Author's Note: This follows the events and timeline of Halloween 5: The Revenge of Michael Myers in which Rachel Carruthers is still alive-because the decision to kill her was objectively stupid-and Jamie isn't kidnapped by the Cult of Thorn or impregnated or any of that. This story departs from canon the moment Loomis and Michael finish their showdown, and everything therein is made of my own ideas. I can't be the only person disappointed in poor Jamie's fate, and I felt like I could really give her something better, as well as explore the dynamic between her and Michael introduced in 4 and 5 that ultimately feel very flat in 6.
Will contain influences from the entire Halloween franchise, including the new film, along with influences from the various Halloween novelizations and comics. Of course, there will be a heaping portion of my own ideas, too. Enjoy, and please let me know your thoughts in a review!
ONE
It is a strange thing
to nourish what could kill you
in the hopes it does not kill you.
- Catherine von Radics, Mouthful of Forevers
"Die! Die! Die, Michael!"
Each impact of wood against the Shape raveled in chain makes Jamie cringe, as if it were she who were being struck instead of her uncle. It feels like it, phantom blows akin to something an amputee would feel after losing a leg or an arm-pain that is not and should not be her own but is. That's what Michael Myers is to her-a part of her that is decayed and severed and dreadful. She sees that now, at the very least, knows enough even at the tender age of seven that something like that can't be stopped with elephant tranquilizers and a two-by-four. It had been a brilliant trap, though, one that no one besides Loomis had been privy to much to their own detriment. In time, Jamie would realize that whatever obsession Sam Loomis had with Michael Myers was something that consumed him enough to make him blind to the plight of everyone else around him and maybe, maybe, it made him no better than the monster he sought to slay.
For now, Jamie stares in horror as Loomis clutches his chest, falling over the prone body of her uncle as he croaks loud and ugly, a sound Jamie's never heard in her life. She doesn't realize her hands are over her ears until she removes them and feels her body wrack with sobs that she's been holding in for the past twenty-four hours. Seeing Max and Tina upstairs and forcing herself to crawl inside the coffin that had been on display like a macabre museum exhibit-watching the Shape peel off his mask that seemed like a second skin and cry-everything tonight had been too much.
Blue and red police lights pour into the dark room through the boarded windows and she hears the front door hitting the wall with the force of a battering ram. Before she knows it, she's in Sheriff Meeker's strong arms, tears staining his coat as he lifts her up into his arms.
"It's okay, Jamie. We've got you now. We've got you now," Meeker says. She nods, arms winding around his neck tightly as she clings on. One big hand rubs over her back, over the rough, ruined fabric of her pretty princess costume, and she uses the leverage of being in his arms to watch as Dr. Loomis is rushed away on a stretcher, leaving Michael prone on the floor, body raveled in chains and leaving his face free as officers surround him to assess the scene. Other officers storm through the home, searching for more possible victims or surviviors.
Jamie swallows thickly, staring into Michael's features.
He looks back at her.
"His eyes aren't closed," she whispers, hoarse. Meeker rubs against her back more and wraps her in a hospital issued blanket to hand her over to the paramedics on duty. They whisper more reassurances, tender and pitiful, and she can't break her gaze away from him and he from her, even as he's lifted into a stretcher and strapped down. He watches and she stares back.
"It'll be okay, Jamie. We've called your sister. She'll meet you at the hospital in an hour or two. It's okay."
She's set onto a stretcher, wrapped in the blanket, body turned toward him.
"Are-are you listening to me? His eyes aren't closed. He's watching me."
|O|
Rachel Carruthers had been stuck in a layover in Chicago when a police officer had approached her in her seat and asked her to come with him. Fearing the worst, Rachel grabs her duffle bag and coat and sluggishly follows, half-asleep but quickly wakening with the adrenaline that pumps through her veins and jump starts her heart rate. Ever since the events of last year, she has only come to expect the worst of every situation and knew that her initial instinct not to leave Jamie in Haddonfield for her parents' trip to Cleveland had been a mistake.
"What is it?" she asks when she's led outside, where the cold air bites at the exposed skin from her cropped sweater. The officer frowns, which only makes dread pang heavy in her gut. She feels nauseous and doesn't realize she's yelling until she sees the passersby staring their way. "What's happened to Jamie? What happened?"
"Jamie is in the hospital. She's in stable condition, but we need you to come with us to be with her. Sheriff Meeker asked us personally to come and find you," the officer explains. "The FBI and National Guard were deployed. The details aren't fully available yet, but it's important we're as quick as possible."
"Oh god," she says as she slides into the back of the state trooper cruiser. The door is shut behind her and she puts her face in her hands, fingers carding through her curly mane. "Oh god."
It's just like last year. It's just like last year, and she hadn't been there. To stop him, to help Jamie. To keep her safe from Michael and that goddamn fucking lunatic doctor of hers.
It's a two hour drive with tension that weighs the car down heavy. The officers can't look her in the eyes and she can only stare at the road ahead, foggy as it is, illuminated by headlights. When they arrive at Haddonfield Memorial, Rachel feels like some other entity carries her with every step as she's led to Jamie's room. It's a mess of press and concerned parents and patients alike. She ducks her face from the cameras and the attention of them all until they reach the elevator.
The hallway is full of police officers and doctors and parents alike and it's pandemonium. That's the best way Rachel can describe it-chaos, disorganized and loud and screeching. She feels the steel glare of various parents lined up and down the halls-feels something like rage in the back of her throat like a scream about it because she knows innately that they blame Jamie for this. For him. As if Jamie wanted the damnation of her family's fate to follow her.
