❦ the red means i love you ❦
➪ chap. 2 • chap 3 • chap 4 • chap 5
❦ pairing: jackson hillwalker/cottonwood x fem!reader
❦ word count: 4.5k+ words
❦ summary: moving into a small village near cottonwood mountains was the best decision you’ve made for your peace. everything fell into place just as you expected. all except for the fact that you had caught someone’s attention since you began working at the local diner. meeting jackson cottonwood was definitely something you weren’t expecting, but you soon find out that he’s more than what meets the eye. somehow, you wish you never left home.
❦ authors note: haha,, guess what guys. i’ve fallen down the butchery rabbit hole & now i am plagued by thoughts of this game. can’t wait to see more of my boys on june 8. reader doesn’t play as the character in the game & is a completely different individual btw!! i’ll revise my summary later 🤠 im just rlly tired and wanted to post this before i exploded.
❦ possible triggers: A JOB!!, blood, mentions of weapons, injuries, kidnapping and implied stalking,
Living in a small village was your dream. It always has been, especially after being influenced at a terribly young age to chase a peaceful life.
The place you moved into was definitely what you had expected— tranquil, slow-paced with a family-driven community, and full of greenery and beautiful scenery you would’ve never imagined seeing a year ago in person.
It was everything you had seen in movies, an exact replication of the several years of research you put into move, but there was only one problem— boredom.
It was something that often caught up with you on the slower days once you began to settle down, the air still and time passing and dragging all at once. Ironic enough, you felt a bit homesick, missing the hustle and bustle of your previous living situation, the silence of the village far more deafening than the noises that bombarded the busy streets.
But you figured it was the process of settling. After all, a slow life is a peaceful one and you couldn’t deny that you were rarely stressed these days.
Today was mostly quiet in the diner you worked at. Old, dingy with a bit of wear and tear, but a classic nonetheless. Despite its age coming around, locals returned often and newcomers loved the restaurant, always posting a good review somewhere in the deep corners of social media.
At this rate, you could’ve clocked out early with how dead the place was and even at that, it wasn’t enough to describe the emptiness of your shift. Maybe you could convince your boss or ask your coworker to cover you for the time being. After all, she did owe you a solid for saving her ass last week, nearly begging on her knees to cover her shift because “her boyfriend had made plans and she was sure it was a proposal this time.” (It wasn’t.)
It was convincing and you almost warmed up to the idea until a sharp gasp from your coworker ripped your attention away from your cell phone. She clutched the newspaper with one hand, her other one covering her mouth dramatically.
“Another person missing?” Her voice was hushed and devastated as her and your boss huddled around the folded piece of paper. “Isn’t this the nineteenth person this year?”
Your boss scoffs, shaking her head in disapproval, “The village is becomin’ dangerous, I tell ya. These damn cops ain’t doing shit to keep us safe. Back then, I could walk another village down and still come back in one piece—“
Her words seemed to meld as you stepped closer to them, slowly drawn into their conversation, eyes falling on the bold letters.
“MALE, 27 YEARS, REPORTED MISSING.”
The rest was a bit more difficult to read, but the portrait of the individual sent a shiver down your spine as you observed his features. He looked relatively young; a bright smile, youthful features, and a kind look on his face.
Your coworker noticed your wandering eyes, moving closer as she shared the newspaper with you, hands crumpling the edges of it. “Nineteen and none of them were found! How is that possible?”
The missing persons cases have been the talk of the village recently, someone always related to each person that disappeared. At first, everyone assumed it was their loved ones having a change of heart and leaving the village to start a new life, but as more cases began to pile, the panic began to unfold.
Maybe that’s why the diner was so empty.
You’re not sure how to respond and your boss obviously felt the same way as the three of you read the paper, eyes glued to it. Only the sound of the music playing in the background filled the silence.
Somehow on the second to the last hour of your shift, you managed to build up the courage to ask your coworker to cover you. Luckily, despite the creepy ambience the place held an hour ago, she gladly agreed, more than willing to return the favor.
So with a smile and gracious thanks, you began to pack up your belongings, ensuring everything was in place before leaving the back room towards the front door of the diner, checking your phone.
However, you heard the sound of the bell chiming before you could reach the door, head rising as your gaze met with one of your usuals— the infamous Jackson Cottonwood. He was the town's heartthrob, all the girls fawning over him and everyone’s mother trying to set their daughter with him.
