~*Author's Note*~
Forgive the long wait in between updates I had hard time trying to piece together more. Sometimes I just get the idea for scenes and then I have to figure out how to stitch them together into a coherent storyline. I'm also working on my newest story 'The Ghosts in the Fog' and I hope you all have a chance to check it out. I'm moving into more emotional territory with Michael and Angelina where both are conflicted but inseparable. Not in this chapter but in an upcoming one I promise a steamy love scene…so stay tuned! Please send reviews that put a fire underneath me *hint hint*
*****
I had little doubt that Sheriff Brackett was having a full on conniption after finding the havoc Michael had wrought under the very noses of his useless deputies. If Michael had not dispatched the entire medical staff working the night shift I prayed he would receive proper care. But then they would have discovered the nurse and the officer I had seen him kill and any other victims Michael had murdered with at least twenty armed men mere feet from the escaped convict they were trying to capture. A part of me would have felt the situation laughable if I were not being carried in their target's arms across the misty grounds of Evergreen Memorial Cemetery. Despite my insistence that I was able to walk he had ignored me and we continued down the row of graves in silence. What fascinated me was how Michael was capable of roaming about in the most exposed locations, in clear sight yet evade detection so easily. Truly he moved at a snail's pace, even when in pursuit of victims but people were rarely able to capture him.
This was the equivalent of a stroll down a white sandy beach at sunset for us, the true odd couple. The mists would disperse as his eyes moved through them and the waning moon revealed tombstones of varied shapes and sizes. Usually I avoided this place because of how sad one feels when stepping inside the iron gates. Somewhere my grandparents were buried here and my parents forced me to visit during Memorial Day weekends; otherwise I had no desire to make trips to the neighborhood of the dead. I pressed my face deeper into his shoulder as we moved east and tried not to look at the freshly dug graves that we passed. The relatives of my friends would probably be just starting to arrange the details of the funerals and burials, and my heart lurched to think of my graduation without them and could almost picture having the ceremony in the middle of the graveyard so we could finish high school together as we'd always planned. Beyond that I had no idea if I would survive to see June, let alone next week.
I napped as he continued on and he only shifted me in his arms when he had reached his intended location. I stared up at the withered edifice and thought of how that first night had transformed everything for Haddonfield. Though a chill raced up my spine I didn't feel the paralyzing fear that I'd encountered when I first found myself within its walls. This was our homecoming, this was we're we belonged and though I longed to see my own family and be amongst familiar surroundings there was no way life would be the same. How could I resume the idyllic childhood Michael had practically destroyed when his deeds would remain with me every day. No, I would remain here for as long as Michael wished, there simply was no other option.
He settled me on my feet and pushed in the bolted back door and unceremoniously walked inside, knowing I would follow. Once secured inside I was able to limp about what appeared to have been the kitchen. Beyond that was the living room and the stairs, though there was police tape blocking the entrance to the hallway. Averting my gaze from the chalk marks on the floor boards, where two bodies had been found. After several deep breaths in a vain attempt to keep my head clear and my stomach from leaping into my throat I found him watching me. The moonlight lit enough of the house that his mask seemed to glow eerily and I felt a tinge of fear as I had felt a few days before, when I through I would end up with chalk around my corpse.
"Goes great with the décor," I muttered, a smile forming and then failing to rise to my face.
My eyes dropped to my socks while he ripped the tape away and proceeded up the rickety staircase. Like a blind disciple I followed him with careful steps in case a board snapped beneath me and I fall—and we had already seen where that could lead. Because this was his home he knew every nook and cranny and as if this was a bizarre tour for a real estate agent, I made notes of different points in the house. The bathroom was across the hall from the nursery where Laurie had spent her first year. Down the hall were the linen closet and Judith's old room and to the left his own. Yet we bypassed this and I nearly ran into his back when he stopped before the worn door that suddenly fascinated him. The hinges, rusted with age and loosely clinging to the frame, whined when he pushed the door open to reveal what I expected. A large bed with a decaying metal frame and I feared how long ago the lacey coverlet had been washed. As he stepped over the threshold I was able to gain a better vantage but I didn't enter. Something internally told me to have a greater reverence for this particular room.
