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When you’re a man like Dwight Fairfield–boring, unknown, unseen –befriending the town’s infamous “Ghost Face” killer might have been one of the last positions you’d have ever seen yourself in. Second to death, of course. That’s how unlikely the scenario truly was for a man like Dwight–being struck by lightning in the midst of a shark attack while staring at a quadruple rainbow was more of a possibility than being buddy buddy with a serial killer when you’re painfully average. However, Dwight had seemingly dodged several bullets on the luck spectrum. Being on a first name basis with The Ghost Face (trademarked) seemed to outweigh the odds of death, shark attacks, several rainbows, and lightning strikes. Although, a quadruple rainbow would have been nice to see, in Dwight’s opinion.
Besides that, it was truly unheard of for someone like “The Ghost Face”–or more known by Dwight as “Jed Olsen,” a blaringly obvious fake name the slasher had given him–to utter more than two minutes of dialogue in his own script. Despite being mouthy, Jed preferred to keep his one liners exactly that, brief and witty remarks before a quick flick of the wrist and his victim was choking on their own blood.
So after the grand reveal of swishing robes and glinting blood-stained knives, it had miraculously only taken Dwight around five uninterrupted minutes to unintentionally charm the pants off of Mr. Ghost “Jed Olsen” Face, record time against nobody. All he had really done was let his anxiety-driven motormouth loose in a moment of life or death–pointing towards death–and boom, Ghost Face was spread on his couch and cleaning his knife. It was hard to swallow down the lump of nerves festering in his throat as he watched the killer in fearful awe sitting on his couch with no malicious intent. At least, none that he openly displayed.
“So, tell me Dwight.” Jed spoke, breaking the one-sided tense silence after the brief moment of introduction. “I know everything painfully obvious about you; a late-twenties man with nothing more to him in life than a pot of coffee and a dead end job to pay the bills.” A flicker of fear Dwight failed to push down across his face made Jed chuckle beneath his mask. “I’ve done my research, lots of it, in fact.” The gravel in his tone only served to make Dwight shiver. “All I want to know, one tiny little thing I could not figure out on my own…” The predatory lure of his voice made Dwight feel as though he was a mouse in the cat’s palms. This was all just a big game to Jed. And just when Dwight thought he had won him over. Of course. Of course nothing in life came easy to him. He couldn’t even rescue a stray off the streets without several scratches and a rabies shot to prove it. The somewhat friendly interactions were all just foreplay to him. To get Dwight right where he wanted him all this time. It was foolish to honestly think that Dwight Fairfield of all people could get on good terms with a murderer.
As Jed leaned closer, mask still hugged tightly to his face, Dwight could feel himself shrinking under the man’s gaze. He audibly gulped at the sight of the knife in his peripheral, sweat beading down his temple as he braced himself for the undeniable searing pain to come. When there was no feeling but the chills waving through his body, he peeked an eye open only to be met by the nonchalance of an experienced mastermind waiting for the theatrics to end. Despite the mask, Dwight could feel the amusement plastered across his face. A huff against plastic as Jed let out a chuckle and leaned back in his spot, his hands falling to his lap. Dwight had clearly given him the reaction that he had wanted.
“All I wanted to know was what Dwight Middle-Name Fairfield did in his spare time. Despite my fervent attempts, I only ever caught you at work or moping around at…whatever you’d call this place.” He made a show of waving his hand around Dwight’s apartment, displeasure at the plainness clear in his tone. Dwight cleared his throat with his hands balled in his lap, his foot tapping on the ground anxiously. He never really had any hobbies, he was always just boring old Dwight, living day to day as best as he could, albeit uneventful. “I–I don’t know–” He replied sheepish, a hand instinctively finding its way to the back of his neck. “I don’t really do much except work and–and sleep…Don’t really have many hobbies…” And by many he meant none.
His honest answer produced a thoughtful hum from the man in front of him who had long since abandoned his knife and opted for a formal manspread. While it seemed he’d never even dream about letting his guard down in such a way, it was clear that Jed saw Dwight as no threat, and he wasn’t sure if he should have been flattered or offended, even if it was obvious who the stronger of the two was. “Nothing? Not even the occasional bowling? Coin collecting? Nothing?”
