"When you take away one's primary tool of communication, all that's left is your body language, your eyes, your motion in your face. . ."

-Andrew Brynarski on becoming "Leatherface"

stirs. There's a thundering pain in her head. With a whimper, she tries to open her eyes. To her surprise, only one will open. The other seems to be crusted closed.

She raises her hand up and rubs at the eye. Finally, the eye peels open. When she looks down at her hands, their stained with dried blood.

All at once, her memories about the festival night hit her like a bullet train. She tries to sit up but is immediately struck by the thundering pain in her skull again.

I need to figure out where I am

She thinks to herself. Slowly turning her head, she strains to look at her surroundings. She's laying on a wooden bench in a room she doesn't recognize. It's cold, dark, and smells horrid. Like sewage and metal.

Around her are a variety of tools, a chainsaw, hammers, nails, a sowing machine, knives, an axe, and God knows what else hidden in the shadows.

Something swings in the corner of her eye. She tries to turn to it but is met with the thundering pain once again. Whatever it is is hanging from the ceiling, and it's big.

Her heart starts to pound in her chest. She stiffles a scream, unsure of what it would bring from the lurking shadows.

A door swings open and she hears heavy footsteps coming down stairs. Her thoughts start racing. Her heart pounds like Death's fist on her front door.

To calm her thoughts, she starts thinking of words that start with the letter L.

Linger

Love

Loiter

Lingerie

Lie

Lacking

Leather

The footsteps stop at the base of the stairs, approaching Y/n slowly, as if unsure. The figure steps out of the darkness, revealing the Tall, Bulky man named Thomas Hewitt. The one she met only two weeks ago. On his face, he sports his new mask she made for him, the one of leather.

He makes eye contact with her and she chokes down a scream, instead producing a fearful whimper.

"What's going on?" She asks, choking on tears.

Thomas doesn't answer, he instead pulls out a wet wash cloth and comes closer to her. She flinches when his big hands grab her head. His touch is soft, though unwelcomed nonetheless.

He wipes off the crusty, dried blood from her face. He's completely silent as he works, but Y/n continues to try and get answers.

"Where am I? What are you gonna do to me?"

Thomas pauses for a second, before putting the wet cloth to the side. His hands linger on her cheeks, before getting up and walking out of her field of vision.

"Thomas! Get up here!" A voice calls from upstairs.

The big man stops what he's doing and starts walking up the stairs.

"Hurry up, ya big idiot! I can't carry in the bodies myself!"

Bodies? Shit.

She starts to gain her strength back, enough to be able to sit up. Thomas has gone upstairs to deal with the bodies.

Out of fear, y/n takes her chance to hide. She plans to escape when she gets the chance.

two bodies out of the back of the truck, one in each arm. With his hips he throws open the front door.

"Tommy, don't track blood through the house!" His mother calls out to him. He grunts in reply.

Slowly and heavily, he descends the stairs to the basement. Hoyt follows behind him.

"Hang 'em from the hooks and do what you please. Just save the thicker one for dinner tonight." He says.

Thomas freezes at the final step.

Where's y/n?

He whips his head back and forth, searching frantically for the mask maker. The table he had put her on previously is empty now, taunting him.

"What the fuck, Tommy?" Hoyt asks from behind.

He shakes his head and throws one of the bodies on the empty table. He doesn't want Hoyt to know he's lost one of the victims.

His uncle crosses his arms, taking in the scenery.

"You still got that biker girl down here?"

Thomas nods. Her body has been hanging on the hook since their murder spree a week before.

"Do somethin' with her. Harvest her organs or somethin. We got plenty of jars in the kitchen."

With that, Hoyt turns and leaves. Thomas releases the tension in his broad shoulders. Now he can look for Y/n.

He starts moving bins and tools, feeling around the dark corners of the basement. He's about to reach the last one when he hears something from the middle of the room.

He rises slowly, approaching the table. At first, he thinks one of the bodies was actually still alive, but after a pulse check he's proven wrong.

After a moment of silence, he can hear it again. A shaky breathe. It came from under the table.

Thomas gets down on his knees and peers under it. A boot flies out from under and kicks him square in the face.

He grunts, shocked. As he sits there in disbelief, y/n takes her chance and tries to slip right past him. She's too slow, and Thomas grabs her ankle, pulling her down.

She screams in desperation, clawing at the wet floor in an attempt to get away.

Thomas's heart starts hammering in his chest. He never wanted to hurt y/n, but it seems like he reacted too roughly.

He wraps his arms around her waist and lifts her up. She pushes him away, trying to break his grasp.

Slowly and gently, he sets her down on the ground. Before she can run, he grabs a rope and ties her hands to an exposed pipe.

He points at her, and then at the pipe with a grunt.

Don't move.

He quickly goes and retrieves the last body from the truck. It's a bigger man. Still smaller than Thomas, but he needs both hands to carry him.

When he reaches the stairs, he just tosses the body down. It lands at the bottom with a splash.

"Thomas! Hurry up and prepare that big guy for the stew!" Hoyt calls to him.

Thomas grunts in frustration. He wants to have a chance to meet with the mask maker, but Hoyt keeps getting in the way.

Family first.

He gets down to business, throwing the body on the table and skinning it. The good chunks he puts in a bucket to give to his mother for the stew. His uncle Hoyt seems to be fond of the ears, so he cut those off too.

His hands linger on the face of the man. He traces his handsome, normal features, than traces his own ugly, disfigured ones through the mask.