There were dusty faded pictures of floral scenes on the walls and a plaque with the mantra, 'God bless this home' hanging from a string and nail beside the boarded up window. Swallowing hard I turned to see a walk-in closet where the vented sliding doors had crumpled to one side. Despite little to no evidence available I quickly deduced that this was where he ran as a child when a nightmare frightened him. There were probably memories of Mother's Day breakfasts in bed, pillow fights and other cherished moments that only he recalled. Refusing to believe Michael was a mindless killing machine devoid of emotion, I tried to fathom how much of a sense of loss and loneliness he must have felt.
"This was your parents' room."
I merely said it so that he would remember I was still present, for I was sure he was drowning in his thoughts, as any man would.
"I know we're here to hide out but it means a lot to me that you brought me here. A few days ago I wouldn't think so but I think it's an honor now."
Michael had been standing deathly still in front of the bed but he seemed to be looking through it, to another time. I approached him and slipped my hand into his and gave it a squeeze to reassure him that he would not have to face his demons alone anymore. Having made more progress than a bevy of psychiatrists I looked up at him and saw sad blue eyes staring back. Releasing his hand I shuffled over to the bed and sat down on the iron spring mattress and heard its age crying out. The sheets surprisingly had a minimum of dust or dirt clinging to them, really having actually appearing to be recently used. I turned to Michael and then back to the comforter and understood how he had hidden so easily.
"Always in the most obvious place," I murmured with humor. "Michael you must enjoy this cat and mouse game you play and I can't fault you for testing Haddonfield's finest. I'm shocked Loomis doesn't state out this place in the hopes you'll come back here."
I was learning so many of his secrets and yet he was still unattainable because he physically hid from me. His face and his voice were not so simple to observe, the last barrier to unraveling who the real Michael Myers was. By no means would that make him less horrifying because if he, at his staggering height and wielding a knife, chased after me I would still flee for my life. I had already told him that what was most frightening about him was how he was spawned from the innocent past World War II suburbia where nothing went wrong. Alarmingly this nightmare was sitting down beside me, towering over me with his hands on his knees.
The mood was changing and yet he acted so differently to make me feel so and I decided that I should utilize the bed as he offered. Indeed there were crumbs of dirt from wear he'd laid and I tried to think of how this was far better than sleeping on the streets. I had just begun to pull the covers over my legs when he suddenly gripped them, stilling my hands; his masked head slowly turned toward me and for a second apprehension struck me. The last thing I wanted was to desecrate his deceased parents' furniture.
"Michael, I—"
He moved with the stealth of a cat but there was no arrogance or bravado in his movements as he pushed me gently against the gathering of pillows behind me. The sheets were now out of my hands and as I stared at him from over my knees I realized how much of a compromising position I was in, with my legs partially opened. My ruined hospital gown provided no modesty and his right hand began its probing at a pace that he set as his fingertips danced up my shin, following an inevitable line further along my leg.
The tingling sensation that played along my inner thighs caused my stomach to clench, a natural reaction to having him so close. I could almost imagine the feel of his breath there instead of the worn rubber material but the mask had become an indelible part of him. Though I longed to see his face a part of me couldn't picture Michael without it but I had seen the picture with a smiling handsome boy, and Laurie was always considered lovely. Undoubtedly he had grown into an impressive man with a masculine form that was almost Herculean and his eyes enchanted me whenever I gazed into them. But could that be possible? To have escaped psychotic killer to have the face and physique that could grace any magazine? The awkwardness of having him examining the tender bruise on my left thigh was replaced with a new one. Closing my eyes and swallowed hard, I forced the words from my tongue and prayed they'd not be my last.
"Michael, please let me see your face."