“I mean, I–I guess I enjoy movies…but that’s not really a hobby.” Enjoying movies was a stretch. It was more so ‘enjoying movies as background noise’ more than anything, but it worked. Even though it seemed Jed didn’t quite fully believe him, it sparked a slap of his hands on his knee. “Finally! Now that’s something I can get behind! Do tell, what kinds? What’s your favorite?” Before Dwight could answer, he cut him off with a hand uncomfortably close to his face. “No no, don’t tell me. I’ve got this.” He paused to make a dramatic show of thought, a finger tapping the plastic chin of his screaming mask. He pointed a finger at him as he was analyzing and kept it there. “You’re definitely not a horror movie type. Maybe comedy, but that seems too much even for you.” Dwight pretended not to be offended. “Sci-Fi is on the backburner of my final answer, since you seem pretty nerdy, but I think I’ve got a pretty good idea. So, let’s make it a true Daily Double, Alex!” He swung his finger back and jutted his arm to the side akin to an eager cowboy and sat back, waiting. “But that’s–that’s not at all how Jeopardy works–you know the question?” Dwight could tell from the tone of his voice that Jed had flashed a smile his way. “Smart cookie. Allow me to phone a friend.” Jed held up yet another finger and turned away, pointedly ignoring the frown on Dwight’s face. He mimicked the figure of a telephone with his hand and held it up to his ear, revelling in Dwight’s reactions to his antics. “That’s a completely different game show–”
“Excuse me, Janice? Hi, it’s me, Jed. Of course, how’re the kids? James still taking psychology? Oh, awesome! Anyways, I’m currently on ‘Family Feud’ and I need help with the answer to this question. You’ll help? Awesome.” Jed stuck out his fist and began, ticking off his fingers with each possible answer. “Is Dwight Fairfield’s favorite movie genre; A. Horror, B. Romance, C. Sci-Fi, or D. Musical. We’ve got thirty seconds.” He paused for a good five seconds before abruptly hanging up the phone and cracking his fingers. “Alright, I’d like to solve the puzzle!” The fourth and final game show reference made Dwight sigh in defeat and wave a hand in acknowledgement. “Romantic Comedy.” He blurted out with pauses between both words, similar to a contestant on Wheel of Fortune, and waited for the applause. When none came, his false persona dropped and he sighed. “Seriously?! Jesus, you’re killin’ me. What on earth is it then? Spaghetti Western?!” He sounded completely exasperated as Dwight let out a hint of a chuckle behind a fist. “It’s actually crime documentaries.”
The explosive “What!” that came from Jed was sure to get him a noise complaint. Dwight couldn’t lie to himself that the killer’s personality that night alone made him laugh more than he had ever in his entire life. It sounded absurd, but in the monotony of his life, who could blame him. “It–It’s kind of ironic, I guess. They kind of scare me…a lot, but they’re interesting.” The admission of fear shouldn’t have been all surprising when it came to someone like Dwight, but the tilt of Jed’s head suggested otherwise. “Scared? Dwight, I’m sorry to be the one to break this to you, but you are literally befriending a serial killer right now, you know that, right? Did I not tell you? I mean, I assumed it was obvious. Y’know, the mask and all.” It was a teasing jab, but one that made Dwight shrink in on himself nonetheless. “Well–yeah, I know that…I guess it’s…easier knowing that I’m safe…” He paused before jumping to add, “I–I am safe, right?” Jed just barked out a laugh and slapped Dwight on the back, making him flinch. “For now Dwight, for now.”
Out of all the days, week three and two days in of Dwight Fairfield and Jed “Ghost Face” Olsen’s friendship is when Dwight grew seriously worried. One would think that growing ‘seriously worried’ when it came to a murderer would be more than half the days, but it was surprisingly easy to grow accustomed to Jed’s random drop-ins. Sure, there was still the occasional fear and lingering fight or flight–in Dwight’s case, ninety-five percent flight–but other than that, Jed was unironically a fun guy to be around. He sure brought some excitement and change in Dwight’s day-to-day depressing routine, and sue him if all it took was some serial killer stalker to brighten up his days.