“Hey sweetheart, leavin’ so soon?” His voice sweet as honey and with that familiar joyful kick, called out to you. He was dressed in his usual plaid, suspended flannel along with dark jeans and his dirtied boots. His hair was parted, kissed by the wind as strands fell over his eyes in a crooked manner.
You offered him a smile, a bit awkward and shy as you nodded, “Yeah, decided to hit the hay early tonight. Slow shift.”
He hummed disapprovingly as this, hands on his hips and you let out a low snicker.
“What a shame. Thought I’d catch up with my favorite girl, but it seems like I missed the window,” He said in a sulky manner, a defeated look on his face. “Suppose the lord isn’t on my side today.”
He was always such a sweetheart, one of the customers you found yourself naturally attracted to. With a mouth like that, it was no wonder why he had so many girls wrapped around his finger. You’d be lying if you had told yourself you weren’t falling victim to the same syndrome.
“It is such a shame. Had you been here an hour earlier, maybe we would’ve had time,” you teased a bit.
“We got all the time in the world as long as you keep workin’ in this diner.”
You laugh at his words and he lets out a prideful and satisfied grin, brightening up his features. Before you could say anything more, you noticed Jackson's eyes travel towards the bar, your gaze following his and soon noticing both your boss and coworker whispering to each other. They both immediately separated from each other, realizing they had been caught red handed.
Jackson leaned down, whispering something under his breath but loud enough for you to hear, “Seems like we got an audience. Let me let ya go for the night, yeah? Shouldn’t keep you back more than I need to.”
You lock eyes with him as he straightens himself out and he spares you a warm smile, sending you off with a squeeze of your shoulder as he breezes past you to sit in one of the booths nearby. You stare at the back of his head for a moment before you shrug it off, deciding to go home. You were bound to encounter him eventually.
“So what’s the deal with you and Cottonwood?”
You look up from your receipts, your coworker folding her arms as she leaned against the bar. There was a shiteating grin on her face along with a devious twinkle in her eye that made you a bit anxious.
You shrug nonchalantly at her instigating question, continuing to sort receipts, “Not sure what you’re talking about.”
She rolled her eyes at your words, grabbing it from your hands. You shoot her a glare, reaching for the pieces of papers as she held it out of reach.
“C’mon. He’s not sweet-talking you for no reason. You’re the only server he butters up, maybe the only girl—“
“He does that for everyone! Please, just give me back—“
With a groan, she gently shoved the receipts back to you, unconvinced by your reasoning, “Uh-huh. That’s why you’re his “favorite girl”.”
There’s a teasing tone in her voice and you can’t help but feel embarrassed. She noticed the slight flush on your cheeks at her evidence, letting out an amused laugh.
“It’s really not like that,” you say, trying to organize the little pieces of paper on the table. “I barely know anything about him.”
It was the truth. Jackson Cottonwood was the biggest mystery of the town despite his popularity. No one knew anything of him besides his name and his mother who once sold meat in the market.
There were several rumors about his status that circulated around town: a farm boy who lived off of the grid, a mafia boss working undercover, an undercover FBI agent collecting data on the village or residing here to keep his name low and much more you couldn’t care to remember. Despite his years of living here (assumingly), nothing was ever truly confirmed. Everything that everyone thought they knew was merely speculation.
He was simply known as the handsome man who often dropped by in town three times a week. Nothing more and nothing less.
She was skeptical, but had no denial to it, “I guess, but still, he's all over you. As a taken women, I know when a man—“
Suddenly, your conversation was cut short by the familiar sound of the bells chiming, both your gazes falling on Jackson, who looked around for a moment before locking eyes with you, nodding towards your direction and heading towards the same booth he always sat at.
Your coworker let out a giggle, nudging your side almost playfully. In response, you shot her a look, eyes pleading for her to behave before she leaned towards you, murmuring something in your ear secretly.
“Speak of the devil. I would continue this conversation but loverboy is waving you down. Get to him before he forgets your tip, yeah?”
At this, you turn your head, finally noticing the smile on his face, his cheek resting on his hand as he looked straight at you. Before you could ask your coworker to take over, feeling suddenly shy and nervous at her accusations, she was already past the doors of the kitchen, leaving you alone to stand dumbly behind the counter.