The constant heavy breathing did not change and when I thought to feel the pure wrath only Haddonfield's finest killer could serve, there was nothing. I let one eye open and then the other and Michael was staring at me as if my request was typical. Lying in his mother's bed with his hands on my thighs and his hidden face inches from my womanhood, he seemed to be undaunted.
"The mask isn't your true face. There is a real man behind it and there is no reason to hide it from me. I mean eventually everyone will know that I am no victim and soon Loomis and Sheriff Brackett will discover our hideout." I paused to see if perhaps my words were registering and all I found were a few blinks.
"Before they lock me away for helping you, for being with you as an accomplice and call me insane for loving you…"
The breathing stopped. Before I could comprehend what I had said or recall what I had said, he pulled away from me. In one fluid motion he was on his feet and stalking from the room. Fresh tears welled up in my eyes and I hadn't any idea of how to explain. Had I just made such a declaration? I had hoped to persuade him to let me see his face for a few seconds, which would help me sleep when the jail door slammed shut on me. What had pushed me to admit I had any feelings at all was beyond me and now his footsteps sounded distant. He was leaving the house and he was probably stressed which normally meant someone was going to die.
*****
My dreams were haunted and disturbed but I didn't want to awake from them, not when I saw my dearly departed friends and classmates. We were all gathered in the school gym, surrounded by lights and decorations as we danced until our feet felt numb. Billy never let me go for a second, even when blood began to seep from his mouth, from the wound across his neck. We were all so happy to be together and my dress looked so lovely, in spite of the puddles of blood soaking up the hem. We swayed together in each other's arms and I couldn't stifle the smile on my face as Billy gurgled on his own blood as he tried to tell me he loved me. We swayed more but I had to do so to keep him upright, even as others saw their wounds exposed and dropped to the floor. Until only we were left standing amongst the heaps of corpses of our loved ones and the deathly paleness that illuminated Billy's cheeks didn't faze me because I had him, and that made this autumn ball the best I've ever attended.
"Billy, tell me again that you love me, I've waited years to hear you say it," I implored as I gazed into his glazed over eyes.
Before he could form the words I felt a thrust of his body against mine, leaving me to think I had been stabbed. Billy made no expression for he'd stopped breathing long before that and the blade didn't trouble him. The tip had not pierced me though it shone through the perfectly pressed tuxedo that Billy wore until it disappeared again. He slipped from my arms and collapsed to the floor and landed directly beside Annie; still even in death I was no match for her because now that they were both deceased she would still have more in common with him than me.
But my eyes were diverted from the massacre around me and saw Michael standing in front of me with his bloody knife firmly in his grasp. There, in a blood dress and standing in entrails, I let him take my waist and pull me closer to him and a soft tune wafted through the gym. I leant into him as we danced about, avoiding large chunks of meat lying about and he made me feel warm and protected, even when he sunk the blade in…
*****
Instantly I was awake and felt a cold sweat break across me even as my throat spat sand. For a moment my senses were in complete disarray and I whimpered aloud until I was brutally pulled away from the mattress and forced against something living and hard. I blinked several times before my eyes could focus and then I saw Michael's eyes imprinted on my face and spelled out how concerned I was. Yet I felt no new pains especially none in my back and that was a relief. I quickly apologized for my night terrors and then asked to be set down, to which he hesitated.
Once firmly on my feet I pulled away from him and murmured that I was simply tired and overexcited after all that had happened. We had stolen away into the night and made the trek back to his infamous childhood home and there, surrounded by small reminders of his past she felt incredibly homesick as any teenage girl would.
"You must know what it's like to wish you had your mother there to comfort you when you feel lost and alone. I wanted to simply have a moment of tenderness with you and you left me so fast and that hurt. But obviously men tend to vanish whenever I show them any affection. Normally my mother would make some tea and help calm my nerves after another disappointment. Instead I get left in an old abandoned house, on a dead couple's bed and completely rejected by an escaped mute murderer. Annie always acted like she didn't care and that drew the boys but I couldn't conceal my feelings quite so easily."