But when Jed stumbled in through his apartment window, and he meant stumbled, Dwight didn’t waste a second ushering him to his couch. What sparked his worry was Jed’s loud and noticeable entrance. Jed never made himself known until Dwight noticed him minutes after his arrival, quietly sitting on his couch and watching whatever was on his TV. So, the fact that Jed had not only loudly made himself known, but clumsily fell through his window instead of his usual silent slip-ins, Dwight knew something was off. And if that wasn’t enough, maybe the visible sight of blood coating his abdomen would’ve been.
“Oh my god, are you okay?!” It was a dumb question to ask but one he did nonetheless as Dwight slid his arms around Jed’s shoulders, guiding him to the couch. Showing up covered in blood was normal, but when it was clearly Jed’s own blood, that wasn’t. In fact, it had never happened once in the three weeks and two days they had known each other–or at least, Dwight had known him. As Jed clutched his stomach and collapsed to the couch, he grunted out in pain. “Does it look like it?” He peeled away his hand momentarily to look at the blood coating his gloved palm, groaning. “God, this is so stupid. Of course the boring and mundane white collar carries a fucking pocket knife. You’re a fucking accountant, dipshit. What do you need a fucking pocket knife for?” Jed threw his knife carelessly across Dwight’s living room, hissing through his teeth as he adjusted himself to lay back. With his head resting against the arm rest, he shakily began unbuckling the belts wrapped around his waist, only pausing to ease the sharp pains with each movement.
“Jesus Christ, why did I make this costume so complex.” He gruffed and trailed a hand towards the back of his neck, peeling up the flap of his hood just enough to access the meticulously concealed zipper. Jed grabbed ahold of Dwight’s shoulder with a bloody palm and leaned against him for support as he sat up, teeth grit to hold back his groans. “Fucking–unzip me, would you?” When he hesitated, Jed sighed and Dwight could tell he was rolling his eyes beneath the mask. “I’m not naked underneath this, spoiler warning if that’s what you were hoping for, creep.” It was an obvious joke, one made in a moment of frustration, but one that made Dwight flush a dark red in embarrassment. He carefully unzipped the costume, wary of Jed’s injuries, and helped free him from its constraints.
Beneath, Jed wore a simple black tee and dark leather pants that matched the scheme of his costume. Despite the black fabric, there was a faint splotch of dark staining the open slash on his abdomen. “Fuck, that hurts. Unrelated, but by any chance do you know how to sew?” Dwight only nodded, his eyes trained to the gaping wound and back up to the mask. “Good, cause I need stitches.”
It was a total bombshell to drop on a poor innocent man like Dwight, so the jaw drop that followed was expected. “What?! But–But I can only sew like–fabric! And just barely! That’s not at all the same as–as medical stitches!” Another sigh from Jed followed as he peeled off his gloves, dropping them to the floor and revealing pale, calloused hands. “Relax, you big baby. There’s hardly a difference,” A total lie. “besides, I can’t walk into a hospital with an unexplainable stab wound, they’d ask questions that I can’t answer unless I want the electric chair. So, do me a favor and man up, Dwighty-boy. I don’t mind a botched scar, only if it’s from you.” It was an innocent confession, one that meant nothing more than a sign of reluctant trust, trust that wasn’t gained easily in the mind of The Ghost Face.
“Fine, but–but you owe me!” Dwight stood to his feet and fetched his sad excuse of a sewing kit from the coffee table drawer, pulling out the cleanest needle he could find and some black thread. “Jeez–I can’t believe I’m doing this…” He continuously complained as he worked harder than he really needed to thread a simple needle, his hands unsteady from nerves. Jed was silent, most likely from the pain, as Dwight succeeded and tied off the thread, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Al–Alright…are you ready?” Jed gave silent confirmation in lifting up his shirt, revealing the full wound in all its glory–gaping, bloody, and jagged. This was not going to be a fun experience for either of them.
Dwight took one final gulp and leaned in close, carefully poking the needle through the skin. It was tough to spot past the blood rapidly gushing, and admittedly he should have cleaned the wound first, but Jed seemed to want it over with and Dwight wasn’t in the mood to push his luck with a murderer over something as trivial as infections and sanitation. The second the needle came in contact with his flesh, Jed gripped the cushion of the couch and growled. His knuckles were white as he clenched his fists tight, breaths coming out sharp and heavy against his mask. That had only been the first poke and he hadn’t even gotten to the other side. For a second, Dwight was worried that even though he was doing as he had been asked, Jed’s pain and anger would fuel him to hurt or even kill the man just trying his hardest to patch him up. It definitely wasn’t a stretch, but he decided to not waste anymore time in fear of Jed’s thin patience.