With nowhere to run, you begrudgingly made your way to Jackson, trying to shake off the nerves.
“There she is,” his voice filled the silence of the diner, muffling out the music playing. “Prayed to the lord I’d catch you today and it seems like they were generous. Lucky me.”
He was always so flirtatious, knowing the right words to get into someone’s heart, and it usually didn’t affect you. Up until this point, at least. You suppose you could blame your coworker for planting nonsense into your head, now hyper aware of his words.
“It isn’t hard to miss me,” you attempt to reply casually, hoping your voice didn't sound as shaky as it felt. “I work here almost everyday.”
“Yeah, but after what happened last time, I assumed praying for our next encounter wouldn’t hurt. It’s always a blessing to be graced with your presence.”
Such a strange compliment. You didn’t think anyone liked you enough to pray for your company. Maybe you’d expect it from the local gas station crackhead, but here you were, receiving it from the village’s heartthrob.
“Maybe you would see me more if you came into town more often,” you fought back the redness creeping up your skin, feeling hot under your collar as you attempted to keep up.
A little smirk replaced the usual smile adorning his cheeks, “Oh? Since you’re askin’ so nicely, sweetheart, I might make an exception.”
With no one else in the diner but you and him, his words felt a little more intimate, voice low and inviting. You could be reading the room wrong, but it definitely felt tense in a way that left you choked up.
You wanted to run away, battling the urge to clock out and hopefully wash the nerves out of your system after taking a hot shower. Somehow, some higher entity out there seemed to grant your wishes. You almost think about kissing your boss’ feet as she walked from the back into the diner, speaking loudly on the phone as she processed a take-out order.
With the conversation now interrupted, you found a way to redirect it, fumbling for the notepad in your pocket as you spoke,”S-Sorry, let me take your order.”
Jackson didn’t seem to mind it much, humming under his breath before answering.
The diner had gotten busy within the next thirty minutes, a group of loud college students walking into the establishment for a quick bite. Their boisterous laughs and voices reverberated against the walls of the diner and while it was rather deafening, you were somewhat thankful for the distraction. With the emotions storming in your mind, you figured you needed away time from Jackson.
Unfortunately, he didn’t share the same idea. He seemed to take his time with his meal, taking small bites and reading whatever worn out book he’s pulled out of his pocket as you tended to other customers. You assumed that it might’ve been a slow day for him.
“How was your meal?” You ask as you rack up his bill, eyes glancing at him before back at the paper.
“Good,” he simply replied, hand, leaning forward against the bar. “But the service was better.”
You let out a nervous laugh under your breath, unsure of how to respond. You were hoping that he wouldn’t talk to you for the rest of the night, wanting to rid of the tense feeling in your body, so you settle for that simple act of acknowledgment.
Then you tell him his total, always the same, his order never changing since he’s dined here half a year ago. At this point, you’d expect him to pay without asking. Your boss had even offered him the convenient option of leaving his payment by the table to save him from the trouble of walking over to the register, claiming he was a “loyal” and “truthful” customer.
But he doesn’t do that. Even with the offer, he never does.
He slides the bills over and you reach to grab them, looking up from the receipt. Finally, you seem to freeze, hand stopping midway as you notice his hands, a bit irritated looking as if it had been scratched or scrubbed relentlessly.
Then you notice the dirt trapped under his fingernails along with faint reddening hue along the edges. You can hear him talking, saying something about the boys who had come in earlier, but you can’t seem to tear your eyes away.
It isn’t until he moves to brush his hand against yours on the counter, you’re grounded back to reality, a sharp gasp leaving your mouth as you quickly pull your hand away.
His eyes seemed to widen at this, both of you staring at each other in awkward silence. You attempt to muster up an excuse, mouth opening and closing, but he beat you to it, clearing his throat.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he apologizes, breaking the silence. “Didn’t mean to startle you. You just seemed out of it, so I was just checking on ya.”
It takes you a moment to process his words before you shake your head, grabbing the bills from the counter.
There’s an odd feeling in your chest, unsettling in a way that heightened your anxiety. Something didn’t sit right and you’re not sure what, feeling almost silly at your emotions. Then you realize that maybe you should lay off the horror documentaries, the paranoia finally catching up to you. So you decide to shake it off, letting out a breath that was trapped in your throat.
“..I’m fine. I think I’m just really tired,” you finish your sentence, offering him a tense smile.
