October 17th
Charlotte woke up with a terrible head ache lying in bed and cocooned in warm blankets. Slowly her eyes fluttered open but her vision was slightly blurry for a few minutes. She listened for Michael but there was no sound in the house but the crackling of fire. When she pushed the covers down over her body she saw she was naked. She reached out and grabbed Michael's shirt, which had been laid out on the night stand next to her.
She could not find her jeans and left the room, tugging the ends of Michael's shirt down to her mid thighs. She was going to call out to Michael but she did not want to see him just yet. It was never her intention to run, she did not want to push her luck, and it appeared her one solid chance had come and passed. Instead she decided to take the time to explore the home.
As she went from room to room she ignored the odd picture she came across. She did not want to know about the man who lived here before or his family. The only thin g that gave her some comfort is that more people might come looking in on him. She found nothing in the rooms but when she climbed up into the attic, which was uncomfortable in just a large shirt, she found radio. She climbed back down from the attic with it, praying it worked. Some news or music would be welcome at the moment.
She wondered if she might even get some information on what people think had happened to her. She prayed people did not give her up for dead but she knew it was most likely. Would anyone actually expect Michael Myers to take a prisoner? She doubted it and so she prepared herself for it. It was most likely that they were no longer even looking for her body.
She walked downstairs with the old radio in her arms, pulling down at the ends of Michael's shirt self consciously. She looked over the radio, trying to figure out how it works when she walked into the living room. She looked up, about to put it on the coffee table. She nearly dropped the radio when she looked up to find Michael standing in the doorway to the kitchen, knife in his hand, staring at her silently.
"Michael… you scared me," she breathed and then held up the radio. "look what I found."
His head lowered to look at the radio in her arms and she placed it on the table. She plugged it in and sat down on the couch. She would occasionally glance at the knife in his hand but hoped not to make it obvious she was very frightened. He stood there motionless as she searched for a signal, her nerves on high alert the entire time.
"It will be nice to listen too don't you think, Michael?" she asked him. He continued to stare straight ahead. "It will be like when I tried to get you the TV at Danvers. Remember? We can listen to music together."
He turned his head to look at her.
"Come sit with me," she said offering him a sweet smile. He moved toward her slowly, sitting down stiffly and looking at the radio. She pretended to look for music, but really switched the radio to AM, looking for a news story on Michael's escape. She did not have to search long, for every local station was focused on the terror that had gripped all of Illinois. Haddonfield was on near lockdown, and the streets were completely empty at night. Michael waited as she listened to the news story on him but he did not seem to react badly. He even let her slowly, calmly, reach over and take the knife from his hand.
"I'm just going to put it right here in case you need it, but you don't need it right now," she told him and he put up no resistance. When she heard her name she leaned forward, turning the volume way up. As she had expected she was suspected dead and all searches had been called off. Interviews from her students were played from the night of her disappearance. She was touched by the things they said, but she could only hope that one day she would be able to prove every one wrong.
Charlotte tensed when the sound of Dr. Loomis' voice came through the speakers and she looked over at Michael. He lectured those on the radio about how Michael was nothing more than an empty shell for evil, that he was driven by the desire to kill and nothing else. Just as Charlotte reached out to turn the radio off, Michael raised his fist, slamming it down on the radio nearly breaking it in two.
Charlotte yelped in fear and got to her feet. Had she waited a moment after Michael reached for his knife, she would have seen him plunge it into the radio speakers repeatedly and that he had no intention of plunging it into her. Instead she turned and ran, strictly on instinct. Had she used her critical mind, and not been so anxious, she would have known to wait and try to calm him down.
But by the time her rational mind over powered her instinctual will to live she was outside, running barefoot over the forest floor, in nothing by Michael's oversized shirt. When she looked back she could not see Michael and hid behind a tree to catch her breath. She breathed in the cool morning air and ignored the pain of the soles of her feet. She listened for Michael as she weighed the pros and cons of turning back now and going back into the house.