Pulling the thread through until it hit the knot, Dwight let out a deep breath and mentally prepared himself for the next side. He carefully lined up the needle and slid it through the skin, flinching at Jed’s loud “Fuck!” It didn’t seem possible for his death grip on Dwight’s cushions to get any tighter, but Jed proved him wrong as his nails dug into and almost ripped the fabric. Dwight mimicked the earlier motion of pulling the thread through, pulling it tight despite Jed’s profanities for him to go easy. Any looser and the stitches would come apart, and neither Dwight nor Jed was in the mood to ever go through with this again. “ Christ! Jesus, Fuck! That fucking hurts!” He yelled through heavy breaths. Dwight didn’t bother with sympathy, knowing it would only make Jed angrier. Instead, he nodded knowingly and angled the needle for the second stitch. Before he could even puncture the skin, Jed stopped him. “Fuck, wait. I can’t breathe in this damn thing.” He watched as Jed gripped the back of his hood, pulling off his mask in one fluid motion and dropping it to the floor with his gloves.
The first thing that caught Dwight’s attention beneath his mask was a mess of shaggy black hair that just reached the back of his neck. He stared for a second before casting a glance down to his face, taking in the distinct five o’clock shadow and razor-sharp jaw. His cheeks sank in a little, correlating with his slender frame. Dark brown, almost black eyes stared into his own, his deep and sunken eye bags almost intimidating. It was clear that Jed’s lifestyle, whether it be his appetite or sleep schedule, was far from healthy, but Dwight wasn’t one to judge. He took one final glance up and at his furrowed brows, taking note of the small scar just above his left brow. It was a straight cut across, clearly visible but not big enough to warrant stares. With all that he had taken in in the span of a few seconds, the only word to describe the man that Dwight was seeing– truly seeing– for the first time was handsome. Conventionally attractive? No, but that was never Dwight’s style anyway. The rough exterior of Jed that he was only now presenting to him, with his sunken cheeks and admittedly scary presentation was one that Dwight often found his eyes drifting towards when in public. The men that didn’t flaunt themselves or flock to the nearest babe. Unconventionally attractive, grim, and scary-looking is what caught his eye. And here there was, one right in front of him, in his apartment, on his couch, looking at him eye to eye for the first time.
“You gonna just stare or are you gonna help me? If you’re trying to commit my face to memory for a police sketch, I’m already thirteen steps ahead in plans you wouldn’t even begin to think of on what to do with you, so don’t try anything.”
Dwight snapped out of his daze and flushed, choosing to ignore the threat and opting to focus on the needle before him. “Sorry–! Sorry, I won’t say anything, I swear.” Even through the pain, Jed smirked–a sight that Dwight finally got to see that definitely did not make his heart skip a beat, thank you very much–and coughed out a tease. “Relax, I’m joking. I only have seven.” That wasn’t anymore reassuring but Dwight got back to work regardless, taking his time in sewing Jed back up. It was unnecessarily hard to concentrate on the task at hand when he was finally able to put a face to the man before him, occasionally stealing glances when Jed would clamp his eyes shut in pain.
Powering through in a record time of an hour, Dwight tied off the knot and got a good look at his handy work. It was far from pretty, and any surgeon would feel personally offended by the sight, but it did the job and Jed seemed content enough. Dwight pretended not to notice when Jed grimaced and pushed his shirt down to get it out of his sight. As he threw away the needle and tucked away his sewing kit, Dwight padded into the kitchen to grab some painkillers and a bottle of water, deciding that even someone like Jed wasn’t immune to the after effects of a botched procedure. On his way back from the kitchen, he stopped into his room to grab a change of clothes, for a bloody tee and leather pants would surely not be the most comfortable attire to rest in, and tossed the pile into Jed’s lap.