He doesn’t seem convinced for a moment but lets it go (much to your relief).
“Well sweetheart, grab a coffee before you go home, yeah? Dangerous for you to walk alone in that state. Nights are always unpredictable.”
There’s a hint of concern in his voice and you try to wave it off, not wanting to pester him with such trivial scenarios. With your pepper spray and taser you bought half-off from the store four blocks down, you were sure you’d make it home mostly safe.
“Just wanna make sure my girl is safe is all. I’d offer to walk you home but I haven’t finished running my errands,” he says casually, the nickname constant in his mouth. “Maybe next time I’ll pray hard enough to have the opportunity.”
You let out an airy giggle at his words, forgetting about the uneasy feeling almost immediately. You’re not even sure why you assumed the worst in him, chiding yourself a bit for believing he’d commit any heinous acts. He’s been nothing but kind to you from the start and truth be told, if he wanted to do something to you by now, he would’ve.
“Fat chance, but you can keep praying,” you tease and he lets out an amused laugh.
“Best believe I will. My lord hasn’t failed me yet.”
With that, you both catch up for a bit before another set of customers come in, cutting your session short. He nods at you, moving to push himself off of the counter.
“Well, that’s my cue,” he straightens out his shirt, shoving the receipt in his pocket before looking back at you. “I’ll see you soon, sweetheart. Remember what I told you.”
You roll your eyes, shooing him away, “Yes, I know. You’ll see me in one piece next time.”
He reacts to your answer, a prideful smirk forming on his face as he hums in approval, “Good girl.”
Your cheeks redden at his praise and thankfully, he's already turned away, heading out the front door when it happens. As much as you hated to admit it, you figured that maybe you did like Jackson more than you let on.
But only time could tell.
Time was definitely not on your side.
You hadn’t talked to Jackson since your last encounter with him a week and a half ago. It was out of the ordinary and sudden, his absence obvious as you found yourself waiting for his arrival. The more you waited, the more you wondered.
You did miss him in a sense. Whether it was because he established a routine for you, provided excitement in your life, or welcomed you with blossoming feelings for your relationship with him, you’d never know.
It didn’t make it easier that you hardly knew anything about him. Creating scenarios for his absence felt almost impossible, forcing yourself to dumb it down to simple reasonings. Maybe he was busy with whatever job he had or he got caught up in family business. After all, he was an adult man with adult responsibilities. Visiting his “favorite” girl in a diner shouldn’t be one of them.
In a blink of an eye, two weeks passed without his usual visits and the villagers began speculating. Considering the low population of the village, it wasn’t a surprise that people had caught on quickly, rumors spreading like uncontrollable wildfire.
“Maybe he found a purpose somewhere else. This place can only provide so much,” one woman gosipped, buying fresh eggs from a farmer in the market.
“Told you he was working for the government! Was always suspicious of that one,” Another man had claimed on a different day, hitting his rolled up newspaper against the arm of his friend. “Cottonwood is shady! It’s weird how we don't know anything about this fool when everyone knows everyone here!”
“Do you think he was the twentieth victim?” Your coworker theorizes one day, the diner slowing down after the dinner rush. You shudder at that, not wanting to think about that possibility.
The air is suddenly eerie, a sense of unease surrounding the area.
You just hope he hadn’t gotten hurt or abruptly moved away without saying goodbye.
You finally finish closing up, finalizing and straightening everything out before parting ways with your coworker who blew you a kiss, reminding you to call her before your shift tomorrow so you both could hit up the farmers market.
You spare her a tired smile, nodding at her words before walking towards the opposite direction and into the quiet streets of the village. With the recent news lately, the nights have been emptier, markets shutting down early in fear of the loose kidnapper. You did miss the liveliness of the night life here, but who could blame them? Nineteen people missing and not one body had been recovered.
The incident was easily labeled as the Cottonwood Mountain’s biggest case and probably its only one of its kind.
It had made big news on social media, several of your friends and family members calling you with warnings and concerns for your well-being. Despite the crimes occurring, you were much happier here than you were back home. So with a flash of your pepper spray and taser, you left them with the comfort that you were protected.
While scrolling through your phone, catching up on several messages, you were unexpectedly stopped by the blinding lights of police sirens, noticing the street you usually took blocked off by yellow caution tape and several police cars. There are a handful of officers around along with a few villagers scattered throughout the small, finite area.