"Hurry up, Tommy!"

He looks up at the stairs, before grabbing the bucket and going up.

dozes off, hands still tied to the pipe. Her head had stopped throbbing, but now her ankle hurt from Thomas's strong grip.

It's been about an hour since he skinned that man in front of her and went upstairs. She had watched in horror as he collected each stringy, dripping chunk in a bucket at his feet.

Hoyt had mentioned something about a stew, and it made her nauseous to think about what kind of meat they were using.

They probably sat up there now, eating it. She shivered.

How much longer until that was her body in the stew? She was lucky for now. Thomas didn't kill her before bringing her in like the other bodies. But who knew when he would come down those stairs and finish the job.

She suddenly jumps out of her daze. How long had she been passed out before Hoyt and Thomas had gotten to the festival? Had Laura gotten out of there safely?

In desperation, she strains against the rope to try and see the bodies in the dim. It's too dark, she can't identify them.

She jumps and falls back when she hears the basement door open and heavy footsteps.

Thomas comes down the stairs. He rounds the corner quickly, a bowl and spoon in his hands.

She looks up at him with fear. In a shaky, pleading tone, She begs him.

"Thomas, do you remember me?"

He tilts his head at her.

"I made that mask for you, remember? I measured your face?"

His meaty hands touch the leather mask on his face, then point at the gloves on her hands.

She nods, slowly.

"Right, you remember me. I was nice to you, right? I don't want any trouble, so please, just let me go home and I won't tell anyone about this."

Thomas suddenly leans down, his face close to hers. He drops the bowl to the floor, his hand grabbing the pipe so hard his knuckles turn white. With the other, he points at the rope, at y/n, then at the basement floor.

Her heart flutters rapidly. He's only inches away, he could easily reach out, grab her throat and strangle the life out of her defenseless body. But, for some reason, he doesn't. He just backs away with an almost apologetic look in his eyes.

"Thomas, please."

He shakes his head, ones again pointing at the rope, than at her.

"Fine, fine, but Thomas I need you to do one thing for me."

He pauses, before nodding.

"Can you check those bodies, and tell me if any of them is a short woman, with wavy brown hair and a mole on her cheek?"

He turns to the bodies, examining them one by one. Y/n watches intently, fearing the worse. Finally, he rises and shakes his head.

Good. Laura's alive.

She sighs with relief, resting her head against the pipe.

Thomas reaches down, picking up the bowl. Inside is a steaming soup. Y/n feels vomit emerge from the pit of her stomach at the sight. She shakes her head when Thomas raises it to her.

He huffs, spooning some out and bringing it towards her face. She shakes her head furiously, lips tightly closed.

Thomas grabs her chin, lifting her face up. She whines, refusing to open her mouth. She knew the meat in that bowl wasn't chicken.

He freezes, hand still on her face. He forgets about the bowl for a minute, rubbing his thumb on the soft skin of her cheek.

Y/n doesn't shy away, not that she could. She doesn't want to upset Thomas, but most certainly was not going to eat what was floating in that bowl.

Suddenly, footsteps start coming down the basement. It's Hoyt.

He sees y/n and crosses his arms at Thomas.

"Tommy, I told you to do your business with her than finish her off. There's no point in keepin that bitch around, there'll be plenty of others!"

Thomas curls his hands into fists, looking from y/n to Hoyt. His glare lands on his Uncle, smoldering.

"What are you waiting for, ya big idiot? Pick up the chainsaw!"

He still doesn't move.

"Damn it, Tommy! It's us or the bitch! You can't have both that's not how it works!"

Slowly, Thomas rises. His dark curls fall into his face, hiding his eyes from y/n so she can't see his expression. Hesitantly, he grabs the chainsaw off the tool bench.

Y/n gasps, pulling against the ropes. They've been tied too tight, and she can't move. Thomas starts up the chainsaw.

It roars to life, a dog of death. Y/n screams.

She shakes her head, her heart increasing rapidly once again. She tastes metal on her tongue as she bites down on it too hard.

As he approaches her, his hair falls away, revealing his sad eyes. The look reminds her of something.

An hour before, when he was skinning the man in front of her, there was a moment when he stopped to caress his face, as if admiring it, before touching his own from over the mask. It sparks an idea. It's bold, but she shouts it out as a last attempt in living.

"I can make you a new face, Tommy! I'll make you a new mask!"

Tommy freezes, hand still on the chainsaw.

"You want a realistic one, huh? Like that man's face? I can make it!"

He lowers the chainsaw, tilting his head.

Hoyt chuckles from the staircase.

"You're a stubborn bitch. They always shout shit before we kill 'em. Finish the job, Tommy."

Thomas shakes his head, throwing the chainsaw aside. He gets down on his knee in front of y/n, pointing to his face.

"Yes, I can do it! I'll make you a better mask!" Y/n's voice shakes, her mouth sucked dry from her fear.

Thomas nods enthusiastically.

Hoyt spits at his feet.

"Fine, but once she's useless to us, you kill her, alright?"

Thomas doesn't respond. He doesn't even look over at Hoyt. The man takes the hint though, and leaves up the stairs.

Thomas reaches out to touch her face one more time, before leaving up the stairs as well.

When the door closes, she lets out a sigh of relief. She'll likely be left alone for the rest of the night, thank god. But who knew what horrors were waiting for her when the sun rose tomorrow.

Y/n really hates Texas.