to discover a trace. Besides..." He straightens. "Crying never solved anything for anyone. Unless you're an infant.” He comments offhandedly. “Or a beautiful woman."
Chris dejectedly adjusts his glasses.
"We'll catch this guy, son," Sheriff assures ruffling his hair as Kara hands him a rifle. “He won't get away with killing Norm. Well beloved icon of Vernon."
Chris blinks vacantly at the armed Sheriff as he cradles his camera.
Sheriff turns to his trusted deputy, Brody when he strides up to him. "What've we got so far?"
"Alvin Harris, Tyler Matthew, Ronald Williams, Jenny Hudson, Jenny Grisante and Lisa Vitazlaki,” Brody recites. “All playing Max Headroom for Halloween. They all swear on their mothers’ lives that a bald old man with lottery-winning psychic powers—" he chuckles. "Told them they'd be famous if they all wore this and showed up to Billy's Boardwalk tonight."
"Probably a con man trying to exploit a few extra bucks off the killings.” Lim huffs in frustration. “Doesn’t look good for us…”
A group of Chris’ nerdy friends dressed up as aliens, superheroes and scientists hesitantly approach Chris.
“Kyle Reese dies in the end trying to save the future of humanity…” The Hulk begins gently. “That’s your Dad, Chris. He died a hero doing what he loved best in the world. Doing what needed to be done. Reporting the news.”
Chris’s fingers flinch against his camera, but he remains silent.
Pam buries the compulsion to march over to the green monster and reduce him to a shell of a teenager with a few carefully chosen choice words. And then march down to her basement, tear apart and burn every VHS tape with killer machines from the future and time travelers because…because…
“You don't have to deal with him anymore.” Pam recognizes Lurc—Damon’s more sober and restrained condolences. “You don’t have to live in his shadow anymore, Chris. You don’t—”
"Hey, Damon!" Some idiot hollers, right beside Pam’s ear. "Didn't you say the Quantum Drop was out for maintenance till New Year?"
Pam’s eyes instinctively land on the fully functional Quantum Drop and finds Lauren near the ride with an anxious expression, clutching a white fringe jacket.
Pam's stomach twists.
…Jamie's jacket...
"Should I shut it down, boss?" Officer Brody asks Lim.
"Nah, leave it,” Lim dismisses casually, hefting the rifle over his shoulder. Kara stands beside her father, hoisting the same weapon. “Let them enjoy their last ride. Because as of now..." He turns to the restless crowd, and fires a shot in the air. "The whole of Billy's Boardwalk is officially an active crime scene! So nobody…nobody moves! I’m dead serious this time!”
Pam doesn’t hear those words.
“Pam, hey where are you going? Pam!”
Or Blake’s concerned shouts.
Her body is already maneuvering through the sea of witches, wizards, ghosts, ghouls and elves. She barrels into a munchkin, feet trampling the kid's fallen cotton candy, doesn’t notice his red-blotchy face and accusing finger as he snitches on her to her big sister.
"Watch where you're going, bitch!" She vaguely recognizes the big sister she smacked with a dodgeball one too many times in gym.
“You’re the Wicked Witch of Vernon, Pam Miller! And you’re going to melt one day!”
Ironically dressed up as the green hag from Oz as she comforts her sniffling munchkin brother.
But Pam’s capability of a comeback to the insult seems to have abandoned her.
Jamie’s jacket has hijacked all of her senses. It was all that mattered.
After she soars past a choir of singing angels, bumps into the Devil and his dark minions, she charges straight at Lauren, practically tackling the taller girl when she latches her fingernails into her arm.
"W-Where…is…she?" She pants, breathless, her heart threatening to beat clear out of her chest. “J-Jamie…where…”
Lauren blinks as if being broken from a trance. "She…went home. You just missed her.” She then takes a deep fortifying breath. “Jamie wants you to have this."
Lauren tentatively holds up the jacket, which Pam carefully takes in her arms like a newborn.
“It’s vintage,” Lauren continues, her tone subdued. “So take good care of it.”
It feels like getting the belongings of someone who passed away rather than returning to their snowy, cold, mountain home.
Perhaps it is warmer in Canada in the future around Halloween? That’s why Jamie doesn’t need her jacket anymore.
That makes sense.
What doesn’t make sense is how this odd, awkward girl from Canada knows Pam in the future? Why does a sixteen-year-old Canadian be friends or anything else with a fifty—forty-year-old Pam Miller?
Maybe we’re neighbors…and I know her Mom…we’re friends…because…because…
All of hers are dead.
But then why did Jamie looking highly disappointed and falsely accusing her of killing Fat Trish("you can't call her that.") pierce her sharper than the knife she accidentally sliced her palm with? Why did overwhelming panic and anger consume her whole being earlier when the killer slammed Jamie against the cabin’s fireplace, bloody knife inches away from stabbing her sixteen times like Heather? Enough for Pam to smash Marisa’s grandmother’s priceless vase over the bastard’s face?