When the door leading to Jamie's room is opened, she wastes no time rushing toward the girl and holding her close before she can even get a good look at her. It takes Jamie a moment to hug back but she cries out in relief, and Rachel sighs shakily, tears burning at her cheeks as she runs her fingers through matted dark hair. Jamie smells of soil and blood and dust, even clad in a hospital gown with many of her wounds clean.
"I'm so sorry, Jamie," Rachel cries. Jamie holds on tighter.
"It's okay, Rachel," Jamie whispers. Rachel withdraws from her, holding onto her shoulders as she smiles wide at the sound of her voice that had seemingly been ripped from her. It's something, even in the mess of everything that's happened. More tears fall and, when Jamie moves to wipe them, Rachel holds her tighter.
"I shouldn't have left you, Jamie," Rachel says. "I shouldn't have. None of this would've happened. The officers told me about what Dr. Loomis did. I wouldn't have let him. No one should have let him do this to you."
"They caught him, Rachel. Because of me. It's-it's okay," Jamie stammers, small fingers burying into the fabric of her sister's sweater. The smell of her perfume and shampoo and the feeling of a lipstick stain on her head from where Rachel kisses her beside her bandages-it feels like more of a relief than anything else tonight. "But Tina-Tina's dead. So is Sammy. So is Max. Everyone is dead, and that's because of me, too."
Rachel bites her lip, holding back tears as she sits on the bed beside her sister. Jamie doesn't look at her, only at the wall ahead of him, at the two-way mirror where the shades are currently drawn to hide them from view. Her hand tightens in Rachel's sweater.
"That's not because of you. That's because of him, and him alone. Not you. Do you hear me?"
"But I knew-"
Rachel cuts her off, sounding more harsh than she intends.
"No. It's not your fault, no matter what anyone tries to tell you, okay? No matter what anyone says. You're a kid. This is not on you. It's on him."
It takes a moment, but Jamie nods, staring down at the grit under her fingernails then at the floor. Her lip quivers in a tell-tale sign she's going to cry, and Rachel wraps an arm around her shoulders to hold her close before she does.
Sheriff Meeker steps into the room alongside a nurse and two other officers while Rachel holds her sister close in her arms, running her fingers through her hair soothingly until the girl's nearly asleep. Her grip tightens at the sight of him when he pulls up a chair to sit beside them, hat in his hands.
"Rachel, I'm glad you came. I'm sorry, for all of this. This is never what we intended to happen."
She sighs heavy, and feels Jamie stir in her arms.
"I know, sir," Rachel says, anger dissipated to something that lies square between dread and sadness. "It's-none of us could have predicted this. None of us. I'm just glad Jamie's safe."
The sheriff nods, stoic as he's always been, even in the wake of the death of his own daughter. A strong hand finds its way to Rachel's shoulder, then pushes through Jamie's messy fringe of dark hair. She stares at him, blinking away.
"I know. I just wanted to let you two know that Michael Myers is currently in central booking, where he's awaiting transfer under maximum security surveillance. He's not getting out, ever. We've finally caught him."
It does nothing to relieve Rachel, even though the words should.
Jamie interrupts them.
"I want to see him," she says, louder than she's been in the time Rachel's been here.
"Absolutely not," Rachel says quicker than she can think.
Jamie frowns, and looks toward the sheriff.
"Please, Mr. Meeker. I-I want to see him, one last time. Please."
Her fingers twist in Rachel's sweater sleeve, and Rachel looks at the sheriff pleadingly. Meeker's stern consternation furrows in conflict, and he exhales.
"I don't know if that's the best idea, Jamie..." Meeker says finally. Jamie sees the leeway in the statement and seems to take it.
"I want to make sure. I want to see him. I'll do anything you say," she gets quieter. "Please."
Rachel and Meeker exchange glances and, finally, Meeker stands.
"I'll give you both a ride there and home, after you've cleaned yourself up and discharged," Meeker glances at Rachel, expression unreadable. "I'll be in the hallway, whenever you're ready."
The door closes behind them. Rachel sighs as Jamie hobbles to her feet, heading to the bathroom. Rachel follows to help the girl wash the grit and blood out of her long hair, avoiding the bandages over her ears and calf. She's changed into a police issues sweatshirt and sweatpants that are comically too big, with hospital issued slides. Rachel braids her wet hair for her before she discharges her, carrying her down to Meeker's cruiser.
A five minute drive to the police station is twenty minutes with the heavy traffic from Lampkin Lane. Rachel holds Jamie in her lap in the back, where the girl stares out the window quietly, hand knotted in Rachel's sweater. Meeker opens the back door for the two of them, and they're led to the long line of holding cells behind a locked chain door.
"Here he is," Meeker says when they reach the last cell. Jamie's hand falls from Rachel's as she stares at her uncle, whose back is to her. The sight of Michael Myers, in chains and restraints, dark head of hair away from them and side profile present, is almost more disarming than seeing him in the mask.
Rachel shivers. Jamie squints at him, taking a small step closer.
"Tomorrow morning, he'll be transferred to the maximum security ward of Smith's Grove, where he'll stay until the day he dies."
"He'll never die," Jamie says.
The Shape's fist clenches at the sound of her voice but, beyond that, there is no reaction. Jamie watches her uncle for a long moment, watches him watch the wall ahead of him, then lets her gaze fall away, the image seared into her.
She looks up at Rachel, catching her hand, and remembers the weight of her uncle's hand in her own.
"Can we go home, Rachel?" she asks, finally.
Rachel nods, picking her up into her arms and leaving Michael Myers behind, where his dark gaze only breaks from the wall ahead to watch her leave.
Jamie looks back at him.