Jed took one good look at the pile in front of him and snorted. A red and white striped zip up hoodie and a pair of obnoxiously red sweatpants. “Really? You don’t have anything darker? Red’s not really my color you know, unless we’re talking blood.” Dwight shot him a defeated look and placed both the painkillers and water bottle on the table in front of him before sighing. “It’s the first thing I grabbed, okay? It could be worse…” He shuddered at the image of the dinosaur hoodie shoved underneath his mattress, a secret santa gift given to him by the coworker that not-so-secretly hated his guts. He wasn’t even sure what he did to deserve such a punishment, but it was clear that his other coworkers got a kick out of watching him unwrap that one.
Jed pointedly ignored the water bottle in front of him, grabbing the pills and making a show of swallowing them dry, smirking at the grimace plastered across Dwight’s face. While Jed peeled off his ruined t-shirt and slipped his arms through the sleeves of Dwight’s hoodie, Dwight let his body collapse onto the couch next to him. He was thoroughly exhausted after the night’s events, and even if the whole ordeal had only taken an hour, it had been a mighty stressful one. More so for Jed, of course, but that didn’t mean Dwight hadn’t been under some pressure too.
He hadn’t even noticed Jed pull on the sweatpants, his eyes shut in a moment of exhaustion. He only peeked an eye open when Jed carefully laid himself back down, his sock-clad feet purposefully digging into his side. In annoyance, Dwight went to push Jed’s legs back but paused. “Are you–Are you seriously wearing cat socks?” It had come out more judgemental than he had meant it to, so the flash of feigned hurt across Jed’s face had been completely justified. “What, a man can’t spend his hard earned paycheck on a luxury accessory? I worked for these, y’know.” To further prove his point, he dug his toes deeper and smiled.
Dwight rolled his eyes and decided to let it go for now, but he was absolutely not going to forget to bring this up at a later time. The image of a notorious serial killer wearing cat socks in his apartment was too bizarre to not question at a later time. Instead, he sluggishly turned to face the man beside him. The painkillers seemed to have kicked in quickly, for Jed was now relaxed by his side, eyes trained on the TV and whatever boring sitcom was playing. He decided that now, in this moment of tranquil bliss, was a better time than ever to ask the questions burning in the forefront of his mind.
“So…when you’re not ‘Ghost Face…’ Who are you?” That was enough to tear Jed away from the show–which Dwight clocked as ‘Home Improvement’ based off of the telltale sound effect from the intro that sounded oddly like a Scooby-Doo impression–as he glanced at Dwight, turning his body to give him his full attention. “Well…If you must know.” He began to fidget with his hands and took a deep breath, staring up at him through thick eyelashes. “I’m a single man who enjoys candle lit dinners and long walks on the beach. I dream of settling down with a wife and starting a family someday, hoping that eventually I’ll find the gal just for me.”
Dwight seemingly gave Jed the reaction he was looking for based off of the shit-eating smirk that spread across his face. “Hilarious…Not sure why I thought I’d get an honest answer.” The exhaustion coursing through his system seemed to loosen Dwight’s nerves, for his constant anxious filter seemed oddly non-existent in that moment. Instead of his usual stutter and hesitation, his words flowed naturally and steady. It was like the overworked and stressed out part of his brain was flipped off like a switch and his mind had received a break once and for all.
“If you really want to know,” Jed started, hopefully giving him an actual answer. “I’m a journalist. I write for the Roseville Gazette when I’m not prowling around looking for cute nerds to jump.” He paused before clarifying, “I mean other cute nerds. You’re not getting jumped anytime soon.” The indirect…compliment? had sent a surge of embarrassment through Dwight’s body and he lured his gaze to his hands, trying his damndest to fight off the rush of blood creeping up his neck. “Honestly, what’s great about it is I get to write about my own stories! Writing through a second point of view when you’ve lived the first is easier than it sounds, Dwight. And, it’s twice as fulfilling. Plus, I get a kick out of letting my ‘creative juices’ flow. If it weren’t for the whole killing schtick, I’d probably take the hobby further.” Jed gave Dwight a once over and smiled at the sight of him flustered before turning to face Tim Allen on screen once again. “Alas, not much time to settle into a writing career when I’ve gotta flee states and identities so frequently.” To his credit, Jed did seem truthfully a little disheartened by that fact, but he couldn’t have dwelled on it much further. Jed chose that path, and he built it brick by brick.