God, why does she feel the absurd urge to apologize to Jamie? Why is there a burning soul-ripping-apart need screaming at her to find Jamie and mend things right this second?
A photo strip is sticking out from the jacket’s inner pocket.
Lauren doesn’t notice. She has returned to forlornly gazing at the increasingly spinning Quantum Drop.
With bated breath, Pam tugs the images free from its confines and stifles a horrified gasp.
Jamie…tear-streaked and frightened, crammed inside a photo booth…Jamie, frozen mid-scream with the killer's knife dangerously close to her face…
Jamie…all alone and in danger.
27 October 1987.
Taken before Marisa…Heather…Tiffany…before she showed up at the gym class. Before—
A flash of yellow light and crackling of electric sparks, snaps her attention to the Quantum Drop.
It happens in the blink of an eye, a view inside what is supposed to be a largely crowded ride.
But it’s empty.
Except for the unmistakable mop of shaggy blonde hair…
Her breath hitches sharply.
…and the killer.
“Stop the Quantum Drop!!”
Her high-pitched shriek startles the man on the bench, who was literally sleeping on the job.
"Sheriff's orders." She tries to sound official as he rubs his eyes tiredly. "Shut down the ride!"
"No can do, Wizard Barbie." The operator yawns widely, stretches languidly and proceeds to flop back down on the bench. "Ned's not in charge anymore." He pulls his red cap over his bearded face. "Miss Creston is."
"Miss..." Pam sputters and whirls back at the person behind her. "You..." she hisses.
Lauren holds up her hands. "Pam...you don't understand what's happeni—"
"You're a liar and Jamie is a time travelling psychic?" She retorts heatedly..
Lauren frustratingly remains stoic. "Okay maybe you do," she mutters, folding her arms. “But you still don’t know everything.”
"Shut it down!" Pam growls. "Miss Creston. Or I'm calling the Sheriff and having you arrested right now!"
"I can't!" The pleading tone makes Pam retract her claws. Temporarily. "As much as I would love to explain the Quantum Mechanics of it to someone who has a record of failing Math, Science...and driving and still somehow being a sci-fi nerd—” She shuts her rambling when Pam takes a threatening step forward. "I can't stop it. It'll stop when the ride ends. Or a city-wide power outage which God…” Lauren casts a worried glance towards the Quantum Drop as if she never expected that possibility. “Please don’t let it be the last one,” she utters a prayer. “But we can't interfere!” She scowls sternly when Pam takes another step. “It’s connected to a futuristic generator with enough power to—” She sighs. “Just think of trying to stop a rocket launch after the countdown. You can’t just push an off-button. And there’s also the very real possibility of the universe collapsing and all of us getting erased out of existence. So bad idea all around to interfere,” she finishes in one breath. “Understand?”
“Sure. Absolutely. Don’t stop the ride,” Pam repeats monotonously, intently surveying the packed crowd, a big hindrance to gain enough momentum in a sprint…
“Pam! Hey!”
Then realizes she doesn’t need to.
Pam clutches Blake's arm when he and Randy jog up to her. "Throw me into the Quantum Drop!"
"What?!" Randy, Blake and Lauren exclaim simultaneously as Pam practically rips off the unflattering ceremonial robe she was forced to wear in the ploy to catch the killer. She shoves Jamie's jacket back into Lauren's arms. “Keep it safe!”
"The ride's already moving fast, Pam," Randy of all people, tries to be reasonable. "That's super dangerous,” he intones before asking: “Are you sure it's not Creston you want us to—" Lauren shoots an offended glare his way. "Send into outer space?”
"No Randy! Throw me. Now!"
Conflict tears at Randy. “But—”
"Just do it!” She shrieks hysterically, urgent desperation clawing at her...like the whole universe was at stake if she didn't step into the Quantum Drop and help Jamie now. “Now!"
Bewildered, Blake agrees. "Alright...alright...just…” He gently rubs both her arms. “Be careful,” he cautions softly. “I’ll be right behind you.”
I'm so going to marry you one day, Pam thinks dreamily for a micro-second before she nods. "I will," she promises, feeling a ray of warmth and affection among the nerve-wracking terror.
Blake turns to Randy. "Help me out, man?"
Randy nods affirmatively, rubs his hands and steps forward. "Hold on to your lunch, Pam."
Lauren’s eyebrows fly up into her hairline. "Are you guys serious right now? Did you listen to a word I just said, Pam? You absolutely cannot do this! Especially this!”
"Two years of cheer captain, bitch." Pam imagines Tiffany telling off a frantic Lauren. "She'll be fine, Creston."
Imaginary Tiffany turns out to be right.
Pam lands smack dab on the killer's back, arms instinctively wrapping tight around his neck for dear life as he staggers to balance their combined weight.
She hears Randy's distorted yell of touchdown, gags at the smell of blood(Oh God, Marisa’s blood), mixture of cheap beer, unwashed laundry and vending machine snacks emanating off the killer, hears Jamie's blood-curdling scream of:
"MOM! No!"