This was twice in two days she had tried to run. Michael might not forgive it twice. But Michael might forgive her momentary lapse in judgment if she returned to him on her own. But now Michael was nowhere in sight and she was sourly tempting to take her chance and run now. Her rational mind in the end won out, screaming at her that she had no idea where she was, she was in the middle of the forest, possibly miles from a town, it was beginning to get cold, and she was in nothing but an oversized shirt.
Still, she did not turn back toward the cabin, and instead found a large tree to climb. An avid tree climber as a child she managed to get at least fifteen feet into the air by the time she stopped, and though her bare legs were scraped and raw from the hard bark, she felt a little bit more secure with her new location. When Michael came, and he no doubt would, she would be able to see him first and the distance would allow her to talk to him in an attempt to calm him down.
She scolded herself for running again, but as each day passed her nerves grew thinner and she was beginning to lose her grip slightly. But if Michael did not kill her after this, she was almost positive that he would not no matter what. Hopefully she would be given the chance to be calmer around him and insure that she would not try and leave him.
A cold breeze ripped through the orange tree leaves and she shivered, ac truly hoping that Michael would find her soon. She did not have to wait long but by the time she heard him coming through the forest she was shivering, her teeth chattering. Her legs stung and her arms began to ache as she clutched at the tree branch. She waited until Michael walked past the tree she was in, at least ten yards past before calling out to him.
"Michael," she called softly and he stopped in his tracks. He looked to his right and then left before turning around, scanning the forest for her. "Up here. In the tree."
He looked up and she tried to smile at him but could only manage a grimace. She wondered what was going through his mind as he looked up at her. Probably how he could get up to her to stab her, she thought bitterly. Once again cursing her panic she rearranged her grip on the tree.
"I'll come down if you promise not to kill me," she breathed. He looked up at her but cocked his head. "And… and I promise not to run again. I know I should not be afraid of you, but I am just a jumpy person. I promise. You can trust me. I have never lied to you before have I?"
He thought a moment and she watched as he bent down, stabbing the hard, cold ground with the blade of his knife. When he straightened back up it was with no knife in his hand and she nodded. She began to make her descent. She let out a little cry as she slipped and her thigh scraped across the tree bark, but got to the ground primary all in one piece. She let out a scream of a higher volume when she turned around and found Michael standing directly in front of her.
"Hello, Michael," she said with a small smile. Still nervous she pushed on and took a step toward him, closing the distance. She wrapped her arms around his waist, worming her way against him, making sure her head was pressed to his chest firmly. When his arms came to circle her, which was done at least a minute after she began the embrace, it was stiffly, almost timidly.
"It doesn't matter who it is, Michael, when a person lashes out, or acts violently, I get scared," she said into his chest, telling herself the reason she remained in the embrace was strictly to calm him and to take in his warmth. She pulled back to look up at him, searching for his eyes behind his mask. She squeezed her arms around him, pressing her body into his.
"I'm really cold. Can we go home?"
He pulled away from the embrace and went to retrieve his knife. Charlotte made sure not to show her fear as he walked toward her, the knife in his hand. She waited for the knife to be brought up and plunged into her chest but his hand remained at his side. She let out a small breath of relief and smiled at him.
He had her walk in front of him and would silently direct her in which direction to turn when she wavered from the correct course. As she walked, her bare feet turning red and blistered from the cold, each twig, leaf, and twig causing pain with each step, she was amazed at how far she had run. It had not seemed that far as she was running and she was once again cursing herself. Her scraped legs screamed in protestation and she shivered.
She yelped when her feet gave out from underneath her, but she did not hit the ground. Instead she found herself securely in the powerful, warm arms of Michael. She leaned into him, searching for his warmth, and buried her face in his neck, trying to ignore the smell of rubber as she breathed in his mask. She nosed the mask out of the way of her face and breathed him in, wondering for the first time what Michael really smelled like. What did he smell liked outside of the hospital, not covered in medicinal creams or the smell of the wool straightjacket they kept him in so often? What did he smell like beside the steel of his blade and the rubber of his mask?
