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When the butter has melted, I set it, the giant bowl of popcorn, a stack of smaller bowls, and several containers of assorted candies on a tray so I can carry them all into the living room rather than having to take several trips. It’s mid-August, which means the sun will stay defiantly up well past evening and on into what would respectably be considered night. Dean has accounted for this by pulling the curtains tight over the window and already turning the lights off.
I climb over Xavier where he is sprawled on the floor across a pallet he’s made himself out of what seems like half a dozen blankets and a mound of pillows. According to him, it is the appropriate way to watch an ‘80s horror movie marathon. He hasn’t explained the exact process of that thought, but considering how many slasher films have cover or publicity art that features scantily clad girls on very similar pseudo-bedding, he might have something going.
“Did you already start it?” I ask, setting the food down on the coffee table in the middle of a ring made of ourdrinks.
“Just did. You haven’t missed anything,” Deansays.
“Alright. I figure I might have three of these in me,” I smile. “So let’s make them goodones.”
“Only three?” heasks.
“Three does not a marathon make,” Xavier tells me. “Three is a programming block. Asampling.”
“So how many is a marathon?” Iask.
“Seven,” he replies withouthesitation.
This is either an issue he has already put considerable thought into or somewhere in his mind, that answer is patently obvious. With Xavier, it truly could go eitherway.
“Alright, well, I can’t make any promises. I do have to work on my investigation tomorrow. This case is intense and I want to look into some leads I’ve picked up in the last few days. This is why I told you Thursday is not ideal for movie nights. But I’ll stay awake as much as I can,” I promisehim.
“I reserve the right to prod you into consciousness if I see fit,” Xavier tells me.
“Thank you for the advance warning,” I say, wondering what kind of circumstances would deem it necessary in his mind to prod me awake. Knowing him, there might well be exact parameters that would need to be addressed—or it could be at any point after I cross that line between properly awake andunconscious.
As the movie starts, I distribute the bowls and everyone fills them with popcorn. Dean goes to work adding various candies, nuts, chocolate chips, and pretzels to his while Xavier drizzles a methodical ribbon of melted butter on individual layers so that every kernel got its fair share. The beginning moments of the movie already feel ominous. If Xavier didn’t have all the blankets down on the floor with him, I’d probably have one tucked around me. Sam likes to keep the air conditioner set low enough that even in the death throes of summer it’s often cold enough inside the house in the evenings that an extra layer is perfectly comfortable. Especially when the threat of a fictional serial killer is sending little chills dancing along my skin.
Or, in the case of this particular movie, spree killer.
Xavier gets very particular when it comes to the classifications of killers. He has been known to get very educational in public when he hears someone miscategorizing a murderer.
He says acknowledging the differences in the types of killers recognizes the nuances of their crimes that better enable onlookers to appreciate both the gravity and raw reality of each death as well as the motivation and thought processes of thekiller.
Comparing the actions of a spree killer—someone with multiple victims in multiple locations over the course of a short period without a cooling period in between—to a serial killer imbues the crime with a psychological weight and significance that is illustrated in the ability of a true serial killer to return to their normal life between kills and experience long stretches of cooling-off time. Contrast this with a mass murderer, who kills a generally large number of people in one location at the same time, and a terrorist, who can be a subset of any of these but with a specific political or social motive, and it’s easy to see how ignoring the differences can muddy the truth behind any of these crimes.
Of course, I might be biased in my perception. Having engaged with more than my fair share of all these classifications of murderers, not to mention all the narrower sub-specialties that cascade down from large umbrella specifications like sexual sadism and revenge killing into obscurity, I tend to recognize the value in using the terms correctly. Not as much as Xavier, perhaps, but I get it.
I jump as the killer on the screen neatly lops off a head with the long, seemingly unwieldy machete he is somehow able to effortlessly sink like butter into the various bones and sinewy tissues of the human neck. These movies do it to me every time. I love them. I crave watching them. I try my hardest not to dwell on the severe fundamental flaws behind the deaths and investigations, if there are any. I get the bejeezus scared out of me by every jump scare. They knew what they were doing when they came up with the scary music and sudden loud sound combination.
On the floor in front of me, Xavier tilts his head to the side, silently watching the grisly scene play out. Watching him watch these movies can be just as entertaining as the movies themselves. Sometimes he reacts to the jump scares the same way I do, startling and occasionally throwing popcorn at the TV. Other times, he goes completely quiet and watches without emotion or movement, absorbed into the visceral display. That is decidedly the more frightening of the two reactions.
When that happens, I can’t help but wonder what’s going through his mind. His thoughts are cranking away up there, taking in the image of the killer slaughtering his way through whatever setting and cliché scenario is playing out and processing them into something. It is truly anyone’s guess what that is.
“How many of these are there?” Xavierasks.
“Twelve,” Dean tells him. He makes a face like he’s debating with himself whether that answer is actually accurate. “But they get a little wonky in the middle there with the crossovers and the reanimation with the rod and everything. So, some fans just ignore a bunch of the laterones.”
Xavier looks at him with a serious expression. “Spoilers.”
“Sorry. This one, though,” he points at the screen, “was supposed to be the lastone.”
“The one before it was supposed to be the last one, too,” I chime in. “And technically, there weren’t even supposed to be any sequels. The first movie was written to be standalone. They had to retcon the entire story about him being alive and the wholething.”
Xavier picks up the remote and promptly turns the movieoff.
“What was that?” Dean asks. “It’s notover.”
“I need to start from the beginning,” he says. “Why would you start me at the end that isn’t the end of a series that wasn’t supposed to have a beginning because it wasn’t aseries?”
