Opening Day

Chapter 4: Work II

The bell above the door jing-a-linged as Officer Mooney left the store, excited about his rental and all the possibilities that Free Willy 2 could have in store for him. Jonesy gave him a professional, polite wave good-bye and buried her face in her arms on the counter. Max was already in the aisles, headed to the horror section to find himself a copy of the much maligned Chain-Slaughter 4: Last Rites.

The fourth installment of the franchise was released seven years ago, in October of 1989. It had been only a year ago, at that point, that Max had first laid eyes on the original Chain-Slaughter. The summer of 1988 was a formative time in his life, his Uncle Lucky had become his official legal guardian, he had his first kiss, and he was introduced to horror movies. He and Jonesy would watch whatever they could get their hands on. They stayed up late to watch Joe Bob's Drive-in Theater, scoured garage sales for tapes, snuck into midnight showings at the theater, and at the end of it all, Max's Uncle Lucky gifted him the original Chain-Slaughter trilogy on vhs. It wasn't his birthday, it wasn't a holiday, Lucky had simply heard him talking about how he was obsessed with seeing them and just wanted to make him happy. Up until that point, that type of kindness from an adult had, honestly, been nonexistent from Max's life. So, it was no surprise that when Chain-Slaughter 4 was on its way to theaters, Jonesy and Max were losing their minds in anticipation. It was even less of a surprise that the worst installment of the franchise held such a special place in Max's heart. It was the first Chain-Slaughter, and the first horror movie he'd ever seen on the big screen. And while the movie going ritual was always something Max treasured, sometimes his best memories would be in the line waiting to get tickets. Killing time with his Uncle and Jonesy, playing the hand slap game, laughing at dumb jokes, all the small interactions they'd have with their fellow line-waiters; he appreciated the journey as much as the destination.

Jonesy had hated the movie, but that never mattered. The movie was terrible, but it could've been the best thing she'd ever seen and it still would have been one of the best moments of her young life. Up until that point she had never been to the theater. Her parents didn't like movies, and her older brother was more into sports, so if he didn't care, they certainly didn't care. It was that night she first felt what it was like to belong somewhere. When she got older she realized what she was experiencing that night was an epiphany, that maybe I've never been weird, maybe I just hadn't found my people. That night she slept over Max's, watching the original Chain-Slaughters, eating pizza, and talking until three in the morning. It had been a perfect opening day.

Last Rites would end up being a confused mess of ideas. A slasher flick with a misguided science fiction bent, a blending of two genres that often taste great together, but in this case, ended up with a stew of curdled milk. Production problems, studio interference, at least five complete rewrites to the script, and even a director change mid-production led to one of the most baffling entries into the slash genre. The collective Chain-Slaughter fandom would refuse to acknowledge its existence only a few weeks later. It would take a couple more decades until Last Rites achieved even the most generous of cult classic statuses.

Max pushed the tape into the VCR next to the register, this one connected to the three TVs over the popcorn maker and the one that sat on their far right, directly on the counter pointed towards them. He rolled the duck tape bandaged desk chair over and made himself comfortable, putting his feet up next to the TV. Jonesy stood behind him, leaning on the counter and eating a handful of popcorn. She snickered at the opening shot of an asteroid crashing to earth.

"Shh!"

"This movie is so ridiculous," Jonesy ignored him, "I actually, honestly, love the alien bounty hunters. They're my favorite."