He smelled like autumn. She wondered if that was because he had just been marching through the forest looking for her, or if it was because it simply was autumn. She was trying to figure this out as they climbed the steps of the house and she was placed down on the couch. She watched as he placed two more logs on the fire and then disappeared a moment. She heard his boots on the stairs first going up and then coming back down.
When he came back into the room she was rubbing her hands up and down her arms to warm herself. She almost laughed when he placed the box of condoms in her lap and unzipped his jumpsuit. He was impatient as she pulled out a condom and placed it on him. The moment it was on she was pushed down to the couch and entered without ceremony.
Charlotte was hardly a specialist in the psychology of sex, but one did not need an extensive education in psychotherapy to deduce that this coupling was a means in which Michael could reestablish dominance in their… relationship. He was hard, fast, and unforgiving with his grip on her body. He panted in her ear and despite the stinging of her thighs and the aching of the muscles in her arms, warmth was beginning to return to her and she felt pleasure building up in her belly.
She even had the outrageous thought that she should show Michael some new positions. If she was going to be his sexual pleasure outlet, she might as well introduce some versatility into the mix. He straightened up before climaxing and grabbed her waist, angling himself so he could get more deeply inside of her. She would be embarrassed later, but she reached down to the juncture between her legs and helped herself along.
She found her peak before Michael did, and as she looked up at him she wished desperately she could watch his face. He grunted as he climaxed, let out a deep, low groan. She thought it was the closest she would probably ever get to hearing his voice. He fell back down to the couch and pulled her into his arms. He nearly crushed her but she did nothing to stop him. It was most certainly not the time. But as he squeezed her tightly to him he made another deep grunt, a groan maybe, some type of strangled sound in the base of his throat that sounded like a garbled mess of nothing.
But as Charlotte replayed the strange sound over and over in her head she found her mind unable to believe what she thought she heard. Had the noise left anyone else, she might have thought it was an attempt to say the word… mine. She shifted against him so she could look at his white masked face.
"What did you say Michael?" she asked him but he said nothing, he remained silent. She began to think she dreamt it. It was most certainly impossible to think that Michael had attempted to speak. But despite believing that her tired mind had dreamt the sound up she nodded and placed her hand on her chest, telling him, "Yes, Michael, I'm yours."
When his arms tightened around her a moment she allowed herself the tiniest belief that he had attempted to speak. It did not surprise her that the sound had not come out as he intended, and she still doubted he would ever try to speak again. It was most likely an excited utterance. Michael had not stopped speaking because he did not know how. He simply did not want to speak. And after so long without speaking, and his stopping at such a young age, it was probably that he would have some severe speech problems if he ever were to try and speak again.
But here he had a reason to speak, but it was unlikely he would be faced again with a situation that aroused the desire to speak in him. She assessed it was most likely an excited utterance, brought on by the adrenaline (though he most likely felt none) of the chase and the sex.
But in truth it was all conjecture. She had no idea if he spoke or not. She did not know if it was simply another grunt she had read too much into. She would never know if he spoke, because chances were he would never speak again. She could only analyze the situation. Charlotte was so desperate to be the person Michael would speak to though, that she accepted that he spoke. It was what she chose to believe.
She leaned into him, resting her head on his chest and nodded, fluttering her tired eyes closed.
"Yours Michael," she breathed, patting the arm he now had around her waist. "Yours."
Slowly, cuddled between the warmth of the fire and the warmth of Michael's body, she fell off to sleep.
A/N: Just finished watching the Bruins (kick ass), and finished this up during the third period. Hope you guys like it.
Thanks everyone for the reviews. They mean so much and keep me inspire. 3
Happy reading!