You don’t have time to process what was happening before an officer approaches you, his voice hushed but authoritative.
“Sorry ma’am, the area is blocked off right now due to a distressed call. I know its an inconvenience but it’s currently prohibited to pass through the area at the moment.”
Truth be told, you were a bit annoyed at the inconvenience, wanting nothing but to be home after a long day at work, but you bite your tongue in hopes of ending your day on a good note.
“Do you know when everything will clear up?”
You were hoping he’d say soon or within the next thirty minutes, but the look on his face told you everything you needed to know. Defeated, you began to map out other routes you’ve taken once or twice whenever you wanted to take the scenic way home before he could give you a response.
“I don't have an ETA on it yet, ma’am. Is there any detour you could take?”
“Yeah,” is all you say and thank the officer, moving to reroute your path, already dreaming of the hot bath you’d take once you get home.
The alternative path was usually beautiful during the afternoon or the peak of sunrise and sunset, but right now, it felt dreadful as you navigated through the dark of the woods with nothing but your flashlight and the map in the back of your mind. It was an arguably faster way to get home, but also the more sketchy route which was why you avoided it at night.
You’re hyper aware and paranoid now, pepper spray in one hand and phone in the other as you treaded carefully along the dirt road. Every noise and odd gust of wind forced you to hold your breath, body trembling a bit at the silence of the area.
Regret began to weigh on your mind.
Maybe you should’ve waited for them to clear things out or call your coworker to crash at her place until everything settled, but you were already near your apartment, already too far into it to turn back. It would only be more trouble to track back. Only a few more turns and—
Speaking of turns, you rounded the corner of a tree, soon stopping in your tracks as your body paralyzed at the sight of red on the ground. The thick, viscous liquid stood out against the dark of the ground, splattered and smeared, taunting you as your heart dropped.
Your body seemed to move on its own as you redirected your flashlight along the dirt, the light providing you a better picture of streaks of a deep red stretching across the path, almost as if someone had been dragged.
Slowly, you look up, light flashing towards the direction and before you know it, you feel dizzy and nauseous at the sight of a body on the ground, lifeless and obviously, still very fresh, There’s a cleaver sliced through his neck, lodged deep into it, and then you see a pair of feet right next to the corpse, your breathing picking up as you come to the dreading realization that you had been caught red-handed.
Out of instinct, you shine your light on the perpetrator, wanting to at least get a good look of him before you booked it, but found your feet glued to the ground once you met with the familiar face of the villages heartthrob, staring back at you with a smile on his face. It doesn’t feel real and you’re almost convinced you're dreaming until he speaks, his voice unsettling, his usual jovial tone absent.
“I know I prayed to my lord I’d see you again soon, but I didn’t expect it in such an exciting way,” he let out an empty chuckle that sent shivers down your spine. He bent down to rip the cleaver out of the man's throat, the blood gushing out of his wound, pooling on the ground beneath him. Jackson stepped over his body carelessly before making his way to you. “I was hoping under some better circumstances, but who am I to complain? Seeing your pretty face is always such a privilege.”
Horrified, you slowly step back, trying to create distance between you both, knees weak as you try to gather the strength to run. It was a miracle you could even stand after such a gruesome sight.
“J-Jackson—“ your voice whimpers, shaky and mortified, but he immediately cuts you off, a wicked grin plastered over his usual handsome features.
“I like it when you say my name like that,” he comments gleefully, clearly enjoying the state you were in. “If I knew you’d sound as sweet as you do right now, I would’ve hoped you caught me sooner.”
You don’t hear the rest, your heart beating through your ears and your breathing speeding up as you continue to step backwards. Eventually, your hearing picks up, him closing the empty space despite you not being able to make out anything but his silhouette in the darkness.
“.. I told you nights were unpredictable, sweetheart. You should’ve listened.”
You feel your back hit something firm and for a moment, you believe it’s a tree, but once you register its body heat, you slowly come to the realization that Jackson didn’t come alone. Suddenly, you feel a blunt object strike the back of your head.
For a few moments, you’re barely conscious, feeling an arm wrap around your middle as your body gives out, limp and out of your control. There’s an echo of laughter, menacing and mocking, before you slip out of reality, your life in the hands of the infamous serial killers of Cottonwood Mountains