And honestly, it should have been a no-brainer to cut all contact and phone the authorities when a serial killer, one that had evaded all attempts of being caught by police no less, was standing in your apartment about to strike. But when a situation like that shakes up your monotonous day-to-day routine, and it doesn’t have an entirely negative outcome, it shouldn’t have been too crazy for Dwight to accept the change. In fact, with the potential murder aside (he had decided to spare him after only five minutes, after all), Jed’s introduction had been nothing but pleasant. Sure, he was a little intimidating at first, but after awhile Dwight had grown used to it–accepted it, even. Knowing that your friend–your only one true friend–was a murderer should have been more than unsettling, but to be honest, Dwight couldn’t have cared less. Call him selfish, ignoring all those innocent lives that were unrightfully stripped away just for an ounce of attention and satisfaction, but Jed entering his life had been the best thing to ever have happened to him in his almost thirty years of existence. He really didn’t have much going for him with a dead end job that just barely paid enough and a shitty way of life, so if a psychopath is what finally brought him joy, then so be it.
But he really did want to know why. Out of all the victims The Ghost Face has claimed, all the brutal and gruesome scenes the police stumbled upon, why had Jed spared him? What made Dwight so special in the eyes of a man like Jed Olsen? He was a nobody–pushing thirty and doing nothing with his life other than working to his grave. With everyone he had murdered–the men with families, the women with careers... Why did Dwight matter?
Was it some sick fascination? A new tactic? A toy to use until he grew bored and inevitably offed? Or was Dwight truly one in a million? A one time thing he’d swear to never repeat once he grew bored. Would he kill him when he was done, or would he just abandon him like all the others had? Honestly, he’d prefer the first option. A life with the one good thing being stripped away from him was a life not worth living. Death would be less painful than heartbreak after he’d been deprived of connection for so long.
Of course, there was the inevitable ‘I can fix him’ mentality that crossed his mind, but it was gone quicker than it came. There was no fixing Jed Olsen, that was for sure. Try as he might, but you can’t change psycho, not at this level. Not with the copious lives taken. If he really wanted Jed to stay, he’d just have to accept it. Doesn’t mean he’d have to agree with it, condone it, encourage it, but he could accept it. If it meant that he could keep a friend–if he could even consider him calling one–then maybe he would.
Dwight sounded insane even to himself. Befriending a serial killer was absurd, out of his league, but something about Jed just couldn’t tear him away from the idea. Maybe it was his witty humor and sarcasm that Dwight could never find himself to be truly bothered by. Or maybe it was his unnecessarily good looks that not even he could deny. Whatever it was, Dwight was drawn to Jed Olsen, and he seemed that it hadn’t been one sided. Based on how much Jed had revealed of himself, of course. How he trusted him enough–or maybe knew that even if he didn’t, he’d overpower him by a landslide–to keep dropping into his apartment unannounced, to let him tend to his wound in a moment of uncharacteristic vulnerability, to show him his face. Something within him itched to really know Jed Olsen, who he was behind the mask (literally and figuratively) and the carefully crafted persona he displayed. He wanted to know his weaknesses, what–if anything –he was scared of. His favorite color (probably red), his go-to order at Taco Bell, if he had any quirks or nervous tics he couldn’t shake even after all his years of living. Though he was scared to admit it, Dwight had unwillingly grown attached to the first person who gave him an ounce of attention in a decade. And of course, just his luck, he was a criminal.
Despite the inner turmoil flowing through his brain, Dwight was able to pick up on the soft sound of feet hitting the floorboards. As he turned to the source, he was saddened to see Jed’s gear off the floor and in his arms, boots already on in the span of a few seconds. He watched as Jed padded towards the open window in complete illogical silence and stepped through. Halfway out and into the evening’s cool breeze, Jed casted one last glance towards Dwight and smirked.
“It’s Danny, by the way.” And in the millisecond Dwight blinked, The Ghost Face was gone. And if there was a pile of freshly washed clothes (that smelled distinctly of name brand detergent, something Dwight could only dream of affording) sitting on his bed when he came home from work a week later, then that was a fact Dwight would take to his grave.