Still wearing my soiled bandages and tattered gown, I wished I was wearing anything else in this drafty pile of rubble. At home I'd wear a bathrobe over my pajamas and felt far more at ease, but that was before I learned what's really possible even the quietest of towns. The town's twentieth century dream had been shattered in this house and my resentment against its only occupant was growing.
As I withdrew into my thoughts and resumed my place on the bed, I felt his eyes on me. Only then did I see a gift bag sitting next to the door and saw the shopkeeper's name printed across the front. Carlyle's was an antique store in downtown Haddonfield and its owner, Larry Carlyle was an ornery old man that refused to sell to people my age. Though I hadn't a bad reputation and had no desire to steal he didn't are for teenagers and had actually yelled at me the day before Halloween for standing in front of his display window. He refused to sell me a beautiful Mardi Gras mask that was only twenty dollars, claiming that a 'punk kid' couldn't handle anything nice without defacing it. Annie had flicked him her middle finger while Laurie argued that what he was doing was age discrimination.
Michael took the medium size red and white bad, stuffed with tissue paper and placed it on my lap. Never one to turn away from a present, I dove into the bad and withdrew the mask I had coveted. Long black feathers framed the gold and orange sequin mask and tied together with silky black ribbons. The mask could hide most of my face and a grin pierced my face as I held it up so Michael could see the full effect. I tied the ribbons behind my head and secured it in place before leaping over the broken oval looking glass. My previous feelings were swallowed up by an exuberance as I pranced around in my mask. His eyes, with the lower lid raised to make him squint a little, told me that he was smiling his approval.
"This is amazing how did you know that I wanted this mask?"
Of course then the full reality surfaced and I knew exactly how he'd known.
"Back when you were following us, you saw how I tried to buy it didn't you? You saw how Mr. Carlyle wouldn't sell it to me and you stole the mask?" He offered me a slow nod and I wasn't sure how I felt about his answer but my anger had dissolved to a distant memory.
"You probably killed him or at least scared him to the point that he'll remember the customer is always right. But tell me why'd you leave the way you did. Was it because of what I said?"
Yes.
"Did I offend you or anger you?"
No.
"I guess it's safe to assume that the mask is a love taken, a symbol that you understand all too well. I want to thank you and I really love this mask but I'm not going to hide anymore that I love you. Is that okay?"
He took a step closer to me and over masked faces was frozen on each other as he ran his fingers over the details of mine. Just to touch the bottom of his I had to stand on tip-toe but it was worth it and I swore to never forget the simplicity of this moment. Yes I longed to see his true face but to Michael after so many years and so much history, this was the only face he knew. This would appease me for now but ultimately I would help him discover the face he'd lost. But when I whispered this to him I saw a strange light enter his eyes and I couldn't tell if he believed me. Loomis and his team at Smith's Grove had made the same attempt, but of course Loomis never cared for Michael on this level. Michael would never have me profiting from our story like the good doctor had, but then I had not a clue as to how things would climax. The allure of Michael was of how he could have a sense of sympathy and affection for me, but he was never far from using his knife. With my childhood reduced to dust, every moment with Michael was an unscripted adrenaline rush and I was becoming numb to the bloodshed.
"I know you haven't done so in over fifteen years but do you think maybe, with practice, you could learn to speak again?"
Michael lowered his hands and quietly regarded me before he shook his head. Before I could ask him to even consider the possibility, the sound of tires screeching up the front lawn drew our attention. I rushed to the window and ducked down low enough to avoid detection and saw a gathering of six trucks pull up with men piling out into the street. Many of the faces I recognized, in particular Billy's father who coached football for Haddonfield High School.
A former athletic star in his own right, Stephan Robertson had continued to live his stereotypical dream through his only son, even as he morphed into a pot-bellied, wife-beating with a not-so-secret drinking problem. Now he was hoping out of a truck with a rifle in one hand and the way he was calling orders to the others, he looked like the ringleader of a restless and vengeful lynch mob.
*****
*Remember I don't own Halloween, but I'd like reviews so I know what my readers think of the storyline and approve of where it's heading*
